I too was there, and, sooth to tell, It seemed as I were dreaming. So stately gliding on, Seemed to me ne'er did limner paint So just an image of the Saint Who propped the Virgin in her faint, — The loved Apostle John! XVII. "He stepped before the monarch's chair, And stood with rustic plainness there, And little reverence made; Nor head, nor body, bowed nor bent, And words like these he said, In a low voice, but never tone So thrilled through vein and nerve and bone: 'My mother sent me from afar, Sir King, to warn thee not to war, Woe waits on thine array; If war thou wilt, of woman fair, The wondering monarch seemed to seek And when he raised his head to speak, The monitor was gone. 350 355 While Lindesay told his marvel strange, He marked not Marmion's color change But, after a suspended pause, 365 And, three days since, had judged your aim 375 But, by that strong emotion pressed Which prompts us to unload our breast, At Gifford, to his train. Nought of the Palmer says he there, And nought of Constance, or of Clare; The thoughts, which broke his sleep, he seems XIX. And, as the moon shone bright and cold, 395 Soon reached the camp upon the wold. XX. "Thus judging, for a little space I listened, ere I left the place; But scarce could trust my eyes, 400 405 Nor yet can think they served me true, When sudden in the ring I view, A mounted champion rise. -—— Have borne me as a knight; But when this unexpected foe Seemed starting from the gulf below, - And as I placed in rest my spear, What could he 'gainst the shock of hell? I rolled upon the plain. High o'er my head with threatening hand The spectre shook his naked brand, Yet did the worst remain: My dazzled eyes I upward cast, 410 415 420 425 Not opening hell itself could blast 430 Full on his face the moonbeams strook, Their sight, like what I saw! A face could never be mistook! I knew the stern vindictive look, And held my breath for awe. I saw the face of one who, fled To foreign climes, has long been dead, I well believe the last; 435 For ne'er from visor raised did stare So grimly and so ghast. Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade; He plunged it in the sheath; 'Twere long to tell what cause I have To know his face that met me there, Called by his hatred from the grave, Dead or alive, good cause had he XXII. Marvelled Sir David of the Mount; When once, near Norham, there did fight In likeness of a Scottish knight, And trained him nigh to disallow 460 1455 |