'Now, largesse, largesse, Lord Marmion, Knight of the crest of gold! XII. They marshall'd him to the Castle-hall, 165 In the lists at Cottiswold: There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove 'Gainst Marmion's force to stand; To him he lost his lady-love, 175 He wears with worthy pride; And on the gibbet-tree, reversed, Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight! For him who conquer'd in the right, XIII. Then stepp'd, to meet that noble Lord, Sir Hugh the Heron bold, Baron of Twisell, and of Ford, And Captain of the Hold. 185 190 He led Lord Marmion to the deas, The whiles a Northern harper rude 'How the fierce Thirwalls, and Ridleys all, And Hardriding Dick, And Hughie of Hawdon, and Will o' the Wall, For lady's suit, and minstrel's strain, XIV. 'Now, good Lord Marmion,' Heron says, 'Of your fair courtesy, I pray you bide some little space Here may you keep your arms from rust, May breathe your war-horse well; Seldom hath pass'd a week but giust Or feat of arms befell: The Scots can rein a mettled steed; Saint George! a stirring life they lead, I pray you, for your lady's grace! '— 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 XV. The Captain mark'd his alter'd look, A mighty wassell-bowl he took, 230 And crown'd it high with wine. 'Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion : But first I pray thee fair, With tears he fain would hide : His was no rugged horse-boy's hand, Or saddle battle-steed; But meeter seem'd for lady fair, 245 To fan her cheek, or cúrl her hair, Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest; He roll'd his kindling eye, With pain his rising wrath suppress'd, Yet made a calm reply: 'That boy thou thought'st so goodly fair, He might not brook the northern air. 260 More of his fate if thou wouldst learn, I left him sick in Lindisfarn : XVII. Unmark'd, at least unreck'd, the taunt, 265 270 'No bird, whose feathers gaily flaunt, Delights in cage to bide: 275 Norham is grim and grated close, 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; 290 295 I have not ridden in Scotland since James back'd the cause of that mock prince, Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. Then did I march with Surrey's power, XIX. 300 'For such-like need, my lord, I trow, 305 XX. 'Now, in good sooth,' Lord Marmion cried, 310 'Were I in warlike wise to ride, A better guard I would not lack, Than your stout forayers at my back; A friendly messenger, to know, 315 Why through all Scotland, near and far, Their King is mustering troops for war, The sight of plundering Border spears And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil, XXI. The Captain mused a little space, 320 325 |