And, I bethink me, by Saint Stephen, But e'en this morn to me was given A prize, the first fruits of the war, Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, A bevy of the maids of heaven. Under your guard, these holy maids Shall safe return to cloister shades, And, while they at Tantallon stay, Requiem for Cochran's soul may say." And, with the slaughtered favourite's name, Across the monarch's brow there came A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame. XVI. In answer nought could Angus speak; A burning tear there stole. His hand the monarch sudden took, That sight his kind heart could not brook: "Now, by the Bruce's soul, Angus, my hasty speech forgive! For sure as doth his spirit live, As he said of the Douglas old, I well may say of you,- * O Dowglas! Dowglas! Tendir and trew. The Houlate. Forgive me, Douglas, once again."— XVII. Displeased was James, that stranger viewed But Nottingham has archers good, Ere Scotland's King shall cross the Trent: Yet pause, brave prince, while yet you may." The Monarch lightly turned away, And to his nobles loud did call,— "Lords, to the dance,-a hall! a hall!"'* Himself his cloak and sword flung by, And minstrels, at the royal order, Bung out" Blue Bonnets o'er the border." XVIII. Leave we these revels now, to tell Again to English land. The ancient cry to make room for a dance, or pageant. The abbess told her chaplet o'er, Nor knew which Saint she should implore; For when she thought of Constance, sore She feared Lord Marmion's mood. And judge what Clara must have felt! The sword, that hung in Marmion's belt, Had drunk De Wilton's blood. Unwittingly, King James had given, As guard to Whitby's shades, The man most dreaded under heaven By these defenceless maids; Yet what petition could avail, Or who would listen to the tale Of woman, prisoner and nun, Mid bustle of a war begun ? They deemed it hopeless to avoid The convoy of their dangerous guide. XIX. Their lodging, so the King assigned, She had a secret to reveal, That much concerned the Church's weal, And health of sinner's soul; And with deep charge of secrecy, She named a place to meet, Within an open balcony, That hung from dizzy pitch, and high, To which, as common to each home, At night they might in secret come. XX. At night in secret there they came, Upon the street, were late before A beetle hum, a cricket sing, On Giles' steeple tall. The antique buildings, climbing high, To bowne him for the war.- |