And belt thee with thy brand of steel, And send thee forth to fame!"

That night upon the rocks and bay The midnight moonbeam slumbering lay,

And poured its silver light and pure Through loophole and through embra

sure

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 seamed with scars,

Two veterans of the Douglas' wars,

Though two gray 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,
Checkering the silvery moonshine bright,
A bishop by the altar stood,
A noble lord of Douglas blood,
With mitre sheen and rochet white.
Yet showed 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,
Doffed his furred gown and sable hood;
O'er his huge form and visage pale
He wore a cap and shirt of mail,
And leaned his large and wrinkled hand
Upon the huge and sweeping brand
Which wont of yore in battle fray
His foeman's limbs to shred away,
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.
He seemed as, from the tombs around
Rising at judgment-day,

Some giant Douglas may be found
In all his d array ;

So pale his face, so huge his limb,
So old his arms, his look so grim.

Then at the altar Wilton kneels,
And Clare the spurs bound on his heels;
And think what next he must have felt
At buckling of the falchion beit !

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!

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 whispered in an undertone,

Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." The train from out the castle drew, But Marmion stopped 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 stayed, 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-stoneThe hand of Douglas is his own, And never shall in friendly grasp The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire

And shook his very frame for ire,
And-" This to me!" he said,

An 't were not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!
And first I tell thee, haughty peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,

--

May well, proud Angus, be thy mate;
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,-
Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword,-
I tell thee, thou 'rt defied!
And if thou saidst I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"
On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age:
Fierce he broke forth,-" And darest thou
then

To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?

No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no! Up drawbridge, grooms-what, warder, ho!

Let the portcullis fall,--"

Lord Marmion turned,-well was his need.

And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung
The ponderous grate behind him rung;
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars descending razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim :
And when Lord Marmion reached his
band,

He halts, and turns with clenched hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,
And shook his gauntlet at the towers.
"Horse! horse!"the Douglas cried, "and
chase!"

But soon he reined his fury's pace :
"A royal messenger he came,
Though most unworthy of the name.-
A letter forged! Saint Jude to speed!
Did ever knight so foul a deed ? i

1 Lest the reader should partake of the Earl's astonishment and consider the crime as incon. sistent with the manners of the period, I have to remind him of the numerous forgeries (partly executed by a female assistant) devised by Robert of Artois, to forward his suit against the Countess Matilda; which, being detected, occasioned his flight into England, and proved the remote cause of Edward the Third's memorable wars in France. John Harding, also, was expressly hired by Edward IV. to forge such documents as might appear to establish the claim of fealty asserted over Scotland by the English monarchs. (Scott's note.)

At first in heart it liked me ill
When the king praised his clerkly skill
Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine,
Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line;
So swore I, and I swear it still,
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill,—
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood!
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood,
I thought to slay him where he stood.
'T is pity of him too," he cried:
"Bold can he speak and fairly ride,
I warrant him a warrior tried."
With this his mandate he recalls,
And slowly seeks his castle halls.

64

The day in Marmion's journey wore ;
Yet, ere his passion's gust was o'er,
They crossed the heights of Stanrig-moor,
His troop more closely there he scanned,
And missed the Palmer from the band.
Palmer or not," young Blount did say,
"He parted at the peep of day;
Good sooth, it was in strange array."
In what array?" said Marmion quick.
My lord, I ill can spell the trick;
But all night long with clink and bang
Close to my couch did hammers clang:
At dawn the falling drawbridge rang,
And from a loophole while I peep,
Old Bell-the-Cat came from the keep,
Wrapped in a gown of sables fair,
As fearful of the morning air;
Beneath, when that was blown aside,
A rusty shirt of mail I spied,
By Archibald won in bloody work
Against the Saracen and Turk;
Last night it hung not in the hall;
I thought some marvel would befall.
And next I saw them saddled lead
Old Cheviot forth, the earl's best steed,
A matchless horse, though something old,
Prompt in his paces, cool and bold.
I heard the Sheriff Sholto say
The earl did much the Master pray
To use him on the battle-day,
But he preferred "-" Nay, Henry, cease!
Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy

peace.

Eustace, thou bear'st a brain-I pray, What did Blount see at break of day?"

"In brief, my lord, we both descriedFor then I stood by Henry's sideThe 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 wished him speed.'

The instant that Fitz-Eustace spoke,
A sudden light on Marmion broke :-
"Ah! dastard fool, to reason lost!"
He muttered; "T was nor 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 ;

'T was therefore gloomed 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-
Oh! 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."

Stung with these thoughts, he urged to speed

His troop, and reached 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 climbed the tower,
To view afar the Scottish power,
Encamped on Flodden edge;
The white pavilions made a show
Like remnants of the winter snow
Along the dusky ridge.

Long Marmion looked:-at length his

Now drawing back, and now descending,

The skilful Marmion well could know They watched the motions of some foe Who traversed on the plain below.

Even so it was. From Flodden ridge The Scots beheld the English host Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post,

And heedful watched thein as they crossed

The Till by Twisel Bridge.1

High sight it is and haughty, while
They dive into the deep defile;
Beneath the caverned cliff 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 rear-
ing

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

1 On the evening previous to the memorable battle of Flodden, Surrey's head-quarters were at Barmore-wood, and King James held an inaccessible position on the ridge of Flodden-hill, one of the last and lowest eminences detached from the ridge of Cheviot. The Till, a deep and slow river, winded between the armies. On the morning of the 9th September, 1513, Surrey marched in a northwesterly direction, and crossed the Till, with his van and artillery, at Twifel-bridge, nigh where that river joins the Tweed, his rear-guard column passing about a mile higher, by a ford. This movement had the double effect of placing his army between King James and his supplies from Scotland and of striking the Scottish monarch with sur prise, as he seems to have relied on the depth of the river in his front. But as the passage, both over the bridge and through the ford, was difficult and slow, it seems possible that the English might have been attacked to great advantage, while struggling with these natural ob stacles.-(Scott).

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? What vails the vain knight-errant's brand?

O Douglas, for thy leading wand!
Fierce Randolph, for thy speed!
Oh! for one hour of Wallace wight,
Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the fight
And cry, Saint Andrew and our right!"
Another sight had seen that morn,
From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn,
And Flodden had been Bannock-
bourne!-

The precious hour has passed in vain,
And England's host has gained the plain,
Wheeling their march and circling still
Around the base of Flodden hill.

Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye, Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high,

· Hark! hark! my lord,an English drum! And see ascending squadrons come

Between Tweed's river and the hill, Foot, horse, and cannon! Hap what hap, My basnet to a prentice cap,

Lord Surrey's o'er the Till!— Yet more! yet more !-how fair arrayed They file from out the hawthorn shade, And sweep so gallant by! With all their banners bravely spread,

And all their armor flashing high, Saint George might waken from the dead,

To see fair England's standards fly.""Stint in thy prate," quoth Blount, "thou 'dst best,"

And listen to our lord's behest.".
With kindling brow Lord Marmion said,
"This instant be our band arrayed;
The river must be quickly crossed,
That we may join Lord Surrey's host.
If fight King James,-as well I trust
That fight he will, and fight he must,-
The Lady Clare behind our lines
Shall tarry while the battle joins."

Himself he swift on horseback threw,
Scarce to the abbot bade adieu,
Far less would listen to his prayer
To leave behind the helpless Clare.
Down to the Tweed his band he drew,
And muttered as the flood they view,

"The pheasant in the falcon's claw, He scarce will yield to please a daw; Lord Angus may the abbot awe,

So Clare shall bide with me."
Then on that dangerous ford and deep
Where to the Tweed Leat's eddies creep,
He ventured desperately:

And not a moment will he bide
Till squire or groom before him ride;
Headmost of all he stems the tide,
And stems it gallantly.

Eustace held Clare upon her horse,
Old Hubert led her rein,

Stoutly they braved the current's course, And, though far downward driven perforce,

The southern bank they gain.
Behind them straggling came to shore,
As best they might, the train :
Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore,
A caution not in vain;

Deep need that day that every string,
By wet unharmed, should sharply ring.
A moment then Lord Marmion stayed,
And breathed his steed, his men arrayed,
Then forward moved his band,
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won,
He halted by a cross of stone,
That on a hillock standing lone
Did all the field command.

Hence might they see the full array
Of either host for deadly fray;
Their marshalled lines stretched east
and west,

And fronted north and south,
And distant salutation passed

From the loud cannon mouth; Not in the close successive rattle That breathes the voice of modern battle, But slow and far between.

The hillock gained, Lord Marmion stayed:

"Here, by this cross," he gently said,
You well may view the scene.
Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare :
Oh! think of Marmion in thy prayer!--
Thou wilt not?-well, no less my care
Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare.—
You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard,
With ten picked archers of my train;
With England if the day go hard,

To Berwick speed amain.-
But if we conquer, cruel maid,
My spoils shall at your feet be laid,
When here we meet again."

He waited not for answer there,
And would not mark the maid's despair,
Nor heed the discontented look

From either squire, but spurred amain,
And, dashing through the battle-plain,
His way to Surrey took.

"The good Lord Marmion, by my life!
Welcome to danger's hour!—
Short greeting serves in time of strife.-
Thus have ranged my power:
Myself will rule this central host,
Stout Stanley fronts their right,
My sons command the vaward post,
With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight;
Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light,
Shall be in rearward of the fight,
And succor those that need it most.
Now, gallant Marmion, well I know,
Would gladly to the vanguard go;
Elmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there.
With thee their charge will blithely
share;

There fight thine own retainers too
Beneath De Burg, thy steward true."
"Thanks, noble Surrey !" Marmion said,
Nor further greeting there he paid,
Bit, parting like a thunderbolt,
First in the vanguard made a halt,
Where such a shout there rose
Of" Marmion! Marmion!" that the cry,
Up Flodden mountain shrilling high,
Startled the Scottish foes.

Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still
With Lady Clare upon the hill,

On which-for far the day was spent-
The western sunbeams now were bent;
The cry they heard, its meaning knew,
Could plain their distant comrades view:
Sadly to Blount did Eustace say,
"Unworthy office here to stay!
No hope of gilded spurs to-day.—
But see! look up- on Flodden bent
The Scottish foe has fired his tent."
And sudden, as he spoke,
From the sharp ridges of the hill,
All downward to the banks of Till,
Was wreathed in sable smoke.
Volumed and vast, and rolling far,
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war
As down the hill they broke ;
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone,
Announced their march; their tread
alone,

At times one warning trumpet blown,
At times a stifled hum.

Told England, from his mountain-throne
King James did rushing come.
Scarce could they hear or see their foes
Until at weapon-point they close.-
They close in clouds of smoke and dust,

With sword-sway and with lance's thrust;

And such a yell was there.
Of sudden and portentous birth,
As if men fought upon the earth,
And fiends in upper air:

Oh! life and death were in the shout,
Recoil and rally, charge and rout,

And triumph and despair.

Long looked the anxious squires; their eye

Could in the darkness nought descry.

At length the freshening western blast
Aside the shroud of battle cast;
And first the ridge of mingled spears
Above the brightening cloud appears,
And in the smoke the pennons flew,
As in the storm the white seamew.
Then marked they, dashing broad and
far,

The broken billows of the war.
And plumed crests of chieftains brave
Floating like foam upon the wave;

But nought distinct they see:
Wide raged the battle on the plain;
Spears shook and falchions flashed
amain;

Fell England's arrow-flight like rain ;
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again,
Wild and disorderly.

Amid the scene of tumult, high
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly;
And stainless Tunstall's banner white,
And Edmund Howard's lion bright,
Still bear them bravely in the fight,
Although against them come
Of gallant Gordons many a one,
And many a stubborn Badenoch-man,
And many a rugged Border clan,

With Huntly and with Home.

Far on the left, unseen the while,
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle,
Though there the western mountaineer
Rushed with bare bosom on the spear,
And flung the feeble targe aside,
And with both hands the broadsword
plied.

'T was vain.-But Fortune, on the right, With fickle smile cheered Scotland's fight.

Then fell that spotless banner white,
The Howard's lion fell;

Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew
Around the battle-yell.

The Border slogan rent the sky!
A Home! a Gordon ! was the cry: