And pour'd its silver light, and pure,

Through loop-hole, and through embrazure,

Upon Tantallon tower and hall;

But chief where arched windows wide

Illuminate the chapel's pride,

The sober glances fall.

Much was there need; though, seam'd with scars,

Two veterans of the Douglas' wars,

Though two grey priests were there,

And each a blazing torch held high,

You could not by their blaze descry

The chapel's carving fair.

Amid that dim and smoky light,

Chequering the silvery moon-shine bright,

A Bishop by the altar stood,

A noble lord of Douglas' blood,

With mitre sheen, and rocquet white.

Yet shew'd his meek and thoughtful eye

But little pride of prelacy;

More pleased that, in a barbarous age,

He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page,

Than that beneath his rule he held

The bishopric of fair Dunkeld.

Beside him ancient Angus stood,

Doff'd his furr'd gown and sable hood;

O'er his huge form and visage pale,
He wore a cap and shirt of mail,

And lean'd his large and wrinkled hand

Upon the huge and sweeping brand
Which wont, of yore, in battle-fray,

His foemen's limbs to shred away,
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.
He seem'd as, from the tombs around
Rising at judgment-day,

Some giant Douglas may be found

In all his old array;

So pale his face, so huge his limb,

So old his arms, his look so grim.

And think what next he must have felt, At buckling of the faulchion belt!

And judge how Clara changed her hue, While fastening to her lover's side

A friend, which, though in danger tried, He once had found untrue!

Then Douglas struck him with his blade :

"Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid,

I dub thee knight.

Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir!

For king, for church, for lady fair,

See that thou fight."

And Bishop Gawain, as he rose,

Said "Wilton! grieve not for thy woes,

Disgrace and trouble;

For He, who honour best bestows,

May give thee double.'

De Wilton sobb'd, for sob he must"Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust

That Douglas is my brother!"—

"

Nay, nay," old Angus said, "not so;

To Surrey's camp thou now must go,

Thy wrongs no longer smother.

I have two sons in yonder field;

And, if thou meet'st them under shield, Upon them bravely-do thy worst ;

And foul fall him that blenches first!"

XIII.

Not far advanced was morning day,

When Marmion did his troop array

To Surrey's camp to ride;

He had safe-conduct for his band,

Beneath the royal seal and hand,

And Douglas gave a guide :

The ancient Earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,

And whisper'd in an under tone,

"Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown.”

The train from out the castle drew,

But Marmion stopp'd to bid adieu :

"Though something I might plain," he said,

"Of cold respect to stranger guest,

Sent hither by your King's behest,

While in Tantallon's towers I staid; Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble Earl, receive my hand."But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :

66 My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still Be open, at my sovereign's will,

To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.

My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone-

The hand of Douglas is his own;

And never shall in friendly grasp

The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

XIV.

Burn'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,

And shook his very frame for ire,