"Much honoured were my humble home,
If in its hall King James should come;
But Nottingham has archers good,
And Yorkshire men are stern of mood,
Northumbrian prickers wild and rude.
On Derby hills the paths are steep,
In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep;
And many a banner will be torn,
And many a knight to earth be borne,

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And many a sheaf of arrows spent,

Ere Scotland's King shall cross the Trent:

Yet pause, brave prince, while yet you may.".
The Monarch lightly turned away,

And to his nobles loud did call,—

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"Lords, to the dance,—a hall! a hall!”

Himself his cloak and sword flung by,

And led Dame Heron gallantly;

And minstrels, at the royal order,

Rung out-" Blue Bonnets o'er the Border."

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LEAVE we these revels now, to tell
What to Saint Hilda's maids befel,
Whose galley, as they sailed again
To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en.
Now at Dun-Edin did they bide,

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Till James should of their fate decide;

And soon, by his command,

Were gently summoned to prepare

To journey under Marmion's care,
As escort honoured, safe, and fair,

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Again to English land.

The Abbess told her chaplet o'er,

Nor knew which Saint she should implore;
For, when she thought of Constance, sore

She feared Lord Marmion's mood.

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And judge what Clara must have felt!

The sword, that hung in Marmion's belt,

Had drunk De Wilton's blood.
Unwittingly, King James had given,

As guard to Whitby's shades,
The man most dreaded under heaven
By these defenceless maids;
Yet what petition could avail,
Or who would listen to the tale
Of woman, prisoner and nun,
'Mid bustle of a war begun ?
They deemed it hopeless to avoid

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The convoy of their dangerous guide.
THEIR lodging, so the King assigned,

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She named a place to meet,

Within an open balcony,

That hung from dizzy pitch, and high,

Above the stately street;

To which, as common to each home,

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At night they might in secret come.

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Ar night, in secret, there they came,

XX

You might have heard a pebble fall,

A beetle hum, a cricket sing,
An owlet flap his boding wing

On Giles's steeple tall.

The antique buildings, climbing high,
Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky,
Were here wrapt deep in shade;

There on their brows the moonbeam broke,

Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke,

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And on the casements played.

And other light was none to see,

Save torches gliding far,

Before some chieftain of degree,
Who left the royal revelry

To bowne him for the war.

A solemn scene the Abbess chose;
A solemn hour, her secret to disclose.
"O HOLY Palmer!" she began,—

"For sure he must be sainted man,

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ххі

Whose blessed feet have trod the ground
Where the Redeemer's tomb is found;-
For His dear Church's sake, my tale
Attend, nor deem of light avail,
Though I must speak of worldly love,-
How vain to those who wed above!-
De Wilton and Lord Marmion wooed

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Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood;

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(Idle it were of Whitby's dame,
To say of that same blood I came ;)

And once, when jealous rage was high,
Lord Marmion said despiteously,

And down he threw his glove :-the thing
Was tried, as wont, before the King;
Where frankly did De Wilton own,
That Swart in Guelders he had known;

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And that between them then there went
Some scroll of courteous compliment.

For this he to his castle sent;
But when his messenger returned,
Judge how De Wilton's fury burned!
For in his packet there were laid
Letters that claimed disloyal aid,

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And proved King Henry's cause betrayed.

His fame, thus blighted, in the field

He strove to clear, by spear and shield ;—
To clear his fame in vain he strove,
For wondrous are His ways above!
Perchance some form was unobserved;
Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved;
Else how could guiltless champion quail,
Or how the blessed ordeal fail?

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His squire, who now De Wilton saw

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As recreant doomed to suffer law,

Repentant, owned in vain,

That, while he had the scrolls in care,

And murmurs at the cross.

And then her heritage ;—it goes

Along the banks of Tame;

Deep fields of grain the reaper mows,
In meadows rich the heifer lows,
The falconer and huntsman knows
Its woodlands for the game.
Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear,
And I her humble vot'ress here
Should do a deadly sin,

Her temple spoiled before mine eyes,
If this false Marmion such a prize

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By my consent should win;

Yet hath our boisterous Monarch sworn,
That Clare shall from our house be torn ;
And grievous cause have I to fear,
Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear,
Now, PRISONER, helpless, and betrayed
To evil power, I claim thine aid,

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By every step that thou hast trod

To holy shrine and grotto dim,
By every martyr's tortured limb,

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By angel, saint, and seraphim,

And by the Church of God!

For mark :-When Wilton was betrayed,
And with his squire forged letters laid,

She was, alas! that sinful maid,

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By whom the deed was done,

Oh! shame and horror to be said!

She was a perjured nun:

No clerk in all the land, like her,

Traced quaint and varying character,
Perchance you may a marvel deem,

That Marmion's paramour,

(For such vile thing she was,) should scheme Her lover's nuptial hour;

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