IX. 'T is meet that I should tell you now, Minstrels and trumpeters were there, X. The guards their morrice-pikes advanced, The cannon from the ramparts glanced, A blithe salute, in martial sort, The minstrels well might sound, For, as Lord Marmion crossed the court, Stout heart and open hand! Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan, Thou flower of English land!' XI. Two pursuivants, whom tabards deck, 130 140 150 Stood on the steps of stone By which you reach the donjon gate, They hailed him Lord of Fontenaye, And he, their courtesy to requite, Gave them a chain of twelve marks' weight, All as he lighted down. 'Now, largesse, largesse, Lord Marmion, Knight of the crest of gold! A blazoned shield, in battle won, Ne'er guarded heart so bold.' 16c XII. They marshalled him to the castle-hall, To him he lost his lady-love, And to the king his land. 170 Ourselves beheld the listed field, 180 We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield, A sight both sad and fair; And saw his saddle bare; We saw the victor win the crest He wears with worthy pride, For him who conquered in the right, 190 XIII. Then stepped, to meet that noble lord, And Captain of the Hold; Raised o'er the pavement high, And placed him in the upper place They feasted full and high: The whiles a Northern harper rude How the fierce Thirwalls, and Ridleys all, And Hardriding Dick, And Hughie of Hawdon, and Will o' the Wall, And taken his life at the Deadman's-shaw.' The harper's barbarous lay, Yet much he praised the pains he took, For lady's suit and minstrel's strain 200 210 XIV. "Now, good Lord Marmion,' Heron says, 'Of your fair courtesy, I pray you bide some little space In this poor tower with me. Here may you keep your arms from rust, Or feat of arms befell. The Scots can rein a mettled steed, And love to couch a spear; Saint George! a stirring life they lead That have such neighbors near! 220 XV. The captain marked his altered look, And crowned it high with wine. Where hast thou left that page of thine That used to serve thy cup of wine, The boy I closely eyed, 230 When last in Raby-towers we met, And often marked his cheeks were wet 240 His was no rugged horse-boy's hand, With tears he fain would hide. To burnish shield or sharpen brand, But meeter seemed for lady fair, His skin was fair, his ringlets gold, The russet doublet's rugged fold Say, hast thou given that lovely youth To serve in lady's bower? Or was the gentle page, in sooth, A gentle paramour?' 250 XVI. Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest ; He rolled his kindling eye, |