And weapons, from his sleeping band;
And, passing from a postern door,
We met, and 'counter'd, hand to hand,—

He fell on Gifford-moor.
For the death-stroke my brand I drew,
(O then my helméd head he knew,

The Palmer's cowl was gone,)
Then had three inches of my blade
The heavy debt of vengeance paid,-
My hand the thought of Austin staid;

I left him there alone.

O good old man! even from the grave,
Thy spirit could thy master save:
If I had slain my foeman, ne'er
Had Whitby's Abbess, in her fear,
Given to my hand this packet dear,
Of power to clear my injured fame,
And vindicate De Wilton's name.-
Perchance you heard the Abbess tell
Of the strange pageantry of Hell,

That broke our secret speech-
It rose from the infernal shade,
Or featly was some juggle play'd,

A tale of peace to teach.

Appeal to Heaven I judged was best,
When my name came among the rest.

IX.

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245

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255

260

'Now here, within Tantallon Hold,

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To Douglas late my tale I told,

To whom my house was known of old.

Won by my proofs, his falchion bright

This eve anew shall dub me knight.
These were the arms that once did turn
The tide of fight on Otterburne,
And Harry Hotspur forced to yield,
When the Dead Douglas won the field.
These Angus gave—his armourer's care,
Ere morn, shall every breach repair;

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For nought, he said, was in his halls,
But ancient armour on the walls,

And aged chargers in the stalls,

And women, priests, and grey-hair'd men;
The rest were all in Twisel glen.
And now I watch my armour here,

By law of arms, till midnight's near;
Then, once again a belted knight,
Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of light.

X.

280

'There soon again we meet, my Clare!
This Baron means to guide thee there:
Douglas reveres his King's command,
Else would he take thee from his band.
And there thy kinsman, Surrey, too,
Will give De Wilton justice due.

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Might build a cottage in the shade,
A shepherd thou, and I to aid

Thy task on dale and moor?—

300

That reddening brow!-too well I know,

Not even thy Clare can peace bestow,
While falsehood stains thy name:

Go then to fight! Clare bids thee go!
Clare can a warrior's feelings know,

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And belt thee with thy brand of steel,
And send thee forth to fame!'

310

M

XI.

That night, upon the rocks and bay,
The midnight moon-beam slumbering lay,
And pour'd its silver light, and pure,
Through loop-hole, and through embrazure,
Upon Tantallon tower and hall;

But chief where archéd windows wide
Illuminate the chapel's pride,

The sober glances fall.

Two veterans of the Douglas' wars,

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Much was there need; though seam'd with scars,

Though two grey priests were there,

And each a blazing torch held high,

320

You could not by their blaze descry
The chapel's carving fair.

Yet show'd his meek and thoughtful eye
But little pride of prelacy;

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Doff'd his furr'd gown, and sable hood:
O'er his huge form and visage pale,

He wore a cap and shirt of mail;

And lean'd his large and wrinkled hand

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Upon the huge and sweeping brand
Which wont of yore, in battle fray,
His foeman's limbs to shred away,

As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.

He seem'd as, from the tombs around
Rising at judgment-day,

345

Some giant Douglas may be found
In all his old array;

So pale his face, so huge his limb,
So old his arms, his look so grim.

XII.

Then at the altar Wilton kneels,

And Clare the spurs bound on his heels;
And think what next he must have felt,
At buckling of the falchion belt!

And judge how Clara changed her hue,
While fastening to her lover's side

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355

A friend, which, though in danger tried,
He once had found untrue!

Then Douglas struck him with his blade:

'Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid,

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I dub thee knight.

Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir!

For King, for Church, for Lady fair,

See that thou fight.'

And Bishop Gawain, as he rose,

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Said 'Wilton! grieve not for thy woes,

That Douglas is my brother!'
'Nay, nay,' old Angus said, 'not so;
To Surrey's camp thou now must go,
Thy wrongs no longer smother.

I have two sons in yonder field;
And, if thou meet'st them under shield,
Upon them bravely-do thy worst;
And foul fall him that blenches first!'

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XIII.

Not far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array

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To Surrey's camp to ride;

He had safe-conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,

And Douglas gave a guide:
The ancient Earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,

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And whisper'd in an under tone,

'Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown.'

The train from out the castle drew,
But Marmion stopp'd to bid adieu :-

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'Though something I might plain,' he said,

'Of cold respect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your King's behest,

While in Tantallon's towers I staid; Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble Earl, receive my hand.'— But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :

395

'My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still Be open, at my Sovereign's will,

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To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my King's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone-
The hand of Douglas is his own;

The hand of such as Marmion clasp.'

And never shall in friendly grasp

XIV.

Burn'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,

And 'This to me!' he said,

'An 'twere not for thy hoary beard,

Such hand as Marmion's had not spared

To cleave the Douglas' head!
And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer,
He, who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate:

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