And twice he rose to cry, "To horse!”
And twice his sovereign's mandate came,
Like damp upon a kindling flame;
And twice lie thought, "Gave I not
charge?

She should be safe, though not at large?

They durst not, for their island, shred
One golden ringlet from her head."

While thus in Marmion's bosom strove
Repentance and reviving love,
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
From Scotland's simple land away,

To visit realms afar,

full often learn the art to know Of future weal or future woe,

By word, or sign, or star; Yet might a knight his fortune hear, If, Knight-like, he despises fear, Not far from hence ;--if fathers old Aright our hamlet legend told." These broken words the menials move,For marvels still the vulgar love,-And. Marmion giving license cold, His tale the host thus gladly told :—

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
To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord:
A braver never drew a sword;
A wiser never, at the hour

Of midnight, spoke the word of power;
The same whom ancient records call
The founder of the Goblin-Hall.

I would, Sir Knight, your longer stay
Gave you that cavern to survey.
Of lofty roof and ample size,
Beneath the castle deep it lies:
To hew the living rock profound,
The floor to pave, the arch to round,
There never toiled a mortal arm,

It all was wrought by word and charm
And I have heard my grandsire say
That the wild clamor and affray
Of those dread artisans of hell,
Who labored under Hugo's spell,
Sounded as loud as ocean's war
Among the caverns of Dunbar.

The king Lord Gifford's castle sought, Deep laboring with uncertain thought. Even then he mustered all his host, To meet upon the western coast; For Norse and Danish galleys plied Their oars within the Firth of Clyde. There floated Haco's banner trim Above Norweyan warriors grim, Savage of heart and large of limb, Threatening both continent and isle, Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle. Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground, Heard Alexander's bugle sound. And tarried not his garb to change, But, in his wizard habit strange, Came forth, a quaint and fearful sight: His mantle lined with fox-skins white; His high and wrinkled forehead bore A pointed cap, such as of yore

Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore ; His shoes were marked with cross and spell,

Upon his breast a pentacle;

His zone of virgin parchment thin,
Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin,
Bore many a planetary sign,
Combust, and retrogade, and trine;
And in his hand he held prepared
A naked sword without a guard.

"Dire dealings with the fiendish race
Had marked strange lines upon his face;
Vigil and fast had worn him grim,
His eyesight dazzled seemed and dim,
As one unused to upper day;
Even his own menials with dismay
Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly sire
In this unwonted wild attire;
Unwonted, for traditions run
He seldom thus beheld the sun.

'I know,' he said, his voice was hoarse
And broken seemed its hollow force,-
'I know the cause, although untold,
Why the king seeks his vassal's hold:
Vainly from me my liege would know
His kingdom's future weal or woe;
But yet, if strong his arm and heart,
His courage may do more than art.

"Of middle air the demons proud,
Who ride upon the racking cloud,
Can read in fixed or wandering star
The issue of events afar,

But still their sullen aid withhold,
Save when by mightier force controlled.
Such late I summoned to my hall;
And though so potent was the call
That scarce the deepest nook of hell
I deemed a refuge from the spell,

Yet, obstinate in silence still,
The haughty demon mocks my skill.
But thou,-who little know'st thy might
As born upon that blessed night
When yawning graves and dying groan
Proclaimed hell's empire overthrown,-
With untaught valor shalt compel
Response denied to magic spell."
'Gramercy,' quoth our monarch free,
'Place him but front to front with me,
And, by this good and honored brand,
The gift of Coeur-de-Lion's hand,
Soothly I swear that, tide what tide,
The demon shall a buffet bide.'
His bearing bold the wizard viewed,
And thus, well pleased, his speech re-
newed:

'There spoke the blood of Malcolm mark:

Forth pacing hence at midnight dark,
The rampart seek whose circling crown
Crests the ascent of yonder down:

A southern entrance shalt thou find ;
There halt, and there thy bugle wind,
And trust thine elfin foe to see
In guise of thy worst enemy.
Couch then thy lance and spur thy
steed-

Upon him! and Saint George to speed!
If he go down, thou soon shalt know
Whate'er these airy sprites can show ;
If thy heart fail thee in the strife,
I am no warrant for thy life.'

"Soon as the midnight bell did ring,
Alone and armed, forth rode the king
To that old camp's deserted round.
Sir Knight, you well might mark the
mound

Left hand the town,-the Pictish race The trench, long since, in blood did

trace;

The moor around is brown and bare,
The space within is green and fair.
The spot our village children know,
For there the earliest wild-flowers grow;
But woe betide the wandering wight
That treads its circle in the night!
The breadth across a bowshot clear,
Gives ample space for full career;
Opposed to the four points of heaven,
By four deep gaps are entrance given.
The southernmost our monarch passed,
Halted, and blew a gallant blast;
And on the north, within the ring,
Appeared the form of England's king,
Who then, a thousand leagues afar,
In Palestine waged holy war:

Yet arms like England's did he wield;

Alike the leopards in the shield, Alike his Syrian courser's frame, The rider's length of limb the same. Long afterwards did Scotland know Fell Edward was her deadliest foe.

"The vision made our monarch start,
But soon he manned his noble heart,
And in the first career they ran,
The Elfin Knight fell, horse and man;
Yet did a splinter of his lance
Through Alexander's visor glance,
And razed the skin-a puny wound.
The king, light leaping to the ground,
With naked blade his phantom foe
Compelled the future war to show.
Of Largs he saw the glorious plain,
Where still gigantic bones remain,
Memorial of the Danish war;
Himself he saw, amid the field,
On high his brandished war-axe wield
And strike proud Haco from his car,
While all around the shadowy kings
Denmark's grim ravens cowered their
wings.

'T is said that in that awful night
Remoter visions met his sight,
Foreshowing future conquest far,
When our sons sons wage Northern

war;

A royal city, tower and spire,
Reddened the midnight sky with fire,
And shouting crews her navy bore
Triumphant to the victor shore.
Such signs may learned clerks explain,
They pass the wit of simple swain.

"The joyful king turned home again,
Headed his host, and quelled the Dane;
But yearly, when returned the night
Of his strange combat with the sprite,
His wound must bleed and smart;
Lord Gifford then would gibing say,
Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay
The penance of your start.'
Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave,
King Alexander fills his grave,

Our Lady give him rest!

Yet still the knightly spear and shield The Elfin Warrior doth wield

Upon the brown hill's breast,

And many a knight hath proved his chance

In the charmed ring to break a lance,
But all have foully sped;

Save two, as legends tell, and they
Were Wallace wight and Gilbert

The quaighs were deep, the liquor strong,

And on the tale the yeoman-throng
Had made a comment sage and long,
But Marmion gave a sign,
And with their lord the squires retire,
The rest around the hostel fire

Their drowsy limbs recline;
For pillow, underneath each head
The quiver and the targe were laid.
Deep slumbering on the hostel floor,
Oppressed with toil and ale, they snore ;
The dying flame, in fitful change,
Threw on the group its shadows strange.

Apart, and nestling in the hay
Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay;
Scarce by the pale moonlight were seen
The foldings of his mantle green:
Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream.
Of sport by thicket, or by stream,
Of hawk or hound, or ring or glove,
Or, lighter yet, of lady's love.

A cautious tread his slumber broke,
And, close beside him when he woke,
In moonbeam half, and half in gloom,
Stood a tall form with nodding plume;
But, ere his dagger Eustace drew,
His master Marmion's voice he knew:

I would, the omen's truth to show,
That I could meet this elfin foe!
Blithe would I battle for the right
To ask one question at the sprite.-
Vain thought! for elves, if elves there
be,

An empty race, by fount or sea
To dashing waters dance and sing,

Or round the green oak wheel their ring."

Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode,
And from the hostel slowly rode.

Fitz-Eustace followed him abroad,
And marked him pace the village road,
And listened to his horse's tramp,

Till, by the lessening sound,
He judged that of the Pictish camp
Lord Marmion sought the round.
Wonder it seemed, in the squire's eyes,
That one, so wary held and wise,-

Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received
For gospel what the Church believed,-
Should, stirred by idle tale,
Ride forth in silence of the night,
As hoping half to meet a sprite,
Arrayed in plate and mail.
For little did Fitz-Eustace know
That passions in contending flow
Unfix the strongest mind;
Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee,
We welcome fond credulity,

Guide confident, though blind.

Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared,
But patient waited till he heard
At distance, pricked to utmost speed,
The foot-tramp of a flying steed

Come townward rushing on;
First, dead, as if on turf it trode,
Then, clattering on the village road,-
In other pace than forth he yode,

Returned Lord Marmion, Down hastily he sprung from selle, And in his haste wellnigh he fell; To the squire's hand the rein he threw, And spoke no word as he withdrew: But yet the moonlight did betray The falcon-crest was soiled with clay; And plainly might Fitz Eustace see, By stains upon the charger's knee And his left side, that on the moor He had not kept his footing sure. Long musing on these wondrous signs, At length to rest the squire reclines, Broken and short; for still between Would dreams of terror intervene : Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark The first notes of the morning lark.

CANTO FOURTH

THE CAMP

EUSTACE, I said, did blithely mark
The first notes of the merry lark.
The lark sang shrill, the cock he crew,
And loudly Marmion's bugles blew,
And with their light and lively call
Brought groom and yeoman to the stall.
Whistling they came and free of heart,
But soon their mood was changed;
Complaint was heard on every part
Of some thing disarranged."
Some clamored loud for armor lost;
Some brawled and wrangled with the
host;

'By Becket's bones,' cried one, 'I fear That some false Scot has stolen my, spear!'

Young Blount, Lord Marmion's second squire,

Found his steed wet with sweat and mire, Although the rated horse-boy sware Last night he dressed him sleek and fair, While chafed the impatient squire like thunder,

Old Hubert shouts in fear and wonder,
Help, gentle Blount! help. comrades all!
Bevis lies dying in his stall;

To Marmion who the plight dare tell
Of the good steed he loves so well?'
Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw
The charger panting on his straw;
Till one, who would seem wisest, cried,
66 What else but evil could betide,
With that cursed Palmer for our guide?
Better we had through mire and bush
Been lantern-led by Friar Rush."

And, as the charge he cast and paid, "Ill thou deserv'st thy hire," he said; "Dost see, thou knave, my horse's plight? Fairies have ridden him all the night,

And left him in a foam!

I trust that soon a conjuring band,
With English cross and blazing brand,
Shall drive the devils from this land
To their infernal home;
For in this haunted den, I trow,
All night they trampled to and fro."
The laughing host looked on the hire:
"Gramercy, gentle southern squire,
And if thou com'st among the rest,
With Scottish broadsword to be blest,
Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow,
And short the pang to undergo."
Here stayed their talk, for Marmion
Gave now the signal to set on.
The Palmer showing forth the way,
They journeyed all the morning-day.

The greensward way was smooth and good,

Through Humbie's and through Saltoun's

wood;

A forest glade, which, varying still, Here gave a view of dale and hill There narrower closed till overhead A vaulted screen the branches made. "A pleasant path," Fitz-Eustace said; "Such as where errant knights might

see

Adventures of high chivalry,

Might meet some damsel flying fast,
With hair unbound and looks aghast;
And smooth and level course were here,
In her defence to break a spear.
Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells;
And oft in such, the story tells,
The damsel kind, from danger freed,
Did grateful pay her champion's meed."
He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's mind,
Perchance to show his lore designed;

For Eustace much had pored
Upon a huge romantic tome,
In the hall-window of his home,
Imprinted at the antique dome

Of Caxton or de Worde,

Therefore he spoke,-but spoke in vain,
For Marmion answered nought again.

Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill,
In notes prolonged by wood and hill,
Were heard to echo far;

Each ready archer grasped his bow,
But by the flourish soon they know
They breathed no point of war.
Yet cautious, as in foeman's land,

Lord Marmion's order speeds the band
Some opener ground to gain ;
And scarce a furlong had they rode,
When thinner trees receding showed
A little woodland plain.
Just in that advantageous glade
The halting troop a line had made,
As forth from the opposing shade
Issued a gallant train.

First came the trumpets, at whose clang
So late the forest echoes rang;
On prancing steeds they forward pressed,
With scarlet mantle, azure vest;
Each at his trump a banner wore,
Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore :
Heralds and pursuivants, by name
Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay,

came,

In painted tabards, proudly showing
Gules, argent, or, and azure glowing.
Attendant on a king-at-arnis,

Whose hand the armorial truncheon held

That feudal strife had often quelled
When wildest its alarms.

He was a man of middle age,
In aspect manly, grave, and sage,
As on king's errand come;
But in the glances of his eye
A penetrating, keen, and sly

Expression found its home;
The flash of that satiric rage
Which, bursting on the early stage,
Branded the vices of the age,

And broke the keys of Rome.
On milk-white palfrey forth he paced,
His cap of maintenance was graced
With the proud heron-plume.
From his steed's shoulder, loin, and
breast,

Silk housings swept the ground, With Scotland's armis, device, and crest, Embroidered round and round. The double tressure might you see,

First by Achaius borne,

The thistle and the fleur-de-lis,

And gallant unicorn.

So bright the king's armorial coat
That scarce the dazzled eye could note
In living colors blazoned brave,
The Lion, which his title gave;

A train, which well beseemed his state
But all unarmed, around him wait.
Still is thy name in high account,
And still thy verse has charms,
Sir David Lindesay of the Mount,
Lord Lion King-at-arms!