XVII.

"He stepped before the Monarch's chair, And stood with rustic plainness there,

And little reverence made;

Nor head, nor body, bowed nor bent,
But on the desk his arm he leant,
And words like these he said,

In a low voice, but never tone

So thrilled through vein, and nerve, and bone :

My mother sent me from afar,

Sir King, to warn thee not to war,—

Woe waits on thine array;

If war thou wilt, of woman fair,

Her witching wiles and wanton snare,

James Stuart, doubly warned, beware :
God keep thee as he may!".

The wondering Monarch seemed to seek

For answer, and found none;

And when he raised his head to speak,

The monitor was gone.

The Marshal and myself had cast
To stop him, as he outward past;
But lighter than the whirlwind's blast
He vanished from our eyes,

Like sunbeam on the billow cast,

That glances but, and dies."

XVIII.

While Lindesay told this marvel strange,
The twilight was so pale,

He marked not Marmion's colour change,

While listening to the tale:

But, after a suspended pause,

The Baron spoke :—“ Of Nature's laws

So strong I held the force,

That never super-human cause

Could e'er controul their course;

And, three days since, had judged your aim Was but to make your guest your game. But I have seen, since past the Tweed, What much has changed my sceptic creed,

And made me credit aught."—He staid,
And seemed to wish his words unsaid:
But by that strong emotion pressed,
Which prompts us to unload our breast,
Even when discovery's pain,

To Lindesay did at length unfold
The tale his village host had told,

At Gifford, to his train.

Nought of the Palmer says he there,
And nought of Constance, or of Clare:
The thoughts, which broke his sleep, he seems
To mention but as feverish dreams.

"In vain," said he,

XIX.

"to rest I spread

My burning limbs, and couched my head,

Fantastic thoughts returned;

And, by their wild dominion led,

My heart within me burned.

So sore was the delirious goad,
I took my steed, and forth I rode,

And, as the moon shone bright and cold,
Soon reached the camp upon the wold.
The southern entrance I passed through,
And halted, and my bugle blew.
Methought an answer met my ear,-
Yet was the blast so low and drear,
So hollow, and so faintly blown,
It might be echo of my own.

XX.

Thus judging, for a little space
I listened, ere I left the place;

But scarce could trust my eyes,
Nor yet can think they served me true,
When sudden in the ring I view,

In form distinct of shape and hue,
A mounted champion rise.—
I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day,
In single fight, and mixed affray,
And ever, I myself may say,

66

Have borne me as a knight;

But when this unexpected foe

Seemed starting from the gulph below,→
I care not though the truth I show,—
I trembled with affright;

And as I placed in rest my spear,

My

hand so shook for very fear,

I scarce could couch it right.

XXI.

Why need my tongue the issue tell?
We ran our course,-my charger fell ;—
What could he 'gainst the shock of hell?
I rolled upon the plain.

High o'er my head, with threatening hand,
The spectre shook his naked brand,—
Yet did the worst remain ;

My dazzled eyes I upward cast,-
Not opening hell itself could blast

Their sight, like what I saw.