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?- Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled With him I left my native strand, Oft Austin for my reason fear'd, He begg'd of me a boonIf e'er my deadliest enemy Beneath my brand should conquer'd 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, That death in pilgrimage I found, That I had perish'd of my wound, 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 trimm'd my shaggy beard and head, I scarcely know me in the glass. A chance most wondrous did provide, That I should be that Baron's guideI will not name his name! Vengeance to God alone belongs; My blood is liquid flame! Dark looks we did exchange : VIII. "A word of vulgar augury, The Palmer's cowl was gone,) Then had three inches of my blade The heavy debt of vengeance paid,— My hand the thought of Austin staid I left him there alone. O good old man! even from the grav That broke our secret speech- A tale of peace to teach. IX. "Now here, within Tantallon Hold, And Harry Hotspur forced to yield, men ; The rest were all in Twisel glen. X. "There soon again we meet, my Clare! then Risk new-found happiness again, Trust fate of arms once more? And is there not an humble glen, Where we, content and poor, Might build a cottage in the shade, A shepherd thou, and I to aid Thy task on dale and moor?That reddening brow!-too well I know, Not even thy Clare can peace bestow, While falsehood stains thy name: Go then to fight! Clare bids thee go! Clare can a warrior's feelings know, And weep a warrior's shame; Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel, Buckle the spurs upon thy heel, And belt thee with thy brand of steel, And send thee forth to fame!" XI. That night, upon the rocks and bay, The midnight moonbeam slumbering lay, And pour'd its silver light, and pure, Through loop-hole, and through embra zure, Upon Tantallon tower and hall; But chief where arched windows wide Much was their need; though seam'd with scars, 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 moonshine bright, A bishop by the altar stood, A noble lord of Douglas blood, More pleased that, in a barbarous age, Some giant Douglas may be found XII. Then at the altar Wilton kneels, And judge how Clara changed her hue, I dub thee knight. And Bishop Gawain, as he rose, For He, who honour best bestows, May give thee double.”— De Wilton sobb'd, for sob he must"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!" XIII. Not far advanced was morning day, And Douglas gave a guide: The ancient Earl, with stately grace, Would Clara on her palfrey place, And whisper'd in an under tone, "Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown."The train from out the castle drew, But Marmion stopp'd to bid adieu :— "Though something I might plain," he said, "Of cold respect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your King's behest, While in Tantallon's towers I staid; 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 Be open, at my Sovereign's will, XIV. Burn'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, And shook his very frame for ire, And-"This to me !" he said,— An 'twere not for thy hoary beard, Such hand as Marmion's had not spared To cleave the Douglas' head! And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer, He, who does England's message here Although the meanest in her state, May well, proud Angus, be thy mate: And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, Even in thy pitch of pride, Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, (Nay, never look upon your lord, And lay your hands upon your sword,) I tell thee, thou 'rt defied! And if thou said'st, I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"- To beard the lion in his den, No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no! Up drawbridge, grooms-what, W der, ho! Let the portcullis fall.”— "A royal messenger he came, XVI. The day in Marmion's journey wore; Yet, ere his passion's gust was o'er, They cross'd the heights of Stanrig moor. His troop more closely there he scann'd, "In brief, my lord, we both descried (For then I stood by Henry's side) The Palmer mount, and outwards ride, Upon the Earl's own favourite steed: All sheathed he was in armour bright, And much resembled that same knight, Subdued by you in Cotswold fight: Lord Angus wish'd him speed."- O dotage blind and gross! My path no more to cross.How stand we now?-he told his tale To Douglas; and with some avail; 'Twas therefore gloom'd his rugged brow. Will Surrey dare to entertain, 'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and vain? Small risk of that, I trow. Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shun; Must separate Constance from the NunO, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive! A Palmer too!-no wonder why I felt rebuked beneath his eye: I might have known there was but one, Whose look could quell Lord Marmion." XVIII. Stung with these thoughts, he urged to speed His troop, and reach'd, at eve, the Tweed, Where Lennel's convent closed their march; (There now is left but one frail arch, Yet mourn thou not its cells; Our time a fair exchange has made; Hard by, in hospitable shade, A reverend pilgrim dwells, Long Marmion look'd: :-at length his eye The Scottish host drawn out appears, The eastern sunbeam shines. Even so it was. From Flodden ridge The Scots beheld the English host Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post, And heedful watch'd them as they cross'd The Till by Twisel Bridge. High sight it is, and haughty, while They dive into the deep defile; Beneath the cavern'd cliff they fall, Beneath the castle's airy wall. By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree, Troop after troop are disappearing; Troop after troop their banners rearing, Upon the eastern bank you see. Still pouring down the rocky den, Where flows the sullen Till, And rising from the dim-wood glen, Standards on standards, men on men, In slow succession still, And, sweeping o'er the Gothic arch, And pressing on, in ceaseless march, To gain the opposing hill. That morn, to many a trumpet clang, Twisel! thy rock's deep echo rang; And many a chief of birth and rank, XX. And why stands Scotland idly now, And sees, between him and his land, Between him and Tweed's southern strand, His host Lord Surrey lead? What 'vails the vain knight-errant's brand? O, Douglas, for thy leading wand! The precious hour has pass'd in vain, XXI. Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye, Between Tweed's river and the hill, Foot, horse, and cannon :-hap what hap, My basnet to a prentice cap, Lord Surrey's o'er the Till!Yet more! yet more !-how far array'd They file from out the hawthorn shade, And sweep so gallant by! With all their banners bravely spread, And all their armour flashing high, Saint George might waken from the dead, To see fair England's standards fly." |