The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight, Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone, Which still in memory is shown,

Yet bent beneath the standard's weight Whene'er the western wind unroll'd, With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold, And gave to view the dazzling field, Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield, The ruddy Lion ramp'd in gold.t

XXIX.

ORD MARMION view'd the landscape

bright,

He view'd it with a chief's delight,

Until within him burn'd his heart,

And lightning from his eye did part,
As on the battle-day;

Such glance did falcon never dart,
When stooping on his prey.
"Oh! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said,
Thy King from warfare to dissuade

Were but a vain essay :

For, by St. George, were that host mine,
Not power infernal, nor divine,

Should once to peace my soul incline,
Till I had dimm'd their armour's shine

In glorious battle-fray !"

Answer'd the Bard, of milder mood:
“Fair is the sight,—and yet 'twere good,
That Kings would think withal,

When peace and wealth their land has

bless'd,

'Tis better to sit still at rest,

Than rise, perchance to fall."

XXX.

TILL on the spot Lord Marmion stay'd,
For fairer scene he ne'er survey'd.
When sated with the martial show
That peopled all the plain below,
The wandering eye could o'er it go,
And mark the distant city glow
With gloomy splendour red;

For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow,
That round her sable turrets flow,

The morning beams were shed,

And tinged them with a lustre proud, Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud.

Such dusky grandeur clothed the height,
Where the huge Castle holds its state,
And all the steeps slope down,

Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky,
Piled deep and massy, close and high,
Mine own romantic town!

But northward far, with purer blaze,
On Ochil mountains fell the rays,
And as each heathy top they kissed,
It gleam'd a purple amethyst.
Yonder the shores of Fife you saw ;
Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-Law:
And, broad between them roll'd,
The gallant Frith the eye might note,
Whose islands on its bosom float,
Like emeralds chased in gold.
Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent;
As if to give his rapture vent,
The spur he to his charger lent,
And raised his bridle-hand,

And, making demi-volte in air,

Cried, "Where's the coward that would not

dare

To fight for such a land!"

The Lindesay smiled his joy to see;
Nor Marmion's frown repress'd his glee.

XXXI.

HUS while they look'd, a flourish proud, Where mingled trump, and clarion loud, And fife, and kettle-drum,

And sacbut deep, and psaltery,

And war-pipe with discordant cry,
And cymbal clattering to the sky,

Making wild music bold and high,
Did up the mountain come ;

The whilst the bells, with distant chime,
Merrily toll'd the hour of prime,

And thus the Lindesay spoke :

"Thus clamour still the war-notes when
The King to mass his way has ta'en,
Or to St. Katharine's of Sienne,
Or Chapel of Saint Rocque.
To you they speak of martial fame ;
But me remind of peaceful game,
When blither was their cheer,

Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air,

In signal none his steed should spare,
But strive which foremost might repair
To the downfall of the deer.

XXXII.

OR less," he said,—“when looking

forth,

I view yon Empress of the North

Sit on her hilly throne ;

Her palace's imperial bowers,

Her castle, proof to hostile powers,
Her stately halls and holy towers—
Nor less," he said, “ I moan,

To think what woe mischance may bring,
And how these merry bells may ring
The death-dirge of our gallant King;
Or with the larum call

The burghers forth to watch and ward,
'Gainst southern sack and fires to guard
Dun-Edin's leaguer'd wall.—

But not for my presaging thought,
Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought !
Lord Marmion, I say nay :—

God is the guider of the field,