Part 12 (1/2)

XXVII.

Thin curling in the morning air, The wreaths of failing smoke declare 550 To embers now the brands decay'd, Where the night-watch their fires had made.

They saw, slow rolling on the plain, Full many a baggage-cart and wain, And dire artillery's clumsy car, 555 By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war; And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven, And culverins which France had given.

Ill-omen'd gift! the guns remain The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 560

XXVIII.

Nor mark'd they less, where in the air A thousand streamers flaunted fair; Various in shape, device, and hue, Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue, Broad, narrow, swallow-tail'd, and square, 565 Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol, there O'er the pavilions flew.

Highest, and midmost, was descried The royal banner floating wide; The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight, 570 Pitch'd deeply in a ma.s.sive stone, Which still in memory is shown, Yet bent beneath the standard's weight Whene'er the western wind unroll'd, With toil, the huge and c.u.mbrous fold, 575 And gave to view the dazzling field, Where, in proud Scotland's royal s.h.i.+eld, The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold.

XXIX.

Lord Marmion view'd the landscape bright,-- He view'd it with a chiefs delight,-- 580 Until within him burn'd his heart, And lightning from his eye did part, As on the battle-day; Such glance did falcon never dart, When stooping on his prey. 585 'Oh! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said, Thy King from warfare to dissuade Were but a vain essay: For, by St. George, were that host mine, Not power infernal, nor divine, 590 Should once to peace my soul incline, Till I had dimm'd their armour's s.h.i.+ne In glorious battle-fray!'

Answer'd the Bard, of milder mood: 'Fair is the sight,--and yet 'twere good, 595 That Kings would think withal, When peace and wealth their land has bless'd, 'Tis better to sit still at rest, Than rise, perchance to fall.'

x.x.x.

Still on the spot Lord Marmion stay'd, 600 For fairer scene he ne'er survey'd.

When sated with the martial show That peopled all the plain below, The wandering eye could o'er it go, And mark the distant city glow 605 With gloomy splendour red; For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow, That round her sable turrets flow, The morning beams were shed, And tinged them with a l.u.s.tre proud, 610 Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud.

Such dusky grandeur clothed the height, Where the huge Castle holds its state, And all the steep slope down, Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, 615 Piled deep and ma.s.sy, close and high, Mine own romantic town!

But northward far, with purer blaze, On Ochil mountains fell the rays, And as each heathy top they kiss'd, 620 It gleam'd a purple amethyst.

Yonder the sh.o.r.es of Fife you saw; Here Preston-Bay, and Berwick-Law; And, broad between them roll'd, The gallant Frith the eye might note, 625 Whose islands on its bosom float, Like emeralds chased in gold.

Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent; As if to give his rapture vent, The spur he to his charger lent, 630 And raised his bridle hand, And, making demi-volte in air, Cried, 'Where's the coward that would not dare To fight for such a land!'

The Lindesay smiled his joy to see; 635 Nor Marmion's frown repress'd his glee.

x.x.xI.

Thus while they look'd, a flourish proud, Where mingled trump, and clarion loud, And fife, and kettle-drum, And sackbut deep, and psaltery, 640 And war-pipe with discordant cry, And cymbal clattering to the sky, Making wild music bold and high, Did up the mountain come; The whilst the bells, with distant chime, 645 Merrily toll'd the hour of prime, And thus the Lindesay spoke: 'Thus clamour still the war-notes when The King to ma.s.s his way has ta'en, Or to Saint Katharine's of Sienne, 650 Or Chapel of Saint Rocque.

To you they speak of martial fame; But me remind of peaceful game, When blither was their cheer, Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air, 655 In signal none his steed should spare, But strive which foremost might repair To the downfall of the deer.

x.x.xII.

'Nor less,' he said,--'when looking forth, I view yon Empress of the North 660 Sit on her hilly throne; Her palace's imperial bowers, Her castle, proof to hostile powers, Her stately halls and holy towers-- Nor less,' he said, 'I moan, 665 To think what woe mischance may bring, And how these merry bells may ring The death-dirge of our gallant King; Or with the larum call The burghers forth to watch and ward, 670 'Gainst southern sack and fires to guard Dun-Edin's leaguer'd wall.-- But not for my presaging thought, Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought!

Lord Marmion, I say nay: 675 G.o.d is the guider of the field, He breaks the champion's spear and s.h.i.+eld,-- But thou thyself shalt say, When joins yon host in deadly stowre, That England's dames must weep in bower, 680 Her monks the death-ma.s.s sing; For never saw'st thou such a power Led on by such a King.'-- And now, down winding to the plain, The barriers of the camp they gain, 685 And there they made a stay.-- There stays the Minstrel, till he fling His hand o'er every Border string, And fit his harp the pomp to sing, Of Scotland's ancient Court and King, 695 In the succeeding lay.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH.

TO GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ.

Edinburgh.

When dark December glooms the day, And takes our autumn joys away; When short and scant the sunbeam throws, Upon the weary waste of snows, A cold and profitless regard, 5 Like patron on a needy bard; When silvan occupation's done, And o'er the chimney rests the gun, And hang, in idle trophy, near, The game-pouch, fis.h.i.+ng-rod, and spear; 10 When wiry terrier, rough and grim, And greyhound, with his length of limb, And pointer, now employ'd no more, c.u.mber our parlour's narrow floor; When in his stall the impatient steed 15 Is long condemn'd to rest and feed; When from our snow-encircled home, Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam Since path is none, save that to bring The needful water from the spring; 20 When wrinkled news-page, thrice conn'd o'er, Beguiles the dreary hour no more, And darkling politician, cross'd, Inveighs against the lingering post, And answering housewife sore complains 25 Of carriers' snow-impeded wains; When such the country cheer, I come, Well pleased, to seek our city home; For converse, and for books, to change The Forest's melancholy range, 30 And welcome, with renew'd delight, The busy day and social night.

Not here need my desponding rhyme Lament the ravages of time, As erst by Newark's riven towers, 35 And Ettrick stripp'd of forest bowers.

True,--Caledonia's Queen is changed, Since on her dusky summit ranged, Within its steepy limits pent, By bulwark, line, and battlement, 40 And flanking towers, and laky flood, Guarded and garrison'd she stood, Denying entrance or resort, Save at each tall embattled port; Above whose arch, suspended, hung 45 Portcullis spiked with iron p.r.o.ng.

That long is gone,--but not so long, Since, early closed, and opening late, Jealous revolved the studded gate, Whose task, from eve to morning tide, 50 A wicket churlishly supplied.