"A sorry thing to hide my head
In castle, like a fearful maid,
When such a field is near!
Needs must I see this battle day:34
Death to my fame if such a fray
Were fought, and Marmion away!
The Douglas, too, I wot not why,35
Hath 'bated of his courtesy:
No longer in his halls I'll stay."-
Then bade his band they should array
For march against the dawning day.

360

CANTO SIXTH.-THE BATTLE.

THE ARGUMENT.

As Clare one evening walks and muses on the battlements of Tantallon, the Palmer reveals himself to her as De Wilton, and tells her his history since his overthrow at Cottiswold field. Tended till his recovery by Austin his beadsman, he had wandered with him as a palmer in many lands. He had returned to England, and on his way to Scotland chance threw him into Marmion's train. He had unhorsed him on Gifford-moor, and was restrained from slaying him only by his promise to the dying Austin to spare his life. He had told his tale to Douglas, to whom also he had exposed the treachery of Marmion.

At midnight, in the chapel of the hold, Wilton is anew dubbed knight by the sword of Angus; and at dawn he sets out for the camp of Surrey. A few hours later, Marmion also starts with his band and Clare, after a sharp altercation with Lord Angus. On the way, Blount and Fitz-Eustace tell Marmion that they had seen the Palmer depart at daybreak clad in full armour, and mounted on Angus's favourite steed, and that he had borne a striking resemblance to De Wilton. Marmion now understands both who his adversary on Gifford-moor really was, and why Douglas had treated him so haughtily on his departure. When they reach the field of battle at Flodden, he orders Eustace and Blount, with ten archers, to remain with Clare at a point which commands the entire field. He dashes on with the rest of his train to join Lord Surrey, and is received with acclamations by the host. Blount frets and fumes at being left outside the battle, which is raging within his view. He rushes off, followed by the archers who formed Clare's body-guard, leaving her in charge of Fitz-Eustace alone. Presently Marmion's horse darts by, blood-stained and riderless. Eustace in alarm rushes into the fight, and Clare is left alone. Two horsemen bear Marmion towards her. Forgetting her animosity, she tends him, gives him water to drink, and binds his wound. But he lives only long enough to hear the shouts of the victorious English. A monk leads Clare from the battle-field. As they leave it, the strife grows more desperate. King James falls, surrounded by his bravest lords. Much of the credit of the victory is given to De Wilton, who afterwards clears his name of the stain that had been cast upon it, and is, by consent of the King and the kinsmen of Clare, rewarded with her hand.

I.

WHILE great events were on the gale,
And each hour brought a varying tale;
And the demeanour, changed and cold,
Of Douglas, fretted Marmion bold,

And, like the impatient steed of war,
He snuffed the battle from afar;
And hopes were none that back again
Herald should come from Terouenne,1
Where England's King in leaguer lay,2
Before decisive battle-day;

While these things were, the mournful Clare
Did in the Dame's devotions share:
For the good Countess ceaseless prayed
To Heaven and Saints, her sons to aid;
And, with short interval, did pass
From prayer to book, from book to mass,
And all in high baronial pride,-

A life both dull and dignified ;

Yet as Lord Marmion nothing pressed 3
Upon her intervals of rest,

Dejected Clara well could bear

The formal state, the lengthened prayer,
Though dearest to her wounded heart
The hours that she might spend apart.

I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep
Hung o'er the margin of the deep.
Many a rude tower and rampart there
Repelled the insult of the air,

Which, when the tempest vexed the sky,
Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by.
Above the rest, a turret square

Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear,
Of sculpture rude, a stony shield;
The Bloody Heart was in the field,1

And in the chief three mullets stood,"-
The cognizance of Douglas blood.
The turret held a narrow stair,

Which, mounted, gave you access where
A parapet's embattled row

Did seaward round the castle go.
Sometimes in dizzy steps descending,
Sometimes in narrow circuit bending,
Sometimes in platform broad extending,
Its varying circle did combine

Bulwark, and bartizan, and line,

And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign: 6
Above the booming ocean leant

The far-projecting battlement;

The billows burst, in ceaseless flow,

Upon the precipice below.

50

Where'er Tantallon faced the land,

Gate-works and walls were strongly manned:

No need upon the sea-girt side
The steepy rock and frantic tide,—
Approach of human step denied;

And thus these lines, and ramparts rude,
Were left in deepest solitude.

And, for they were so lonely, Clare 7
Would to these battlements repair,
And muse upon her sorrows there.
Once walking thus, at evening tide,
It chanced a gliding sail she spied,
And, sighing, thought-" The Abbess there,
Perchance, does to her home repair;
Her peaceful rule, where Duty, free,
Walks hand in hand with Charity......
But Marmion has to learn, ere long,
That constant mind, and hate of wrong,
Descended to a feeble girl,

09

From Red De Clare, stout Gloster's Earl: 8
Of such a stem, a sapling weak

70

He ne'er shall bend, although he break.

"But see!-what makes this armour here ?"
For in her path there lay

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Targe, corslet, helm ;-she viewed them near.-
The breast-plate pierced!-Ay, much I fear
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear,
That hath made fatal entrance here,

9

As these dark blood-gouts say.-
Thus Wilton!-Oh! not corslet's ward,
Not truth, as diamond pure and hard,
Could be thy manly bosom's guard,
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;
And joy unwonted, and surprise,

Gave their strange wildness to his eyes.-
Expect not, noble dames and lords,
That I can tell such scene in words.
Shortly I tell what then he said,
By many a tender word delayed,
And modest blush, and bursting sigh,

And question kind, and fond reply.

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90

[De Wilton narrates his history since his defeat at Cottiswold. On recovering consciousness, he found himself in the cell of his beadsman, Austin, by whom he was faithfully tended till his wounds were healed. With him he left England; and, dressed as a palmer, wandered over many lands. Austin fell sick and died. But on his death-bed he made De Wilton promise that if ever his deadliest enemy was in his power, he would spare him "for Austin's sake." He had returned to England.

Chance had made him Marmion's guide. He might have slain him on Giffordmoor, but for his promise to Austin. He was glad he had not done so, as the packet given him by the Abbess of Whitby would enable him to clear his character, and to convict Marmion of fraud. Douglas was now his friend; and that knight would restore him to the honours of knighthood.]

II.

That night, upon the rocks and bay
The midnight moon-beam slumbering lay,
And poured its silver light, and pure,
Through loop-hole, and through embrazure,
Upon Tantallon tower and hall;

But chief where archèd windows wide
Illuminate the chapel's pride,

The sober glances fall.

Much was there need; though, seamed with scars,10
Two veterans of the Douglas' wars,

Though two grey priests were there,

And each a blazing torch held high,

You could not by their blaze descry
The chapel's carving fair.

Amid that dim and smoky light,

Chequering the silvery moon-shine bright,
A bishop by the altar stood,11

A noble lord of Douglas blood,

With mitre sheen, and rocquet white.12
Yet showed his meek and thoughtful eye
But little pride of prelacy;

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110

More pleased that, in a barbarous age,13
He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page,
Than that beneath his rule he held
The bishopric of fair Dunkeld.
Then at the altar Wilton kneels,14

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130

For He, who honour best bestows,
May give thee double."-

De Wilton sobbed, for sob he must—17
"Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust

That Douglas is my brother!"—
"Nay, nay," old Angus said, "not so;
To Surrey's camp thou now must go,
Thy wrongs no longer smother.
I have two sons in yonder field;
And, if thou meet'st them under shield,
Upon them bravely-do thy worst;
And foul fall him that blenches first!"

Not far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array
To Surrey's camp to ride;

He had safe conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,
And Douglas gave a guide:
The ancient Earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,'
And whispered in an under tone,

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18

Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown."
The train from out the castle drew;

But Marmion stopped to bid adieu:
"Though something I might plain," he
said,

"Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your King's behest,

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150

19

160

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed; Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble Earl, receive my hand."

But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :

"My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still 20 Be open, at my Sovereign's will,

170

To each one whom he lists, howe'er 21
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my King's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone-
The hand of Douglas is his own;

And never shall in friendly grasp

The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,

And shook his very frame for ire,

180

And "This to me !" he said,—

"An 'twere not for thy hoary beard,22 Such hand as Marmion's had not spared

To cleave the Douglas' head!