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To holy shrine, and grotto dim:
By every martyr's tortured limb;
By angel, saint, and seraphim,
And by the church of God.
For mark:—When Wilton was betrayed,
And with his squire forged letters laid,
She was, alas! that sinful maid,
By whom the deed was done,—
O! shame and horror to be said,
She was a perjured nun!
No clerk in all the land, like her,
Traced quaint and varying character.
Perchance you may a marvel deem,
That Marmion's paramour,
(For such vile thing she was,) should scheme
Her lover's nuptial hour;
But o'er him thus she hoped to gain,
As privy to his honour's stain,
Illimitable power:
For this she secretly retained
Each proof that might the plot reveal,
Instructions with his hand and seal;
And thus Saint Hilda deigned,
Through sinner's perfidy impure,
Her house's glory to secure,
And Clare's immortal weal.

XXIV. “”Twere long, and needless, here to tell, How to my hand these papers fell; With me they must not stay. Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true! Who knows what outrage he might do, While journeying by the way?— O, blessed Saint, if e'er again Iventurous leave thy calm domain, To travel, or by land or main, Deep penance may I pay! Now, Saintly Palmer, mark my prayer: I give this packet to thy care, For thee to stop they will not dare; And, O! with cautious speed, To Wolsey's hand the papers bring, That he may show them to the King; And, for thy well-earned meed, Thou holy man, at Whitby's shrine A weekly mass shall still be thine, While priests can sing and read.— What ail'st thou?—Speak!”—For as he took The charge, a strong emotion shook His frame; and, ere reply, They heard a faint, yet shrilly tone, Like distant clarion feebly blown, That on the breeze did die; And loud the Abbess shrieked in fear, “Saint Withold save us!—What is here! Kook at yon city cross;

See, on its battled tower appear
Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear,
And blazoned banners toss!”

XXV. Dun-Edin's cross, a pillared stone, Rose on a turret octagon; (But now is razed that monument, : Whence royal edict rang, And voice of Scotland's law was sent -In glorious trumpet clang. of be his tomb as lead to lead, Upon its dull destroyer's head!— A minstrel's malison” is said.-) Then on its battlements they saw A vision, passing Nature's law, Strange, wild, and dimly seen; Figures, that seemed to rise and die, Gibber and sign, advance and fly, While nought confirmed could ear or eye Discern of sound or mien. Yet darkly did it seem, as there Heralds and Pursuivants prepare, With trumpet sound, and blazon fair, A summons to proclaim; But indistinct the pageant proud, As fancy forms of midnight cloud, When flings the moon upon her shroud A wavering tinge of flame;

* i. e. Curse.

It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud,
From midmost of the spectre crowd,
This awful summons came :

XXVI. “Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer, Whose names I now shall call, Scottish, or foreigner, give ear! Subjects of him who sent me here, At his tribunal to appear, I summon one and all: I cite you, by each deadly sin, That eer hath soiled your hearts within; I cite you, by each brutallust, That eer defiled your earthly dustBy wrath, by pride, by fear, By each o'er-mastering passion's tone, By the dark grave, and dying groan' when forty days are past and gone, I cite you, at your monarch's throne, To answer and appear.”Then thundering forth a roll of names: The first was thine, unhappy James' Then all thy nobles came 3 Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Argyle, Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lylerwhy should I tell their separate style 2 Each chief of birth and fame,

Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle,
Fore-doomed to Flodden's carnage pile,
Was cited there by name;
And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye,
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbay,
De Wilton, erst of Aberley,
The self-same thundering voice did say.--
But then another spoke:
“Thy fatal summons I deny,
And thine infernal lord defy, -
Appealing me to Him on high,
Who burst the sinner's yoke.”
At that dread accent, with a scream,
Parted the pageant like a dream,
The summoner was gone.
Prone on her face the Abbess fell,
And fast, and fast, her beads did tell;
Her nuns came, startled by the yell,
And found her there alone.
She marked not, at the scene aghast,
What time, or how, the Palmer passéd.

XXVII.
Shift we the scene.—The camp doth move,
Dun-Edin's streets are empty now,
Save when, for weal of those they love,
To pray the prayer and vow the vow,
The tottering child, the anxious fair,
The gray-haired sire with pious care, ,

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