And well my folly's meed he gave, But did my fate and wish agree, 510 515 Of maiden true betray'd for gold, That loved, or was avenged, like me! Whose fate with Clare's was plight, XXVIII. 'The King approved his favourite's aim; In vain a rival barr'd his claim, For he attaints that rival's fame 520 And hark! the throng, with thundering cry, Shout "Marmion, Marmion! to the sky, How false the charge, how true he fell, This guilty packet best can tell.'— Then drew a packet from her breast, Paused, gather'd voice, and spoke the rest. 540 XXIX. 'Still was false Marmion's bridal staid; To Whitby's convent fled the maid, The hated match to shun. "Ho! shifts she thus?" King Henry cried, "Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride, If she were sworn a nun." One way remain'd-the King's command 545 I linger'd here, and rescue plann'd 550 This caitiff Monk, for gold, did swear, 'And now my tongue the secret tells, Not that remorse my bosom swells, But to assure my soul that none Shall ever wed with Marmion. This packet, to the King convey'd, Had given him to the headsman's stroke, 560 Now, men of death, work forth your will, 565 And come he slow, or come he fast, XXXI. 'Yet dread me, from my living tomb, 570 That you shall wish the fiery Dane Rides forth upon destruction's wing; Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep, Burst open to the sea-winds' sweep; Some traveller then shall find my bones XXXII. 575 580 Fix'd was her look, and stern her air: 585 Back from her shoulders stream'd her hair; The locks, that wont her brow to shade, Stared up erectly from her head; Her figure seem'd to rise more high; 590 Had given a tone of prophecy. Appall'd the astonish'd conclave sate; Gazed on the light inspiréd form, No hand was moved, no word was said, Sinful brother, part in peace!' From that dire dungeon, place of doom, Paced forth the judges three ; 595 600 605 XXXIII. An hundred winding steps convey That conclave to the upper day; 610 But, ere they breathed the fresher air, And many a stifled groan : With speed their upward way they take, (Such speed as age and fear can make,) And cross'd themselves for terror's sake, As hurrying, tottering on, Even in the vesper's heavenly tone, 615 620 His beads the wakeful hermit told, 625 The Bamborough peasant raised his head, So far was heard the mighty knell, Then couch'd him down beside the hind, 630 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. TO WILLIAM ERSKINE, ESQ. Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. LIKE April morning clouds, that pass, And pleased, we listen as the breeze Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn trees; Flow on, flow unconfined, my Tale! Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell g? 5 ΤΟ 15 20 25 |