The Palmer mount, and outwards ride,

Upon the Earl's own favourite steed; All sheathed he was in armour bright, And much resembled that same knight Subdued by you in Cotswold fight :

Lord Angus wish'd him speed." The instant that Fitz-Eustace spoke, A sudden light on Marmion broke;

"Ah! dastard fool, to reason lost!"

He mutter'd; ""Twas not fay, nor ghost,

I met upon the moonlight wold,

But living man of earthly mould.

O dotage blind and gross!

Had I but fought as wont, one thrust

Had laid De Wilton in the dust,

My path no more to cross.

How stand we now? He told his tale

To Douglas; and with some avail;

'Twas therefore gloom'd his rugged brow.—

Will Surrey dare to entertain,

'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and vain?

Small risk of that, I trow.

Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shun;

Must separate Constance from the Nun

O what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!-
A Palmer too!-no wonder why

I felt rebuked beneath his eye:

I might have known there was but one,
Whose look could quell Lord Marmion."

XVIII.

Stung with these thoughts, he urged to speed

His troop, and reach'd, at eve, the Tweed,

Where Lennel's convent closed their march:

(There now is left but one frail arch,

Yet mourn thou not its cells;

Our time a fair exchange has made;

Hard by, in hospitable shade,

A reverend pilgrim dwells,

Well worth the whole Bernardine brood,

That e'er wore sandal, frock, or hood.)

Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbot there

Give Marmion entertainment fair,

And lodging for his train and Clare.

Next morn the Baron climb'd the tower,

To view afar the Scottish power,

Encamp'd on Flodden edge :

The white pavilions made a show,

Like remnants of the winter snow,

Along the dusky ridge.

Long Marmion look'd :—at length his eye

Unusual movement might descry,

Amid the shifting lines:

The Scottish host drawn out appears,

For, flashing on the hedge of spears,

The eastern sun-beam shines.

Their front now deepening, now extending,

Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending,

Now drawing back, and now descending,

The skilful Marmion well could know,
They watch'd the motions of some foe,
Who traversed on the plain below.

XIX.

Even so it was ;-from Flodden ridge

The Scotch beheld the English host Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post, And heedful watch'd them as they cross'd The Till by Twisel Bridge.

High sight it is, and haughty, while
They dive into the deep defile;

Beneath the cavern'd eliffs they fall,
Beneath the castle's airy wall.

By rock, by oak, by hawthorn tree, Troop after troop are disappearing; Troop after troop, their banners rearing, Upon the eastern bank you see.

Still pouring down the rocky den,
Where flows the sullen Till,

And rising from the dim-wood glen,
Standards on standards, men on men,

In slow succession still,

And weeping o'er the Gothic arch,

And pressing on in ceaseless march,

To gain the opposing hill.

That morn to many a trumpet-clang,
Twisel! thy rock's deep echo rang;

And many a chief of birth and rank,
Saint Helen! at thy fountain drank.
Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see
In spring-tide bloom so lavishly,

Had then from many an axe its doom,

To give the marching columns room.

XX.

And why stands Scotland idly now,
Dark Flodden! on thy airy brow,

Since England gains the pass the while,

And struggles through the deep defile?

What checks the fiery soul of James? Why sits that champion of the dames

Inactive on his steed,

And sees, between him and his land,

Between him and Tweed's southern strand,

His host Lord Surrey lead?