XXIII. "Now, prisoner, helpless and betrayed By every step that thou hast trod For mark: when Wilton was betrayed She was, alas! that sinful maid, By whom the deed was done, O! shame and horror to be said! She was a perjured nun! 650 655 660 No clerk in all the land like her Perchance you may a marvel deem, That Marmion's paramour (For such vile thing she was) should scheme 665 XXIV. ""Twere long, and needless, here to tell, Deep penance may I pay!- While priests can sing and read. — What ail'st thou? - Speak!" for as he took His frame; and, ere reply, They heard a faint, yet shrilly tone, And loud the Abbess shrieked in fear, "Saint Withold, save us! Look at yon City Cross! What is here? See on its battled tower appear Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear And blazoned banners toss!" XXV. Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillared stone, (But now is razed that monument, Whence royal edict rang, And voice of Scotland's law was sent In glorious trumpet-clang. O! be his tomb as lead to lead, Strange, wild, and dimly seen; Figures that seemed to rise and die. Gibber and sign, advance and fly, While nought confirmed could ear or eye Discern of sound or mien. Yet darkly did it seem, as there Heralds and pursuivants prepare, With trumpet sound and blazon fair, A summons to proclaim; But indistinct the pageant proud, A wavering tinge of flame; It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud, XXVI. "Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer, Whose names I now shall call, 710 715. 720 725 730 735 Scottish or foreigner, give ear! Subjects of him who sent me here, I summon one and all: I cite you by each deadly sin That e'er hath soiled your hearts within: By wrath, by pride, by fear, By each o'er-mastering passion's tone, Then thundered forth a roll of names: Then all thy nobles came; And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye, The self-same thundering voice did say,- "Thy fatal summons I deny Who burst the sinner's yoke." At that dread accent, with a scream, The summoner was gone. Prone on her face the Abbess fell, And fast, and fast, her beads did tell; She marked not, at the scene aghast, 775 XXVII. Shift we the scene. The camp doth move; 780 Save when, for weal of those they love, The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare? Bold Douglas! to Tantallon fair They journey in thy charge: Lord Marmion rode on his right hand, The Palmer still was with the band; That none should roam at large. A wondrous change might now be seen. Of marvels wrought by single hand 785 790 795 And still looked high, as if he planned 800 Some desperate deed afar. |