And lightly bear the ring away;
Nor less with courteous precepts stored,
Could dance in hall, and carve at board,
And frame love-ditties passing rare,
And sing them to a lady fair.

VIII.

Four men-at-arms came at their backs, With halbert, bill, and battle-axe:

They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong,' And led his sumpter-mules along,! And ambling palfrey, when at need Him listed ease his battle-steed. The last and trustiest of the four, On high his forky pennon bore; Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue, Flutter'd the streamer glossy blue, Where, blazon'd sable, as before, The towering falcon seem'd to soar. Last, twenty yeomen, two and two, In hosen black, and jerkins blue, With falcons broider'd on each breast, Attended on their lord's behest. Each, chosen for an archer good, Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood; Each one a six-foot bow could bend, And far a cloth-yard shaft could send ; Each held a boar-spear tough and strong, And at their belts their quivers rung. Their dusty palfreys, and array, Show'd they had march'd a weary way.

IX.

Tis meet that I should tell you now, How fairly arm'd, and order'd how,

The soldiers of the guard, With musket, pike, and morion, To welcome noble Marmion,

Stood in the Castle-yard;

Minstrels and trumpeters were there,
The gunner held his linstock yare,
For welcome-shot prepared:
Enter'd the train, and such a clang,
As then through all his turrets rang,
Old Norham never heard.

X.

The guards their morrice-pikes advanced, The trumpets flourish'd brave,

-MS.- One bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong,
Two led his sumpter-mules along,
The third his palfrey, when at need."
MS.-"And when he enter'd, such a clang

As through the echoing turrets rang."

"The most picturesque of all poets, Homer, is frequently izate, to the utmost degree, in the description of the dresses and accoutrements of his personages. These particulars, often

The cannon from the ramparts glanced, And thundering welcome gave.

A blithe salute, in martial sort,

The minstrels well might sound, For, as Lord Marmion cross'd the court, He scatter'd angels round. "Welcome to Norham, Marmion!

.

Stout heart, and open hand! Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan, Thou flower of English land!"

XI.

Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck,
With silver scutcheon round their neck,

Stood on the steps of stone,

By which you reach the donjon gate,
And there, with herald pomp and state,
They hail'd Lord Marmion:3
They hail'd him Lord of Fontenaye,
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye,

Of Tamworth tower and town:
And he, their courtesy to requite,

Gave them a chain of twelve marks' weight,

All as he lighted down.

"Now, largesse, largesse, Lord Marmion,

Knight of the crest of gold!

A blazon'd shield, in battle won,

.

Ne'er guarded heart so bold."

XII.

They marshall'd him to the Castle-hall,
Where the guests stood all aside,
And loudly flourish'd the trumpet-call,
And the heralds loudly cried,
-"Room, lordlings, room for Lord Marmion,
With the crest and helm of gold!
Full well we know the trophies won
In the lists at Cottiswold:
There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove
'Gainst Marmion's force to stand:
To him he lost his lady-love,

And to the King his land.
Ourselves beheld the listed field,

A sight both sad and fair;
We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield,"
And saw his saddle bare;

We saw the victor win the crest

He wears with worthy pride; And on the gibbet-tree, reversed,

Till they roll'd forth upon the air,' And met the river breezes there, Which gave again the prospect fair.

Marmion.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND.

TO THE

REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M.

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest.

THE scenes are desert now, and bare,
Where flourish'd once a forest fair,2
When these waste glens with copse were lined,
And peopled with the hart and hind.

Yon Thorn-perchance whose prickly spears
Have fenced him for three hundred years,
While fell around his green compeers→→
Yon lonely Thorn, would he could tell
The changes of his parent dell,
Since he, so gray and stubborn now,
Waved in each breeze a sapling bough;
Would he could tell how deep the shade
A thousand mingled branches made;
How broad the shadows of the oak,
How clung the rowan' to the rock,
And through the foliage show'd his head,
With narrow leaves and berries red;
What pines on every mountain sprung,
O'er every dell what birches hung,
In every breeze what aspens shook,
What alders shaded every brook!

"Here, in my shade," methinks he'd say, "The mighty stag at noon-tide lay: The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game (The neighboring dingle bears his name), With lurching step around me prowl, And stop, against the moon to howl; The mountain-boar, on battle set, His tusks upon my stem would whet;

1 MS.-"Slow they roll'd forth upon the air."

2 See Appendix, Note V.

"The second epistle opens again with 'chance and change;' but it cannot be denied that the mode in which it is introduced is new and poetical. The comparison of Ettrick Forest, now open and naked, with the state in which it once was--covered with wood, the favorite resort of the royal hunt, and the refuge of daring outlaws--leads the poet to imagine an ancient thorn gifted with the powers of reason, and relating the various scenes which it has witnessed during a period of three hundred years. A melancholy train of fancy is naturally encouraged by the idea."-Monthly Review.

While doe, and roe, and red-deer good,
Have bounded by, through gay green-wood,
Then oft, from Newark's riven tower,
Sallied a Scottish monarch's power:

A thousand vassals muster'd round,
With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound;
And I might see the youth intent,
Guard every pass with crossbow bent;
And through the brake the rangers stalk,
And falc'ners hold the ready hawk;
And foresters, in green-wood trim,
Lead in the leash the gazehounds grim,
Attentive, as the bratchet's bay
From the dark covert drove the prey,
To slip them as he broke away.
The startled quarry bounds amain,
As fast the gallant greyhounds strain;
Whistles the arrow from the bow,
Answers the harquebuss below;
While all the rocking hills reply,
To hoof-clang, hound, and hunter's cry,
And bugles ringing lightsomely."

Of such proud huntings, many tales Yet linger in our lonely dales, Up pathless Ettrick and on Yarrow, Where erst the outlaw drew his arrow." But not more blithe than silvan court, Than we have been at humbler sport; Though small our pomp, and mean our game, Our mirth, dear Marriott, was the same. Remember'st thou my greyhounds true! O'er holt or hill there never flew, From slip or leash there never sprang, More fleet of foot, or sure of fang. Nor dull, between each merry chase, Pass'd by the intermitted space; For we had fair resource in store, In Classic and in Gothic lore: We mark'd each memorable scene, And held poetic talk between; Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, But had its legend or its song. All silent now-for now are still Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill !8 No longer, from thy mountains dun,

4 Mountain-ash.

MS. How broad the ash his shadows flung,
How to the rock the rowan elung."

$ See Notes to the Lay of the Last Minstrel.
• Slowhound.

The Tale of the Outlaw Murray, who held out Newark Castle and Ettrick Forest against the King, may be found in the Border Minstrelsy, vol. i. In the Macfarlane MS., among other causes of James the Fifth's charter to the burgh of Selkirk, is mentioned, that the citizens assisted him to suppress this dangerous outlaw.

A seat of the Duke of Buccleuch on the Yarrow, in Et trick Forest. See Notes to the Lay of the Last Minstrel.

The yeoman hears the well-known gun,
And while his honest heart glows warm,
At thought of his paternal farm,
Round to his mates a brimmer fills,
And drinks, "The Chieftain of the Hills!"
No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers,
Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers,
Fair as the elves whom Janet saw
By moonlight dance on Carterhaugh;
No youthful Baron's left to grace
The Forest-Sheriff's lonely chase,
And ape, in manly step and tone,
The majesty of Oberon ;1

And she is gone, whose lovely face
Is but her least and lowest grace;2
Though if to Sylphid Queen 'twere given,
To show our earth the charms of Heaven,
She could not glide along the air,
With form more light, or face more fair.
No more the widow's deafen'd ear
Grows quick that lady's step to hear;
At noontide she expects her not,
Nor busies her to trim the cot;
Pensive she turns her humming wheel,
Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal;
Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread,
The gentle hand by which they're fed.

They press'd to hear of Wallace wight,
When, pointing to his airy mound,
I call'd his ramparts holy ground !

Kindled their brows to hear me speak;
And I have smiled, to feel my cheek,
Despite the difference of our years,
Return again the glow of theirs.
Ah, happy boys! such feelings pure,
They will not, cannot, long endure;

Mr. Marriott was governor to the young nobleman here aded to, George Henry, Lord Scott, son to Charles, Earl of Dakeith (afterwards Duke of Buccleuch and Queensberry), who died early in 1808.-See Life of Scott, vol. iii. Px 59-61.

The four next lines on Harriet, Countess of Dalkeith, afterwards Duchess of Buccleuch, were not in the original MS. The late Alexander Pringle, Esq., of Whytbank-whose befal seat of the Yair stands on the Tweed, about two les below Ashestiel, the then residence of the poet. The sans of Mr. Pringle of Whytbank.

Condemn'd to stem the world's rude tide,
You may not linger by the side;
For Fate shall thrust you from the shore,
And Passion ply the sail and oar."
Yet cherish the remembrance still,
Of the lone mountain and the rill;
For trust, dear boys, the time will come,
When fiercer transport shall be dumb,
And you
will think right frequently,

But, well I hope, without a sigh,

On the free hours that we have spent
Together, on the brown hill's bent.

When, musing on companions gone,
We doubly feel ourselves alone,
Something, my friend, we yet may gain;
There is a pleasure in this pain:'
It soothes the love of lonely rest,
Deep in each gentler heart impress'd.
"Tis silent amid worldly toils,
And stifled soon by mental broils,
But, in a bosom thus prepared,
Its still small voice is often heard,
Whispering a mingled sentiment,
"Twixt resignation and content.
Oft in my mind such thoughts awake,
By lone St Mary's silent lake;"
Thou know'st it well,-nor fen, nor
sedge,

Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge;
Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink
At once upon the level brink;
And just a trace of silver sand
Marks where the water meets the land.
Far in the mirror, bright and blue,
Each hill's huge outline you may view;
Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare,
Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake, is there,
Save where, of land, yon slender line
Bears thwart the lake the scatter'd pine.
Yet even this nakedness has power,
And aids the feeling of the hour:
Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy,

Where living thing conceal'd might lie;
Nor point, retiring, hides a dell,

Where swain, or woodman lone, might dwell;

There's nothing left to fancy's guess,