Then mark'd they, dashing broad and far,
The broken billows of the war,

And pluméd crests of chieftains brave,

780

Floating like foam upon the wave;

But nought distinct they see :

Wide raged the battle on the plain;

Spears shook, and falchions flash'd amain ;
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain;

785

Crests rose, and stoop'd, and rose again,
Wild and disorderly.

Amid the scene of tumult, high
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly:
And stainless Tunstall's banner white,
And Edmund Howard's lion bright,
Still bear them bravely in the fight;
Although against them come,
Of gallant Gordons many a one,
And many a stubborn Badenoch-man,
And many a rugged Border clan,
With Huntly, and with Home.

XXVII.

Far on the left, unseen the while,
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle;
Though there the western mountaineer

790

795

800

Rush'd with bare bosom on the spear,

And flung the feeble targe aside,

And with both hands the broadsword plied.

'Twas vain :-But Fortune, on the right,

With fickle smile, cheer'd Scotland's fight.

805

Then fell that spotless banner white,

The Howard's lion fell;

Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew

With wavering flight, while fiercer grew

Around the battle-yell.

The Border slogan rent the sky!

A Home! a Gordon! was the cry:

810

Loud were the clanging blows;

Advanced,―forced back,-now low, now high,

The pennon sunk and rose;

As bends the bark's mast in the gale,

When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail,
It waver'd 'mid the foes.

No longer Blount the view could bear:

'By Heaven, and all its saints! I swear

I will not see it lost!

Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare

May bid your beads, and patter prayer,-
I gallop to the host.'

And to the fray he rode amain,

815

820

825

Follow'd by all the archer train.

The fiery youth, with desperate charge,
Made, for a space, an opening large,—
The rescued banner rose,-

But darkly closed the war around,

830

Like pine-tree rooted from the ground,

It sank among the foes.

Then Eustace mounted too :-yet staid,

As loath to leave the helpless maid,
When, fast as shaft can fly,

835

Blood-shot his eyes, his nostrils spread,
The loose rein dangling from his head,
Housing and saddle bloody red,

Lord Marmion's steed rush'd by ;

And Eustace, maddening at the sight,
A look and sign to Clara cast,
To mark he would return in haste,
Then plunged into the fight.

840

XXVIII.

Ask me not what the maiden feels,

Left in that dreadful hour alone: Perchance her reason stoops, or reels;

Perchance a courage, not her own, Braces her mind to desperate tone.

845

The scatter'd van of England wheels ;-
She only said, as loud in air

850

The tumult roar'd, 'Is Wilton there?'

They fly, or, madden'd by despair,

Fight but to die, 'Is Wilton there?'

With that, straight up the hill there rode
Two horsemen drench'd with gore,

855

With dinted shield, and helmet beat,
The falcon-crest and plumage gone,
Can that be haughty Marmion! .
Young Blount his armour did unlace,
And gazing on his ghastly face,

Said By Saint George, he's gone! That spear-wound has our master sped, And see the deep cut on his head! Good-night to Marmion.'

865

'Unnurtured Blount! thy brawling cease: He opes his eyes,' said Eustace; 'peace!'

870

XXIX.

When, doff'd his casque, he felt free air,

Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare :

'Where's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace where?

Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare !

875

Redeem my pennon,—charge again!

Cry-" Marmion to the rescue !"—Vain !

Last of my race, on battle-plain

That shout shall ne'er be heard again!—

880

Yet my last thought is England's-fly,

To Dacre bear my signet-ring:
Tell him his squadrons up to bring.—
Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie;

Tunstall lies dead upon the field,

His life-blood stains the spotless shield:

N

885

Edmund is down ;-my life is reft;
The Admiral alone is left.

Let Stanley charge with spur of fire,—
With Chester charge, and Lancashire,
Full upon Scotland's central host,
Or victory and England's lost.—

890

Must I bid twice?—hence, varlets! fly!
Leave Marmion here alone to die.'

Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring

Of blessed water from the spring,

900

To slake my dying thirst!'

XXX.

O, Woman! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade

By the light quivering aspen made;

905*

When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!-

Scarce were the piteous accents said,

When, with the Baron's casque, the maid
To the nigh streamlet ran:

910

Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears;
The plaintive voice alone she hears,

Sees but the dying man.
She stoop'd her by the runnel's side,
But in abhorrence backward drew;
For, oozing from the mountain's side,
Where raged the war, a dark-red tide
Was curdling in the streamlet blue.

915

Where shall she turn!-behold her mark
A little fountain cell,

920

Where water, clear as diamond-spark,

In a stone basin fell.

Above, some half-worn letters say,
Brink. weary. pilgrim. drink . and . pray.
For the kind. soul. of. Sybil . Grey.

Who. built. this . cross. and, well.
She fill'd the helm, and back she hied,
And with surprise and joy espied

A Monk supporting Marmion's head;
A pious man, whom duty brought
To dubious verge of battle fought,

To shrieve the dying, bless the dead.

XXXI.

925

930

Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave,
And, as she stoop'd his brow to lave-
'Is it the hand of Clare,' he said,

935

'Or injured Constance, bathes my head?' Then, as remembrance rose,—

'Speak not to me of shrift or prayer!

I must redress her woes.

Short space, few words, are mine to spare ;

940

Forgive and listen, gentle Clare!'

6 Alas!' she said, 'the while,—

O, think of your immortal weal!
In vain for Constance is your zeal ;

She- died at Holy Isle.'—

945

Lord Marmion started from the ground,

As light as if he felt no wound;

Though in the action burst the tide,
In torrents, from his wounded side.
'Then it was truth,'—he said—‘I knew
That the dark presage must be true.—
I would the Fiend, to whom belongs
The vengeance due to all her wrongs,
Would spare me but a day!
For wasting fire, and dying groan,
And priests slain on the altar stone,
Might bribe him for delay.

950

955