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Their mutual greetings duly made,
The Lion thus his message said :-

"Though Scotland's King hath deeply swore
Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more;
And strictly hath forbid resort
From England to his royal court;

Yet, for he knows Lord Marmion's name,
And honours much his warlike fame,
My liege hath deemed it shame, and lack
Of courtesy, to turn him back;
And by his order, I, your guide,
Must lodging fit and fair provide,
Till finds King James meet time to see
The flower of English chivalry."

9. Though inly chafed at this delay,
Lord Marmion bears it as he may.
The Palmer, his mysterious guide,
Beholding thus his place supplied,
Sought to take leave in vain:

IC.

Strict was the Lion-King's command,
That none who rode in Marmion's band
Should sever from the train:

"England has here enow of spies
In Lady Heron's witching eyes;"
To Marchmount thus, apart, he said,
But fair pretext to Marmion made.
The right-hand path they now decline,
And trace against the stream the Tyne.

At length up that wild dale they wind
Where Crichtoun Castle crowns the bank;
For there the Lion's care assigned

A lodging meet for Marmion's rank.

That castle rises on the steep

Of the green vale of Tyne;

And far beneath, where slow they creep
From pool to eddy, dark and deep,
Where alders moist and willows weep,

You hear her streams repine.

The towers in different ages rose;
Their various architecture shows
The builders' various hands;
A mighty mass, that could oppose,
When deadliest hatred fired its foes,
The vengeful Douglas bands.

II. Crichtoun! though now thy miry court
But pens the lazy steer and sheep,
Thy turrets rude, and tottered Keep,
Have been the minstrel's loved resort.
Oft have I traced within thy fort,

Of mouldering shields the mystic sense,
Scutcheons of honour, or pretence,

Quartered in old armorial sort,
Remains of rude magnificence:
Nor wholly yet hath time defaced
Thy lordly gallery fair;

Nor yet the stony cord unbraced,
Whose twisted knots, with roses laced,
Adorn thy ruined stair.
Still rises unimpaired, below,
The court-yard's graceful portico;
Above its cornice, row and row
Of fair hewn facets richly show
Their pointed diamond form,
Though there but houseless cattle go
To shield them from the storm.
And, shuddering, still may we explore,
Where oft whilome were captives pent,
The darkness of thy Massy More;

Or, from thy grass-grown battlement,
May trace, in undulating line,
The sluggish mazes of the Tyne.

12. Another aspect Crichtoun showed,
As through its portal Marmion rode;
But yet 'twas melancholy state
Received him at the outer gate;
For none were in the castle then,
But women, boys, or aged men.

13.

With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame
To welcome noble Marmion came;

Her son, a stripling twelve years old,

Proffered the Baron's rein to hold;

For each man, that could draw a sword,
Had marched that morning with their lord,
Earl Adam Hepburn--he who died
On Flodden, by his sovereign's side.
Long may his lady look in vain !
She ne'er shall see his gallant train

Come sweeping back through Crichtoun-Dean.
'Twas a brave race, before the name
Of hated Bothwell stained their fame.

And here two days did Marmion rest,
With every rite that honour claims,
Attended as the King's own guest,-

Such the command of royal James;
Who marshalled then his land's array,
Upon the Borough-moor that lay.
Perchance he would not foeman's eye
Upon his gathering host should pry,
Till full prepared was every band
To march against the English land.
Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit
Oft cheer the Baron's moodier fit ;

And, in his turn, he knew to prize

Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and wise-
Trained in the lore of Rome and Greece,
And policies of war and peace.

14. It chanced, as fell the second night,
That on the battlements they walked,
And, by the slowly fading light,

15.

Of varying topics talked;
And, unaware, the Herald-bard

Said Marmion might his toil have spared,
In travelling so far;

For that a messenger from heaven
In vain to James had counsel given
Against the English war:

And, closer questioned, thus he told
A tale, which chronicles of old
In Scottish story have enrolled :-
SIR DAVID LINDESAY'S TALE,

"Of all the palaces so fair,
Built for the royal dwelling,
In Scotland, far beyond compare
Linlithgow is excelling;

And in its park, in jovial June,
How sweet the merry linnet's tune,
How blithe the blackbird's lay!

The wild buck bells from ferny brake,
'The coot dives merry on the lake,
The saddest heart might pleasure take
To see all nature gay.

But June is to our Sovereign dear
The heaviest month in all the year:
Too well his cause of grief you know,-

June saw his father's overthrow.
Woe to the traitors, who could bring
The princely boy against his King!
Still in his conscience burns the sting.
In offices as strict as Lent,

King James's June is ever spent.

16. "When last this ruthful month was come, And in Linlithgow's holy dome

The King, as wont, was praying;
While for his royal father's soul
The chanters sung, the bells did toll,
The Bishop mass was saying-
For now the year brought round again
The day the luckless king was slain-
In Katharine's aisle the monarch knelt,
With sackcloth shirt, and iron belt,

And eyes with sorrow streaming;
Around him, in their stalls of state,

The Thistle's Knight-Companions sate,
Their banners o'er them beaming.
I too was there, and, sooth to tell,
Bedeafened with the jangling knell,
Was watching where the sunbeams fell,
Through the stained casement gleaming;
But, while I marked what next befell,
It seemed as I were dreaming.
Stepped from the crowd a ghostly wight,
In azure gown, with cincture white;
His forehead bald, his head was bare,
Down hung at length his yellow hair.—
Now, mock me not, when, good my lord,
I pledge to you my knightly word,
That, when I saw his placid grace,
His simple majesty of face,
His solemn bearing, and his pace
So stately gliding on;

Seemed to me ne'er did limner paint
So just an image of the Saint,

Who propped the Virgin in her faint,-
The loved Apostle John.

17. "He stepped before the Monarch's chair,
And stood with rustic plainness there,
And little reverence made;

Nor head, nor body, bowed nor bent,
But on the desk his arm he leant,

And words like these he said,

In a low voice, but never tone

So thrilled through vein, and nerve, and bone:-
'My mother sent me from afar,

Sir King, to warn thee not to war,—
Woe waits on thine array;

If war thou wilt, of woman fair,
Her witching wiles and wanton snare,
James Stuart, doubly warned, beware:
God keep thee as he may

!

The wondering Monarch seemed to seek

For answer, and found none;

And when he raised his head to speak,
The monitor was gone.

The Marshal and myself had cast
To stop him as he outward passed;
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast,"
He vanished from our eyes,

Like sunbeam on the billow cast,
That glances but, and dies."

18. While Lindesay told this marvel strange,
The twilight was so pale

He marked not Marmion's colour change,
While listening to the tale:

19.

20.

But, after a suspended pause,
The Baron spoke:-" Of Nature's laws
So strong I held the force
That never superhuman cause

Could e'er control their course;

And, three days since, had judged your aim
Was but to make your guest your game.
But I have seen, since past the Tweed,
What much has changed my sceptic creed,
And made me credit aught."-He stayed,
And seemed to wish his words unsaid;
But, by that strong emotion pressed
Which prompts us to unload our breast,
Even when discovery 's pain,

To Lindesay did at length unfold
The tale his village host had told,
At Gifford, to his train.

Nought of the Palmer says he there,
And nought of Constance, or of Clare:

The thoughts, which broke his sleep, he seems
To mention but as feverish dreams.

"In vain," said he, "to rest I spread
My burning limbs, and couched my head,
Fantastic thoughts returned;

And, by their wild dominion led,
My heart within me burned.
So sore was the delirious goad,
I took my steed, and forth I rode,
And, as the moon shone bright and cold,
Soon reached the camp upon the wold.
The southern entrance I passed through,
And halted, and my bugle blew.
Methought an answer met my ear,—
Yet was the blast so low and drear,
So hollow, and so faintly blown,
It might be echo of my own.
"Thus judging, for a little space
I listened, ere I left the place;

But scarce could trust my eyes,
Nor yet can think they served me true,
When sudden in the ring I view,
In form distinct of shape and hue,
A mounted champion rise.—
I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day,
In single fight, and mixed affray,
And ever, I myself may say,

Have borne me as a knight;
But when this unexpected foe
Seemed starting from the gulf below,-
I care not though the truth I show,-
I trembled with affright;

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