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So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochin-
He stay'd not for brake, and he stopp'd not for To be a hostage for her lord,
stone, Who Cessford's gallant heart had gored,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was And with the king to make accord,
none; Had sept his lovely dame.
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, Nor to that lady free alone
The bride had consented, the gallant came late : Did the gay king allegiance own;
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, For the fair queen of France
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. Sent him a Turquois ring, and glove, And charged him, as her knight and love, So boldly he enter'd the Netherby hall, For her to break a lance ;
Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, And strike three strokes with Scottish brand,
and all: And march three miles on southron land, Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his And bid the banners of his band
sword, In English breezes dance.
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a And thus, for France's qucen he drest
word,) His manly limbs in mailed vest;
“Ocome ye in peace here, or come ye in war, And thus admitted English fair,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?” His inmost counsels still to share ; And thus, for both, he madly plann'd
“I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied : The ruin of himself and land!
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; And yet, the sooth to tell,
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, Nor England's fair, nor France's queen, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. Were worth one pearl-drop bright and sheen, There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, From Margaret's eyes that fell,
That would gladly be bride to the young LochinHis own Queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow's
bower, All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour.
The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up,
He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the XI.
cup. The queen sits lone in Lithgow pile,
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to And weeps the weary day,
sigh, The war against her native soil,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye, Her monarch's risk in battle broil ;
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, And in gay Holy-Rood, the while,
“ Now tread we a measure !” said young LochinDame Heron rises with a smile
Upon the harp to play.
So stately his form, and so lovely his face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace; And as she touch'd, and tuned them all,
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, Ever her bosom's rise and fall
And the bride groom stood dangling his bonnet and Was plainer given to vicw;
plume; For all, for heat, was laid aside,
And the bride-maidens whisperid, “ 'Twere better Her wimple, and her hood untied. And first she pitch'd her voice to sing,
To have match'd our fair cousin with young Then glanced her dark eye on the king,
Lochinvar." And then around the silent ring; And laugh’d, and blush'd, and oft did say, One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, Her pretty oath, by yea and nay,
When they reach'd the hall door, and the charger She could not, would not, durst not play!
stood near; At length, upon the harp, with glee,
So light to the croup the fair lady be swung, Mingled with arch simplicity,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung! A soft, yet lively air she rung,
“She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and While thus the wily lady sung.
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young
There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the NethO, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
erby clan; Through all the wide border his steed was the best; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and And save his good broadsword he weapons had they ran : none,
There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, He rode all unarm’d, and he rode all alone. 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?
The monarch o'er the syren hung,
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 observed their meeting eyes, With something like displeased surprise; For monarchs ill can rivals brook, E'en 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 liegemen 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."
His locks and beard in silver grew;
While slightest hopes of peace remain,
In answer naught could Angus speak;
A burning tear there stole.
His hand the monarch sudden took,
I well may say of you,-
Displeased was James, that stranger view'd And tamper'd with his changing mood.
*O, Dowglas! Dowglas!
Tendir and trew.-The Houlate.
“ Laugh those that can, weep those that may," She had a secret to reveal, Thus did the fiery inonarch say,
That much concern'd the church's weal, « South ward I march by break of day:
And health of sinner's soul; And if within Tantallon strong,
And with deep charge of secrecy, The good Lord Marmion tarries long,
She named a place to meet, Perchance our meeting next may fall
Within an open balcony, At Tamworth, in his castle hall.”—
That hung from dizzy pitch, and high, The haughty Marmion felt the taunt,
Above the stately street; And answer'd, grave, the royal vaunt:
To which, as common to each home, « Much honour'd were my humble home,
At night they might in secret come.
At night, in secret, there they came,
The palmer and the holy dame. In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep:
The moon among the clouds rode high, And many a banner will be torn,
And all the city hum was by. And many a knight to earth be borne,
Upon the street, where late before And many a sheaf of arrows spent,
Did din of war and warriors roar, Ere Scotland's king shali cross the Trent:
You might have heard a pebble fall, Yet pause, brave prince, while yet you may.”
A beetle hum, a cricket sing, The monarch lightly turn'd away,
An owlet Alap his boding wing And to his nobles loud did call,
On Gile's steeple tall. “ Lords, to the dance,-a hall! a hall!"
The antique buildings, climbing high, Himself his cloak and sword flung by,
Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky, And led dame Heron gallantly;
Were here wrapt deep in shade ; And minstrels at the royal order,
There on their brows the moonbeam broke Rung out—“Blue bonnets o'er the border."
Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke,
And on the casement play'd.
And other light was none to see,
Save torches gliding far, What to St. Hilda's maids befell,
Before some chieftain of degree, Whose galley, as they saild again
Who left the royal revelry To Whitby, by a Scot was ta’en.
To bowne him for the war,Now at Dun-Edin did they bide,
A solemn scene the abbess chose!
A solemn hour, her secret to disclose.
“0, holy palmer !” she began,
“ For sure he must be sainted man, Again to English land.
Whose blessed feet have trod the ground The abbess told her chaplet o'er,
Where the Redeemer's tomb is found ;Nor knew which saint she should implore;
For his dear church's sake, my tale
Attend, nor deem of light avail,
Though I must speak of earthly love,
How vain to those who wed above!
De Wilton and Lord Marmion woo'd
Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood;
(Idle it were of Whitby's dame, The man most dreaded under heaven
To say of that same blood I came ;)
And once, when jealous rage was high, By these defenceless maids;
Lord Marmion said despiteously, Yet what petition could avail,
Wilton was traitor in his heart, Or who would listen to the tale
And had made league with Martin Swart, Of woman, prisoner, and nun, Mid bustle of a war begun?
When he came here on Simpel's part; They deem'd it hopeless to avoid
And only cowardice did restrain The convoy of their dangerous guide.
His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain,
And down he threw his glove the thing XIX.
Was tried, as wont, before the king ; Their lodging, so the king assign'd,
Where frankly did De Wilton own, To Marmion's as their guardian, join'd ;
That Swart in Guelders he had known; And thus it fell, that, passing nigh,
And that between them then there went The palmer caught the abbess' eye,
Some scroll of courteous compliment. Who warn'd him by a scroll,
For this he to his eastle sent;
But when his messenger return'd, The ancient cry to make room for a dance, or pageant.
Judge how De Wilton's fury burn'd!
For in his packet there were laid
No clerk in all the land, like her,
That Marmion's paramour (For such vile thing she was) should scheme
Her lover's nuptial hour;
Each proof that might the plot reveal,
Instructions with his hand and seal:
And Clare's immortal weal.
XXII. “ His squire, who now De Wilton saw As recreant doom'd to suffer law,
Repentant, own'd in vain, That, while he had the scrolls in care, A stranger maiden, passing fair, Had drench'd him with a beverage rare ;
His words no faith could gain.
That for her lover's loss
And murmurs at the cross.-
Along the banks of Tame;
Its woodlands for the game.
Should do a deadly sin.
By my consent should win ;
With me they must not stay.
While journeying by the way.-
Deep penance may I pay !
And, 0! with cautious speed !
And, for thy well-earn'd meed,
While priests can sing and read.
His frame; and, ere reply,
That on the breeze did die ;
Look at yon city cross !
And blazon banners toss!”
XXIII. “ Now, prisoner, helpless, and betray'd To evil power, I claim thine aid,
By every step that thou hast trod
And by the church of God!
By whom the deed was done, O! shame and horror to be said,
She was-a perjured nun?
Whence royal edict rang,
In glorious trumpet clang.
Strange, wild, and dimly seen ;
• i. e. curse.
No audience had Lord Marmion sought;
To wait till from the nuns removed,
His was no flickering flame, that dies
He long'd to stretch his wide command
And now when close at hand they saw North-Berwick's town, and lofty Law, Fitz-Eustace bade them pause awhile Before a venerable pile,
Whose turrets view'd afar
The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle,