Part 7 (2/2)

The livelong day Lord Marmion rode: The mountain path the Palmer show'd By glen and streamlet winded still, Where stunted birches hid the rill.

They might not choose the lowland road, 5 For the Merse forayers were abroad, Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey, Had scarcely fail'd to bar their way.

Oft on the trampling band, from crown Of some tall cliff, the deer look'd down; 10 On wing of jet, from his repose In the deep heath, the black-c.o.c.k rose; Sprung from the gorse the timid roe, Nor waited for the bending bow; And when the stony path began, 15 By which the naked peak they wan, Up flew the snowy ptarmigan.

The noon had long been pa.s.s'd before They gain'd the height of Lammermoor; Thence winding down the northern way, 20 Before them, at the close of day, Old Gifford's towers and hamlet lay.

II.

No summons calls them to the tower, To spend the hospitable hour.

To Scotland's camp the Lord was gone; 25 His cautious dame, in bower alone, Dreaded her castle to unclose, So late, to unknown friends or foes.

On through the hamlet as they paced, Before a porch, whose front was graced 30 With bush and flagon trimly placed, Lord Marmion drew his rein: The village inn seem'd large, though rude; Its cheerful fire and hearty food Might well relieve his train. 35 Down from their seats the hors.e.m.e.n sprung, With jingling spurs the court-yard rung; They bind their horses to the stall, For forage, food, and firing call, And various clamour fills the hall: 40 Weighing the labour with the cost, Toils everywhere the bustling host.

III

Soon, by the chimney's merry blaze, Through the rude hostel might you gaze; Might see, where, in dark nook aloof, 45 The rafters of the sooty roof Bore wealth of winter cheer; Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store, And gammons of the tusky boar, And savoury haunch of deer. 50 The chimney arch projected wide; Above, around it, and beside, Were tools for housewives' hand; Nor wanted, in that martial day, The implements of Scottish fray, 55 The buckler, lance, and brand.

Beneath its shade, the place of state, On oaken settle Marmion sate, And view'd around the blazing hearth.

His followers mix in noisy mirth; 60 Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide, From ancient vessels ranged aside, Full actively their host supplied.

IV.

Theirs was the glee of martial breast, And laughter theirs at little jest; 65 And oft Lord Marmion deign'd to aid, And mingle in the mirth they made; For though, with men of high degree, The proudest of the proud was he, Yet, train'd in camps, he knew the art 70 To win the soldier's hardy heart.

They love a captain to obey, Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May; With open hand, and brow as free, Lover of wine and minstrelsy; 75 Ever the first to scale a tower, As venturous in a lady's bower:-- Such buxom chief shall lead his host From India's fires to Zembla's frost.

V.

Resting upon his pilgrim staff, 80 Right opposite the Palmer stood; His thin dark visage seen but half, Half hidden by his hood.

Still fix'd on Marmion was his look, Which he, who ill such gaze could brook, 85 Strove by a frown to quell; But not for that, though more than once Full met their stern encountering glance, The Palmer's visage fell.

VI.

By fits less frequent from the crowd 90 Was heard the burst of laughter loud; For still, as squire and archer stared On that dark face and matted beard, Their glee and game declined.

All gazed at length in silence drear, 95 Unbroke, save when in comrade's ear Some yeoman, wondering in his fear, Thus whispered forth his mind:-- 'Saint Mary! saw'st thou e'er such sight?

How pale his cheek, his eye how bright, 100 Whene'er the firebrand's fickle light Glances beneath his cowl!

Full on our Lord he sets his eye; For his best palfrey, would not I Endure that sullen scowl.' 105

VII.

But Marmion, as to chase the awe Which thus had quell'd their hearts, who saw The ever-varying fire-light show That figure stern and face of woe, Now call'd upon a squire:-- 110 'Fitz-Eustace, know'st thou not some lay, To speed the lingering night away?

We slumber by the fire.'--

VIII.

'So please you,' thus the youth rejoin'd, 'Our choicest minstrel's left behind. 115 Ill may we hope to please your ear, Accustom'd Constant's strains to hear.

The harp full deftly can he strike, And wake the lover's lute alike; To dear Saint Valentine, no thrush 120 Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush, No nightingale her love-lorn tune More sweetly warbles to the moon.

Woe to the cause, whate'er it be, Detains from us his melody, 125 Lavish'd on rocks, and billows stern, Or duller monks of Lindisfarne.

Now must I venture as I may, To sing his favourite roundelay.'

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