Part 4 (1/2)

When as the Palmer came in hall, Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tall, Or had a statelier step withal, Or look'd more high and keen; 475 For no saluting did he wait, But strode across the hall of state, And fronted Marmion where he sate, As he his peer had been.

But his gaunt frame was worn with toil; 480 His cheek was sunk, alas the while!

And when he struggled at a smile, His eye look 'd haggard wild: Poor wretch! the mother that him bare, If she had been in presence there, 485 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, 490 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. 495 Happy whom none of these befall, But this poor Palmer knew them all.

XXIX.

Lord Marmion then his boon did ask; The Palmer took on him the task, So he would march with morning tide, 500 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, 505 Where good Saint Rule his holy lay, From midnight to the dawn of day, Sung to the billows' sound; Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed well, Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, 510 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!'

x.x.x.

And now the midnight draught of sleep, 515 Where wine and spices richly steep, In ma.s.sive bowl of silver deep, The page presents on knee.

Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest, The Captain pledged his n.o.ble guest, 520 The cup went through among the rest, Who drain'd it merrily; Alone the Palmer pa.s.s'd it by, Though Selby press'd him courteously.

This was a sign the feast was o'er; 525 It hush'd the merry wa.s.sel roar, The minstrels ceased to sound.

Soon in the castle nought was heard, But the slow footstep of the guard, Pacing his sober round. 530

x.x.xI.

With early dawn Lord Marmion rose: And first the chapel doors unclose; Then, after morning rites were done, (A hasty ma.s.s from Friar John,) And knight and squire had broke their fast, 535 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; 540 High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid, Solemn excuse the Captain made, Till, filing from the gate, had pa.s.s'd That n.o.ble train, their Lord the last.

Then loudly rung the trumpet call; 545 Thunder'd the cannon from the wall, And shook the Scottish sh.o.r.e; Around the castle eddied slow, Volumes of smoke as white as snow, And hid its turrets h.o.a.r; 550 Till they roli'd forth upon the air, And met the river breezes there, Which gave again the prospect fair.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND.

TO THE REV JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M.

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest.

The scenes are desert now, and bare Where flourish'd once a forest fair, When these waste glens with copse were lined, And peopled with the hart and hind.

Yon Thorn--perchance whose p.r.i.c.kly spears 5 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, 10 Waved in each breeze a sapling bough; Would he could tell how deep the shade A thousand mingled branches made; How broad the shadows of the oak, How clung the rowan to the rock, 15 And through the foliage show'd his head, With narrow leaves and berries red; What pines on every mountain sprung, O'er every dell what birches hung, In every breeze what aspens shook, 20 What alders shaded every brook!

'Here, in my shade,' methinks he'd say, 'The mighty stag at noon-tide lay: The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game, (The neighbouring dingle bears his name,) 25 With lurching step around me prowl, And stop, against the moon to howl; The mountain-boar, on battle set, His tusks upon my stem would whet; While doe, and roe, and red-deer good, 30 Have bounded by, through gay green-wood.

Then oft, from Newark's riven tower, Sallied a Scottish monarch's power: A thousand va.s.sals muster'd round, With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound; 35 And I might see the youth intent, Guard every pa.s.s with crossbow bent; And through the brake the rangers stalk, And falc'ners hold the ready hawk, And foresters, in green-wood trim, 40 Lead in the leash the gazehounds grim, Attentive, as the bratchet's bay From the dark covert drove the prey, To slip them as he broke away.

The startled quarry bounds amain, 45 As fast the gallant greyhounds strain; Whistles the arrow from the bow, Answers the harquebuss below; While all the rocking hills reply, To hoof-clang, hound, and hunters' cry, 50 And bugles ringing lightsomely.'

Of such proud huntings, many tales Yet linger in our lonely dales, Up pathless Ettrick and on Yarrow, Where erst the outlaw drew his arrow. 55 But not more blithe that silvan court, Than we have been at humbler sport; Though small our pomp, and mean our game, Our mirth, dear Marriott, was the same.

Remember'st thou my greyhounds true? 60 O'er holt or hill there never flew, From slip or leash there never sprang, More fleet of foot, or sure of fang.

Nor dull, between each merry chase, Pa.s.s'd by the intermitted s.p.a.ce; 65 For we had fair resource in store, In Cla.s.sic and in Gothic lore: We mark'd each memorable scene, And held poetic talk between; Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, 70 But had its legend or its song.

All silent now--for now are still Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill!

No longer, from thy mountains dun, The yeoman hears the well-known gun, 75 And while his honest heart glows warm, At thought of his paternal farm, Round to his mates a brimmer fills, And drinks, 'The Chieftain of the Hills!'

No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers, 80 Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers, Fair as the elves whom Janet saw By moonlight dance on Carterhaugh; No youthful Baron's left to grace The Forest-Sheriff's lonely chase, 85 And ape, in manly step and tone, The majesty of Oberon: And she is gone, whose lovely face Is but her least and lowest grace; Though if to Sylphid Queen 'twere given, 90 To show our earth the charms of Heaven, She could not glide along the air, With form more light, or face more fair.

No more the widow's deafen'd ear Grows quick that lady's step to hear: 95 At noontide she expects her not, Nor busies her to trim the cot; Pensive she turns her humming wheel, Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal, Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread, 100 The gentle hand by which they're fed.

From Yair,--which hills so closely bind, Scarce can the Tweed his pa.s.sage find, Though much he fret, and chafe, and toil, Till all his eddying currents boil,-- 105 Her long descended lord is gone, And left us by the stream alone.

And much I miss those sportive boys, Companions of my mountain joys, Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, 110 When thought is speech, and speech is truth.

Close to my side, with what delight They press'd to hear of Wallace wight, When, pointing to his airy mound, I call'd his ramparts holy ground! 115 Kindled their brows to hear me speak; And I have smiled, to feel my cheek, Despite the difference of our years, Return again the glow of theirs.