Lord Marmion rode on his right hand, The Palmer still was with the band; Angus, like Lindesay, did command,

That none should roam at large.
But in that Palmer's altered mein
A wond'rous change might now be seen;
Freely he spoke of war,

Of marvels wrought by single hand,
When lifted for a native land;

And still looked high, as if he planned

Some desperate deed afar.

His courser would he feed, and stroke, And, tucking up his sable frock,

Would first his metal bold provoke,

Then soothe, or quell his pride.

Old Hubert said, that never one
He saw, except Lord Marmion,

A steed so fairly ride.

XXVIII.

Some half-hour's march behind, there came,

By Eustace governed fair,

A troop escorting Hilda's Dame,

With all her nuns, and Clare.

No audience had Lord Marmion sought;

Ever he feared to aggravate

Clara de Clare's suspicious hate;

And safer 'twas, he thought,

To wait till, from the nuns removed,
The influence of kinsmen loved,

And suit by Henry's self approved,
Her slow consent had wrought.

His was no flickering flame, that dies
Unless when fanned by looks and sighs,
And lighted oft at lady's eyes;

He longed to stretch his wide command
O'er luckless Clara's ample land :
Besides, when Wilton with him vied,
Although the pang of humbled pride
The place of jealousy supplied,

Yet conquest by that meanness won,
He almost loathed to think upon,

Led him, at times, to hate the cause,

Which made him burst through honour's laws.

If e'er he loved, 'twas her alone,

Who died within that vault of stone.

XXIX.

And now, when close at hand they saw
North-Berwick's town, and lofty Law,
Fitz-Eustace bade them pause a while,
Before a venerable pile,

Whose turrets viewed afar,

The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle,
The ocean's peace, or war.
At tolling of a bell, forth came
The convent's venerable Dame,

And prayed Saint Hilda's Abbess rest
With her, a loved and honoured guest,
Till Douglas should a bark prepare,
To waft her back to Whitby fair.

Glad was the Abbess, you may guess,
And thanked the Scottish Prioress;

And tedious were to tell, I ween,

The courteous speech that passed between.
O'erjoyed the nuns their palfreys leave ;
But when fair Clara did intend,
Like them, from horse-back to descend,
Fitz-Eustace said,—“ I grieve,
“I

Fair lady, grieve e'en from my

heart,

Such gentle company to part.

Think not discourtesy,

But lords' commands must be obeyed;

And Marmion and the Douglas said,

That you

must wend with me.

Lord Marmion hath a letter broad,

Which to the Scottish Earl he showed,

Commanding, that, beneath his care,
Without delay, you shall repair

To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare.”

XXX.

The startled Abbess loud exclaimed ;
But she, at whom the blow was aimed,
Grew pale as death, and cold as lead,—
She deemed she heard her death-doom read.
"Cheer thee, my child!" the Abbess said,

66

They dare not tear thee from my hand,

To ride alone with armed band."

66

Nay, holy mother, nay,"

Fitz-Eustace said, "the lovely Clare

Will be in Lady Angus' care,

In Scotland while we stay;

And, when we move, an easy ride
Will bring us to the English side,
Female attendance to provide

Befitting Gloster's heir;

Nor thinks, nor dreams, my noble lord,

By slightest look, or act, or word,

To harass Lady Clare.

Her faithful guardian he will be,

Nor sue for slightest courtesy