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 embrazure,

Upon Tantallon tower and hall; But chief where arched windows wide Illuminate the chapel's pride,

The sober glances fall.

Much was there 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 silver moonshine bright,

A bishop by the altar stood, A noble lord of Douglas blood, With mitre sheen, and rocquet white. Yet show'd his meek and thoughtful eye

But little pride of prelacy;

More pleas'd that, in a barbarous age,
He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page,
Than that beneath his rule he held
The bishopric of fair Dunkeld.
Beside him ancient Angus stood,
Doff'd his furr'd gown, and sable hood:
O'er his huge form and visage pale,
He wore a cap and shirt of mail;
And lean'd his large and wrinkled hand
Upon the huge and sweeping brand
Which wont of yore, in battle fray,
His foeman's limbs to shred away,
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.
He seem'das, from the tombs around
Rising at judgment-day,
Some giant Douglas may be found
In all his old array ;
So pale his face, so huge his limb,
So old his arms, his look so grim.

XII.

Then at the altar Wilton kneels,
And Clare the spurs bound on his heels;
And think what next he must have felt,
At buckling of the falchion belt!

And judge how Clara changed her

hue,

While fastening to her lover's side Afriend, which, though in danger tried, He once had found untrue!

Then Douglas struck him with his blade:

'Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid, I dub thee knight.

Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir! For King, for Church, for Lady fair, See that thou fight.'

And Bishop Gawain, as he rose, Said-Wilton! grieve not for thy woes,

Disgrace, and trouble;

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 advanc'd 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 whisper'd in an under tone,
Let the hawk stoop, his prey is
flown.'

'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,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
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.'

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 spar'd
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!' On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage O'ercame the ashen hue of age:

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Nor lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim :
And when Lord Marmion reach'd his
band,

Hehalts, and turns with clenched hand, And shout of loud defiance pours, And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 'Horse! horse!' the Douglas cried, ' and chase!'

But soon he rein'd his fury's pace:
'A royal messenger he came,
Though most unworthy of the name.
A letter forged! Saint Jude to speed!
Did ever knight so foul a deed!
At first in heart it liked me ill,
When the King prais'd his clerkly skill.
Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine,
Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line :
So swore I, and I swear it still,
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill.
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood!
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood,
I thought to slay him where he stood.
'Tis pity of him too,' he cried :
'Bold can he speak, and fairly ride,

I warrant him a warrior tried.' With this his mandate he recalls, And slowly seeks his castle halls.

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,
And miss'd the Palmer from the band.
'Palmer or not,' young Blount did say,
'He parted at the peep of day;
Good sooth, it was in strange array.'
'In what array?' said Marmion, quick.
'My Lord, I ill can spell the trick;
But all night long, with clink and bang,
Close to my couch did hammers clang;
At dawn the falling drawbridge rang,
And from a loop-hole while I peep,
Old Bell-the-Cat came from the Keep,
Wrapp'd in a gown of sables fair,
As fearful of the morning air;
Beneath, when that was blown aside,
A rusty shirt of mail I spied,
By Archibald won in bloody work,
Against the Saracen and Turk:
Last night it hung not in the hall;
I thought some marvel would befall.
And next I saw them saddled lead
Old Cheviot forth, the Earl's beststeed,
A matchless horse, though something
old,

Prompt in his paces, cool and bold.
I heard the Sheriff Sholto say,
The Earl did much the Master pray
To use him on the battle-day;
But he preferr'd'—— Nay, Henry,

cease!

Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy

peace.

Eustace, thou bear'st a brain-I pray, What did Blount see at break of day?

XVII.

'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 sheath'd he was in armour bright, And much resembled that same knight, Subdu'd by you in Cotswold fight:

Lord Angus wish'd him speed.' The instant that Fitz-Eustace spoke, A sudden light on Marmion broke ;'Ah! dastard fool, to reason lost!' He mutter'd; 'twas nor fay nor ghost

I met upon the moonlight wold,
But living man of earthly mould.

O dotage blind and gross!
Had I but fought as wont, one thrust
Had laid De Wilton in the dust,

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
Nun-

O what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!
A.Palmer too!-no wonder why
I felt rebuk'd beneath his eye:

I might have known there was but one,
Whose look could quell Lord Marmion.'

XVIII.

Stung with these thoughts, he urg’d to speed

His troop, and reach'd at eve the Tweed,

Where Lennel's convent clos'd 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,

G

Well worth the whole Bernardine brood,

That e'er wore sandal, frock, or hood.) Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbot there Give Marmion entertainment fair, And lodging for his train and Clare. Next morn the Baron climb'd the tower,

To view afar the Scottish power,

Encamp'd on Flodden edge:
The white pavilions made a show,
Like remnants of the winter snow,
Along the dusky ridge.

Long Marmion look'd: at length his eye

Unusual movement might descry

Amid the shifting lines:

The Scottish host drawn out appears, For, flashing on the hedge of spears

The eastern sunbeam shines. Their front now deepening, now

extending;

Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending,

Now drawing back, and now descending,

The skilful Marmion well could know They watch'd the motions of some foe, Who travers'd on the plain below.

XIX.

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 rear

ing,

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,
Saint Helen! at thy fountain drank.
Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see
In spring-tide bloom so lavishly,
Had then from many an axe its doom,
To give the marching columns room.

XX.

And why stands Scotland idly now, Dark Flodden! on thy airy brow, Since England gains the pass the while, And struggles through the deep defile? What checks the fiery soul of James? Why sits that champion of the dames Inactive on his steed,

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!

Fierce Randolph, for thy speed! O for one hour of Wallace wight, Or well-skill'd Bruce, to rule the fight, And cry Saint Andrew and our right!'

Another sight had seen that morn, From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn, And Flodden had been Bannockbourne !

The precious hour has pass'd in vain, And England's host has gain'd the plain;

Wheeling their march, and circling still,

Around the base of Flodden hill.

XXI.

Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high, 'Hark! hark! my lord, an English

drum!

And see ascending squadrons come

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.' 'Stint in thy prate,' quoth Blount, 'thou 'dst best,

And listen to our lord's behest. With kindling brow Lord Marmion said,

'This instant be our band array'd; The river must be quickly cross'd, That we may join Lord Surrey's

host.

If fight King James,-
,-as well I trust,
That fight he will, and fight he must,—
The Lady Clare behind our lines
Shall tarry, while the battle joins.'

XXII.

Himself he swift on horseback threw,
Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu;
Far less would listen to his prayer
To leave behind the helpless Clare.
Down to the Tweed his band he
drew,

And mutter'd as the flood they view,
'The pheasant in the falcon's claw,
He scarce will yield to please a daw :
Lord Angus may the Abbot awe,

So Clare shall bide with me.'

Then on that dangerous ford, and deep, Where to the Tweed Leat's eddies creep,

He ventured desperately: And not a moment will he bide,

Till squire, or groom, before him ride;

Headmost of all he stems the tide,
And stems it gallantly.

Eustace held Clare upon her horse,
Old Hubert led her rein,

Stoutly they brav'd the current's

course,

And, though far downward driven per force,

The southern bank they gain; Behind them, straggling, came to shore,

As best they might, the train : Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore, A caution not in vain;

Deep need that day that every string, By wet unharm'd, should sharply ring. A moment then Lord Marmion staid, And breath'd his steed, his men array'd,

Then forward mov'd his band, Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won, He halted by a Cross of Stone, That, on a hillock standing lone, Did all the field command.

XXIII.

Hence might they see the full array
Of either host, for deadly fray;
Their marshall'd lines stretch'd east
and west,

And fronted north and south,
And distant salutation pass'd

From the loud cannon mouth; Not in the close successive rattle, That breathes the voice of modern battle,

But slow and far between. The hillock gain'd, Lord Marmion staid: 'Here, by this Cross,' he gently said, 'You well may view the scene.