Part 14 (1/2)
The Monarch o'er the siren hung, And beat the measure as she sung; And, pressing closer, and more near, He whisper'd praises in her ear.
In loud applause the courtiers vied; 365 And ladies wink'd, and spoke aside.
The witching dame to Marmion threw A glance, where seem'd to reign The pride that claims applauses due, And of her royal conquest too, 370 A real or feign'd disdain: Familiar was the look, and told, Marmion and she were friends of old.
The King observed their meeting eyes, With something like displeased surprise; 375 For monarchs ill can rivals brook, Even in a word, or smile, or look.
Straight took he forth the parchment broad, Which Marmion's high commission show'd: 'Our Borders sack'd by many a raid, 380 Our peaceful liege-men robb'd,' he said; 'On day of truce our Warden slain, Stout Barton kill'd, his vessels ta'en-- Unworthy were we here to reign, Should these for vengeance cry in vain; 385 Our full defiance, hate, and scorn, Our herald has to Henry borne.'
XIV.
He paused, and led where Douglas stood, And with stern eye the pageant view'd: I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore, 390 Who coronet of Angus bore, And, when his blood and heart were high, Did the third James in camp defy, And all his minions led to die On Lauder's dreary flat: 395 Princes and favourites long grew tame, And trembled at the homely name Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat; The same who left the dusky vale Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 400 Its dungeons, and its towers, Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air, And Bothwell bank is blooming fair, To fix his princely bowers.
Though now, in age, he had laid down 405 His armour for the peaceful gown, And for a staff his brand, Yet often would flash forth the fire, That could, in youth, a monarch's ire And minion's pride withstand; 410 And even that day, at council board, Unapt to soothe his sovereign's mood, Against the war had Angus stood, And chafed his royal Lord.
XV.
His giant-form, like ruin'd tower, 415 Though fall'n its muscles' brawny vaunt, Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt, Seem'd o'er the gaudy scene to lower: His locks and beard in silver grew; His eyebrows kept their sable hue. 420 Near Douglas when the Monarch stood, His bitter speech he thus pursued :- 'Lord Marmion, since these letters say That in the North you needs must stay, While slightest hopes of peace remain, 425 Uncourteous speech it were, and stern, To say--Return to Lindisfarne, Until my herald come again.-- Then rest you in Tantallon Hold; Your host shall be the Douglas bold,-- 430 A chief unlike his sires of old.
He wears their motto on his blade, Their blazon o'er his towers display'd; Yet loves his sovereign to oppose, More than to face his country's foes. 435 And, I bethink me, by Saint Stephen, But e'en this morn to me was given A prize, the first fruits of the war, Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, A bevy of the maids of Heaven. 440 Under your guard, these holy maids Shall safe return to cloister shades, And, while they at Tantallon stay, Requiem for Cochran's soul may say.'
And, with the slaughter'd favourite's name, 445 Across the Monarch's brow there came A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame.
XVI.
In answer nought could Angus speak; His proud heart swell'd wellnigh to break: He turn'd aside, and down his cheek 450 A burning tear there stole.
His hand the Monarch sudden took, That sight his kind heart could not brook: 'Now, by the Bruce's soul, Angus, my hasty speech forgive! 455 For sure as doth his spirit live, As he said of the Douglas old, I well may say of you,-- That never King did subject hold, In speech more free, in war more bold, 460 More tender and more true: Forgive me, Douglas, once again.'-- And, while the King his hand did strain, The old man's tears fell down like rain.
To seize the moment Marmion tried, 465 And whisper'd to the King aside: 'Oh! let such tears unwonted plead For respite short from dubious deed!
A child will weep a bramble's smart, A maid to see her sparrow part, 470 A stripling for a woman's heart: But woe awaits a country, when She sees the tears of bearded men.
Then, oh! what omen, dark and high, When Douglas wets his manly eye!' 475
XVII.
Displeased was James, that stranger view'd And tamper'd with his changing mood.
'Laugh those that can, weep those that may,'
Thus did the fiery Monarch say, 'Southward I march by break of day; 480 And if within Tantallon strong, The good Lord Marmion tarries long, Perchance our meeting next may fall At Tamworth, in his castle-hall.'-- The haughty Marmion felt the taunt, 485 And answer'd, grave, the royal vaunt: 'Much honour'd were my humble home, If in its halls King James should come; But Nottingham has archers good, And Yorks.h.i.+re men are stem of mood; 490 Northumbrian p.r.i.c.kers wild and rude.
On Derby Hills the paths are steep; In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep; And many a banner will be torn, And many a knight to earth be borne, 495 And many a sheaf of arrows spent, Ere Scotland's King shall cross the Trent: Yet pause, brave Prince, while yet you may!'-- The Monarch lightly turn'd away, And to his n.o.bles loud did call,-- 500 'Lords, to the dance,--a hall! a hall!'
Himself his cloak and sword flung by, And led Dame Heron gallantly; And Minstrels, at the royal order, Rung out--'Blue Bonnets o'er the Border.' 505
XVIII.
Leave we these revels now, to tell What to Saint Hilda's maids befell, Whose galley, as they sail'd again To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en.
Now at Dun-Edin did they bide, 510 Till James should of their fate decide; And soon, by his command, Were gently summon'd to prepare To journey under Marmion's care, As escort honour'd, safe, and fair, 515 Again to English land.
The Abbess told her chaplet o'er, Nor knew which Saint she should implore; For, when she thought of Constance, sore She fear'd Lord Marmion's mood. 520 And judge what Clara must have felt!
The sword, that hung in Marmion's belt, Had drunk De Wilton's blood.
Unwittingly, King James had given, As guard to Whitby's shades, 525 The man most dreaded under heaven By these defenceless maids: Yet what pet.i.tion could avail, Or who would listen to the tale Of woman, prisoner, and nun, 530 Mid bustle of a war begun?
They deem'd it hopeless to avoid The convoy of their dangerous guide.
XIX.