Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw-
The charger panting on its straw;
Till one, who would seem wisest, cried, -
« What else but evil could betide,
With that cursed Palmer for our guide ?
Better we had through mire and bush
Been lantern-led by Friar Rush.»' (3)

The damsel kind, from danger freed,
Did yrateful pay her champion's męed.»-
Jle spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's mind;
Perchance to show his lore desiga'd;

For Eustace much had pored
Upon a huge romantic tome,
In the hall-window of his home,
Imprinted at the antique dome

Of Caxton or De Worde.
Therefore he spoke,—but spoke in vain,
For Marmion answer'd nought again.

Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but guess'd,

Nor wholly understood,
His comrades' clamorous plaints suppress'd;

He knew Lord Marmion's mood. Him, ere he issued forth he sought, And found deep plunged in gloomy thought,

And did his tale display
Simply, as if he knew of nought

To cause such disarray.
Lord Marmion gave attention cold,
Nor marvelld at the wonders told, -
Pass'd them as accidents of course,
And bade his clárions, sound to horse.

Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill,
Jo notes prolong'd by wood and hill,

Were heard to echo far;.
Each ready archer grasp'd lris bow,
But by the tlourislı soon they know,

They breathed no point of war.
Yel cautious, as in foeman's land,
Lord Marmion's order speeds the band

Some opener ground to gain;
And scarce a furlong had they rode,
When thinner trees, receding, show'd

A little woodland plain.
Just in that advantageous glade
The balting troop a line had made,
As forth from the opposing shade

Issued a gallant train.

« Dost see,

II. Young Henry Blount, meanwhile, the cost Had reckon'd with their Scottish host; And as the charge he cast and paid, « Ill thou deservest thy hire,» he said;

thou knave, my horse's plight?" Fairies have ridden him all the night,

And left him in a foam !..
I trust that soon a conjuring band,
With English cross, and blazing brand,
Shall drive the devils from this land,

To their infernal home:
For in this haunted den, I trow,
All night they trampled to and fro.»—
The laughing host look'd on the hire,–

Gramercy, gentle southerd squire,
And if thou comest among the rest,
With Scottish broadsword to be blest,
Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow,
And short the pang to undergo.»-
Here stay'd their talk,- for Marmion
Gave now the signal to set on.
The Palmer showing forth the way,
They journey'd all the morning day."

VI. First came the trumpets, at whose clang So late the forest echoes rang; On prancing steeds they forward pressa, With scarlet mantle, azure vest; Each at his trump a banner wore, Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore;, Heralds and pursuivants, by name Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay, camc, In painted tabards, proudly showing Gules, argent, or, and azure glowing,

Attendant on a king-at-arms, Whose hand the armorial truncheon held, That feudal strife had often quell'd,

When wildest its alarms,

IV. The green-sward way was smooth and good, Through Humbie's and through Saltoun's wood; A forest glade, which, varying still, Here gave a view of dale and bill, There narrower closed, till overhead A vaulted screen the branches made. « A pleasant path,» Fitz-Eustace said; « Such as where errant-knights might see Adventures of high chivalry; Might meet some damsel flying fast, With hair unbound, and looks aghast; And smooth and level course were here, In her defence to break a spear. Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells ; And oft, in such, the story tells,

He was a man of middle age;
In aspect manly, grave, and sage,

As on king's errand come;
But in the glances of his eye,
A penetrating, keen, and sly

Expression found its home;
The flash of that satiric'rage,
Which, bursting on the early stage,
Branded the vices of the age,

And broke the keys of Rome.
On milk-white palfrey forth he paced;
His cap of maintenance was graced

With the proud beron-plume.
From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast,

Silk housings swept the ground,
With Scotland's arms, device, and crest,

Embroider'd round and round.
The double tressure miglit you see,

First by Achaius borne,

Alias, Willo' the Visp.-See Note.

The thistle, and the fleur-de-lis,

And gallant unicorn. So bright the king's armorial coat, That scarce the dazzled eye could pote, In living colours blazon'd brave, The lion, which his title gave. A train, which well beseemd his state, But all uvarm'd, around liim wait. Still is thy name in high account,

And still thy verse has charms, Sir David Lindesay of the Mount,

Lord Lion King-al-arms! (4)

The towers in different ages rose;
Their various architecture shows

The builders' various hands;
A mighty mass that could oppose,
When deadliest hatred fired its foes,

The vengeful Douglas bands.

Down from his horse did Marmion spring,
Soon as he saw the Lion-king;
For well the stately baron knew
To him such courtesy was due,
Whom royal James himself had crown'd,
And on his temples placed the round

Of Scotland's ancient diadem ;
And wet his brow with hallow'd wine,
And on his finger given to shine

The emblematic gem.
Their mutual greetings duly made,
The Lion thus his message said:-

Though Scotland's king hath deeply swore
Ne'er to knit faith with Henry mare,
And strictly hath forbid resort
From England to his royal court;
Yet, for he knows Lord Marmion's name,
And honours much bis warlike fame,
My liege hath deem'd it shame, and lack
Of courtesy, to turn him back;
And, by his order, I, your guide,
Must lodging fit and fair provide,
Till finds King James meet time to see
The flower of Englisli chivalry.»—

XI. Crichtoun! though now thy miry court

But pens the lazy steer and sheep,

Thy turrets' rude and totter'd keep Have been the minstrel's loved resort. Oft bave I traced, within thy fort,

Of mouldering shields the mystic sense,

Scutcheons of honour, or pretence, Quarter'd in old armorial sort,

Remains of rude magnificence.
Nor wholly yet hath tiine defaced

Thy lordly gallery fair;
Nor yet the stony cord'unbraced,
Whose twisted notes, with roses laced,

Adorn thy ruin'd stair.
Still rises unimpair'd, below,
The court-yard's graceful portico;
Above its cornice, row and row
Of fair-hewn facets richly show

Their pointed diamond" form,
Though there but houseless cattle go,

To shield them from the storm. And, shuddering, still may we explore

Where oft whilom were captives pent, The darkness of thy Massy-more;'

Or, from thy grass-grown battlement, May trace, in undulating line, The sluggish mazes of the Tyne.

Though inly chafed at wis delay,
Lord Marmion bears it as he may,
The Palmer, his mysterious guide,
Beholding thus his place supplied,

Sought to take leave in vain :
Strict was the Lion-king's command,
That none who rode in Marmion's band

Should sever from the train: « England has here enow of spies In Lady Heron's witching eyes ;» To Marchmount thus, apart, he said, But fair pretext to Marmion made. The right-hand path they now decline, And trace against the stream the Tyne.

XII. Another aspect Crichtoun show'd, As through its portal Marmion rode; But yet 't was melancholy state Received him at the outer gate; For none were in the castle then But women, boys, or aged men. With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame, To welcome noble Marmion, came; Her son, a stripling twelve years old, Proffer'd the baron's rein to hold; For each man that could draw a sword Had march'd that morning with their lord, Earl Adam Hepburn,(6)—he who died On Flodden by his sovereiga's side. Long may his dady look in vain! She ne'er shall see his gallant train Come sweeping back through Crichtoun-Dean. 'T was a brave race, before the name Of hated Bothwell staind their fame.

At length up that wild dale they wind,

Where Crichtoun Castle (5) crowns the bank; For there the Lion's care assign'd

A lodging meet for Marmjon's rank.
That castle rises on the steep

Of the green vale of Tyne;
And far beneath, where slow they creep
From pool to eddy, dark and deep,
Where alders moist, and willows weep,

You hear her streams repine.

XHI. And here two days did Marmion rest,

With every rite that honour claims, Attended as the king's own guest;

Such the command of royal James, Who marshalld then his land's array, Upon the Borough-moor that lay.

"The pit, or prison vault.-See Note.

Perchance be would not foeman's eye
Upon his gathering host should pry,
Till full prepared was every band,
To march against the English land.
Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit
Oft cheer the baron's moodier fit:
And, in his turn, he knew to prize
Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and wise,-
Train'd in the lore of Rome and Greece,
And policies of war and peace.

It chanced, as fell the second night,

That on the battlement they walk'd,
And, by the slowly fading light,

On varying topics talk'd ;
And, unaware, the herald-bard
Said Marmion might his toil have spared,,

In travelling so far;
For that a messenger from heaven
In vain to James had counsel given

Against the English war: (7)
And, closer question'd, thus he told
A tale which chronicles of old
In Scottish story have enroll’d:-

XV. SIR DAVID LINDESAY'S TALE. « Of all the palacés so fair,'

Built for the royal dwelling,
ln Scotland, far beyond compare

Linlithgow is excelling;
And in its park in jovial Junc,
How sweet the merry linnet's tune,

How blithe the blackbird's lay!
The wild-buck bells (8) from ferny brake,
The coot dives merry on the lake,
The saddest heart might pleasure take

To see all nature gay.
But June is to our sovereigh dear
The heaviest month in all the year!
Too well his cause of grief you know,-
June saw his father's overthrow. (9)
Woe to the traitors who could bring
The princely boy against his king!
Still in his conscieace burns the sting.
In offices as strict as Lent,
King James's June is ever spent.

I too was there, and, sooth to tell,
Bedeafen'd with the jangling knell,
Was watching where the sun-beams fell,

Through the stain'd casement gleaming;
But, while I mark'd what next befel,

It seem'd as I were dreaming.
Stepp'd from the crowd a ghostly wight,
In azure gown, with cincture white,
His forehead bald, his head was bare,
Down lung at length his yellow hair.-
Now mock me not when, good my lord,
I pledge to you my knightly word,
Thai, when I saw his placid grace,
His simple majesty of face,
His solemn beariog, and his pace

So stately gliding on -
Seem'd to me ne'er did limner paint
So just an image of the saint
Who propp'd the Virgin in her faint, -
The loved Apostle John.

« He stepp'd before the monarch's chair,
And stood with rustic plainness there,

And little reverence made;
Nor head nor body bow'd nor bent,
But on the desk his arm he leant,

And words like these he said,
In a low voice,- but never tone
So thrill'd through vein, and nerve, and bone:-

My mother sent me from afar,
Sir King, to warn thee not to war,-

Woe waits on thine array;
If war thou wilt, of woman fair,
Her witching wiles and wanton snare,
James Stuart, doubly warn'd, beware :

God keep thee as he may!'
The wondering monarch seem'd to seek

For answer, and found none;
And when he raised his head to speak,

The monitor was gone.
The marshal and myself had cast
To stop him as he outward past;
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast,

He vanish'd from our eyes,
Like sun-beam on the billow cast,
That glances but, and dies.»—

While Lindesay told this marvel strange,

The twilight was so pale,
He mark'd not Marmigu's colour change,

While listening to the tale :
But, after a suspended pause,
The baron spoke: «Of nature's laws

So strong I held the force,
That never super-human cause

Could e'er control their course;
And, three days sioce, had judged your aim
Was but to make your guest your game.
But I have seen, siuce past the Tweed,
What much has changed my sceptic creed,
And made me credit aught.»He staid,
And seem'd to wish his words unsaid:
But, by that strong emotion press'd,
Which prompts us to unload our breast,

Ev'n when discovery 's pain,

XVI. * When last this ruthful month was come, And in Liplithgow's holy dome

The king, as wont, was praying;
While for his royal father's soul,
The chaunters sung, the bells did toll,

The bishop mass was saying-
For now the year brought round again
The day the luckless king was slain-
In Katharine's aisle the monarch knelt,
With sackcloth shirt, and iron belt,

And eyes with sorrow streaming ;
Around him, in their stalls of state,
The Thistle's knight-companions sate,

Their banners o'er them beaming."

An ancient word for the cry of deer.--Seo Note.

To Lindesay did at length unfold
The tale his village host had told,

At Gifford, to his train.
Nought of the Palmer says he there,
And nought of Constance or of Clare:
The thoughts which broke his sleep, he seems
To mention but as feverish dreams.

XIX. « In vain,» said he, « to rest I spread My burning limbs, and couch'd my

head: Fantastic thoughis return'd; And, by their wild dominion led,

My heart within me burn'd.. So sore was the delirious goad, I took my steed, and fortlı I rode, And, as the moon shone bright and cold, Soon reach'd the camp upon the wold. The southern entrance I passed through, And halted, and my bugle blew. Methought an answer met my ear,Yet was the blast so low and drear, So hollow, and so faintly blown, It might be echo of my own.

XX, « Thus judging, for a little space I listen'd, ere I left the place;

But scarce could trust my eyes, Nor yet can think they served me true, When sudden in the ring 1 view In form distinct of shape and hue, A mounted champion rise.I've fought, Lord Lion, many a day, In single fight and mix'd affray, And ever, I myself may say,

Have borne me as a knight;
But when this unexpected foe
Seem'd starting from the gulf below,-
I care not though the truth I show,-

I trembled with affright;
And as I placed in rest my spear,
My hand so shook for very fear,

I scarce could couch it right.

Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade:
But when to good St George I pray'd
(The first time e'er I ask'd his aid),

He plunged it ið the sheath;
And, on his courser mounting light,
He seem'd to vanisha from my sight:
The moon-beam droop'd, and deepest night

Sunk down upon the heath.-
"T were long to tell what cause I have

To know his face that met me there,
Call'd by his hatred from the grave,

To cumber upper air ;
Dead or alive, good cause had he
To be my mortal enemy.».

Marvell'd Sir David of the Mount;
Then, learu'd in story, gan recount

Such chance had happ'd of old,
When once, near Norliam, threre did fight
A spectre fell, of fiendish might,
In likeness of a Scottish knight,

With Brian Bulmer bold,
And train'd him nigh to disallow
The aid of his baptismal vow.
« And such a phantom too, 't is said,
With Highland broadsword, targe and plaid,

And fingers red with gore,
Is seen in Rothiemurchus' glade,
Or where the sable pine-trees shade
Dark Tomantoul, and Achnaslaid,

Dromouchty, or Glenmore.'
And yet, whate'er such legends say,
Of warlike demon, host, or fay,

On mountain, moor, or plain,
Spotless in faith, in bosom bold,
True son of chivalry should hold

These midnight terrors vain;
For seldom bave such spirits power
To harm, save in the evil hour,
When guilt we meditate within,
Or harbour unrepented sin.»-
Lord Marmion turn'd him half aside,
And twice to clçar his voice he tried,

Then press'd Sir David's baud, -
But nought, at length, in answer said;
And here their farther converse staid,

Each ordering that his band
Should bowne them with the rising day,
To Scotland's camp to take their way, -
Such was the king's command.

Early they took Dun-Edin's road,
And I could trace cach step they trode ;
Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone,
Lies on the path to me unknown.
Much might it boast of storied lore;
But, passing such digression o'er,
Suffice it that their route was laid
Across the furzy hills of Braid.
They passid the glen and scanty rill,
And climbd tlre opposing bank, until
They gain'd the top of Blackford Hill.-

See the traditions concerning Bulmer, and the spectre called Lhan-de.ing, or Bloody-hand, in Note 8 on Cauro III.

XXI. Why need my tongue the issue tell? We ran our course, --my charger fell;— What could he gainst the shock of hell ?

I rolld upon the plain.
High o'er-my head, with threatening hand,
The spectre shook his naked brand,

Yet did the worst remain :-
My dazzled eyes I upward cast, -
Not opening hell itself could blast.

Their sight like what I saw!
Full on his face the moon-beam strook, --
A face could never be mistook!
I knew the stern viudictive look,

And held my breath for awe.
I saw the face of one wlio, lled
To foreign climes, has long been dead, -

I well believe the last;
For ne'er, from visor raised, did stare
A human warrior, with a glare

So grimly and so ghast.

Ill-omen'd gift! the


remain The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain.

Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast,

Among the broom, and thorn, and whin,
A truant boy, I sought the nest,
Or listed, as, I lay at reśl,

While rose, on breezes thin,
The murmur of the city crowd,
And, from his steeple jangling loud,

St Giles's mingling din-
Now, from the summit to the plain,
Waves all the bill with yellow grains

And, o'er the landscape as I look,
Nought do I see unchanged remain, 1
Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook :
To me they make a beavy moan
Of early friendships past and gone.

Nor mark'd they less, where in the air
A thousand streamers flaunted fair;

Various in shape, device, and hue,

Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue, Broad, narrow,

swallow-tail'd, and square, Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,' there

O'er the pavilions flew. (1) Highest and midmost, was descried The royal banner tloating wide: The staff a pine-tree strong and straight,

Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,

Which still in memory is shown,
Yet bent beneath the standard's weight
Whene'er the western wind unrolld,
With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,

And gave to view the dazzling field,

Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield, The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold. (12)

But different far the change has been,

Since Marmion, from the crown
Of Blackford, saw that martial scene

Upon the bent so brown : Thousand pavilions, white as snow, Spread all the Borough-moor below, (10)

Upland, and dale, and down : A thousand, did I say? I ween, Thousands on thousands there were seen, That chequer'd all ile heath between

The streamlet and the town: In crossing ranks extending far, Forming a camp irregular; Oft giving way where still there stood Some reliques of the old oak wood, That darkly huge did intervené, And tamed the glaring white with green : In these extended lines there lay A martial kingdom's vast array.

XXIX. Lord Marmion view'd the landscape bright,He view'd it with a chief's delight, Until within him burn'd his heart, And lightning from his eye did

part, As on the battle-day; Such glance did falcon never dart,

When stooping on his prey.
« Oh! well, Lord Lion, hast thou said,
Thy king from warfare to dissuade

Were but a vain essay;
For, by St George, were that host mine,
Not power infernal, nor divine,
Should once to peace my soul incline,
Till I had dimmd 'their armour's shine

In glorious battle-fray!»-
Answer'd the bard, of milder mood :
« Fair is the sight,-and yet 't were good,

That kings would think withal, When peace and wealth their land has bless'd, 'T is better to sit still at rest,

Than rise, perchance to fall. »

For from Hebudes, dark with rain,
To eastern Lodon's fertile plain,
And from the southern Redswire edge
To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge;
From west to. east, from south to north,
Scotland sent all her warriors forth.
Marmion might hear the mingled hum
Of myriads up the mountain come;
The horses' tramp, and tingling clank
Where chiefs review d their yassal rank,

And chargers' shrilling neigh ;
And see the shifting lines advance,
While frequent tlaslid from shield and lance,

The sun's reflected ray.

XXVII. Thin curling in the morning air, The wreaths of failing smoke declare To embers now the brands decayd, Where the night-watch their fires had made. They saw, slow rolling on the plain, Full many a haggage-cart and wain, And dire artillery's clumsy car, By sluggish oxen lugg'd to war;" And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven,'

And culverins which France had given. Seven culverins so called, cast by ono Boribwick.

Still on the spot Lord Marmion stay'd,
For fairer scene he ne'er survey'd.
When sated with the martial show
That peopled all the plain below,
The wandering eye could o'er it go,
And mark the distant city glow

With gloomy splendour red ;
For on the smoke-wreaths, liuge and slow,
That round hier sable turrets flow,

The morning beams were shed, And tinged them with a lustre proud, Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. Such dusky grandeur clothed the height, Where the huge castle holds its state,

And all the steep slope dowo,

'Each of these feudal ensigns intimated the different rank of those entitled to display them.

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