Fluttered the streamer glossy blue,
Where, blazoned sable, as before,
The towering falcon seemed to soar.
Last, twenty yeomen, two and two,
In hosen black and jerkins blue,
With falcons broidered on each breast,
Attended on their lord's behest.
Each, chosen for an archer good,
Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood;
Each one a six-foot bow could bend,
And far a cloth-yard shaft could send;
Each held a boar-spear tough and strong,
And at their belts their quivers rung.
Their dusty palfreys and array
Showed they had marched a weary way.

IX.

'Tis meet that I should tell you now,
How fairly armed, and ordered how,
The soldiers of the guard,
With musket, pike, and morion,
To welcome noble Marmion,
Stood in the castle-yard;
Minstrels and trumpeters were there,
The gunner held his linstock yare,
For welcome-shot prepared:
Entered the train, and such a clang
As then through all his turrets rang
Old Norham never heard.

X.

The guards their morrice-pikes advanced, The trumpets flourished brave,

The cannon from the ramparts glanced, And thundering welcome gave.

A blithe salute, in martial sort,

The minstrels well might sound,
For, as Lord Marmion crossed the court,
He scattered angels round.
'Welcome to Norham, Marmion!

Stout heart and open hand!
Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan,
Thou flower of English land!'

XI.

Two pursuivants, whom tabards deck,
With silver scutcheon round their neck,
Stood on the steps of stone
By which you reach the donjon gate,
And there, with herald pomp and state,
They hailed Lord Marmion:
They hailed him Lord of Fontenaye,
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye,

Of Tamworth tower and town;
And he, their courtesy to requite,
Gave them a chain of twelve marks' weight,
All as he lighted down.

'Now, largesse, largesse, Lord Marmion, Knight of the crest of gold!

A blazoned shield, in battle won,
Ne'er guarded heart so bold.'

XII.

They marshalled him to the castle-hall, Where the guests stood all aside, And loudly flourished the trumpet-call,

And the heralds loudly cried, 'Room, lordlings, room for Lord Marmion, With the crest and helm of gold! Full well we know the trophies won In the lists at Cottiswold: There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove 'Gainst Marmion's force to stand; To him he lost his lady-love,

And to the king his land. Ourselves beheld the listed field,

A sight both sad and fair;

We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield,
And saw his saddle bare;

We saw the victor win the crest
He wears with worthy pride,
And on the gibbet-tree, reversed,
His foeman's scutcheon tied.
Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight!
Room, room, ye gentles gay,
For him who conquered in the right,
Marmion of Fontenaye!'

In this poor tower with me. Here may you keep your arms from rust, May breathe your war-horse well; Seldom hath passed a week but joust

Or feat of arms befell.

The Scots can rein a mettled steed,
And love to couch a spear;
Saint George! a stirring life they lead
That have such neighbors near!
Then stay with us a little space,
Our Northern wars to learn;

I pray you for your lady's grace !'
Lord Marmion's brow grew stern.

XV.

The captain marked his altered look,
And gave the squire the sign;
A mighty wassail-bowl he took,

And crowned it high with wine. 'Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion: But first I pray thee fair,

Where hast thou left that page of thine
That used to serve thy cup of wine,
Whose beauty was so rare?
When last in Raby-towers we met,
The boy I closely eyed,

And often marked his cheeks were wet
With tears he fain would hide.
His was no rugged horse-boy's hand,
To burnish shield or sharpen brand,
Or saddle battle-steed,

But meeter seemed for lady fair,
To fan her cheek, or curl her hair,
Or through embroidery, rich and rare

Unmarked, at least unrecked, the taunt,
Careless the knight replied:
'No bird whose feathers gayly flaunt
Delights in cage to bide;"
Norham is grim and grated close,
Hemmed in by battlement and fosse,

And many a darksome tower,
And better loves my lady bright
To sit in liberty and light

In fair Queen Margaret's bower.
We hold our greyhound in our hand,
Our falcon on our glove,

But where shall we find leash or band
For dame that loves to rove?
Let the wild falcon soar her swing,
She 'll stoop when she has tired her wing.'

XVIII.

Nay, if with Royal James's bride The lovely Lady Heron bide, Behold me here a messenger, Your tender greetings prompt to bear; For, to the Scottish court addressed, I journey at our king's behest, And pray you, of your grace, provide For me and mine a trusty guide.

Have drunk the monks of Saint Bothan's ale, And driven the beeves of Lauderdale, Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods, And given them light to set their hoods."

XX.

'Now, in good sooth,' Lord Marmion cried, 'Were I in warlike wise to ride,

A better guard I would not lack
Than your stout forayers at my back ;
But as in form of peace I go,

A friendly messenger, to know,
Why, through all Scotland, near and far.
Their king is mustering troops for war,
The sight of plundering Border spears
Might justify suspicious fears,
And deadly feud or thirst of spoil
Break out in some unseemly broil.
A herald were my fitting guide;
Or friar, sworn in peace to bide;
Or pardoner, or travelling priest,
Or strolling pilgrim, at the least.'

XXI.

The captain mused a little space,
And passed his hand across his face. -
Fain would I find the guide you want,