Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die, Under the willow. CHORUS. Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow. There, through the summer day, Cool streams are laving; There, while the tempests sway, Scarce are boughs waving; There, thy rest shalt thou take, Parted for ever, Never again to wake, Never, O never. CHORUS. Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never. XI. Where shall the traitor rest, He, the deceiver, Eleu loro, &c. There shall he be lying. Her wing shall the eagle flap O'er the false-hearted; His warm blood the wolf shall lap, Ere life be parted. Shame and dishonour sit XII. It ceased, the melancholy sound; And silence sunk on all around. The air was sad; but sadder still And plain'd as if disgrace and ill, And shameful death, were near. 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 a stall, Would scarce have wish'd to be their For Lutterward and Fontenaye. XIII. High minds, of native pride and force, Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse! prey, Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have, Thou art the torturer of the brave! Yet fatal strength they boast to steel For soon Lord Marmion raised his head, And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said, "Is it not strange, that, as ye sung, "Such as in nunneries they toll "For some departing sister's soul? "Say, what may this portend ?"— Then first the Palmer silence broke, (The live-long day he had not spoke,) "The death of a dear friend." XIV. 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 ; In camps, the boldest of the bold— Thought, look, and utterance, fail'd him now, Fall'n was his glance, and flush'd his brow : For either in the tone, Or something in the Palmer's look, So full upon his conscience strook, 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, Before their meanest slave. XV. Well might he faulter!-By his aid Was Constance Beverley betray'd. |