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But ere they breathed the fresher air
Such high resolve and constancy,
In form so soft and fair.
They he And I
And, by his drugs, my rival fair
As hu Eren in
" I speak not to implore your grace;
Successless might I sue:
Vain are your masses too.
But, did my fate and wish agree,
That loved, or was avenged like me!
“ And now my tongue the secret tells,
“ Yet dread me, from my living tomb,
CO Old Tha Kis Fea Sur
“ The King approved his favourite's aim;
Whose faith with Clare's was plight,
Their oaths are said,
Their lances in the rest are laid,
“ De Wilton to the block !" Say ye, who preach heaven shall decide, When in the lists two champions ride,
Say, was heaven's justice here? When, loyal in his love and faith, Wilton found overthrow or death,
Beneath a traitor's spear. How false the charge, how true he fell, This guilty packet best can tell"Then drew a packet from her breast, Paused, gather'd voice, and spoke the rest.
Fix'd was her look, and stern her air;
From that dire dungeon, place of doom,
Paced forth the judges three;
“ Still was false Marmion's bridal staid; To Whitby's convent fled the maid,
The hated match to shun. " Ho! shifts she thus?' king Henry cried, • Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride,
If she were sworn a nun.'
For Clara and for me:
Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell
Of sia and misery.
They heard the slıriekings of despair,
While, reverent, all made room. And many a stifled groan:
An easy task it was, I trow, With speed their upward way they take,
King James's manly form to know, (Such speed as age and sear can make,)
Although, his courtesy to show, And cross'd themselves for terror's sake,
He doff'd, to Marmion bending low, As hurrying, tottering on,
His broider'd cap and plume. Even in the vesper's heavenly tone,
For royal were his garb and mien, They seem'd to hear a dying groan,
His cloak of crimson velvet piled, And bade the passing knell to toll
Trimm'd with the fur of martin wild; For welfare of a parting soul.
His vest of changeful satin sheen Slow o'er the inidnight wave it swung,
The dazzled eye beguiled; Northumbrian rocks in answer rung;
His gorgeous collar hung adown, To Warkworth cell the echoes roll'd,
Wrought with the badge of Scotland's crown, His beads the wakeful hermit told;
The thistle brave, of old renown; The Bamborough peasant raised his head,
His trusty blade, Toledo right, But slept ere half a prayer he said;
Descended from a baldric bright; So far was heard the mighty knell,
White were his buskins, on the heel The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell,
His spurs inlaid of gold and steel; Spread his broad nostril to the wind,
His bonnet, all of crimson fair, Listed before, aside, behind,
Was button'd with a ruby rare: Then couch'd him down beside the hind,
And Marmion deem'd he ne'er had seen And quaked among the mountain fern,
A prince of such a noble mien. To hear that sound, so dull and sterd.
The Monarch's form was middle size;
For feat of strength, or exercise, COURT OF JAMES OF SCOTLAND.
Shaped in proportion fair;
And hazle was his eagle eye, Old Holy-Rood rung merrily
And auburn of the darkest dye That night, with wassal, mirth, and glee:
His short curled beard and hair. King James within her princely bower
Light was his footstep in the dance, Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's power,
And firm his stirrup in the lists;
And, oh! he had that merry glance
That seldom lady's heart resists.
And loved to plead, lament, and sue;-
Suit lightly won, and short-lived 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, Cast on the court a dancing ray;
That bound his breast in penance pain, Here to the harp did minstrels sing;
In memory of his father slain. There ladies touch'd a softer string;
Even so 'twas strange how, evermore, With long-ear'd cap, and motley vest,
Soon as the passing pang was o'er, The licensed fool retail'd his jest;
Forward he rush'd, with double glee, His magic tricks the juggler plied;
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, For often, in the parting hour,
And, straining on the tighten'd rein, Victorious love asserts his power
Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plain.
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 gored,
Had sent his lovely dame.
Nor to that lady free alone
So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, (all:
Among bride's men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, And charged him, as her knight and love,
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word) For her to break a lance;
O come ye in peace, or come ye in war,
Or to dance atour bridal, young Lord Lochiuvar?"-
“I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied :And bid the banners of his band
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide-
And now am I come, with tbis lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. His manly limbs in mailed vest;
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, And thus admitted English fair
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." His inmost counsels still to share ;
The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it
up, And thus, for both, he madly plann'd
He quaff’d off the wine, and he threw down the cup
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,-
“ Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form, and so lovely his face, His own Queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow's bower,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace; All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour.
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and
[by far The war against her native soil,
And the bride-maidens whisper, “ 'Twere better Her Monarch's risk in battle broil ;
To have match'd our fair cousin with young Loch
Onc touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger
stood near; The strings her fingers flew;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, And as she touch'd and tuned them all,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung! Ever her bosom's rise and fall
“ She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and Was plainer given to view;
(Lochinvar. For all, for heat, was laid aside
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young
There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby
Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and And laugh’d, and blush'd, and oft did say
There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar!
The Monarch o'er the syren hung, A soft yet lively air she rung,
And beat the measure as she sung; While thus the wily lady sung.
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And, pressing closer, and more near,
A glance, where seemd to reign
A real or feign'd disdain :
Lady Heron's Song.
Since England gains the pass the while,
Headmost of all he stems the tide, And struggles through the deep defile?
And stems it gallantly. What checks the fiery soul of James ?
Eustace held Clare upon her horse, Why sits that champion of the dames
Old Hubert led her rein, Inactive on bis steed,
Stoutly they braved the current's course, And sees, between him and his land,
And though far downward driven per force, Between him and Tweed's southern strand,
The southern bank they gain;
Behind them, straggling, came to shore,
As best they might, the train : -0, Douglas, for thy leading wand!
Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore,
A caution not in vain;
Deep need that day that every string, Or well-skill'd Bruce, to rule the fight,
By wet unharm’d, should sharply ring. And cry—“ Saint Andrew and our right!"
A moment then Lord Marmion staid, Another sight had seen that morn,
And breath'd his steed, his men array’d, From fate's dark book a leaf been torn,
Then forward moved his band, And Flodden had been Bannock-bourne!
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won, The precious hour has pass'd in vain,
He halted by a cross of stone, And England's host has gain’d the plain;
That, on a hillock standing lone, Wheeling their march, and circling still,
Did all the field command. Around the base of Flodden-hill.
Hence might they see the full array Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye,
Of either host, for deadly fray; Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high,
Their marshall'd lines stretch'd east and west Hark! hark! my lord, an English drum!
And fronted north and south, And see ascending squadrons come
And distant salutation past Between Tweed's river and the hill,
From the loud cannon mouth; Foot, horse, and cannon:-hap what hap,
Not in the close successive rattle, My basnet to a prentice cap,
That breathes the voice of modern attle, Lord Surrey's o'er the Till!
But slow and far between.Yet more! yet more!-how fair array'd
The hillock gain'd, Lord Marmion staid: They file from out the hawthorn shade,
“ Here, by this cross," he gently said, And sweep so gallant by!
You well may view the scene.
Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare:
0! think of Marmion in thy prayer! Saint George might waken from the dead,
Thou wilt not ?- well,-no less my care To see fair England's standards fly.”—
Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare.-“Stint in thy prate," quoth Blount; “thou'dst best, You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard, And listen to our lord's behest."
With ten pick'd archers of my train; With kindling brow Lord Marmion said,
With England if the day go hard, “ This instant be our band array’d;
To Berwick speed amain. The river must be quickly crossid,
But, if we conquer, cruel maid ! That we may join Lord Surrey's host.
My spoil shall at your feet be laid, If fight King James,—as well I trust,
When here we meet again.”That fight he will, and fight he must,
He waited not for answer there, The Lady Clare behind our lines
And would not mark the maid's despair, Shall tarry, while the battle joins.”—
Nor heed the discontented look
From either squire; but spurr'd amain, Himself he swift on horseback threw,
And, dashing through the battle-plain,
His way to Surrey took.
“The good Lord Marmion, by my life! Down to the Tweed his band he drew,
Welcome to danger's hour!And mutter'd as the flood they view,
Short greeting serves in time of strife;“ The pheasant in the falcon's claw,
Thus have I ranged my power: He scarce will yield to please a daw :
Myself will rule this central host,
Stout Stanley fronts their right,
My sons command the vaward post,
With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight; Where to the Tweed Leat's eddies creep,
Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light, He ventured desperately: .
Shall be in rearward of the fight, And not a moment will he bide,
And succour those that need it most. Till squire, or groom, before him ride;
Now, gallant Marmion, well I know,
And fo Arich
The ba Surce
With L la that The de
While Herste And I
The w Those Are ta But
What To w Twas Her la
Where play'd, with many-colour'd gleams,
Through storied pane the rising beams.
Would gladly to the vanguard go; Edmund, the admiral, Tunstall there,
Wide raged the battle on the plain ; With thee their charge will blithely share;
Spears shook, and faulchions flash'd amain; There fight thine own retainers too,
Fell England's arrow-light like rain; Beneath De Burg, thy steward true.”
Crest rose, and stoop'd, and rose again,
Wild and disorderly. “ Thanks, noble Surrey!” Marmion said,
Amid the scene of tumult, high Nor further greeting there he paid;
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon Aly: But, parting like a thunderbolt,
And stainless Tunstall's banner white, First in the vanguard made a halt,
And Edmund Howard's lion bright, Where such a shout there rose
Still bear them bravely in the fight: Of “ Marmion! Marmion!" that the cry
Although against them come, Up Flodden mountain shrilling high,
Of gallant Gordons many a one, Startled the Scottish foes.
And many a stubborn Highlandman, Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still
And many a rugged border clan,
With Huntley, and with Home.
THE DEATH OF RODERICK DHU-
Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew “ Unworthy office here to stay!
His parting breath, stout Rhoderick Dhu! No hope of gilded spurs to-day.
Old Allan-bane look'd on aghast, But, see! look up-on Flodden bent
While grim and still his spirit pass'd; The Scottish foe has fired his tent."
But when he saw that life was fled,
He pour'd his wailing o'er the dead.
“ And art thou cold and lowly laid, Volumed and vast, and rolling far,
Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid, The cloud enveloped Scotland's war,
Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade! As down the hill they broke;
For thee shall none a requiem say? Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone,
- For thee,—who loved the minstrel's lay, Announced their march; their tread alone,
For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay, At times one warning trumpet blown,
The shelter of her exiled line, At times a stifled hum,
E'en in this prison-house of thine,
I'll wail for Alpine's honour'd pine!
“ What groans shall yonder vallies fill! Until at weapon-point they close.
What shrieks of grief shall rend yon bill! They close, in clouds of smoke and dust,
What tears of burning rage shall thrill, With sword-sway, and with lances thrust;
When mourns thy tribe thy battles done, And such a yell was there,
Thy fall before the race was won, Of sudden and portentous birth,
Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun!
There breathes not clansman of thy line,
And triumph and despair.
But would have given his life for thine.-
A S T
But nought distinct they see:
In vain on gilded roof they fall,