Himself he saw, amid the field, Denmark's grim ravens cower'd their wings. 475 480 'The joyful King turn'd home again, 490 His wound must bleed and smart; Lord Gifford then would gibing say, 495 "Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay 505 In the charm'd ring to break a lance, But all have foully sped; Save two, as legends tell, and they XXVI. The quaighs were deep, the liquor strong, 510 Had made a comment sage and long, But Marmion gave a sign: And, with their lord, the squires retire; The rest around the hostel fire, 515 Their drowsy limbs recline: 520 Threw on the group its shadows strange. XXVII. Apart, and nestling in the hay Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay; Scarce, by the pale moonlight, were seen 525 Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream, Of sport by thicket, or by stream, 530 A cautious tread his slumber broke, XXVIII. -'Fitz-Eustace! rise,-I cannot rest; 535 Arise, and saddle me my steed; And, darkling, Marmion's steed array'd, XXIX. 'Did'st never, good my youth, hear tell, That on the hour when I was born, · 545 550 Saint George, who graced my sire's chapelle, 555 A weary wight forlorn? The flattering chaplains all agree, 560 To ask one question at the sprite : Vain thought! for elves, if elves there be, An empty race, by fount or sea, 565 To dashing waters dance and sing, Or round the green oak wheel their ring.' Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode, And from the hostel slowly rode. XXX. Fitz-Eustace follow'd him abroad, 570 And mark'd him pace the village road, 575 Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received Ride forth in silence of the night, As hoping half to meet a sprite, For little did Fitz-Eustace know, Unfix the strongest mind; Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee, We welcome fond credulity, Guide confident, though blind. XXXI. Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared, 580 585 590 But, patient, waited till he heard, Come town-ward rushing on; First, dead, as if on turf it trode, 595 Then, clattering on the village road,— In other pace than forth he yode, 600 605 610 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH. TO JAMES SKENE, ESQ. Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. AN ancient Minstrel sagely said, 'Where is the life which late we led?' That motley clown in Arden wood, Whom humorous Jacques with envy view'd, Since we have known each other well; 5 10 And sure, through many a varied scene, Away these winged years have flown, To join the mass of ages gone; And though deep mark'd, like all below, 15 With chequer'd shades of joy and woe; Though thou o'er realms and seas hast ranged, While here, at home, my narrower ken 20 Though varying wishes, hopes, and fears, Yet now, days, weeks, and months, but seem So still we glide down to the sea Of fathomless eternity. 25 Even now it scarcely seems a day, |