Such have I heard, in Scottish land, And thought, how sad would be such sound, X. SONG. Where shall the lover rest, Whom the fates sever From his true maiden's breast, Parted for ever? 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, Scarce are boughs waving; There, thy rest shalt thou take, Never again to wake, Never, O never. CHORUS. Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never. XL Where shall the traitor rest, He, the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast, In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle, With groans of the dying. Eleu loro, &c. CHORUS. 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 By his grave ever; Blessing shall hallow it,- CHORUS. Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never. XIL It ceased, the melancholy sound; The air was sad; but sadder still And rested with his head a space, 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 wished to be their prey, For Lutterward and Fontenaye. XIII. High minds, of native pride and force, Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse! Fear for their scourge, mean villains have Thou art the torturer of the brave; Yet fatal strength they boast to stcel For soon Lord Marmion raised his head, Then first the Palmer silence broke, XIV. Marmion, whose steady heart and eye Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, In camps the boldest of the bold Thought, look, and utterance, failed him now, Or something in the Palmer's look, XV. Well might he falter!-by his aid And deemed restraint in convent strange When the stern priests surprised their prey: His train but deemed the favourite page Was left behind, to spare his age; Or other if they deemed, none dared To mutter what he thought and heard: Woe to the vassal, who durst pry XVI His conscience slept-he deemed her well, But wakened by her favourite lay, And that strange Palmer's boding say, That fell so ominous and drear, Full on the object of his fear, To aid remorse's venomed throes, Dark tales of convent vengeance rose; And Constance, late betrayed and scorned, All lovely on his soul returned: Lovely as when, at treacherous call, She left her convent's peaceful wall, Crimsoned with shame, with terror mute, Dreading alike escape, pursuit, Till love, victorious o'er alarms, Hid fears and blushes in his arms. XVIL "Alas!" he thought," how changed that men} How changed these timid looks have been, Since years of guilt, and of disguise, Have steeled her brow, and armed her eyes! No more of virgin terror speaks The blood that mantles in her checks; And I the cause-for whom were given Oh why should man's success remove And twice he thought, "Gave I not charge XVIII. While thus in Marmion's bosom strove Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway I've seen Loch Vennachar obey, Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard, And, talkative, took up the word: “Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray Full often learn the art to know, By word, or sign, or star; These broken words the menials move. His tale the host thus gladly told. XIX. THE HOST'S TALE. "A clerk could tell what years have flown Since Alexander filled our throne, (Third monarch of that warlike name,) And eke the time when here he came |