Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky,
Piled deep and massy, close and high,

Mine own romantic town!
But northward far, with purer blaze,
On Ochil mountains fell the rays,
And, as each heathy top they kiss'd,
It gleam'd a purple amethyst.
Yonder the shores of Fife you saw;
Here Preston-bay, and Berwick Law;
And, broad between them roll'd,
The gallant Frith the eye might note,
Whose islands on its bosom float

Like emeralds chased in gold.
Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent;
As if to give his rapture vent,
The

spur he to his charger lent,

And raised his bridle-hand,

And, making demi-volte in air,

Cried, « Where's the coward that would not dare

To fight for such a land!»

The Lindesay smiled his joy to see;

Nor Marmion's frown repress'd his glee.

XXXI.

Thus while they look'd, a flourish proud,
Where mingled trump and clarion loud,
And fife, and kettle-drum,

And sackbut deep, and psaltery,
And war-pipe with discordant cry,
And cymbal clattering to the sky,
Making wild music bold and high,

Did up the mountain come;

The whilst the bells, with distant chime, Merrily toll'd the hour of prime,

And thus the Lindesay spoke :

« Thus clamour still the war-notes when The king to mass his way has ta'en, Or to St Catherine's of Sienne,

Or chapel of St Rocque.

To you they speak of martial fame;
But me remind of peaceful game,

When blither was their cheer,
Thrilling in Falkland woods the air,
In signal none his steed should spare,
But strive which foremost might repair
To the downfall of the deer.

XXXII.

« Nor less,» he said,« when looking forth,

I view yon Empress of the North

Sit on her hilly throne;

Her palace's imperial bowers,

Her castle, proof to hostile powers,
Her stately halls and holy towers-

Nor less," he said, « I moan

To think what woe mischance may bring,
And how these merry bells may ring
The death-dirge of our gallant king;
Or, with their larum, call

The burghers forth to watch and ward,
'Gainst southern sack and fires to guard
Dun-Edin's leaguer'd wall.—

But not from my presaging thought,
Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought!
Lord Marmion, I say nay:-

God is the guider of the field,

He breaks the champion's spear and shield,—
But thou thyself shalt say,

When joins yon host in deadly stowre,
That England's dames must weep in bower,
Her monks the death-mass sing;
For never saw'st thou such a power
Led on by such a king.»-
And now, down winding to the plain,
The barriers of the camp they gain,

And there they make a stay.—
There stays the minstrel, till he fling
His hand o'er every Border string,
And fit his harp the pomp to sing
Of Scotland's ancient court and king,
In the succeeding lay.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO V.

TO

GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ.

WHEN dark December glooms the day, And takes our autumn joys away;

Edinburgh.

When short and scant the sun-beam throws,
Upon the weary waste of snows,
A cold and profitless regard,
Like patron on a needy bard;
When sylvan occupation 's done,
And o'er the chimney rests the gun,
And hang, in idle trophy, near,
The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear;
When wiry terrier, rough and grim,
And greyhound, with his length of limb,
And pointer, now employ'd no more,
Cumber our parlour's narrow floor;
When in his stall the impatient steed
Is long condemn'd to rest and feed;
When from our snow-encircled home,
Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam,
Since path is none, save that to bring
The needful water from the spring;'
When wrinkled news-page, thrice coun'd o'er,
Beguiles the dreary hour no more,
And darkling politician, cross'd,
Inveighs against the lingering post,'
And answering housewife sore complains
Of carriers' snow-impeded wains:
When such the country cheer, I come,
Well pleased, to seek our city home;
For converse, and for books to change
The Forest's melancholy range,
And welcome, with renew'd delight,
The busy day, and social night.

Not here need my desponding rhyme
Lament the ravages of time,

As erst by Newark's riven towers,
And Ettrick stripp'd of forest bowers.'
True, Caledonia's Queen is changed, (1)
Since, on her dusky summit ranged,

1 See Introduction to Canto II.

Within its steepy limits pent,

By bulwark, line, and battlement,
And flanking towers, and laky flood,
Guarded and garrison'd she stood,
Denying entrance or resort,
Save at each tall embattled port;
Above whose arch, suspended, hung
Portcullis spiked with iron prong.
That long is gone, but not so long,
Since, early closed, and opening late,
Jealous revolved the studded gate,
Whose task, from eve to morning tide,
A wicket churlishly supplied.

Stern then, and steel-girt was thy brow,
Dun-Edin! O, how alter'd now,
When safe amid thy mountain court
Thou sit'st, like empress at her sport,
And, liberal, unconfined, and free,
Flinging thy white arms to the sea, (2)
For thy dark cloud, with umber'd lower,
That hung o'er cliff, and lake, and tower,
Thou gleam'st against the western ray
Ten thousand lines of brighter day.

Not she, the championess of old,

In Spenser's magic tale enroll'd,
She for the charmed spear renown'd,

Which forced each knight to kiss the ground,—
Not she more changed, when placed at rest,
What time she was Malbecco's guest,'
She gave to flow her maiden vest;
When from the corslet's grasp relieved,
Free to the sight her bosom heaved;
Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile,
Erst hidden by the aventayle;
And down her shoulders graceful roll'd
Her locks profuse of paly gold.
They who whilom, in midnight fight,
Had marvell'd at her matchless might,
No less her maiden charms approved,
But looking liked, and liking loved.
The sight could jealous pangs beguile,
And charm Malbecco's cares awhile;
And he, the wandering Squire of Dames,
Forgot his Columbella's claims,
And passion, erst unknown, could gain
The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane;
Nor durst light Paridel advance,
Bold as he was, a looser glance.

She charm'd, at once, and tamed the heart,
Incomparable Britomarte!

So thou, fair city! disarray'd
Of battled wall, and rampart's aid,
As stately seem'st, but lovelier far
Than in that panoply of war.

Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne
Strength and security are flown;
Still, as of yore, Queen of the North!
Still canst thou send thy children forth.
Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call
Thy burghers rose to man thy wall,
Than now, in danger, shall be thine,
Thy dauntless voluntary line;

See The Faery Queene, Book III. Canto IX.

2 For every one her liked, and every one her loved, -SPENSER.

For fosse and turret proud to stand;
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land.
Thy thousands, train'd to martial toil,
Full red would stain their native soil,
Ere from thy mural crown there fell
The slightest knosp, or pinnacle.
And if it come,-as come it may,
Dun-Edin! that eventful day,-
Renown'd for hospitable deed,

That virtue much with Heaven may plead,
In patriarchal times whose care
Descending angels deign'd to share;
That claim may wrestle blessings down
On those who fight for the Good Town,
Destined in every age to be
Refuge of injured royalty;

Since first, when conquering York arose,
To Henry meek she gave repose, (3)
Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe,
Great Bourbon's reliques, sad she saw.

Truce to these thoughts!-for, as they rise,
How gladly I avert mine eyes,
Bodings, or true or false, to change,
For fiction's fair romantic range,
Or for tradition's dubious light,

That hovers 'twixt the day and night:
Dazzling alternately and dim,

Her wavering lamp I'd rather trim,
Knights, squires, and lovely dames to see,
Creation of my fantasy,

Than gaze abroad on reeky fen,
And make of mists invading men.-
Who loves not more the night of June.
Than dull December's gloomy noon?
The moon-light than the fog of frost?
And can we say, which cheats the most?

But who shall teach my harp to gain
A sound of the romantic strain,
Whose Anglo-Norman tones whilere
Could win the royal Henry's ear, (4)
Famed Beauclerc call'd, for that he loved
The minstrel, and his lay approved?
Who shall these lingering notes redeem,
Decaying on oblivion's stream;
Such notes as from the Breton tongue
Marie translated, Blondel sung?—
O! born, Time's ravage to repair,
And make the dying muse thy care;
Who, when his scythe her hoary foe
Was poising for the final blow,
The weapon from his hand could wring,
And break his glass, and shear his wing,
And bid, reviving in his strain,

The gentle poet live again;

Thou, who canst give to lightest lay

An unpedantic moral gay,

Nor less the dullest theme bid flit

On wings of unexpected wit;
In letters, as in life, approved,
Example honour'd, and beloved,--
Dear ELLIS to the bard impart
A lesson of thy magic art,

To win at once the head and heart,

12

At once to charm, instruct, and mend, My guide, my pattern, and my friend!

Such minstrel lesson to bestow Be long thy pleasing task,-but, O! No more by thy example teach What few can practise, all can preach; With even patience to endure Lingering disease, and painful cure, And boast affliction's pangs subdued By mild and manly fortitude. Enough, the lesson has been given; Forbid the repetition, Heaven!

Come listen, then! for thou hast known, And loved the minstrel's varying tone, Who, like his Border sires of old, Waked a wild measure rude and bold, Till Windsor's oaks, and Ascot plain, With wonder heard the northern strain. Come, listen!-bold in thy applause, The bard shall scorn pedantic laws, And, as the ancient art could stain Achievements on the storied pane, Irregularly traced and plann'd, But yet so glowing and so grand;So shall he strive, in changeful hue, Field, feast, and combat, to renew,

And loves, and arms, and harper's glee,`· And all the pomp of chivalry.

CANTO V.

THE COURT.

I.

THE train has left the hills of Braid;
The barrier guard have open made
(So Lindesay bade) the palisade,

That closed the tented ground;
Their men the warders backward drew,
And carried pikes as they rode through,
Into its ample bound.

Fast ran the Scottish warriors there,
Upon the southern band to stare;
And envy with their wonder rose,
To see such well-appointed foes;

Such length of shafts, such mighty bows,
So huge, that many simply thought,
But for a vaunt such weapons wrought;
And little deem'd their force to feel,
Through links of mail, and plates of steel,
When, rattling upon Flodden vale,
The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail. (5)

On Flemish steeds of boue and height,
With battle-axe and spear.

Young knights and squires, a lighter train,
Practised their chargers on the plain,
By aid of leg, of hand, and rein,
Each warlike feat to show;

Το

pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain, And high curvett, that not in vain The sword-sway might descend amain On foeman's easque below. (6) He saw the hardy burghers there March arm'd, on foot, with faces bare, (7) For visor they wore none,

Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight; But burnish'd were their corslets bright, Their brigantines, and gorgets light,

Like very silver shone.

Long pikes they had for standing fight,
Two-handed swords they wore,

And many wielded mace of weight,
And bucklers bright they bore.

III.

On foot the yeoman too, (8) but dress'd
In his steel jack, a swarthy vest,

With iron quilted well;

Each at his back (a slender store),
Ilis forty days' provision bore,

As feudal statutes tell.

His arms were halbert, axe, or spear,
A cross-bow there, a hagbut here,

A dagger-knife, and brand-
Sober he seem'd, and sad of cheer,
As loth to leave his cottage dear,
And march to foreign strand;
Or musing, who would guide his steer,
To till the fallow land,

Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye

Did aught of dastard terror lie;

More dreadful far his ire,

Than theirs, who, scorning danger's name,

In eager mood to battle came,

Their valour like light straw on flame,

A fierce but fading fire.

IV.

Not so the Borderer:-bred to war,
He knew the battle's din afar,

And joy'd to hear it swell.
His peaceful day was slothful ease;
Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please,
Like the loud slogan yell.

On active steed, with lance and blade,
The light-arm'd pricker plied his trade,—
Let nobles fight for fame;
Let vassals follow where they lead,
Burghers, to guard their townships, bleed,
But war's the Borderers' game.
Their gain, their glory, their delight,
To sleep the day, maraud the night,

O'er mountain, moss, and moor";
Joyful to fight they took their way,
Scarce caring who might win the day,

Their booty was secure. These, as Lord Marmion's train pass'd by, Look'd on at first with careless cye,

Next, Marmion mark'd the Celtic race
Of different language, form, and face,
A various race of man;

Just then the chiefs their tribes array'd,
And wild and garish semblance made,
The chequer'd trews, and belted plaid;
And varying notes the war-pipes bray'd,
To every varying clan; -

Wild through their red or sable hair
Look'd out their eyes, with savage stare,
On Marmion as he past;

Their legs above the knee were bare;
Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare,
And harden'd to the blast;

Of taller race, the chiefs they own
Were by the eagle's plumage known.
The hunted red-deer's undress'd hide
Their hairy buskins well supplied;
The graceful bonnet deck'd their head;
Back from their shoulders hung the plaid;
A broadsword of unwieldy length,
A dagger proved for edge and strength,
A studded targe they wore,

And quivers, bows, and shafts,-but, O!
Short was the shaft, and weak the bow,
To that which England bore.
The Isles-men carried at their backs
The ancient Danish battle-axe.
They raised a wild and wondering cry,
As with his guide rode Marmion by.

Loud were their clamouring tongues, as when
The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen,
And, with their cries discordant mix'd,
Grumbled and yell'd the pipes betwixt.

VI.

Thus through the Scottish camp they pass'd,
And reach'd the city gate at last,
Where all around, a wakeful guard,
Arm'd burghers kept their watch and ward.
Well had they cause of jealous fear,
When lay encamp'd, in field so near,
The Borderer and the Mountaineer.
As through the bustling streets they go,
All was alive with martial show;",
At every turn, with dinning clang,
The armourer's anvil clash'd and rang,
Or toil'd the swarthy smith, to wheel
The bar that arms the charger's heel;

Or axe, or falchion to the side

Of jarring grindstone was applied.

Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying pace,
Through street, aud lane, and market-place,
Bore lance, or casque, or sword;
While burghers, with important face,
Described each new-come lord,
Discuss'd his lineage, told his name,
His following,' and his warlike fame.
The Lion led to lodging meet,
Which high o'erlook'd the crowded street;
There must the baron rest,
Till past the hour of vesper tide,
And then to Holyrood must ride,
Such was the king's behest.
Meanwhile the Lion's care assigns
A banquet rich, and costly wines, (9)
To Marmion and his train;

And when the appointed hour succeeds,
The baron dons his peaceful weeds,
And following Lindesay as he leads,
The palace-halls they gain.

VII.

Old Holyrood rung merrily,

That night, with wassel, mirth, and glee :
King James within her princely bower
Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's power,
Summon'd to spend the parting hour;
For he had charged, that his array
Should southward march by break of day.
Well loved that splendid monarch aye
The banquet and the song,

By day the tourney, and by night
The merry dance, traced fast and light,
The masquers quaint, the pageant bright,
The revel loud and long.

This feast outshone his banquets past;
It was his blithest,-and his last.
The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay,
Cast on the court a dancing ray;
Here to the harp did minstrels sing;
There ladies touch'd a softer string;
With long-ear'd cap, and motley vest,
The licensed fool retail'd his jest ;
His magic tricks the juggler plied;
At dice and draughts the gallants vied;
While some, in close recess apart,
Courted the ladies of their heart,
Nor courted them in vain;
For often, in the parting hour,
Victorious love asserts his power
O'er coldness and disdain; -
And flinty is her heart, çan view
To battle march a lover true-
Can hear, perchance, his last adieu,
Nor own her share of pain.

VIII.

Through this mix'd crowd of glee and game,
The king to greet Lord Marmion came,
While, reverent, all made room.

An easy task it was, I trow,
King James's manly form to know,

Following-Feudal retainers.

Although, his courtesy to show,
He doff'd, to Marmion bending low,
His broider'd cap and plume.
For royal were his garb and mien,

His cloak, of crimson velvet piled,
Trimm'd with the fur of marten wild;
His vest of changeful satin sheen,

The dazzled eye beguiled;
His gorgeous collar hung adown,

Wrought with the badge of Scotland's crown,
The thistle brave, of old renown;
His trusty blade, Toledo right,
Descended from a baldric bright;
White were his buskins, on the heel
His
spurs inlaid of gold and steel;
His bonnet, all of crimson fair,
Was button'd with a ruby rare :

And Marmion deem'd he ne'er had seen
A prince of such a noble mien.

IX.

The monarch's form was middle size; For feat of strength, or exercise,

Shaped in proportion fair; And hazel was his eagle eye, And auburn of the darkest dye

His short curl'd beard and hair.. Light was his footstep in the dance,

And firm his stirrup in the lists; And, oh! he had that merry glance

That seldom lady's heart resists. Lightly from fair to fair he flew,

And loved to plead, lament, and sue;— Suit lightly won, and short-lived pain, For monarchs seldom sigh in vain.

I said he joy'd in banquet-bower;
But, mid his mirth, 't was often strange,
How suddenly his cheer would change,
His look o'ercast and lower,
If, in a sudden turn, he felt
The pressure of his iron belt,

That bound his breast in penance pain,
In memory of his father slain. (10)
Even so 't was strange how evermore,
Soon as the passing pang was o'er,
Forward he rush'd, with double glee,
Into the stream of revelry:
Thus, dim-seen object of affright
Startles the courser in his flight,
And half he halts, half springs aside;
But feels the quickening spur applied,
And, straining on the tighten'd rein,
Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plain.

X.

O'er James's heart, the courtiers say,
Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway: (11)
To Scotland's court she came,

To be a hostage for her lord,
Who Cessford's gallant heart had gored,
And with the king to make accord,
Had sent his lovely dame.
Nor to that lady free alone
Did the gay king allegiance own;
For the fair Queen of France

Sent him a Turquois ring, and glove,
And charged him, as her knight and love,
For her to break a lance; (12)

And strike three strokes with Scottish brand,
And march three miles on southron land,
And bid the banners of his band

In English breezes dance.

And thus, for France's Queen he drest
His manly limbs in mailed vest;
And thus admitted English fair
His inmost counsels still to share;
And thus, for both, he madly plann'd
The ruin of himself and land!

And yet, the sooth to tell,

Nor England's fair, nor France's Queen,
Were worth one pearl-drop bright and sheen,

From Margaret's eyes that fell,

His own Queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow's bower, All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour.

The

XI.

queen sits lone in Lithgow pile,
And weeps the weary day,
The war against her native soil,
Her monarch's risk in battle broil;-
And in gay, Holyrood, the while,
Dame Heron rises with a smile

Upon the harp to play.

Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er

The strings her fingers flew;

And as she touch'd, and tuned them all, Ever her bosom's rise and fall

Was plainer given to view;
For all, for heat, was laid aside,
Her wimple, and her hood untied.
And first she pitch'd her voice to sing,
Then glanced her dark eye on the king,
And then around the silent ring ;
And laugh'd, and blush'd, and oft did say
Her pretty oath, by yea and nay,
She could not, would not, durst not play!
At length, upon the harp, with glee,
Mingled with arch simplicity,

A soft, yet lively air she rung,
While thus the wily lady sung.

XH.

LOCHINVÅR.

LADY HERON'S SONG.

O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late:
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.