These were the arms that once did turn

The tide of fight on Otterburne,
And Harry Hotspur forced to yield,
When the dead Douglas won the field.

These Angus gave-his armourer's care,
Ere morn, shall every breach repair;
For nought, he said, was in his halls,
But ancient armour on the walls,
And aged chargers in the stalls,

And women, priests, and gray-hair'd men;
The rest were all in Twisel glen.

And now I watch my armour here,
By law of arms, till midnight 's near;
Then, once again a belted knight,

Sees Surrey's camp with dawn of light.

X.

There soon again we meet, my Clare!
This baron means to guide thee there:
Douglas reveres his king's command,
Lise would he take thee from his band.
And there thy kinsman, Surrey, too,
Will give De Wilton justice due.
Now meeter far for martial broil,
Firmer

my limbs, and strung by toil, Once more»-« O, Wilton! must we then Risk new-found happiness again,

Trust fate of arms once more?
And is there not a humble glen,
Where we, content and poor,

Might build a cottage in the shade,
A shepherd thou, and I to aid

Thy task on dale and moor?

That reddening brow-too well I know,
Not even thy Clare can peace bestow,
While falsehood stains thy name:
then to fight! Clare bids thee go!
Care can a warrior's feelings know,
And weep a warrior's shame;
Can red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel,
Backle the spurs upon thy heel,

And belt thee with thy brand of steel,
And send thee forth to fame!»--

Yet show'd his meek and thoughtful eye
But little pride of prelacy;

More pleased that, in a barbarous age,
He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page,
Than that beneath his rule he held
The bishopric of fair Dunkeld.
Beside him ancient Angus stood,
Doffd his furr'd gown, and sable hood:
O'er his huge form, and visage pale,
He wore a cap and shirt of mail;
And lean'd his large and wrinkled hand
Upon the huge and sweeping brand
Which wont, of yore, in battle-fray,
His foeman's limbs to shred away,
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray. (10)
He seem'd as, from the tombs around,
Rising at judgment-day,

Some giant Douglas may be found

In all his old array;

So pale his face, so huge his limb,
So old his arms, his look so grim.

<< Though something I might plain,» he said,

«Of cold respect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your king's behest, While in Tantallon's towers I staid; Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble earl, receive my hand.» But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still Be open, at my sovereign's will, To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer. My castles are my king's alone, From turret to foundation stoneThe hand of Douglas is his own; And never shall in friendly grasp The hand of such as Marmion clasp.»>

XIV.

Burn'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,
And <<This to me!» he said,-
"An 't were not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared

To cleave the Douglas' head!
And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He, who does England's message here,
Although the meanest iu her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate:
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,
Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword),—
I tell thee, thou 'rt defied!

And if thou said'st, I am not peer

Το

any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near,

Lord Angus, thou hast lied!»

On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of
age:

Fierce he broke forth,-« And darest thou then
To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?-
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!—

Up draw-bridge, grooms-what, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall.»—(11)
Lord Marmion turn'd-well was his need,
And dash'd the rowels in his steed.

Like arrow through the archway sprung,
The ponderous grate behind him rung:
pass
there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

Το

XV.

The steed along the draw-bridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim :

And when Lord Marmion reach'd his band,
He halts, and turns with clenched hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,
And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

« Horse! horse!» the Douglas cried, « and chase!» But soon he rein'd his fury's pace;

« A royal messenger he came,
Though most unworthy of the name.-
A letter forged! Saint Jude to speed!
Did ever knight so foul a deed? (12)
At first in heart it liked me ill,
When the king praised his clerkly skill.
Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine,
Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line:
So swore I, and I swear it still,
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill.-
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood!
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas' blood,
I thought to slay him where he stood.
"T is pity of him, too,» he cried:
<< Bold can he speak, and fairly ride:
I warrant him a warrior tried.»—
With this his mandate he recals,
And slowly seeks his castle's halls.

་་

XVI.

say,

The day in Marmion's journey wore;
Yet, ere his passion's gust was o'er,
They cross'd the heights of Stanrig-moor,
His troop more closely there he scaun'd,
And miss'd the Palmer from the band.-
« Palmer or not,» young Blount did
«He parted at the peep of day;
Good sooth it was in strange array.
In what array?» said Marmion, quick.
My lord, I ill can spell the trick;
But all night long, with clink and bang,
Close to my couch did hammers clang;
At dawn the falling draw-bridge rang,
And from a loop-hole while I peep,
Old Bell-the-Cat came from the keep,
Wrapp'd in a gown of sables fair,
As fearful of the morning air;
Beneath, when that was blown aside,
A rusty shirt of mail I spied,
By Archibald won in bloody work,
Against the Saracen and Turk:
Last night it hung not in the hall;
I thought some marvel would befal.
And next I saw them saddled lead
Old Cheviot forth, the earl's best steed;
A matchless horse, though something old,
Prompt to his paces, cool and bold.

I heard the Sheriff Sholto say,
The earl did much the master pray

To use him on the battle-day;
But he preferr'd»-« Nay, Henry, cease!
Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace.-
Eustace, thou bear'st a brain-I pray,
What did Blount see at break of day?»

XVII.

« In brief, my lord, we both descried
(For then I stood by Henry's side)
The Palmer mount, and outwards ride,
Upon the earl's own favourite steed;
All sheathed he was in armour bright,
And much resembled that same knight
Subdued by you in Cotswold fight:
Lord Angus wish'd him speed.»>

His eldest son, the Master of Angus.

His

XVIII.

Stang with these thoughts, he urged to speed troop, and reach'd, at eve, the Tweed, Where Lennels convent closed their march (13) There now is left but one frail arch,

Yet mourn thou not its cells;

Our time a fair exchange has made;
Hard by, in hospitable shade,

A reverend pilgrim dwells,

Well worth the whole bernardine brood,
That e'er wore sandal, frock, or hood).
Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbot there
Gise Marmion entertainment fair,
And lodging for his train and Clare.
Next morn the baron climb'd the tower,
To view afar the Scottish power,
Encamp'd on Flodden edge:
The white pavilions made a show,
Like remnants of the winter snow,
Along the dusky ridge.

Long Marmion look'd:-at length his eye
Unusual movement might descry

Amid the shifting lines:

The Scottish host drawn out appears,
For flashing on the hedge of spears
The eastern sun-beam shines.
Their front now deepening, now extending,
Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending,
Now drawing back, and now descending,
The skilful Marmion well could know
They watch'd the motions of some foe,
Who traversed on the plain below.

XIX.

Even so it was;-from Flodden ridge
The Scots beheld the English host
Leave farmore-wood, their evening post,
And heedful watch'd them as they cross'd
The Till by Twisel Bridge. (14)
High sight it is, and haughty, while
They dive into the deep defile;

Beneath the cavern'd cliff they fail,
Beneath the castle's airy wall.

By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree,
Troop after troop are disappearing;
Troop after troop their banners rearing,
Upon the eastern bank you see.
Still pouring down the rocky den,
Where flows the sullen Till,
And rising from the dim-wood glen,
Standards on standards, men on men,
In slow succession still,

And sweeping o'er the Gothic archi,
And pressing on, in ceaseless marchi,

To gain the opposing hill.
That morn, to many a trumpet-clang,
Twisel! thy rocks' deep echo rang;
And many a chief of birth and rank,
Saint Helen! at thy fountain drank.
Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see
In spring-tide bloom so lavishly,
Had then from many an axe its doom,
To give the marching columus room.

XX.

And why stands Scotland idly now,
Dark Flodden! on thy airy brow,
Since England gains the pass the while,
And struggles through the deep defile?
What checks the fiery soul of James?
Why sits that champion of the dames
Inactive on his steed,

And sees, between him and his land,
Between him and Tweed's southern strand,
His host Lord Surrey lead?

What vails the vain knight-errant's brand! -O, Douglas, for thy leading wand!

Fierce Randolph, for thy speed!

O for one hour of Wallace wight,
Or well-skill'd Bruce, to rule the fight,
And cry-« Saint Andrew and our right!»
Another sight had seen that morn,
From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn,
And Flodden had been Baunock-bourne!-

The precious hour has pass'd in vain,
And England's host has gain'd the plain;
Wheeling their march, and circling still,
Around the base of Flodden-hill.

XXI.

Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye,
Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high,-

« Hark! hark! my lord, an English drum! And see, ascending squadrons come

Between Tweed's river and the hill, Foot, horse, and cannon :-hap what hap, My basnet to a 'prentice cap,

Lord Surrey's o'er the Till!-
Yet more! yet more!-how fair array'd
They file from out the hawthorn shade,

And sweep so gallant by!

With all their banners bravely spread

And all their armour flashing high,

Saint George might waken from the dead,

To see fair England's standards tly.»

« Fitz-Eustace, we must march our band;

St 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.»>

XXXII.

« Submit we then to force,» said Clare;
<< But let this barbarous lord despair

His purposed aim to win;
Let him take living, laud, 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,
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.

XXXIII

But scant three miles the band had rode,
When o'er a height they pass'd,
And, sudden, close before them show'd
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 inclose,
And double mound and fosse.
By narrow draw-bridge, 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.

XXXIV.

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 marvell'd Marmion:-
And Douglas hoped his monarch's hand
Would soon subdue Northumberland:
But whisper'd 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 gather'd in the southern land,
And march'd 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 my head
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.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO VI.

ΤΟ

RICHARD HEBER, ESQ.

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 deem'd the new-born year
The fittest time for festal cheer:

Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane
At Iol more deep the mead did drain;(1)
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 deck'd the wall,
They gorged upon the half-dress'd steer;
Caroused in seas of sable beer;

While round, in brutal jest, were thrown
The half-gnaw'd rib, and marrow-bone;
Or listen'd all, in grim delight,

While scalds yell'd out the joys of fight.
Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie,
While wildly loose their red locks fly,
And dancing round the blazing pile,

They make such barbarous mirth the while, As best might to the mind recal

The boisterous joys of Odin's hall.

And well our christian sires of old Loved when the year its course had roll'd, And brought blithe Christmas back again, With all his hospitable train.

Domestic and religious rite

Gare honour to the holy night:

On Christmas eve the bells were rung;

On Christmas eve the mass was sung: (2)
That only night, in all the year,
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.
The damsel donn'd her kirtle sheen;
The hall was dress'd with holly green;
Forth to the wood did merry-men go,
To gather in the misletoe.

Then open'd wide the baron's hall
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;
Power laid his rod of rule aside,
And Ceremony doff'd her pride.
The heir, with roses in his shoes,

That night might village partner chuse ;
The lord, underogating, share
The vulgar game of « post and pair.»>
All hail'd, with uncontroll'd delight,
And general voice, the happy night,
That to the cottage, as the crown,
Brought tidings of salvation down.

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, Went roaring up the chimney wide; The huge hall-table's oaken face, Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace, Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire and lord. Then was brought in the lusty brawn, By old blue-coated serving-man; Then the grim boar's-head frown'd on high, Crested with bays and rosemary. Well can the green-garb'd ranger teli, How, when, and where, the monster fell; What dogs before his death he tore, And all the baiting of the boar. The wassel round, in good brown bowls, Garnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls. There the huge sirloin reek'd; hard by Plam-porridge stood, and Christmas pye; Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce, At such high tide, her savoury goose. Then came the merry masquers in, And carols roar'd with blithesome dia; If unmelodious was the song, It was a hearty note, and strong. Who lists may in their mumming see Traces of ancient mystery; (3) While shirts supplied the masquerade, And smutted cheeks the visors made;

But oh! what masquers, richly dight,
Can boast of bosoms half so light!
England was merry England, when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.

"T was Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale; 'T was Christmas told the merriest tale;

A Christmas gambol oft could cheer
The poor man's heart through half the year.

Still linger in our northern clime
Some remnants of the good old time;
And still within our vallies here

We hold the kindred title dear,
Even when, perchance, its far-fetch'd claim
To southern ear sounds empty name;
For course of blood, our proverbs deem,
Is warmer than the mountain stream.1
And thus my Christmas still I hold
Where my great grandsire came of old,
With amber beard, and flaxen hair, (4)
And reverend, apostolic air,

The feast and holy-tide to share,
And mix sobriety with wine,

And honest mirth with thoughts divine;
Small thought was his, in after-time,
E'er to be hitch'd into a rhyme.
The simple sire could only boast
That he was loyal to his cost;
The banish'd race of kings revered,
And lost his land,—but kept his beard.

In these dear halls, where welcome kind Is with fair liberty combined; Where cordial friendship gives the hand, And flies constraint the magic wand Of the fair dame that rules the land, Little we heed the tempest drear, While music, mirth, and social cheer, Speed on their wings the passing year. And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en now, When not a leaf is on the bough. Tweed loves them well, and turns again, As loth to leave the sweet domain, And holds his mirror to her face, And clips her with a close embrace:Gladly as he, we seek the dome, And as reluctant turn us home.

How just, that, at this time of glee, My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee! For many a merry hour we 've known, And heard the chimes of midnight's tone. Cease then, my friend! a moment cease, And leave these classic tomes in peace! Of Roman and of Grecian lore Sure mortal brain can hold no more. These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say, « Were pretty fellows in their day ;»2 But time and tide o'er all prevailOn Christmas eve a Christmas taleOf wonder and of war.-« Profane! What! leave the lofty Latian strain,

Blood is warmer than water,»-a proverb meant to vindicate our family predilections.

Hannibal was a pretty fellow, sir,-a very pretty fellow in his day.-Old Bachelor.