Part 13 (1/2)
On foot the yeoman too, but dress'd In his steel-jack, a swarthy vest, With iron quilted well; Each at his back (a slender store) 50 His forty days' provision bore, As feudal statutes tell.
His arms were halbert, axe, or spear, A crossbow there, a hagbut here, A dagger-knife, and brand. 55 Sober he seem'd, and sad of cheer, As loath to leave his cottage dear, And march to foreign strand; Or musing, who would guide his steer, To till the fallow land. 60 Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye Did aught of dastard terror lie; More dreadful far his ire, Than theirs, who, scorning danger's name, In eager mood to battle came, 65 Their valour like light straw on name, A fierce but fading fire.
IV.
Not so the Borderer:--bred to war, He knew the battle's din afar, And joy'd to hear it swell. 70 His peaceful day was slothful ease; Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please, Like the loud slogan yell.
On active steed, with lance and blade, The light-arm'd p.r.i.c.ker plied his trade,-- 75 Let n.o.bles fight for fame; Let va.s.sals follow where they lead, Burghers, to guard their towns.h.i.+ps, bleed, But war's the Borderer's game.
Their gain, their glory, their delight, 80 To sleep the day, maraud the night, O'er mountain, moss, and moor; Joyful to fight they took their way, Scarce caring who might win the day, Their booty was secure. 85 These, as Lord Marmion's train pa.s.s'd by, Look'd on at first with careless eye, Nor marvell'd aught, well taught to know The form and force of English bow.
But when they saw the Lord array'd 90 In splendid arms, and rich brocade, Each Borderer to his kinsman said,-- 'Hist, Ringan! seest thou there!
Canst guess which road they'll homeward ride?-- O! could we but on Border side, 95 By Eusedale glen, or Liddell's tide, Beset a prize so fair!
That fangless Lion, too, their guide, Might chance to lose his glistering hide; Brown Maudlin, of that doublet pied, 100 Could make a kirtle rare.'
V.
Next, Marmion marked the Celtic race, Of different language, form, and face, A various race of man; Just then the Chiefs their tribes array'd, 105 And wild and garish semblance made, The chequer'd trews, and belted plaid, And varying notes the war-pipes bray'd, To every varying clan, Wild through their red or sable hair 110 Look'd out their eyes with savage stare, On Marmion as he pa.s.s'd; Their legs above the knee were bare; Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare, And harden'd to the blast; 115 Of taller race, the chiefs they own Were by the eagle's plumage known.
The hunted red-deer's undress'd hide Their hairy buskins well supplied; The graceful bonnet deck'd their head: 120 Back from their shoulders hung the plaid; A broadsword of unwieldy length, A dagger proved for edge and strength, A studded targe they wore, And quivers, bows, and shafts,--but, O! 125 Short was the shaft, and weak the bow, To that which England bore.
The Isles-men carried at their backs The ancient Danish battle-axe.
They raised a wild and wondering cry, 130 As with his guide rode Marmion by.
Loud were their clamouring tongues, as when The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen, And, with their cries discordant mix'd, Grumbled and yell'd the pipes betwixt. 135
VI.
Thus through the Scottish camp they pa.s.s'd, And reach'd the City gate at last, Where all around, a wakeful guard, Arm'd burghers kept their watch and ward.
Well had they cause of jealous fear, 140 When lay encamp'd, in field so near, The Borderer and the Mountaineer.
As through the bustling streets they go, All was alive with martial show: At every turn, with dinning clang, 145 The armourer's anvil clash'd and rang; Or toil'd the swarthy smith, to wheel The bar that arms the charger's heel; Or axe, or falchion, to the side Of jarring grindstone was applied. 150 Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying pace Through street, and lane, and market-place, Bore lance, or casque, or sword; While burghers, with important face, Described each new-come lord, 155 Discuss'd his lineage, told his name, His following, and his warlike fame.
The Lion led to lodging meet, Which high o'erlook'd the crowded street; There must the Baron rest, 160 Till past the hour of vesper tide, And then to Holy-Rood must ride,-- Such was the King's behest.
Meanwhile the Lion's care a.s.signs A banquet rich, and costly wines, 165 To Marmion and his train; And when the appointed hour succeeds, The Baron dons his peaceful weeds, And following Lindesay as he leads, The palace-halls they gain. 170
VIL
Old Holy-Rood rung merrily, That night, with wa.s.sell, mirth, and glee: King James within her princely bower Feasted the Chiefs of Scotland's power, Summon'd to spend the parting hour; 175 For he had charged, that his array Should southward march by break of day.
Well loved that splendid monarch aye The banquet and the song, By day the tourney, and by night 180 The merry dance, traced fast and light, The maskers quaint, the pageant bright, The revel loud and long.
This feast outshone his banquets past; It was his blithest,--and his last. 185 The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay, Cast on the Court a dancing ray; Here to the harp did minstrels sing; There ladies touched a softer string; With long-ear'd cap, and motley vest, 190 The licensed fool retail'd his jest; His magic tricks the juggler plied; At dice and draughts the gallants vied; While some, in close recess apart, Courted the ladies of their heart, 195 Nor courted them in vain; For often, in the parting hour, Victorious Love a.s.serts his power O'er coldness and disdain; And flinty is her heart, can view 200 To battle march a lover true-- Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, Nor own her share of pain.
VIII.
Through this mix'd crowd of glee and game, The King to greet Lord Marmion came, 205 While, reverent, all made room.
An easy task it was, I trow, King James's manly form to know, Although, his courtesy to show, He doff'd, to Marmion bending low, 210 His broider'd cap and plume.
For royal was his garb and mien, His cloak, of crimson velvet piled, Trimm'd with the fur of marten wild; His vest of changeful satin sheen, 215 The dazzled eye beguiled; His gorgeous collar hung adown, Wrought with the badge of Scotland's crown, The thistle brave, of old renown: His trusty blade, Toledo right, 220 Descended from a baldric bright; White were his buskins, on the heel His spurs inlaid of gold and steel; His bonnet, all of crimson fair, Was b.u.t.ton'd with a ruby rare: 225 And Marmion deem'd he ne'er had seen A prince of such a n.o.ble mien.
IX.
The Monarch's form was middle size; For feat of strength, or exercise, Shaped in proportion fair; 230 And hazel was his eagle eye, And auburn of the darkest dye, His short curl'd beard and hair.