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There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan ;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran :
There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ?

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The Monarch o'er the syren hung,
And beat the measure as she sung ;
And, pressing closer, and more near,
He whispered praises in her ear.
In loud applause the courtiers vied ;
And ladies winked and spoke aside.
The witching dame to Marmion threw

A glance, where seemed to reign
The pride that claims applauses due,
And of her royal conquest, too,

A real or feigned disdain :
Familiar was the look, and told,
Marmion and she were friends of old.
The King observed their meeting eyes,
With something like displeased surprise ;

For monarchs ill can rivals brook,
Even in a word, or smile, or look.
Straight took he forth the parchment broad,
Which Marmion's high commission showed :

“Our Borders sacked by many a raid,
Our peaceful liegemen robbed,” he said ;
"On day of truce our Warden slain,
Stout Barton killed, his vassals ta'en-
Unworthy were we here to reign,
Should these for vengeance cry in vain ;
Our full defiance, hate, and scorn,
Our herald has to Henry borne.”

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Tantallon Castle.

But scant three miles the band had rode,

When o'er a height they passed, And, sudden, close before them showed

His towers, Tantallon vast : Broad, massive, high, and stretching far, And held impregnable in war. On a projecting rock they rose, And round three sides the ocean flows; The fourth did battled walls enclose,

And double mound and fosse.
By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong,
Through studded gates, an entrance long,

To the main court they cross.
It was a wide and stately square ;
Around were lodgings, fit and fair,

And towers of various form,
Which on the court projected far,
And broke its lines quadrangular.
Here was square keep, there turret high,
Or pinnacle that sought the sky,
Whence oft the Warder could descry

The gathering ocean storm.

I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep
Hung o'er the margin of the deep.
Many a rude tower and rampart there
Repelled the insult of the air,
Which, when the tempest vexed the sky,
Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by.
Above the rest, a turret square
Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear,
Of sculpture rude, a stony shield ;
The Bloody Heart was in the field,
And in the chief three mullets stood,
The cognizance of Douglas blood.
The turret held a narrow stair,
Which, mounted, gave you access where
A parapet's embattled row
Did seaward round the castle go;
Sometimes in dizzy steps descending,
Sometimes in narrow circuit bending,
Sometimes in platform broad extending,
Its varying circle did combine
Bulwark, and bartizan, and line,
And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign ;
Above the booming ocean leant
The far-projecting battlement ;
The billows burst, in ceaseless flow,
Upon the precipice below.
Where'er Tantallon faced the land,
Gate-works, and walls, were strongly manned ;

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" Tantallon's dizzy steep Hung o'er the margin of the deep."

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