"Alas!" he thought, "how changed that mien!
How changed these timid looks have been,
Since years of guilt, and of disguise,
Have steeled her brow, and armed her eyes!
No more of virgin terror speaks
The blood that mantles in her cheeks;
Fierce, and unfeminine, are there,
Frenzy for joy, for grief despair ;
And I the cause-for whom were given
Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven-
Would,” thought he, as the picture grows,
"I on its stalk had left the rose!
Oh why should man's success remove
The very charms that wake his love!-
Her convent's peaceful solitude
Is now a prison harsh and rude;
And, pent within the narrow cell,
How will her spirit chafe and swell!
How brook the stern monastic laws!
penance how-and I the cause !—
Vigil and scourge perchance even worse!”—
And twice he rose to cry " to horse!"
And twice his sovereign's mandate came,
Like damp upon a kindling flame;
And twice he thought," Gave I not charge
She should be safe, though not at large?
They durst not, for their island, shred
One golden ringlet from her head."
While thus in Marmion's bosom strove
Repentance and reviving love,
Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway
I've seen Loch Vennachar obey,
Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard,
And, talkative, took up the word :—
Aye, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray From Scotland's simple land away,
To visit realms afar,
Full often learn the art to know,
Of future weal, or future woe,
By word, or sign, or star;
Yet might a knight his fortune hear,
If, knight-like, he despises fear,
Not far from hence;-if fathers old
Aright our hamlet legend told.”.
These broken words the menials move,
(For marvels still the vulgar love ;)
And Marmion, giving license cold,
His tale the Host thus gladly told.
“A clerk could tell what years have flown Since Alexander filled our throne,
Third monarch of that warlike name,
And eke the time when here he came
To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord:
A braver never drew a sword;
A wiser never, at the hour
Of midnight, spoke the word of power ;
The same, whom ancient records call
The founder of the Goblin-Hall.
I would, Sir Knight, your longer stay
Gave you that cavern to survey.
Of lofty roof, and ample size,
Beneath the castle deep it lies:
To hew the living rock profound,
The floor to pave, the arch to round,
There never toiled a mortal arm,
It all was wrought by word and charm;
And I have heard my grandsire say,
That the wild clamour and affray
Of those dread artizans,of hell,
Who laboured under Hugo's spell,
Sounded as loud as Ocean's war
Among the caverns of Dunbar.
« The king Lord Gifford's castle sought, Deep-labouring with uncertain thought:
Even then he mustered all his host,
To meet upon the western coast;
For Norse and Danish galleys plied
Their oars within the firth of Clyde.
There floated Haco's banner trim,
Above Norweyan warriors grim,
Savage of heart, and large of limb;
Threatening both continent and isle,
Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle.
Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground,
Heard Alexander's bugle sound,
And tarried not his garb to change,
But, in his wizard habit strange,
Came forth, a quaint and fearful sight;
His mantle lined with fox-skins white;
His high and wrinkled forehead bore
such as of yore
Clerks that Pharoah's Magi wore;
His shoes were marked with cross and spell;
Upon his breast a pentacle;
His zone, of virgin parchment thin,
Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin,
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