It fell on Marmion's ear,
And plained 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.

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 á stall,

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

13. 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.

For soon Lord Marmion raised his head,
And, smiling, to Fitz Eustace said :-
"Is it not strange, that, as ye sung,
Seemed 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."

14. 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 accent of command controlled,

In camps, the boldest of the bold-

k;

Thought, look, and utterance, failed him now,
Fallen was his glance, and flushed his brow:

For either in the tone,

Or something in the Palmer's look,
So full upon his conscience strook
That answer he found none.
Thus oft it haps, that when within
They shrink at sense of secret sin,
A feather daunts the brave;
A fool's wild speech confounds the wise,
And proudest princes veil their eyes
Before their meanest slave.

15. Well might he falter!--by his aid
Was Constance Beverley betrayed;

Not that he augured 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,
Though not a victim, but a slave;
And deemed restraint in convent strange
Would hide her wrongs, and her revenge.
Himself, proud Henry's favourite
Held Romish thunders, idle fear,
Secure his pardon he might hold,
For some slight mulct of penance-gold.
Thus judging, he gave secret way,

peer,

When the stern priests surprised their prey:
His train but deemed the favourite page
Was left behind, to spare his age;
Or other if they deemed, none dared
To mutter what he thought and heard :
Woe to the vassal, who durst pry
Into Lord Marmion's privacy!

16. His conscience slept—he deemed her well,
And safe secured in distant cell:

17.

But, wakened by her favourite lay,
And that strange Palmer's boding say,
That fell so ominous and drear

Full on the object of his fear,

To aid remorse's venomed throes,

Dark tales of convent vengeance rose;

And Constance, late betrayed and scorned,

All lovely on his soul returned:

Lovely as when, at treacherous call,

She left her convent's peaceful wall,

Crimsoned with shame, with terror mute.

Dreading alike escape, pursuit,

Till love, victorious o'er alarms,

Hid fears and blushes in his arms.

"Alas!" he thought, "how changed that mien ! How changed these timid looks have been,

Since years of guilt, and of disguise,

Have steeled her brow, and armed her eyes!

No more of virgin terror speaks

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!-
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,
How will her spirit chafe and swell!
How brook the stern monastic laws!
The penance how-and I the cause!-
Vigil and scourge-perhaps even worse;
And twice he rose to cry "to horse!"
And twice his sovereign's mandate came,
Like damp upon a kindling flame;
And twice he thought, "Gave I not charge
She should be safe, though not at large?
They durst not, for their island, shred
One golden ringlet from her head."

18. While thus in Marmion's bosom strove
Repentance and reviving love,

Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway
I've seen Loch Vennachar obey,

Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard,
And, talkative, took up the word :---

Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray
From Scotland's simple land away,
To visit realms afar,

Full often learn the art to know,
Of future weal, or future woe,
By word, or sign, or star;
Yet might a knight his fortune hear,
If, knight-like, he despises fear,
Not far from hence;-if fathers old
Aright our hamlet legend told.”—
These broken words the menials move,
(For marvels still the vulgar love ;)
And, Marmion giving licence cold,
His tale the Host thus gladly told.

THE HOST'S TALE.

19. "A clerk could tell what years have flown Since Alexander filled our throne,

Third monarch of that warlike name,
And eke the time when here he came
To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord;
A braver never drew a sword;

A wiser never, at the hour

Of midnight, spoke the word of power;
The same, whom ancient records call
The founder of the Goblin Hall.
I would, Sir Knight, your longer stay
Gave you that cavern to survey.
Of lofty roof, and ample size,
Beneath the castle deep it lies:
To hew the living rock profound,

20.

The floor to pave, the arch to round,
There never toiled a mortal arm,

It all was wrought by word and charm;
And I have heard my grandsire say,
That the wild clamour and affray
Of those dread artizans of hell,
Who laboured under Hugo's spell,
Sounded as loud as ocean's war
Among the caverns of Dunbar.

"The king Lord Gifford's castle sought,
Deep-labouring with uncertain thought:
Even then he mustered all his host,
To meet upon the western coast;
For Norse and Danish galleys plied
Their oars within the firth of Clyde.
There floated Haco's banner trim,
Above Norweyan warriors grim,
Savage of heart, and large of limb;
Threatening both continent and isle,
Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle.
Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground,
Heard Alexander's bugle sound,
And tarried not his garb to change,
But, in his wizard habit strange,
Came forth, a quaint and fearful sight;
His mantle lined with fox-skins white;
His high and wrinkled forehead bore
A pointed cap such as of yore
Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore;
His shoes were marked with cross and spell;
Upon his breast a pentacle;

His zone, of virgin parchment thin,
Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin,
Bore many a planetary sign,
Combust, and retrograde, and trine;
And in his hand he held prepared
A naked sword without a guard.

21. "Dire dealings with the fiendish race
Had marked strange lines upon his face;
Vigil and fast had worn him grim,
His eyesight dazzled seemed, and dim,
As one unused to upper day;
Even his own menials with dismay
Beheld Sir Knight, the grisly sire,
In this unwonted wild attire ;
Unwonted, for traditions run,
He seldom thus beheld the sun.

'I know,' he said,-his voice was hoarse,
And broken seemed its hollow force,—
'I know the cause, although untold,
Why the king seeks his vassal's hold;

22.

2).

Vainly from me my liege would know
His kingdom's future weal or woe:
But yet, if strong his arm and heart,
His courage may do more than art.

"Of middle air the demons proud,
Who ride upon the racking cloud,
Can read, in fixed or wandering star,
The issue of events afar;

But still their sullen aid withhold,
Save when by mightier force controlled.
Such late I summoned to my hall;
And though so potent was the call
That scarce the deepest nook of hell
I deemed a refuge from the spell,
Yet, obstinate in silence still,"
The haughty demon mocks my skill.
But thou,-whe little know'st thy might,
As born upon that blessèd night
When yawning graves, and dying groan,
Proclaimed hell's empire overthrown,-
With untaught valour shalt compel
Response denied to magic spell.'
'Gramercy,' quoth our Monarch free,
'Place him but front to front with me,
And, by this good and honoured brand,
The gift of Coeur-de-Lion's hand,
Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide,
The demon shall a buffet bide.'-

His bearing bold the wizard viewed,

And thus, well pleased, his speech renewed :--
'There spoke the blood of Malcolm!--mark:
Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark,
The rampart seek, whose circling crown
Crests the ascent of yonder down;

A southern entrance shalt thou find;
There halt, and there thy bugle wind,
And trust thine elfin foe to see,

In guise of thy worst enemy;

Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed-
Upon him! and St George to speed!
If he go down, thou soon shalt know
Whate'er these airy sprites can show ;---
If thy heart fail thee in the strife,
I am no warrant for thy life.'

"Soon as the midnight bell did ring,
Alone, and armed, forth rode the King
To that old camp's deserted round:

Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound,
Left hand the town,-the Pictish race

The trench, long since, in blood did trace;
The moor around is brown and bare,

H