Poor wretch! the mother that him bare,
If she had been in presence there,
In his wan face, and sun-burn'd hair,
She had not known her child.
Danger, long travel, want, or woe,

Soon change the form that best we know-
For deadly fear can time outgo,

And blanch at once the hair;

Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want can quench the eye's bright grace,

Nor does old age a wrinkle trace

More deeply than despair.

Happy whom none of these befall,

But this poor Palmer knew them all.

XXIX.

ORD MARMION then his boon did

ask;

The Palmer took on him the task,

So he would march with morning tide,

To Scottish court to be his guide.

"But I have solemn vows to pay,

And may not linger by the way,
To fair St. Andrews bound,

Within the ocean-cave to pray,

Where good Saint Rule his holy lay,
From midnight to the dawn of day,

Sung to the billows' sound; t
Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed well,+
Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel,
And the crazed brain restore :

Saint Mary grant, that cave or spring
Could back to peace my bosom bring,
Or bid it throb no more!'

XXX.

ND now the midnight draught of sleep,
Where wine and spices richly steep,

In massive bowl of silver deep,

The page presents on knee.

Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest,
The Captain pledged his noble guest,
The cup went through among the rest,
Who drain'd it merrily;

Alone the Palmer pass'd it by,
Though Selby press'd him courteously
This was a sign the feast was o'er ;
It hush'd the merry wassel roar,

The minstrels ceased to sound. Soon in the castle nought was heard, But the slow footstep of the guard, Pacing his sober round.

XXXI.

ITH early dawn Lord Marmion rose :
And first the chapel doors unclose ;

Then, after morning rites were done,
(A hasty mass from Friar John,)

And knight and squire had broke their fast
On rich substantial repast,

Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse :
Then came the stirrup-cup in course;
Between the Baron and his host,

No point of courtesy was lost;

High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid,
Solemn excuse the Captain made,
Till, filing from the gate, had pass'd
That noble train, their Lord the last.
Then loudly rung the trumpet-call;
Thunder'd the cannon from the wall,

And shook the Scottish shore;
Around the castle eddied slow,

Volumes of smoke as white as snow,

And hid its turrets hoar

;

Till they roll'd forth upon the air, And met the river breezes there, Which gave again the prospect fair.

Canto Second.

Introduction.

TO THE REV. JOHN MARRIOT, M.A.

ASHESTIEL, Ettrick Forest.
HE scenes are desert now, and bare,
Where flourish'd once a forest fair,t
When these waste glens with copse
were lined,

And peopled with the hart and hind.
Yon Thorn-perchance whose prickly spears
Have fenced him for three hundred years,
While fell around his green compeers—
Yon lonely Thorn, would he could tell
The changes of his parent dell,
Since he, so grey and stubborn now,
Waved in each breeze a sapling bough ;
Would he could tell how deep the shade
A thousand mingled branches made;