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Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress,
And she with awe looks pale; And he, that ancient man, whose sight Has long been quenched by age's night, Upon whose wrinkled brow alone Nor ruth nor mercy's trace is shown,
Whose look is hard and stern, Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style, For sanctity called through the isle
The Saint of Lindisfarne.
To do the savagest of deeds ;
lash ; While his mute partuer, standing near, Waited her doom without a tear.
Before them stood a guilty pair ;
hide. Her cap down o'er her face she drew;
And, on her doublet breast,
Lord Marmion's falcon crest.
That tied her tresses fair,
In ringlets rich and rare. Constance de Beverley they know, Sister professed of Fontevraud, Whom the Church numbered with the
dead, For broken vows and convent fled,
Yet well the luckless wretch miglit
shriek, Well might her paleness terror speak! For there were seen in that dark wall Two niches, barrow, deep, and tall ;-, Who enters at such grisly door Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more. In each a slender meal was laid, Of roots, of water, and of bread ; By each, in Benedictine dress, Two haggard monks stood motionless, Who, holding high a blazing torch, Showed the grim entrance of the porch, Reflecting back the smoky beam, The dark-red walls and arches gleam. Hewn stones and cement were dis
played, And building tools in order laid.
When thus her face was given to
These executioners were chose,
Or who, in desperate doubt of grace,
Of some foul crime the stain;
Or thouglit more grace to gain
there, They knew not how, and knew noi
Her comrade was a sordid soul,
Such as does murder for a meed; Who, but of fear, knows no control, Because his conscience, seared and foul,
Feels not the import of his deed ; One whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires Beyond his own more brute desires. Such tools the Tempter ever needs
And now that blind old abbot rose,
To speak the Chapter's doom On those the wall was to enclose
Alive within the tomb, But stopped because that woful maid. Gathering her powers, to speak essay e Twice she essavell, and twice in vain Her accents might no utterance gain Nought but imperfect murmurs slap
From lier convulsed and quivering lip;
'Twixt each attempt all was so stili, You seemed to hear a distant rill
'T was ocean's swells and falls ; For though this vault of sin and fear Was to the sounding surge so near, A tempest there you scarce could hear,
So massive were the walls.
Shout Marmior., Marmion! to the sky
De Wilton to the block !' Say, ye who preach Heaven shall decide When in the lists two champions ride,
Say, was Heaven's justice here? When, loyal in his love and faith, Wilton found overthrow or death
Beneath a traitor's spear? How false the charge, how true he fell, This guilty packet best can tell." Then drew a packet from her breast, Paused, gathered voice, and spoke the
At length, an etfort sent apart
And light came to her eye,
By Autumn's stormy sky;
And armed herself to bear.
In form so soft and fair.
Successless might I sue :
Vain are your masses too.-
But did my fate and wish agree, Ne'er had been read, in story old, Of maiden true betrayed for gold,
That loved, or was avenged, like me! “The king approved his favorite's aim ; In vain a rival barred his claim,
Whose fate with Clare's was plight,
Their oaths are said,
Their lances in the rest are laid,
“Still was false Marmion's bridal stayed ; To Whitby's convent fled the maid,
The hated match to shun. * Ho! shifts she thus ?' King Henry
cried, 'Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride,
If she were sworn a nun.'
For Clara and for me:
A saint in heaven should be ;
“ Yet dread me from my living tomb,
Some traveller then shall find my bones
Fixed was her look and stern her air : Back from her shoulders streamed her
THE HOSTEL, OR INN THE livelong day Lord Marmion rode; The mountain path the Palmer showed By glen and streamlet winded still, Where stunted birches hid tbe rill. They might not choose the lowland road, For the Merse forayers were abroad, Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey, Had scarcely failed to bar their way; Oft on the trampling band from crown Of some tall cliff the deer looked down; On wing of jet from his repose In the deep heath the blackcock rose; Sprung from the gorse the timid roe, Nor waited for the bending bow; And when the stony path began By which the naked peak they wan, Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. The noon had long been passed before They gained the height of Lammer
moor ; Thence winding down the northern
way, Before them at the close of day Old Gifford's towers and hamlet lay.
The locks that wont her brow to shade
Till thus the abbot's doom was given,
From that dire dungeon, place of doom, Of execution too, and tomb,
Paced forth the judges three ; Sorrow it were and shame to tell The butcher-work that there befell, When they had glided from the cell
Of sin and misery.
And many a stifled groan.
take, Such speed as age and fear can make,And crossed themselves for terror's sake,
As hurrying, tottering on, Even in the vesper's heavenly tone They seemed to hear a dying groan, And bade the passing knell to toll For welfare of a parting soul. Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, Northumbrian rocks in answer rung; To Warkworth cell the echoes rolled, His beads the wakeful hermit told; The Bamborough peasant raised his
head, But slept ere half a prayer he said ; So far was heard the mighty knell, The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, Spread his broad nostrils to the wind, Listed before, aside, behind, Then coached him down beside the hind, And quaked among the mountain fern, To hear that sound so dull and stern.
No summons calls them to the tower,
On through the bamlet as they paced,
Lord Marmion drew his rein:
rude; Its cheerful fire and hearty food
Might well relieve his train. Down from their seats the liorsemen
Bore wealth of winter cheer ;
And savory haunchi of deer.
For his best palfrey would not. I
Endure that sullen scowl."
The chimney arch projected wide ;
Were tools for housewives' hand ::
The buckler, lance, and brand. Beneath its shade, the place of state. On oaken settle Marmion sate, And viewed around the blazing hearth His followers mix in noisy mirth ; Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide, From ancient vessels ranged aside Full actively their lost supplied.
Theirs was the glee of martial breast,
But Marmion, as to chase the awe Which thus had quelled their heart:
who saw The ever-varying firelight show That figure stern and face of woe,
Now called upon a squire; “ Fitz-Eustace, know'st thou not some
lay, To speed the lingering night away?
We slumber by the fire.
Whom the fates serer
Parted forever ?
Sounds the far billow,
Under the willow.
Resting upon his pilgrim staff,
Right opposite the Palmer stood, His thin dark visage seen but half,
Half hidden by his hood. Still fixed on Marmion was his look, Which he, who ill such gaze could
brook, Strove by a frown to quell; But not for that, though more than once Full met their stern encountering glance,
The Palmer's visage fell. By fits less frequent from the crowd Was heard the burst of laughter loud ; For still, as squire and archier stared On that dark face and matted beard,
Their glee and game declined. All gazed at length in silence drear, Unbroke save when in comrade's ear Some yeoman, wondering in his fear,
Thus whispered forth his mind : “ Saint Mary! saw'st thou e'er such
sight? How pale his cheek, his eye how bright Whene'er the firebrand's fickle light,
Glances beneath his cowl! Full on our lord he sets his eye;
Eleu loro, etc. Soft shall be his pillow.
There, through the summer day,
Cool streams are laving ;
Scarce are boughs waving;
Never, O never!
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 steel Their minds to bear the wounds they
feel, Even while they writhe beneath the
Say, what may this portend?'
“ The death of a dear friend.”
Eleu loro, etc. Never, O never!
Where shall the traitor rest,
He the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast,
Ruin and leave her ? In the lost battle,
Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle
With groans of the dying.
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 ; Whose accent of command controlled In camps the boldest of the bolal-Thought, look, and utterance failed him
Eleu loro, etc. There shall be be lying.
Her wing shall the eagle flap
O'er the false-hearted ; His warın blood the wolf shall lap,
Ere life be parted. Shame and dishonor sit
By his grave ever ; Blessing shall hallow it,
Never, O never !
Fallen was his glance and flushed his
That answer lie found none.
A feather daunts the brave ; A fool's wild speech confounds the wise, And prondest princes veil their eyes
Before their meanest slave.
Eleu loro, etc. Never, I never !
It ceased, the melancholy sound,
It fell on Marmion's ear,
And shameful death, were near.
Between it and the band,
Reclining on his hand,
seen, The meanest groom in all the hall, That e'er tied courser to a stall, Would scarce have wished to be their
prev, For Lutterward and Fontenaye.
Well might he falter !--By his aid