-'Fain would I find the guide you want, 330 Since our last siege, we have not seen: 335 The mass he might not sing or say, And pray'd for our success the while. 340 Is all too well in case to ride; The priest of Shoreswood-he could rein The wildest war-horse in your train; But then, no spearman in the hall Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. 345 350 355 To teach Dame Alison her creed. Old Bughtrig found him with his wife; Sans frock and hood, fled for his life. The jealous churl hath deeply swore, 360 That, if again he venture o'er, He shall shrieve penitent no more. Yet, in your guard, perchance will go.' XXII. Young Selby, at the fair hall-board, 365 370 375 May end in worse than loss of hood. In chimney-corner snore his fill, Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill: Last night, to Norham there came one, 385 Will better guide Lord Marmion.'- Well hast thou spoke; say forth thy say.' XXIII. 'Here is a holy Palmer come, From Salem first, and last from Rome; 390 In Araby and Palestine; On hills of Armenie hath been, Where Noah's ark may yet be seen; The Mount, where Israel heard the law, 395 'Mid thunder-dint and flashing levin, Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell; And of that Grot where Olives nod, Where, darling of each heart and eye, From all the youth of Sicily, Saint Rosalie retired to God. XXIV. 'To stout Saint George of Norwich merry, Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Bede, 400 405 410 But, when our John hath quaff'd his ale, As little as the wind that blows, And warms itself against his nose, Kens he, or cares, which way he goes.' 420 XXV. 'Gramercy!' quoth Lord Marmion, Like his good saint, I'll pay his meed, With angels fair and good. I love such holy ramblers; still 425 430 With song, romance, or lay: Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest, Some lying legend, at the least, They bring to cheer the way.'— 435 XXVI. 'Ah! noble sir,' young Selby said, And finger on his lip he laid, 'This man knows much, perchance e'en more Than he could learn by holy lore. Still to himself he's muttering, 440 And shrinks as at some unseen thing. Last night we listen'd at his cell; Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell, He murmur'd on till morn, howe'er No living mortal could be near. 445 Sometimes I thought I heard it plain, -'Let pass,' quoth Marmion; 'by my fay, 455 460 On his broad shoulders wrought; Was from Loretto brought; XXVIII. When as the Palmer came in hall, Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tall, Or look'd more high and keen; 465 470 475 Poor wretch! the mother that him bare, 485 In his wan face, and sun-burn'd hair, Hard toil can roughen form and face, And want can quench the eye's bright grace, Nor does old age a wrinkle trace More deeply than despair. Happy whom none of these befall, But this poor Palmer knew them all. 495 |