Part 9 (1/2)

XXI.

'Dire dealings with the fiendish race Had mark'd strange lines upon his face; Vigil and fast had worn him grim, His eyesight dazzled seem'd and dim, As one unused to upper day; 380 Even his own menials with dismay Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly Sire, In his unwonted wild attire; Unwonted, for traditions run, He seldom thus beheld the sun.-- 385 ”I know,” he said,--his voice was hoa.r.s.e, And broken seem'd its hollow force,-- ”I know the cause, although untold, Why the King seeks his va.s.sal's hold: Vainly from me my liege would know 390 His kingdom's future weal or woe; But yet, if strong his arm and heart, His courage may do more than art.

XXII.

'”Of middle air the demons proud, Who ride upon the racking cloud, 395 Can read, in fix'd or wandering star, The issue of events afar; But still their sullen aid withhold, Save when by mightier force controll'd.

Such late I summon'd to my hall; 400 And though so potent was the call, That scarce the deepest nook of h.e.l.l I deem'd a refuge from the spell, Yet, obstinate in silence still, The haughty demon mocks my skill. 405 But thou,--who little know'st thy might, As born upon that blessed night When yawning graves, and dying groan, Proclaim'd h.e.l.l's empire overthrown,-- With untaught valour shalt compel 410 Response denied to magic spell.”-- ”Gramercy,” quoth our Monarch free, ”Place him but front to front with me, And, by this good and honour'd brand, The gift of Coeur-de-Lion's hand, 415 Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide, The demon shall a buffet bide.”-- His bearing bold the wizard view'd, And thus, well pleased, his speech renew'd:-- ”There spoke the blood of Malcolm!--mark: 420 Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark, The rampart seek, whose circling crown Crests the ascent of yonder down: A southern entrance shalt thou find; There halt, and there thy bugle wind, 425 And trust thine elfin foe to see, In guise of thy worst enemy: Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed-- Upon him! and Saint George to speed!

If he go down, thou soon shalt know 430 Whate'er these airy sprites can show:-- If thy heart fail thee in the strife, I am no warrant for thy life.”

XXIII.

'Soon as the midnight bell did ring, Alone, and arm'd, forth rode the King 435 To that old camp's deserted round: Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound, Left hand the town,--the Pictish race, The trench, long since, in blood did trace; The moor around is brown and bare, 440 The s.p.a.ce within is green and fair.

The spot our village children know, For there the earliest wild-flowers grow; But woe betide the wandering wight, That treads its circle in the night! 445 The breadth across, a bowshot clear, Gives ample s.p.a.ce for full career; Opposed to the four points of heaven, By four deep gaps are entrance given.

The southernmost our Monarch past, 450 Halted, and blew a gallant blast; And on the north, within the ring, Appeared the form of England's King, Who then a thousand leagues afar, In Palestine waged holy war: 455 Yet arms like England's did he wield, Alike the leopards in the s.h.i.+eld, Alike his Syrian courser's frame, The rider's length of limb the same: Long afterwards did Scotland know, 460 Fell Edward was her deadliest foe.

XXIV.

'The vision made our Monarch start, But soon he mann'd his n.o.ble heart, And in the first career they ran, The Elfin Knight fell, horse and man; 465 Yet did a splinter of his lance Through Alexander's visor glance, And razed the skin--a puny wound.

The King, light leaping to the ground, With naked blade his phantom foe 470 Compell'd the future war to show.

Of Largs he saw the glorious plain, Where still gigantic bones remain, Memorial of the Danish war; Himself he saw, amid the field, 475 On high his brandish'd war-axe wield, And strike proud Haco from his car, While all around the shadowy Kings Denmark's grim ravens cower'd their wings.

'Tis said, that, in that awful night, 480 Remoter visions met his sight, Foreshowing future conquest far, When our sons' sons wage northern war; A royal city, tower and spire, Redden'd the midnight sky with fire, 485 And shouting crews her navy bore, Triumphant, to the victor sh.o.r.e.

Such signs may learned clerks explain, They pa.s.s the wit of simple swain.

XXV.

'The joyful King turn'd home again, 490 Headed his host, and quell'd the Dane; But yearly, when return'd the night Of his strange combat with the sprite, His wound must bleed and smart; Lord Gifford then would gibing say, 495 ”Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay The penance of your start.”

Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave, King Alexander fills his grave, Our Lady give him rest! 500 Yet still the knightly spear and s.h.i.+eld The Elfin Warrior doth wield, Upon the brown hill's breast; And many a knight hath proved his chance, In the charm'd ring to break a lance, 505 But all have foully sped; Save two, as legends tell, and they Were Wallace wight, and Gilbert Hay.-- Gentles, my tale is said.'

XXVI.

The quaighs were deep, the liquor strong, 510 And on the tale the yeoman-throng Had made a comment sage and long, But Marmion gave a sign: And, with their lord, the squires retire; The rest around the hostel fire, 515 Their drowsy limbs recline: For pillow, underneath each head, The quiver and the targe were laid.

Deep slumbering on the hostel floor, Oppress'd with toil and ale, they snore: 520 The dying flame, in fitful change, Threw on the group its shadows strange.

XXVII.

Apart, and nestling in the hay Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay; Scarce, by the pale moonlight, were seen 525 The foldings of his mantle green: Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream, Of sport by thicket, or by stream, Of hawk or hound, of ring or glove, Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 530 A cautious tread his slumber broke, And, close beside him, when he woke, In moonbeam half, and half in gloom, Stood a tall form, with nodding plume; But, ere his dagger Eustace drew, 535 His master Marmion's voice he knew.

XXVIII.

--'Fitz-Eustace! rise,--I cannot rest; Yon churl's wild legend haunts my breast, And graver thoughts have chafed my mood: The air must cool my feverish blood; 540 And fain would I ride forth, to see The scene of elfin chivalry.

Arise, and saddle me my steed; And, gentle Eustace, take good heed Thou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves; 545 I would not, that the prating knaves Had cause for saying, o'er their ale, That I could credit such a tale.'-- Then softly down the steps they slid, Eustace the stable door undid, 550 And, darkling, Marmion's steed array'd, While, whispering, thus the Baron said:--

XXIX.

'Did'st never, good my youth, hear tell, That on the hour when I was born, Saint George, who graced my sire's chapelle, 555 Down from his steed of marble fell, A weary wight forlorn?

The flattering chaplains all agree, The champion left his steed to me.

I would, the omen's truth to show, 560 That I could meet this Elfin Foe!