With kindling brow Lord Marmion said,—
· This instant be our band array'd;
The river must be quickly cross'd,
That we may join Lord Surrey's host.
If fight King James,-as well I trust,
That fight he will, and fight he must,-
The Lady Clare behind our lines
Shall tarry, while the battle joins. »>--

XXII.

Himself he swift on horseback threw,
Scarce to the abbot bade adieu,
Far less would listen to his prayer,
To leave behind the helpless Clare.
Down to the Tweed his band he drew,
And mutter'd, as the flood they view,

The pheasant in the falcon's claw,

He scarce will yield to please a daw:
Lord Angus may the abbot awe,

So Clare shall bide with me.»
Then on that dangerous ford, and deep,
Where to the Tweed Leat's eddies creep,
He ventured desperately:

And not a moment will he bide,
Till squire, or groom, before him ride;
Headmost of all he stems the tide,
And stems it gallantly.

Eustace held Clare upon her horse,

Old Hubert led her rein,

Stoutly they braved the current's course,
And though far downward driven per force,
The southern bank they gain;
Behind them, straggling, came to shore,
As best they might, the train:
Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore,
A caution not in vain;

Deep need that day that every string,
By wet unharm'd should sharply ring.
A moment then Lord Marmion staid,
And breath'd his steed, his men array'd,
Then forward moved his band,
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won,
He halted by a cross of stone,
That on a hillock standing lone,

Did all tre field command.

XXIII.

Hence might they see the full array
Of either host, for deadly fray; (15)

Their marshall'd lines stretch'd east and west,
And fronted north and south,
And distant salutation past

From the loud cannon mouth;
Not in the close successive rattle,

That breathes the voice of modern battle,
But slow and far between.—

The hillock gain'd, Lord Marmion staid :
« flere, by this cross,» he gently said,
You well may view the scene.
Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare:
O think of Marmion in thy prayer!-
Thou wilt not!-well,-no less my care
Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare.—
You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard,
With ten pick'd archers of my train;

With England if the day go hard,

To Berwick speed amain.
But, if we conquer, cruel maid!
My spoils shall at your feet be laid,

When here we meet again.»—

He waited not for answer there,
And would not mark the maid's despair,

Nor heed the discontented look From either squire; but spurr'd amain, And, dashing through the battle-plain, His way to Surrey took.

"

XXIV.

-The good Lord Marmion, by my life' Welcome to danger's hour!Short greeting serves in time of strife: Thus have I ranged my power: Myself will rule this central host,

Stout Stanley fronts their right, My sons command the va`ward post, With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight; (16) Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light,

Shall be in rear-ward of the fight,
And succour those that need it most.

Now, gallant Marmion, well I know,
Would gladly to the van-guard go;
Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there,
With thee their charge will blithely share;
There fight thine own retainers too,
Beneath De Burgh, thy steward true.»—
<< Thanks noble Surrey!» Marmion said,
Nor further greeting there he paid;
But, parting like a thunderbolt,
First in the van-guard made a halt,

Where such a shout there rose

Of « Marmion! Marmion !» that the cry
Up Flodden mountain shrilling high,
Startled the Scottish foes.

XXV.

Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still
With Lady Clare upon the hill;
On which (for far the day was spent)
The western sun-beams now were bent;
The
cry they heard, its meaning knew,
Could plain their distant comrades view;
Sadly to Blount did Eustace say,

Unworthy office here to stay!

No hope of gilded spurs to-day.
But, see! look up-on Flodden bent,
The Scottish foe has fired his tent.»-
And sudden, as he spoke,
From the sharp ridges of the hill,
All downward to the banks of Till,
Was wreath'd in sable smoke;
Volumed and vast, and rolling far,
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war,
As down the hill they broke;
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone,
Announced their march; their tread alone,
At times one warning trumpet blown,
At times a stitled hum,
Told England, from his mountain-throne
King James did rushing come.
Scarce could they hear, or see their foes,
Until at weapon-point they close.

They close, in clouds of smoke and dust,
With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust;
And such a yell was there,
Of sudden and portentous birth,
As if men fought upon the earth,
And fiends in upper air;

0! life and death were in the shout,
Recoil and rally, charge and rout,
And triumph and despair.

Long look'd the anxious squires; their eye Could in the darkness nought descry.

XXVI.

At length the freshening western blast
Ande the shroud of battle cast;
And, first, the ridge of mingled spears
Abere the brightening cloud appears;
And in the smoke the pennons flew,
As in the storm the white sea-mew.
Then mark'd they, dashing broad and far,
The broken billows of the war,

And plumed crests of chieftains brave,
Floating like foam upon the wave,
Bat nought distinct they see :
Wide raged the battle on the plain;
Spears shook, and falchions flash'd amain;
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain;
Crests rose, and stoop'd, and rose again,
Wild and disorderly.

Amid the scene of tumult, high
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly :
And stainless Tunstall's banner white,
And Edmund Howard's lion bright,
Sull bear them bravely in the fight;
Although against them come,
Of gallant Gordons many a one,
And
I many a stubborn Highlandman,
many a rugged Border clan,
With Huntley, and with Home.

And

XXVII.

Far on the left, unseen the while,
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle;
Though there the western mountaineer
Rush'd with bare bosom on the spear,
And flung the feeble targe aside,

And with both hands the broadsword plied:
Twas vain:-But Fortune, on the right,
With fickle smile, cheer'd Scotland's fight.
Then fell that spotless banner white,
The Howard's lion fell;

Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew
Around the battle-yell.

The Border slogan rent the sky!
A Home! a Gordon! was the cry;
Load were the clanging blows;

Advanced,-forced back,-now low, now high,

The pennon sunk and rose;

As bends the bark's mast in the gale, rigging, shrouds, and sail,

When rent are

It waver'd mid the foes.

No longer Blount the sight could bear: By heaven, and all its saints, I swear, I will not see it lost!

Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare
May bid your beads, and patter prayer,—
I gallop to the host.»>

And to the fray he rode amain,
Follow'd by all the archer train.
The fiery youth, with desperate charge,
Made, for a space, an opening large,-
The rescued banner rose,-

But darkly closed the war around,
Like pine-tree, rooted from the ground,
It sunk among the foes.

Then Eustace mounted too; yet staid,
As loth to leave the helpless maid,
When, fast as shaft can fly,
Blood-shot his eyes, his nostrils spread,
The loose rein dangling from his head,
Housing and saddle bloody red,

Lord Marmion's steed rush'd by;
And Eustace, maddening at the sight,
A look and sign to Clara cast,
To mark he would return in haste,
Then plunged into the fight.

XXVIII.

Ask me not what the maiden feels,
Left in that dreadful hour alone :
Perchance her reason stoops, or reels;
Perchance a courage, not her own,
Braces her mind to desperate tone.--
The scatter'd van of England wheels;-
She only said, as loud in air
The tumult roar'd, « Is Wilton there?»-
They fly, or, madden'd by despair,
Fight but to die,-
-« Is Wilton there?»-
With that, straight up the hill there rode
Two horsemen drench'd with gore,
And in their arms, a helpless load,

A wounded knight they bore.

His hand still strain'd the broken brand;
His arms were smear'd with blood and sand:
Dragg'd from among the horses' feet,
With dinted shield, and helmet beat,
The falcon crest and plumage gone,
Can that be haughty Marmion !—
Young Blount his armour did unlace,
And, gazing on his ghastly face,

Said-By Saint George, he 's gone!
That spear-wound has our master sped,
And see the deep cut on his head!
Good night to Marmion.»-
Unnurtured Blount! thy brawling cease:
He opes his eyes,» said Eustace; « peace!»>

XXIX.

When, doff'd his casque, he felt free air, Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare:

<< Where 's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace where?
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare?
Redeem my pennon,-charge again!
Cry

Marmion to the rescue!'-Vain!
Last of my race, on battle-plain
That shout shall ne'er be heard again!-
Yet my last thought is England's :-fly,

To Dacre bear my signet-ring:
Tell him his squadrons up to bring:
Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie;

Tunstall lies dead upon the field,
His life-blood stains the spotless shield:
Edmund is down:-my life is reft;-
The Admiral alone is left.

Let Stanley charge with spur of fire,
With Chester charge, and Lancashire,
Full upon Scotland's central host,
Or victory and England's lost.

Must I bid twice ?-hence, varlets, fly!
Leave Marmion here alone-to die.»-
They parted, and alone he lay;
Clare drew her from the sight away,
Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan.
And half he murmur'd,-« Is there none,
Of all my halls have nurst,

Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring
Of blessed water from the spring,

To slake my dying thirst!»

XXX.

O, Woman! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade

By the light quivering aspen made,-
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!—

Scarce were the piteous accents said, When, with the baron's casque, the maid

To the nigh streamlet ran:

Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears,
The plaintive voice alone she hears,
Sees but the dying man.

She stoop'd her by the runnel's side,
But in abhorrence backward drew;
For, oozing from the mountain's side,
Where raged the war, a dark-red tide

ODLE

Was curdling in the streamlet blue. Where shall she turn?-behold her mark A little fountain cell,

Where water, clear as diamond-spark,

In a stone basin fell.
Above some half-worn letters say,

DRINK. WEARY. PILGRIM. DRINK. AND. PRAY.
FOR. THE. KIND, SOUL. OF. SYBIL. GREY.

WHO. BUILT. THIS. CROSS. AND. WELL.
She fill'd the helm, and back she hied,
And with surprise and joy espied

A monk supporting Marmion's head;
A pious man, whom duty brought
To dubious verge of battle fought,
To shrieve the dying, bless the dead.

XXXI.

Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave,
And as she stoop'd his brow to lave-
Is it the hand of Clare,» he said,

« Or injured Constance, bathes my head?»
Then, as remembrance rose,-
Speak not to me of shrift or prayer!
I must redress her woes.

Short space, few words are mine, to spare:
Forgive and listen, gentle Clare!»-

« Alas!» she said, « the while,-
O think of your immortal weal!
In vain for Constance is your zeal ;.
She--died at Holy Isle.»

Lord Marmion started from the ground,
As light as if he felt no wound;
Though in the action burst the tide,
In torrents from his wounded side.

« Then it was truth!»-he said- I knew
That the dark presage must be true.-
I would the fiend, to whom belongs
The vengeance due to all her wrongs,
Would spare me but a day!
For wasting fire, and dying groan,
And priests slain on the altar stone,
Might bribe him for delay.

It may not be!-this dizzy trance—
Curse on yon base marauder's lance,
And doubly cursed my failing brand!
A sinful heart makes feeble hand.»-
Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk,
Supported by the trembling monk.

By this, though deep the evening fell,
Still rose the battle's deadly swell,
For still the Scots, around their king,
Unbroken, fought in desperate ring.
Where's now their victor va'ward wing,
Where Huntley, and where Home?
O for a blast of that dread horn,
On Fontarabian echoes borne,

That to King Charles did come,
When Rowland brave, and Olivier,
And every paladin and peer,

On Roncesvalles died!

Such blast might warn them, not in vain,

To quit the plunder of the slain,

And turn the doubtful day again,
While yet on Flodden side,
Afar the royal standard flies,

And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies,
Our Caledonian pride!

In vain the wish-for, far away,
While spoil and havoc mark their way,
Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray.—
10, lady, cried the monk, « away!»—
And placed her on her steed,
And led her to the chapel fair
Of Tilmouth upon Tweed.

There all the night they spent in prayer,
And, at the dawn of morning, there
She met her kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare.

XXXIV.

But as they left the darkening heath,
More desperate grew the strife of death.
The English shafts in vollies hail'd,
In headlong charge their horse assail'd;
Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep,
To break the Scottish circle deep,
That fought around their king.
But yet, though thick the shafts as snow,
Though charging knights like whirlwinds
Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow,

Unbroken was the ring:

The stubborn spearmen still made good
Their dark impenetrable wood,

Each stepping where his comrade stood,
The instant that he fell.

go,

No thought was there of dastard flight;
Link'd in the serried phalanx tight,
Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,
As fearlessly and well;

Till utter darkness closed her wing
O'er their thin host and wounded king.
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands

Led back from strife his shatter'd bands;
And from the charge they drew,
As mountain-waves, from wasted lands,
Sweep back to ocean blue.

Then did their loss his foeman know;
Their king, their lords, their mightiest, low,
They melted from the field as snow,

When streams are swoln and south winds blow,
Dissolves in silent dew.

Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash,

While many a broken band,

Disorder'd, through her currents dash,

To

To gain the Scottish land;

town and tower, to down and dale,
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale,
And raise the universal wail.
Tradition, legend, tune, and song,
Shall many an age that wail prolong;
Sull from the sire the son shall hear
Of the stern strife and carnage drear
Of Flodden's fatal field,

Where shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear,
And broken was her shield!

Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one,
The sad survivors, all are gone.-
View not that corpse mistrustfully,
Defaced and mangled though it be;
Nor to yon Border castle high
Look northward with upbraiding eye; (17)
Nor cherish hope in vain,

That, journeying far on foreign strand,
The royal pilgrim to his land

May yet return again.

He saw the wreck his rashness wrought; Reckless of life, he desperate fought,

And fell on Flodden plain : And well in death his trusty brand, Firm clench'd within his manly hand, Beseem'd the monarch slain. But, O! how changed since yon blithe night!Gladly I turn me from the sight, Unto my tale again.

XXXVI.

Short is my tale :-Fitz-Eustace' care
A pierced and mangled body bare
To moated Lichfield's lofty pile;
And there, beneath the southern aisle,
A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair,
Did long Lord Marmion's image bear.
(Now vainly for its site you look;
"T was levell'd, when fanatic Brook

The fair cathedral storm'd and took; (18)
But, thanks to Heaven, and good Saint Chad,

A guerdon meet the spoiler had!)

There erst was martial Marmion found,
His feet upon a couchant hound,

His hands to heaven upraised;
And all around, on scutcheon rich,
And tablet carved, and fretted niche,
His arms and feats were blazed.
And yet, though all was carved so fair,
And priest for Marmion breathed the prayer,
The last Lord Marmion lay not there.
From Ettrick woods, a peasant swain
Follow'd his lord to Flodden plain,—
One of those flowers, whom plaintive lay
In Scotland mourns as «wede away.»>
Sore wounded, Sybil's cross he spied,
And dragg'd him to its foot and died,
Close by the noble Marmion's side.
The spoilers stripp'd and gash'd the slain,
And thus their corpses were mista'en;
And thus, in the proud baron's tomb,
The lowly woodsman took the room.
XXXVII.

To seek the water-flag and rush,
And rest them by the hazel-bush,
And plait their garlands fair;
Nor dream they sit upon the grave

That holds the bones of Marmion brave.-
When thou shalt find the little hill,
With thy heart commune, and be still.
If ever, in temptation strong,

Thou left'st the right path for the wrong:
If every devious step, thus trod,

Still lead thee further from the road;
Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb;
But say, « He died a gallant knight,
With sword in hand, for England's right.»

XXXVIII.

I do not rhyme to that dull elf,
Who cannot image to himself,
That all through Flodden's dismal night,
Wilton was foremost in the fight;
That, when brave Surrey's steed was slain,
'T was Wilton mounted him again;
'T was Wilton's brand that deepest hew'd,
Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood,-
Unnamed by Hollinshed or Hall,
He was the living soul of all;
That, after fight, his faith made plain,
He won his rank and lands again,
And charged his old paternal shield
With bearings won on Flodden field.—
Nor sing I to that simple maid,
To whom it must in terms be said,
That king and kinsmen did agree
To bless fair Clara's constancy;
Who cannot, unless I relate,
Paint to her mind the bridal's state;
That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke,
More, Sands, and Denny, pass'd the joke;
That bluff King Hal the curtain drew,
And Catherine's hand the stocking threw :
And afterwards, for many a day,
That it was held enough to say,
In blessing to a wedded pair,

« Love they like Wilton and like Clare!»

L'ENVOY.

TO THE READER.

Why, then, a final note prolong,
Or lengthen out a closing song,
Unless to bid the gentles speed,
Who long have listed to my rede?1—
To statesmen grave, if such may deign
To read the minstrel's idle strain,"
Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wit,
And patriotic heart-as Pirr!
A garland for the hero's crest,
And twined by her he loves the best;
To every lovely lady bright,
What can I wish but faithful knight?
To every faithful lover too,
What can I wish but lady true?

Used generally for tale, or discourse

And knowledge to the studious sage,
And pillow to the head of age.
To thee, dear schoolboy, whom my lay
Has cheated of thy hour of play,
Light task and merry holiday!
To all, to each, a fair good night,
And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light!

NOTES.

CANTO I.

Note 1. Introduction.

As when the Champion of the Lake
Enters Morgana's fated house,
Or in the Chapel Perilous,

Despising spells and demons' force,

Holds converse with the unburied corsa.

The Romance of the Morte Arthur contains a sort
abridgement of the most celebrated adventures of t
Round Table; and, being written in comparatively
dern language, gives the general reader an excellent ide
of what romances of chivalry actually were.
also the merit of being written in pure old English; a
many of the wild adventures which it contains are to
with a simplicity bordering upon the sublime. Sever
of these are referred to in the text; and I would ha
illustrated them by more full extracts, but as this c
rious work is about to be published, I confine myse
to the tale of the Chapel Perilous, and of the quest
Sir Launcelot after the Sangreal.

«Right so Sir Launcelot departed; and when he can to the Chapell Perilous, he alighted downe, and tied h horse to a little gate. And as soon as he was withi the church-yard, he saw, on the front of the chapel many faire rich shields turned upside downe, and may of the shields Sir Launcelot had seene knights have be fore; with that he saw stand by him thirtie great knight more, by a yard, than any man that ever he had seeni and all those grinned and guashed at Sir Launcelot and when he saw their countenance, hee dread ther sore, and so put his shield afore him, and tooke in sword in his hand, ready to doe battaile; and they wa all armed in black harneis, ready, with their shields a swords drawn. And when Sir Launcelot would have gone through them, they scattered on every side of him and gave him the way; and therewith he waxed all bold, and entered into the chapell, and then hee saw no light but a dimme lampe burning, and then was hee ware of a corps covered with a cloath of silke; then Sir Laud celot stooped downe, and cut a piece of that cloath away, and then it fared under him as if the earth had quaked a little, whereof he was afeared, and then be saw a faire sword lye by the dead knight, and that he gat in his hand, and hied him out of the chapell. As soon as he was in the chappell-yerd, all the knights spoke to him with a grimly voice, and said, 'Knight Sir Lau celot, lay that sword from thee, or else thou shalt die I

Whether I live or die,' said Sir Launcelot, with no
great words get yee it againe, therefore fight for it, and
yee list. Therewith he passed through them; and, be
yond the chappell-yerd, there met him a fair damosel,
and said, Sir Launcelot, leave that sword behind the
'I will not leave it," said Str

or thou wilt die for it.