ADVERTISEMENT ΤΟ THE FIRST EDITION. Ir is hardly to be expected, that an Author whom the Public have honoured with some degree of applause, should not be again a trespasser on their kindness. Yet the Author of MARMION must be supposed to feel some anxiety concerning its success, since he is sensible that he hazards, by this second intrusion, any reputation which his first poem may have procured him. The present story turns upon the private adventures of a fictitious character; but is called a Tale of Flodden Field, because the hero's fate is connected with that memorable defeat, and the causes which led to it. The design of the Author was, if possible, to apprise his readers, at the outset, of the date of his story, and to prepare them for the manners of the age in which it is laid. Any historical narrative, far more an attempt at Epic composition, exceeded his plan of a Romantic Tale; yet he may be permitted to hope, from the popularity of THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, that an attempt to paint the manners of the feudal times, upon a broader scale, and in the course of a more interesting story, will not be unacceptable to the Public. The Poem opens about the commencement of August, and concludes with the defeat of Flodden, September 9, 1513. ASHESTIEL, 1808. The battled towers, the Donjon keep, 5 sweep, The warriors on the turrets high, SAINT GEORGE's banner, broad and gay, Less bright, and less, was flung; The evening gale had scarce the power So heavily it hung. The scouts had parted on their search, B Above the gloomy portal arch, A horseman, darting from the crowd, His bugle-horn he blew; The warder hasted from the wall, And joyfully that Knight did call, Bring pasties of the doe, And quickly make the entrance free, 10 iii 5 10 15 iv ALONG the bridge Lord Marmion rode, His square-turned joints, and strength of limb, But, in close fight, a champion grim; In camps, a leader sage. WELL armed was he from head to heel, V 5 10 15 20 vi Was all with burnished gold embossed; Amid the plumage of the crest, 5 A falcon hovered on her nest, With wings outspread, and forward breast; E'en such a falcon, on his shield, Soared sable in an azure field: The golden legend bore aright, 10 "Who checks at me, to death is dight." 15 |