Or where the sable pine-trees shade And yet, whate'er such legends say Or harbor unrepented sin.". Lord Marmion turned him half aside, Should bowne them with the rising day, 470 475 480 485 XXIII. Early they took Dun-Edin's road, And I could trace each step they trode. Lies on the path to me unknown. Much might it boast of storied lore; G 490 495 115 They passed the glen and scanty rill, XXIV. Blackford! on whose uncultured breast, While rose, on breezes thin, Now, from the summit to the plain, 500 505 510 And o'er the landscape as I look, Nought do I see unchanged remain, Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook. To me they make a heavy moan, Of early friendships past and gone. XXV. But different far the change has been, Thousand pavilions, white as snow, 520 Thousands on thousands there were seen, That chequered all the heath between 525 The streamlet and the town; 515 In crossing ranks extending far, Forming a camp irregular; Oft giving way, where still there stood Some relics of the old oak wood, That darkly huge did intervene, And tamed the glaring white with green: Mol In these extended lines there lay A martial kingdom's vast array.) XXVI. For from Hebudes, dark with rain, And see the shifting lines advance, 530 mage expressim While frequent flashed from shield and lance, The sun's reflected ray. 535 540 545 XXVII. Thin curling in the morning air, The wreaths of failing smoke declare To embers now the brands decayed, Where the night-watch their fires had made. Full many a baggage-cart and wain, 550 And dire artillery's clumsy car, By sluggish oxen tugged to war; And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven, Corone. And culverins which France had given. The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 555 560 XXVIII. Nor marked they less, where in the air Various in shape, device, and hue, O'er the pavilions flew. Highest and midmost, was descried The royal banner floating wide; The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight, Yet bent beneath the standard's weight, XXIX. Lord Marmion viewed the landscape bright, He viewed it with a chief's delight, Until within him burned his heart, And lightning from his eye did part, Such glance did falcon never dart, When stooping on his prey. "Oh! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said, Were but a vain essay: 585 Thy King from warfare to dissuade For, by Saint George, were that host mine, 590 Should once to peace my soul incline, Till I had dimmed their armor's shine Answered the Bard, of milder mood: That kings would think withal, When peace and wealth their land has blessed, 'Tis better to sit still at rest Than rise, perchance to fall." 595 For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow, That round her sable turrets flow, The morning beams were shed, And tinged them with a lustre proud, Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. 610 |