If e'er he lov'd, 'twas her alone,

Who died within that vault of stone.

XXIX.

And now, when close at hand they saw
North Berwick's town, and lofty Law,'
Fitz-Eustace bade them pause a while,
Before a venerable pile,2

Whose turrets view'd, afar,
The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle,
The ocean's peace or war.
At tolling of a bell, forth came
The convent's venerable Dame,
And pray'd Saint Hilda's Abbess rest
With her, a loved and honour'd guest,
Till Douglas should a bark prepare
To waft her back to Whitby fair.
Glad was the Abbess, you may guess,
And thank'd the Scottish Prioress;

And tedious were to tell, I ween,

The courteous speech that pass'd between.
O'erjoy'd the nuns their palfreys leave;
But when fair Clara did intend,

Like them, from horseback to descend,
Fitz-Eustace said, "I grieve,

-

Fair lady, grieve e'en from my heart,

1 MS.

"North Berwick's town, and conic Law."

2 The convent alluded to is a foundation of Cistertian nuns, near North Berwick, of which there are still some remains. It was founded by Duncan, Earl of Fife, in 1216.

"The lofty Bass, the Lamb's green isle."

Such gentle company to part; –
Think not discourtesy,

But lords' commands must be obey'd;
And Marmion and the Douglas said,
That you must wend with me.
Lord Marmion hath a letter broad,
Which to the Scottish Earl he show'd,
Commanding, that, beneath his care,
Without delay, you shall repair

To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare."

XXX.

The startled Abbess loud exclaim'd; But she, at whom the blow was aim'd, Grew pale as death, and cold as lead,She deem'd she heard her death-doom read. "Cheer thee, my child!" the Abbess said, They dare not tear thee from my hand, To ride alone with armed band.". "Nay, holy mother, nay," Fitz-Eustace said, "the lovely Clare Will be in Lady Angus' care,

In Scotland while we stay;

And, when we move, an easy ride
Will bring us to the English side,
Female attendance to provide

Befitting Gloster's heir;

Nor thinks, nor dreams, my noble lord,
By slightest look, or act, or word,

To harass Lady Clare.

Her faithful guardian he will be,
Nor sue for slightest courtesy

That e'en to stranger falls,

Till he shall place her, safe and free,
Within her kinsman's halls."

He spoke, and blush'd with earnest grace;
His faith was painted on his face,

And Clare's worst fear relieved.
The Lady Abbess loud exclaim'd
On Henry, and the Douglas blamed,
Entreated, threaten'd, grieved;
To martyr, saint, and prophet pray'd,
Against Lord Marmion inveigh'd,
And call'd the Prioress to aid,

To curse with candle, bell, and book. Her head the grave Cistertian shook: "The Douglas, and the King," she said, "In their commands will be obey'd; Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall The maiden in Tantallon hall."

XXXI.

The Abbess, seeing strife was vain,
Assumed her wonted state again, —

For much of state she had,

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,1
Bid him his fate explore!

Prancing in pride of earthly trust,
His charger hurl'd 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;
St. Anton' fire thee! wilt thou stand
All day, with bonnet in thy hand,

To hear the Lady preach?

1 This relates to the catastrophe of a real Robert de Marmion, in the reign of King Stephen, whom William of Newbury describes with some attributes of my fictitious hero: "Homo bellicosus, ferocia, et astucia, fere nullo suo tempore impar." This baron, having expelled the monks from the church of Coventry, was not long of experiencing the divine judgment, as the same monks, no doubt, termed his disaster. Having waged a feudal war with the Earl of Chester, Marmion's horse fell, as he charged in the van of his troop, against a body of the earl's followers; the rider's thigh being broken by the fall, his head was cut off by a common foot-soldier ere he could receive any succour. The whole story is told by William of Newbury.

By this good light! if thus we stay,
Lord Marmion, for our fond delay,

Will sharper sermon teach.

Come, d'on 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, 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,1

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!"

1 This line, necessary to the rhyme, is now for the first time restored from the MS. It must have been omitted by an oversight in the original printing. — ED.