Part 11 (1/2)

Another aspect Crichtoun show'd, As through its portal Marmion rode; But yet 'twas melancholy state Received him at the outer gate; For none were in the Castle then, 240 But women, boys, or aged men.

With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame, To welcome n.o.ble Marmion, came; Her son, a stripling twelve years old, Proffer'd the Baron's rein to hold; 245 For each man that could draw a sword Had march'd that morning with their lord, Earl Adam Hepburn,--he who died On Flodden, by his sovereign's side.

Long may his Lady look in vain! 250 She ne'er shall see his gallant train, Come sweeping back through Crichtoun-Dean.

'Twas a brave race, before the name Of hated Bothwell stain'd their fame.

XIII.

And here two days did Marmion rest, 255 With every rite that honour claims, Attended as the King's own guest;-- Such the command of Royal James, Who marshall'd then his land's array, Upon the Borough-moor that lay. 260 Perchance he would not foeman's eye Upon his gathering host should pry, Till full prepared was every band To march against the English land.

Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit 265 Oft cheer the Baron's moodier fit; And, in his turn, he knew to prize Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and wise,-- Train'd in the lore of Rome and Greece, And policies of war and peace. 270

XIV.

It chanced, as fell the second night, That on the battlements they walk'd, And, by the slowly fading light, Of varying topics talk'd; And, unaware, the Herald-bard 275 Said, Marmion might his toil have spared, In travelling so far; For that a messenger from heaven In vain to James had counsel given Against the English war: 280 And, closer question'd, thus he told A tale, which chronicles of old In Scottish story have enroll'd:-

XV.

Sir David Lindsey's Tale.

'Of all the palaces so fair, Built for the royal dwelling, 285 In Scotland, far beyond compare Linlithgow is excelling; And in its park, in jovial June, How sweet the merry linnet's tune, How blithe the blackbird's lay! 290 The wild buck bells from ferny brake, The coot dives merry on the lake, The saddest heart might pleasure take To see all nature gay.

But June is to our Sovereign dear 295 The heaviest month in all the year: Too well his cause of grief you know, June saw his father's overthrow.

Woe to the traitors, who could bring The princely boy against his King! 300 Still in his conscience burns the sting.

In offices as strict as Lent, King James's June is ever spent.

XVI.

'When last this ruthful month was come, And in Linlithgow's holy dome 305 The King, as wont, was praying; While, for his royal father's soul, The chanters sung, the bells did toll, The Bishop ma.s.s was saying-- For now the year brought round again 310 The day the luckless King was slain-- In Katharine's aisle the monarch knelt, With sackcloth-s.h.i.+rt, and iron belt, And eyes with sorrow streaming; Around him in their stalls of state, 315 The Thistle's Knight-Companions sate, Their banners o'er them beaming.

I too was there, and, sooth to tell, Bedeafen'd with the jangling knell, Was watching where the sunbeams fell, 320 Through the stain'd cas.e.m.e.nt gleaming; But, while I mark'd what next befell, It seem'd as I were dreaming.

Stepp'd from the crowd a ghostly wight, In azure gown, with cincture white; 325 His forehead bald, his head was bare, Down hung at length his yellow hair.-- Now, mock me not, when, good my Lord, I pledge to you my knightly word, That, when I saw his placid grace, 330 His simple majesty of face, His solemn bearing, and his pace So stately gliding on,-- Seem'd to me ne'er did limner paint So just an image of the Saint, 335 Who propp'd the Virgin in her faint,-- The loved Apostle John!

XVII.

'He stepp'd before the Monarch's chair, And stood with rustic plainness there, And little reverence made; 340 Nor head, nor body, bow'd nor bent, But on the desk his arm he leant, And words like these he said, In a low voice,--but never tone So thrill'd through vein, and nerve, and bone:-- ”My mother sent me from afar, 346 Sir King, to warn thee not to war,-- Woe waits on thine array; If war thou wilt, of woman fair, Her witching wiles and wanton snare, 350 James Stuart, doubly warn'd, beware: G.o.d keep thee as He may!”-- The wondering monarch seem'd to seek For answer, and found none; And when he raised his head to speak, 355 The monitor was gone.

The Marshal and myself had cast To stop him as he outward pa.s.s'd; But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast, He vanish'd from our eyes, 360 Like sunbeam on the billow cast, That glances but, and dies.'

XVIII.

While Lindesay told his marvel strange, The twilight was so pale, He mark'd not Marmion's colour change, 365 While listening to the tale: But, after a suspended pause, The Baron spoke:--'Of Nature's laws So strong I held the force, That never superhuman cause 370 Could e'er control their course; And, three days since, had judged your aim Was but to make your guest your game.

But I have seen, since past the Tweed, What much has changed my sceptic creed, 375 And made me credit aught.'--He staid, And seem'd to wish his words unsaid: But, by that strong emotion press'd, Which prompts us to unload our breast, Even when discovery's pain, 380 To Lindesay did at length unfold The tale his village host had told, At Gifford, to his train.

Nought of the Palmer says he there, And nought of Constance, or of Clare; 385 The thoughts, which broke his sleep, he seems To mention but as feverish dreams.

XIX.

'In vain,' said he, 'to rest I spread My burning limbs, and couch'd my head: Fantastic thoughts return'd; 390 And, by their wild dominion led, My heart within me burn'd.