Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare: XXIV 700 710 720 'The good Lord Marmion, by my life! Welcome to danger's hour! Short greeting serves in time of strife. Thus have I ranged my power: Myself will rule this central host, Stout Stanley fronts their right, My sons command the vaward post, With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight; Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light, Shall be in rearward of the fight, And succor those that need it most. Now, gallant Marmion, well I know, Would gladly to the vanguard go; Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there, With thee their charge will blithely share; There fight thine own retainers too Beneath De Burg, thy steward true.' Thanks, noble Surrey!' Marmion said, Nor further greeting there he paid, But, parting like a thunderbolt, First in the vanguard made a halt, Where such a shout there rose Of Marmion! Marmion!' that the cry, Up Flodden mountain shrilling high, Startled the Scottish foes. 730 The At length the freshening western blast And plumed crests of chieftains brave 780 But nought distinct they see: Amid the scene of tumult, high And stainless Tunstall's banner white, 790 The pennon sunk and rose; As bends the bark's-mast in the gale, When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, It wavered mid the foes. No longer Blount the view could bear: By heaven and all its saints! I swear I will not see it lost! Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare And to the fray he rode amain, The fiery youth, with desperate charge, Made for a space an opening large, The rescued banner rose, But darkly closed the war around, Like pine-tree rooted from the ground It sank among the foes. 820 830 Then Eustace mounted too, yet stayed, As loath to leave the helpless maid, When, fast as shaft can fly, Bloodshot his eyes, his nostrils spread, The loose rein dangling from his head, Housing and saddle bloody red, Lord Marmion's steed rushed by; And Eustace, maddening at the sight, 840 A look and sign to Clara cast To mark he would return in haste, Then plunged into the fight. XXVIII Ask me not what the maiden feels, Left in that dreadful hour alone: Perchance her reason stoops or reels; 850 Perchance a courage, not her own, Braces her mind to desperate tone.The scattered van of England wheels; — She only said, as loud in air The tumult roared, 'Is Wilton there?'They fly, or, maddened by despair, Fight but to die, — 'Is Wilton there?' With that, straight up the hill there rode Two horsemen drenched with gore, And in their arms, a helpless load, A wounded knight they bore. Dragged from among the horses' feet, 860 Said, 'By Saint George, he 's gone! XXIX 869 where? 880 Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare! Redeem my pennon, - charge again! Cry, "Marmion to the rescue!"- Vain! Last of my race, on battle-plain That shout shall ne'er be heard again!Yet my last thought is England's-fly, To Dacre bear my signet-ring; Tell him his squadrons up to bring.Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie: Tunstall lies dead upon the field, His lifeblood stains the spotless shield; Edmund is down; my life is reft; The Admiral alone is left. Let Stanley charge with spur of fire,With Chester charge, and Lancashire, Full upon Scotland's central host, Or victory and England's lost. Must I bid twice?—hence, varlets! fly!Leave Marmion here alone They parted, and alone he lay; Clare drew her from the sight away, Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan, to die.' 890 And half he murmured, 'Is there none Of all my halls have nurst, Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring XXX O Woman! in our hours of ease By the light quivering aspen made; 900 910 She stooped her by the runnel's side, Where water, clear as diamond spark, Above, some half-worn letters say, Who. built, this. cross, and, well. XXXI 920 930 Though in the action burst the tide It may not be! this dizzy trance XXXII With fruitless labor Clara bound 949 960 And that the priest he could not hear; 970 For that she ever sung, In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying!' with cruel hand So the notes rung. 'Avoid thee, Fiend! Shake not the dying sinner's sand ! Oh! look, my son, upon yon sign Of the Redeemer's grace divine; Oh! think on faith and bliss! By many a death-bed I have been, And many a sinner's parting seen, But never aught like this.' The war, that for a space did fail, Now trebly thundering swelled the gale, And Stanley !' was the cry. A light on Marmion's visage spread, And fired his glazing eye; With dying hand above his head He shook the fragment of his blade, And shouted Victory! Charge, Chester, charge! on !' 980 990 On, Stanley, Were the last words of Marmion. XXXIII By this, though deep the evening fell, Still rose the battle's deadly swell, For still the Scots around their king, Unbroken, fought in desperate ring. But as they left the darkening heath That fought around their king. Though billmen ply the ghastly blow, The stubborn spearmen still made good 1030 Their king, their lords, their mightiest low, 1050 They melted from the field, as snow, When streams are swoln and southwinds blow, Dissolves in silent dew. Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash, To town and tower, to down and dale, 1060 Of Flodden's fatal field, Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear And broken was her shield! XXXV Day dawns upon the mountain's side. — May yet return again. He saw the wreck his rashness wrought; And fell on Flodden plain: 1070 1080 But oh! how changed since yon blithe night! Gladly I turn me from the sight XXXVI Short is my tale: - Fitz-Eustace' care 1090 every mark is gone: Time's wasting hand has done away For thence may best his curious eye To seek the water-flag and rush, And rest them by the hazel bush, And plait their garlands fair, Nor dream they sit upon the grave wrong, 1121 1130 -- the 1140 If every devious step thus trod XXXVIII 1150 I do not rhyme to that dull elf He was the living soul of all; That, after fight, his faith made plain, With bearings won on Flodden Field. 1160 Paint to her mind the bridal's state, In blessing to a wedded pair, 'Love they like Wilton and like Clare!' L'ENVOY TO THE READER WHY then a final note prolong, Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wit, A garland for the hero's crest, And twined by her he loves the best! What can I wish but faithful knight? What can I wish but lady true? |