Such have I heard, in Scottish land,
Rise from the busy harvest band,
When falls before the mountaineer,
On Lowland plains, the ripen'd ear.

135

145

Or wild Ontario's boundless lake,
Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain,
Recall'd fair Scotland's hills again!

X.
Song.

Where shall the lover rest,

Whom the fates sever

From his true maiden's breast,

Parted for ever?

Where, through groves deep and high,

Sounds the far billow,

Where early violets die,

Under the willow.

CHORUS.

150

155

Cool streams are laving;

Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow.

There, through the summer day,

There, while the tempests sway,

Scarce are boughs waving;

160

There, thy rest shalt thou take,

Parted for ever,

Never again to wake,

Never, O never!

Eleu loro, &c. There shall he be lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap

O'er the false-hearted;

His warm blood the wolf shall lap,

Ere life be parted.

Shame and dishonour sit

By his grave ever;

Blessing shall hallow it,

Never, O never.

CHORUS.

Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never!

XII.

It ceased, the melancholy sound;
And silence sunk on all around.
The air was sad; but sadder still

It fell on Marmion's ear,
And plain'd as if disgrace and ill,
And shameful death, were near.
He drew his mantle past his face,
Between it and the band,
And rested with his head a space,
Reclining on his hand.

175

'180

785

190

His thoughts I scan not; but I ween,
That, could their import have been seen,
The meanest groom in all the hall,
That e'er tied courser to a stall,

Would scarce have wished to be their prey,
For Lutterward and Fontenaye.

XIII.

195

High minds, of native pride and force,
Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse!
Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have,
Thou art the torturer of the brave!
Yet fatal strength they boast to steel
Their minds to bear the wounds they feel,
Even while they writhe beneath the smart
Of civil conflict in the heart.

200

205

For soon Lord Marmion raised his head,
And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said,-
'Is it not strange, that, as ye sung,
Seem'd in mine ear a death-peal rung,
Such as in nunneries they toll
For some departing sister's soul?

Say, what may this portend?'—

Then first the Palmer silence broke, (The livelong day he had not spoke) 'The death of a dear friend.'

XIV.

Marmion, whose steady heart and eye
Ne'er changed in worst extremity;
Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook,
Even from his King, a haughty look;
Whose accents of command controll'd,
In camps, the boldest of the bold-

Thought, look, and utterance fail'd him now,
Fall'n was his glance, and flush'd his brow :

For either in the tone,

Or something in the Palmer's look,
So full upon his conscience strook,

210

215

220

225

Well might he falter!-By his aid
Was Constance Beverley betray'd.
Not that he augur'd of the doom,
Which on the living closed the tomb:
But, tired to hear the desperate maid
Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid;
And wroth, because, in wild despair,
She practised on the life of Clare;
Its fugitive the Church he gave,

240

To mutter what he thought and heard:
Woe to the vassal, who durst pry

That fell so ominous and drear,

Full on the object of his fear,

265

To aid remorse's venom'd throes,

Dark tales of convent-vengeance rose;

And Constance, late betray'd and scorn'd,'
All lovely on his soul return'd;

'Alas!' he thought, 'how changed that mien ! How changed these timid looks have been, Since years of guilt, and of disguise,

Have steel'd her brow, and arm'd her eyes!

275

No more of virgin terror speaks

280

The blood that mantles in her cheeks;
Fierce, and unfeminine, are there,

Frenzy for joy, for grief despair ;

And I the cause-for whom were given

Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven!

285

Would,' thought he, as the picture grows,

'I on its stalk had left the rose!

Oh, why should man's success remove
The very charms that wake his love!-

Her convent's peaceful solitude
Is now a prison harsh and rude;
And, pent within the narrow cell,

290

How will her spirit chafe and swell!
How brook the stern monastic laws!

The penance how-and I the cause!—

295

Vigil, and scourge-perchance even worse!'

And twice he rose to cry, 'To horse!'

And twice his Sovereign's mandate came,
Like damp upon a kindling flame;