While some, in close recess apart, Courted the ladies of their heart,

Nor courted them in vain; For often, in the parting hour, Victorious Love asserts his power O'er coldness and disdain; And flinty is her heart, can view To battle march a lover true, Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, Nor own her share of pain.

VIII.

Through this mix'd crowd of glee and game,

The King to greet Lord Marmion came,

While, reverent, all made room. An easy task it was, I trow, King James's manly form to know, Although, his courtesy to show, He doff'd, to Marmion bending low, His broider'd cap and plume. For royal was his garb and mien,

His cloak, of crimson velvet pil'd, Trimm'd with the fur of marten wild; His vest of changeful satin sheen,

The dazzled eye beguil'd;
His gorgeous collar hung adown,
Wrought with the badge of Scotland's
crown,

The thistle brave, of old renown :
His trusty blade, Toledo right,
Descended from a baldric bright;
White were his buskins, on the heel
His spurs inlaid of gold and steel;
His bonnet, all of crimson fair,
Was button'd with a ruby rare :
And Marmion deem'd he ne'er had seen
A prince of such a noble mien.

IX.

The Monarch's form was middle size; For feat of strength, or exercise,

Shaped in proportion fair; And hazel was his eagle eye, And auburn of the darkest dye,

His short curl'd beard and hair. Light was his footstep in the dance, And firm his stirrup in the lists;

And, oh he had that merry glance

That seldom lady's heart resists. Lightly from fair to fair he flew, And lov'd to plead, lament, and sue, Suit lightly won, and short-liv'd pain, For monarchs seldom sigh in vain.

I said he joy'd in banquet bower; But,'mid his mirth, 'twas often strange, How suddenly his cheer would change, His look o'ercast and lower, If, in a sudden turn, he felt The pressure of his iron belt, That bound his breast in penance pain, In memory of his father slain. Even so 'twas strange how, evermore, Soon as the passing pang was o'er, Forward he rush'd, with double glee, Into the stream of revelry; Thus, dim-seen object of affright Startles the courser in his flight, And half he halts, half springs aside; But feels the quickening spur applied, And, straining on the tighten'd rein, Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plain.

X.

O'er James's heart, the courtiers say,
Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway:
To Scotland's Court she came,
To be a hostage for her lord,
Who Cessford's gallant heart had
gor'd,

And with the King to make accord,

Had sent his lovely dame.
Nor to that lady free alone
Did the gay King allegiance own;

For the fair Queen of France
Sent him a turquois ring and glove,
And charg'd him, as her knight and
love,

For her to break a lance; And strike three strokes with Scottish

brand,

And march three miles on Southron

land,

And bid the banners of his band

In English breezes dance.

And thus for France's Queen he

drest

His manly limbs in mailed vest;
And thus admitted English fair
His inmost counsels still to share;
And thus, for both, he madly plann'd
The ruin of himself and land!

And yet, the sooth to tell,
Nor England's fair, nor France's
Queen,

Were worth one pearl-drop, bright

and sheen,

From Margaret's eyes that fell,His own Queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow's bower,

All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour.

XI.

The Queen sits lone in Lithgow pile,

And weeps the weary day The war against her native soil, Her Monarch's risk in battle broil:And in gay Holy-Rood, the while, Dame Heron rises with a smile

Upon the harp to play. Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er The strings her fingers flew ; And as she touch'd and tuned them all,

Ever her bosom's rise and fall

Was plainer given to view; For, all for heat, was laid aside Her wimple, and her hood untied. And first she pitch'd her voice to sing, Then glanced her dark eye on the King,

And then around the silent ring; And laugh'd, and blush'd, and oft did say

Her pretty oath, by Yea, and Nay, She could not, would not, durst not play!

XII.

LOCHINVAR.

O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;

And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,

He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone,

He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late:

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

Soboldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and

brothers, and all:

Mingled with arch simplicity,

A soft, yet lively, air she rung, While thus the wily lady sung:

love of mine,

To lead but one measure, drink one

cup of wine.

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 ?—

XIII.

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

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

A real or feign'd disdain : Familiar was the look, and told, Marmion and she were friends of old.

The King observ'd their meeting eyes, With something like displeas'd 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 show'd:

Our Borders sack'd by many a raid, Our peaceful liege-men robb'd,' he said:

'On day of truce our Warden slain, Stout Barton kill'd, his vessels ta'enUnworthy were we here to reign, Should these for vengeance cry in vain; Our full defiance, hate, and scorn, Our herald has to Henry borne.'

XIV.

He paus'd, and led where Douglas stood,

And with stern eye the pageant view'd:

I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore,
Who coronet of Angus bore,
And, when his blood and heart were
high,

Did the third James in camp defy,
And all his minions led to die

On Lauder's dreary flat:
Princes and favourites long grew tame
And trembled at the homely name

Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat;
The same who left the dusky vale
Of Hermitage in Liddisdale,

Its dungeons, and its towers,

Then rest you in Tantallon Hold;
Your host shall be the Douglas bold,-
A chief unlike his sires of old.
He wears their motto on his blade,
Their blazon o'er his towers display'd;
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose,
More than to face his country's focs.
And, I bethink me, by St. Stephen,

But e'en this morn to me was given. A prize, the first fruits of the war, Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar,

A bevy of the maids of Heaven. Under your guard, these holy maids

air,

And Bothwell bank is blooming fair,
To fix his princely bowers.
Though now, in age, he had laid down
His armour for the peaceful gown,

And for a staff his brand,

Yet often would flash forth the fire, That could, in youth, a monarch's ire And minion's pride withstand; And even that day, at council board, Unapt to soothe his sovereign's

mood,

Against the war had Angus stood, And chaf'd his royal lord.

XV.

His giant-form, like ruin'd tower, Though fall'n its muscles' brawny vaunt,

Huge-bon'd, and tall, and grim, and gaunt,

Seem'd o'er the gaudy scene to lower: His locks and beard in silver grew; His eyebrows kept their sable hue. Near Douglas when the Monarch stood, His bitter speech he thus pursued: 'Lord Marmion, since these letters say That in the North you needs must stay While slightest hopes of peace remain, Uncourteous speech it were, and stern, To say-Return to Lindisfarne

Until my herald come again.

And, while they at Tantallon stay, Requiem for Cochran's soul may say.' And, with the slaughter'd favourite's

name,

Across the Monarch's brow there came A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame.

XVI.

In answer nought could Angus speak; His proud heart swell'd wellnigh to break:

He turn'd aside, and down his cheek
A burning tear there stole,
His hand the Monarch sudden took,
That sight his kind heart could not
brook :

Now, by the Bruce's soul,
Angus, my hasty speech forgive!
For sure as doth his spirit live,
As he said of the Douglas old,

I well may say of you, That never king did subject hold, In speech more free, in war more bold, More tender and more true: Forgive me, Douglas, once again.'— And, while the King his hand did strain,

The old man's tears fell down like rain.

To seize the moment Marmion tried,
And whisper'd to the King aside :
'Oh! let such tears unwonted plead
For respite short from dubious deed!

A child will weep a bramble's smart,
A maid to see her sparrow part,
A stripling for a woman's heart :
But woe awaits a country, when
She sees the tears of bearded men.
Then oh what omen, dark and high,
When Douglas wets his manly eye!'

XVII.

Displeas'd was James, that stranger view'd

And tamper'd with his changing mood. 'Laugh those that can, weep those that may,'

Thus did the fiery Monarch say,
'Southward I march by break of day;
And if within Tantallon strong
The good Lord Marmion tarries long,
Perchance our meeting next may fall
At Tamworth, in his castle-hall.'
The haughty Marmion felt the taunt,
And answer'd, grave, the royal vaunt:
'Much honour'd were my humble home
If in its halls King James should come;
But Nottingham has archers good,
And Yorkshire men are stern of mood;
Northumbrian prickers wild and rude.
On Derby Hills the paths are steep;
In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep;
And many a banner will be torn,
And many a knight to earth be borne,
And many a sheaf of arrows spent,
Ere Scotland's King shall cross the
Trent:

Yet pause, brave Prince, while yet you may!'

The Monarch lightly turn'd away,
And to his nobles loud did call,-
'Lords, to the dance! a hall! a hall!'
Himself his cloak and sword flung by,
And led Dame Heron gallantly;
And minstrels, at the royal order,
Rung out 'Blue Bonnets o'er the
Border.'

XVIII.

Leave we these revels now, to tell What to Saint Hilda's maids befell,

Their lodging, so the King assign’d, To Marmion's, as their guardian.join'd; And thus it fell, that, passing nigh, The Palmer caught the Abbess' cyc,

Who warn'd him by a scroll, She had a secret to reveal, That much concern'd the Church's weal,

And health of sinner's soul; And, with deep charge of secrecy, She named a place to meet, Within an open balcony, That hung from dizzy pitch, and high, Above the stately street;

To which, as common to each home, At night they might in secret come.