Yet bent beneath the standard's weight, With toil the huge and cumbrous fold, ΧΧΙΧ. 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, As on the battle-day; Such glance did falcon never dart, For, by Saint George, were that host mine, Should once to peace my soul incline, Answered the Bard, of milder mood: "Fair is the sight, and yet 't were good, 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." XXX. Still on the spot Lord Marmion stayed, That peopled all the plain below The wandering eye could o'er it go, With gloomy splendor red; For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow, And tinged them with a lustre proud, Like that which streaks a thundercloud. Such dusky grandeur clothed the height, Where the huge Castle holds its state, And all the steep slope down, Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, Piled deep and massy, close and high, Mine own romantic town! But northward far, with purer blaze, And raised his bridle hand, And making demi-volt in air, Cried, "Where's the coward that would not dare To fight for such a land!" The Lindesay smiled his joy to see; Nor Marmion's frown repressed his glee. XXXI. Thus while they looked, a flourish proud, And sackbut deep, and psaltery, And war-pipe with discordant cry, And cymbal clattering to the sky, Making wild music bold and high, And thus the Lindesay spoke: Lion (1) "Thus clamor still the war-notes when The King to mass his way has ta'en, Or to Saint Katharine's of Sienne, Catherine's 1/21 Or Chapel of Saint Rocque. To you they speak of martial fame; When blither was their cheer, To the downfall of the deer. their (1914)21 XXXII. "Nor less," he said, "when looking forth, Her castle, proof to hostile powers, Nor less," he said, “I moan, To think what woe mischance may bring, Or with the larum call The burghers forth to watch and ward, But not for my presaging thought, Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought! Lord Marmion, I say nay: God is the guider of the field, He breaks the champion's spear and shield, - When joins yon host in deadly stowre, Her monks the death-mass sing; For never saw'st thou such a power |