How different now! condemned to bide My doom from this dark tyrant's pride. But Marmion has to learn, ere long, That constant mind, and hate of wrong, Descended to a feeble girl, From Red De Clare, stout Gloster's Earl : Of such a stem, a sapling weak, He ne'er shall bend, although he break. V. "But see!-what makes this armour here?" For in her path there lay Targe, corslet, helm ;-she viewed them near."The breast-plate pierced!-Aye, much I fear, Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear, That hath made fatal entrance here, As these dark blood-gouts say. Thus Wilton!-Oh! not corslet's ward, Not truth, as diamond pure and hard, On yon disastrous day!" She raised her eyes in mournful mood,— WILTON himself before her stood! It might have seemed his passing ghost, For every youthful grace was lost; Than I can tell such scene in words: To dip his brush in dyes of heaven? And joy, with her angelic air, And hope, that paints the future fair, Their varying hues displayed: Each o'er its rival's ground extending, Alternate conquering, shifting, blending, Till all, fatigued, the conflict yield, And mighty Love retains the field. By many a tender word delayed, And question kind, and fond reply. VI. De Wilton's History. "Forget we that disastrous day, When senseless in the lists I lay. Thence dragged,-but how I cannot know, For sense and recollection fled,— I found me on a pallet low, Within my ancient beadsman's shed. Austin,-remember'st thou, my Clare, How thou didst blush, when the old man, When first our infant love began, Said we would make a matchless pair ?- From the degraded traitor's bed, He only held my burning head, And tended me for many a day, While wounds and fever held their sway. When sense returned to wake despair; And dash me frantic on the ground, And, in a palmer's weeds arrayed, No more a lord of rank and birth, When I would sit, and deeply brood Or wild mad schemes upreared. My friend at length fell sick, and said, God would remove him soon; And, while upon his dying bed, He begged of me a boon Beneath my brand should conquered lie, Even then my mercy should awake, And spare his life for Austin's sake. VII. "Still restless as a second Cain, To Scotland next my route was ta'en. Full well the paths I knew; Fame of my fate made various sound, None cared which tale was true: And living eye could never guess De Wilton in his palmer's dress; For now that sable slough is shed, And trimmed my shaggy beard and head, |