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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.

O! 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 fits, 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 e'er hath soiled your hearts within;
I cite you, by each brutal lust,

That e'er defiled your earthly dust,
By 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;

Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Argyle,
Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle,
Why should I tell their separate style?
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 passed.

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,

To chapels and to shrines repair.—
Where is the Palmer now? and where
The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare ?--
Bold Douglas! to Tantallon fair
They journey in thy charge:
Lord Marmion rode on his right hand,
The Palmer still was with the band;
Angus, like Lindesay, did command,
That none should roam at large.
But in that Palmer's altered mien
A wonderous change might now be seen;
Freely he spoke of war,

Of marvels wrought by single hand,
When lifted for a native land;

And still looked high, as if he planned

Some desperate deed afar.

His courser would he feed, and stroke,
And, tucking up his sable frock,
Would first his metal bold provoke,

Then sooth, or quell his pride.
Old Hubert said, that never one
He saw, except Lord Marmion,
A steed so fairly ride.

XXVIII.

Some half-hour's march behind, there came, By Eustace governed fair,

A troop escorting Hilda's dame

With all her nuns, and Clare.

No audience had Lord Marmion sought;
Ever he feared to aggravate

Clara de Clare's suspicious hate;
And safer 'twas, he thought,

To wait till, from the nuns removed,
The influence of kinsmen loved,
And suit by Henry's self approved,
Her slow consent had wrought.

His was no flickering flame, that dies
Unless when fanned by looks and sighs,
And lighted oft at lady's eyes;

He longed to stretch his wide command
O'er luckless Clara's ample land:
Besides, when Wilton with him vied,
Although the pang of humbled pride
* place of jealousy supplied,
Yer conquest by that meanness won,
He almost loathed to think upon,
Led him, at times, to hate the cause,
Which made him burst through honour's laws.
If e'er he loved, 'twas her alone,
Who died within that vault of stone.

XXIX.

And now, when close at hand they saw
North-Berwick's town, and lofty Law,
Fitz-Eustace bade them pause awhile,
Before a venerable pile,

Whose turrets viewed afar,

The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle,

The ocean's peace, or war.

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