Until, to hide her bosom's swell,
And tear-drops that for pity fell,
She closely drew her veil :
Yon shrouded figure, as I guess,
By her proud mien and flowing dress,
Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress,

And she with awe looks pale:
And he, that Ancient Man, whose sight
Has long been quench'd by age's night,
Upon whose wrinkled brow alone,
Nor ruth, nor mercy's trace, is shown,
Whose look is hard and stern,-
Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style;
For sanctity call'd, through the isle,
The Saint of Lindisfarne.

XX.

Before them stood a guilty pair;
But, though an equal fate they share,
Yet one alone deserves our care.
Her sex a page's dress belied;
The cloak and doublet, loosely tied,
Obscur'd her charms, but could not
hide.

Hercap down o'er her face she drew;
And, on her doublet breast,
She tried to hide the badge of blue,

Lord Marmion's falcon crest.
But, at the Prioress' command,
A Monk undid the silken band

That tied her tresses fair,

And rais'd the bonnet from her head, And down her slender form they spread,

In ringlets rich and rare. Constance de Beverley they know, Sister profess'd of Fontevraud, Whom the Church number'd with the dead,

For broken vows, and convent fled.

XXI.

When thus her face was given to view,
(Although, so pallid was her hue,
It did a ghastly contrast bear
To those bright ringlets glistering fair,)
Her look compos'd, and steady eye,
Bespoke a matchless constancy;

And there she stood so calm and pale,
That, but her breathing did not fail,
And motion slight of eye and head,
And of her bosom, warranted
That neither sense nor pulse she lacks,
You might have thought a form of wax,
Wrought to the very life, was there;
So still she was, so pale, so fair.

XXII.

Her comrade was a sordid soul,

Such as does murder for a meed; Who, but of fear, knows no control, Because his conscience, sear'd and foul, j

Feels not the import of his deed; One whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires Beyond his own more brute desires. Such tools the Tempter ever needs, To do the savagest of deeds;

For them no vision'd terrors daunt,
Their nights no fancied spectres haunt,
One fear with them, of all most base,
The fear of death, alone finds place.
This wretch was clad in frock and cowl,
And sham'd not loud to moan and howl,
His body on the floor to dash,
And crouch, like hound beneath the
lash;

While his mute partner, standing near,
Waited her doom without a tear.

XXIII.

Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek,

Well might her paleness terror speak!
For there were seen in that dark wall,
Two niches, narrow, deep and tall:
Who enters at such grisly door,
Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more.
In each a slender meal was laid,
Of roots, of water, and of bread :
By each, in Benedictine dress,
Two haggard monks stood motionless;
Who, holding high a blazing torch,
Show'd the grim entrance of the porch:
Reflecting back the smoky beam,
The dark-red walls and arches gleam.

Hewn stones and cement were dis

play'd,

And building tools in order laid.

XXIV.

These executioners were chose,
As men who were with mankind foes,
And, with despite and envy fir'd,
Into the cloister had retir'd;

Or who, in desperate doubt of grace,
Strove, by deep penance, to efface
Of some foul crime the stain;
For, as the vassals of her will,
Such men the Church selected still,
As either joy'd in doing ill,

Or thought more grace to gain, If, in her cause, they wrestled down Feelings their nature strove to own. By strange device were they brought there,

They knew not how, nor knew not where.

XXV.

And now that blind old Abbot rose,

To speak the Chapter's doom, On those the wall was to enclose,

Alive, within the tomb ; But stopp'd, because that woful Maid, Gathering her powers, to speak essay'd. Twice she essay'd, and twice in vain; Her accents might no utterance gain; Nought but imperfect murmurs slip From her convuls'd and quivering lip; 'Twixt each attempt all was so still, You seem'd to hear a distant rill;

'Twas ocean's swells and falls; For though this vault of sin and fear Was to the sounding surge so near, A tempest there you scarce could hear,

So massive were the walls.

XXVI.

At length, an effort sent apart
The blood that curdled to her heart,
And light came to her eye,

And colour dawn'd upon her cheek,

A hectic and a flutter'd streak,
Like that left on the Cheviot peak,

By Autumn's stormy sky;

And when her silence broke at length,
Still as she spoke she gather'd strength,
And arm'd herself to bear.
It was a fearful sight to see
Such high resolve and constancy
In form so soft and fair.

XXVII.

'I speak not to implore your grace,— Well know I, for one minute's space

Successless might I sue:

Nor do I speak your prayers to gain;
For if a death of lingering pain,
To cleanse my sins, be penance vain,
Vain are your masses too.

I listen'd to a traitor's tale,

I left the convent and the veil ;
For three long years I bow'd my
pride,

A horse-boy in his train to ride;
And well my folly's meed he gave,
Who forfeited, to be his slave,
All here, and all beyond the grave.
He saw young Clara's face more fair,
He knew her of broad lands the
heir,

Forgot his vows, his faith forswore, And Constance was belov'd no more. 'Tis an old tale, and often told;

But did my fate and wish agree, Ne'er had been read, in story old, Of maiden true betray'd for gold, That lov'd, or was aveng'd, like me!

XXVIII.

'The King approv'd his favourite's aim;

In vain a rival barr'd his claim,

Whose fate with Clare's was plight, For he attaints that rival's fame With treason's charge-and on they came,

In mortal lists to fight.

Their oaths are said,

Their prayers are pray'd, Their lances in the rest are laid, They meet in mortal shock; And, hark! the throng, with thundering cry,

Shout" Marmion, Marmion! to the sky, De Wilton to the block!"

Say ye, who preach Heaven shall decide

When in the lists two champions ride,

Say, was Heaven's justice here? When, loyal in his love and faith, Wilton found overthrow or death

Beneath a traitor's spear?

How false the charge, how true he fell,
This guilty packet best can tell.'
Then drew a packet from her breast,
Paus'd, gather'd voice, and spoke the

rest.

XXIX.

'Still was false Marmion's bridal staid; To Whitby's convent fled the maid,

The hated match to shun. "Ho! shifts she thus?" King Henry cried ;

"Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride

If she were sworn a nun." One way remain'd-the King's command

Sent Marmion to the Scottish land: I linger'd here, and rescue plann'd For Clara and for me:

This caitiff Monk, for gold, did swear He would to Whitby's shrine repair, And, by his drugs, my rival fair

A saint in heaven should be. But ill the dastard kept his oath, Whose cowardice has undone us both.

XXX.

'And now my tongue the secret tells
Not that remorse my bosom swells,
But to assure my soul that none
Shall ever wed with Marmion.
Had fortune my last hope betray'd,
This packet, to the King convey'd,

Till thus the Abbot's doom was given,
Raising his sightless balls to heaven :—
Sister, let thy sorrows cease;
Sinful brother, part in peace!'
From that dire dungeon, place of
doom,

Of execution too, and tomb,

Pac'd forth the judges three; Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell The butcher-work that there befell, When they had glided from the cell Of sin and misery.

XXXIII.

An hundred winding steps convey
That conclave to the upper day;
But, ere they breath'd the fresher air,
They heard the shriekings of despair,
And many a stifled groan:
With speed their upward way they
take,

(Such speed as age and fear can make,) And cross'd themselves for terror's sake,

As hurrying, tottering on: Even in the vesper's heavenly tone, They seem'd to hear a dying groan, And bade the passing knell to toll For welfare of a parting soul.

Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, Northumbrian rocks in answer rung; To Warkworth cell the echoes roll'd, His beads the wakeful hermit told, The Bamborough peasant rais'd his head,

But slept ere half a prayer he said; So far was heard the mighty knell, The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, Spread his broad nostril to the wind, Listed before, aside, behind,

Then couch'd him down beside the hind,

And quak'd among the mountain fern,

To hear that sound so dull and stern.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD.

ΤΟ

WILLIAM ERSKINE, ESQ.

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. LIKE April morning clouds, that pass, With varying shadow, o'er the grass, And imitate, on field and furrow, Life's chequer'd scene of joy and

sorrow;

Like streamlet of the mountain north,
Now in a torrent racing forth,
Now winding slow its silver train,
And almost slumbering on the plain;
Like breezes of the autumn day,
Whose voice inconstant dies away,
And ever swells again as fast,
When the ear deems its murmur past;
Thus various, my romantic theme
Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning dream.
Yet pleas'd, our eye pursues the trace
Of Light and Shade's inconstant race;
Pleas'd, views the rivulet afar,
Weaving its maze irregular ;

And pleas'd, we listen as the breeze
Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn

trees:

Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or gale, Flow on, flow unconfin'd, my Tale!

Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell

I love the license all too well,
In sounds now lowly, and now strong,
To raise the desultory song?
Oft, when 'mid such capricious chime,
Some transient fit of lofty rhyme
To thy kind judgment seem'd excuse
For many an error of the muse,
Oft hast thou said, 'If, still misspent,
Thine hours to poetry are lent,
Go, and to tame thy wandering course,
Quaff from the fountain at the source;

tomb

Immortal laurels ever bloom:

Instructive of the feebler bard,

feel,

And witness woes thou couldst not

heal!

change,

road;

Nor ramble on through brake and

maze,

When, breathing fury for her sake, Some new Arminius shall awake, Her champion, ere he strike, shall come

'Or deem'st thou not our later time Yields topic meet for classic rhyme ? Hast thou no elegiac verse

For Brunswick's venerable hearse ?
What! not a line, a tear, a sigh,
When valour bleeds for liberty?
Oh, hero of that glorious time,
When, with unrivall❜d light sublime,—
Though martial Austria, and though
all

The might of Russia, and the Gaul, Though banded Europe stood her foes

The star of Brandenburgh arose !
Thou couldst not live to see her beam
For ever quench'd in Jena's stream.
Lamented Chief! it was not given
To thee to change the doom of

Heaven,

And crush that dragon in its birth,
Predestin'd scourge of guilty earth.
Lamented Chief!-not thine the power,
To save in that presumptuous hour,
When Prussia hurried to the field,
And snatch'd the spear, but left the
shield!

Valour and skill 'twas thine to try,
And, tried in vain, 'twas thine to die.
Ill had it seem'd thy silver hair
The last, the bitterest pang to share,
For princedoms reft, and scutcheons
riven,

And birthrights to usurpers given;

tomb.

'Or of the Red-Cross hero teach, Dauntless in dungeon as on breach : Alike to him the sea, the shore, The brand, the bridle, or the oar: Alike to him the war that calls Its votaries to the shatter'd walls, Which the grim Turk, besmear'd with blood,

Against the Invincible made good; Or that, whose thundering voice could wake

The silence of the polar lake,
When stubborn Russ, and metal'd
Swede,

On the warp'd wave their death-game play'd;

Or that, where Vengeance and Affright Howl'd round the father of the fight, Who snatch'd, on Alexandria's sand, The conqueror's wreath with dying hand.

'Or, if to touch such chord be thine, Restore the ancient tragic line, And emulate the notes that wrung From the wild harp, which silent hung By silver Avon's holy shore,

Till twice an hundred years roll'd

o'er;

When she, the bold Enchantress, came With fearless hand and heart on

flame!