Composed her veil, and raised her head, And 'Bid,' in solemn voice she said,
'Thy master, bold and bad, The records of his house turn o'er,
And, when he shall there written see That one of his own ancestry Drove the monks forth of Coventry, Bid him his fate explore!
Prancing in pride of earthly trust, His charger hurled him to the dust, And, by a base plebeian thrust, He died his band before.
God judge 'twixt Marmion and me; He is a chief of high degree,
And I a poor recluse,
Yet oft in holy writ we see
Even such weak minister as me
May the oppressor bruise;
For thus, inspired, did Judith slay The mighty in his sin,
And Jael thus, and Deborah'
Here hasty Blount broke in :
Fitz-Eustace, we must march our band;
Saint Anton' fire thee! wilt thou stand All day, with bonnet in thy hand, To hear the lady preach?
By this good light! if thus we stay, Lord Marmion for our fond delay
Will sharper sermon teach.
Come, don thy cap and mount thy horse; The dame must patience take perforce.'
'Submit we then to force,' said Clare, 'But let this barbarous lord despair
His purposed aim to win;
Let him take living, land, and life, But to be Marmion's wedded wife In me were deadly sin:
And if it be the king's decree That I must find no sanctuary
In that inviolable dome
Where even a homicide might come
And safely rest his head,
Though at its open portals stood,
Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood,
The kinsmen of the dead,
Yet one asylum is my own Against the dreaded hour, - A low, a silent, and a lone,
Where kings have little power. One victim is before me there. Mother, your blessing, and in prayer Remember your unhappy Clare !' Loud weeps the abbess, and bestows
Kind blessings many a one;
Weeping and wailing loud arose,
Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes
Of every simple nun.
His eyes the gentle Eustace dried,
And scarce rude Blount the sight could bide. Then took the squire her rein,
And gently led away her steed,
And by each courteous word and deed
To cheer her strove in vain.
But scant three miles the band had rode,
When o'er a height they passed,
And, sudden, close before them showed His towers Tantallon vast,
Broad, massive, high, and stretching far, And held impregnable in war.
On a projecting rock they rose, And round three sides the ocean flows, The fourth did battled walls enclose
And double mound and fosse. By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong, Through studded gates, an entrance long, To the main court they cross.
It was a wide and stately square ; Around were lodgings fit and fair, And towers of various form, Which on the court projected far And broke its lines quadrangular. Here was square keep, there turret high, Or pinnacle that sought the sky, Whence oft the warder could descry
The gathering ocean-storm.
Here did they rest. The princely care Of Douglas why should I declare,
Or say they met reception fair?
Or why the tidings say,
Which varying to Tantallon came, By hurrying posts or fleeter fame,
With every varying day?
And, first, they heard King James had won Etall, and Wark, and Ford; and then, That Norham Castle strong was ta'en.
At that sore marvelled Marmion, And Douglas hoped his monarch's hand Would soon subdue Northumberland;
But whispered news there came, That while his host inactive lay, And melted by degrees away,
King James was dallying off the day With Heron's wily dame. Such acts to chronicles I yield;
Go seek them there and see: Mine is a tale of Flodden Field, And not a history. -
At length they heard the Scottish host On that high ridge had made their post
Which frowns o'er Millfield Plain ; And that brave Surrey many a band Had gathered in the Southern land, And marched into Northumberland, And camp at Wooler ta'en. Marmion, like charger in the stall, That hears, without, the trumpet-call, Began to chafe and swear :
'A sorry thing to hide
In castle, like a fearful maid, When such a field is near. Needs must I see this battle-day; Death to my fame if such a fray Were fought, and Marmion away! The Douglas, too, I wot not why, Hath bated of his courtesy ; No longer in his halls I 'll stay :' Then bade his band they should array For march against the dawning day.
Mertoun House, Christmas.
HEAP on more wood! - the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will,
We'll keep our Christmas merry still. Each age has deemed the new-born year
The fittest time for festal cheer: Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane At Iol more deep the mead did drain, High on the beach his galleys drew, And feasted all his pirate crew; Then in his low and pine-built hall, Where shields and axes decked the wall, They gorged upon the half-dressed steer, Caroused in seas of sable beer,
While round in brutal jest were thrown The half-gnawed rib and marrowbone, Or listened all in grim delight
While scalds yelled out the joys of fight. Then forth in frenzy would they hie,
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