Part 17 (1/2)

IX.

'Now here, within Tantallon Hold, 265 To Douglas late my tale I told, To whom my house was known of old.

Won by my proofs, his falchion bright This eve anew shall dub me knight.

These were the arms that once did turn 270 The tide of fight on Otterburne, And Harry Hotspur forced to yield, When the Dead Douglas won the field.

These Angus gave--his armourer's care, Ere morn, shall every breach repair; 275 For nought, he said, was in his halls, But ancient armour on the walls, And aged chargers in the stalls, And women, priests, and grey-hair'd men; The rest were all in Twisel glen. 280 And now I watch my armour here, By law of arms, till midnight's near; Then, once again a belted knight, Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of light.

X.

'There soon again we meet, my Clare! 285 This Baron means to guide thee there: Douglas reveres his King's command, Else would he take thee from his band.

And there thy kinsman, Surrey, too, Will give De Wilton justice due. 290 Now meeter far for martial broil, Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil, Once more'--'O Wilton! must we then Risk new-found happiness again, Trust fate of arms once more? 295 And is there not an humble glen, Where we, content and poor, Might build a cottage in the shade, A shepherd thou, and I to aid Thy task on dale and moor?-- 300 That reddening brow!--too well I know, Not even thy Clare can peace bestow, While falsehood stains thy name: Go then to fight! Clare bids thee go!

Clare can a warrior's feelings know, 305 And weep a warrior's shame; Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel, Buckle the spurs upon thy heel, And belt thee with thy brand of steel, And send thee forth to fame!' 310

XI.

That night, upon the rocks and bay, The midnight moon-beam slumbering lay, And pour'd its silver light, and pure, Through loop-hole, and through embrazure, Upon Tantallon tower and hall; 315 But chief where arched windows wide Illuminate the chapel's pride, The sober glances fall.

Much was there need; though seam'd with scars, Two veterans of the Douglas' wars, 320 Though two grey priests were there, And each a blazing torch held high, You could not by their blaze descry The chapel's carving fair.

Amid that dim and smoky light, 325 Chequering the silvery moon-s.h.i.+ne bright, A bishop by the altar stood, A n.o.ble lord of Douglas blood, With mitre sheen, and rocquet white.

Yet show'd his meek and thoughtful eye 330 But little pride of prelacy; More pleased that, in a barbarous age, He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page, Than that beneath his rule he held The bishopric of fair Dunkeld. 335 Beside him ancient Angus stood, Doff'd his furr'd gown, and sable hood: O'er his huge form and visage pale, He wore a cap and s.h.i.+rt of mail; And lean'd his large and wrinkled hand 340 Upon the huge and sweeping brand Which wont of yore, in battle fray, His foeman's limbs to shred away, As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.

He seem'd as, from the tombs around 345 Rising at judgment-day, Some giant Douglas may be found In all his old array; So pale his face, so huge his limb, So old his arms, his look so grim. 350

XII.

Then at the altar Wilton kneels, And Clare the spurs bound on his heels; And think what next he must have felt, At buckling of the falchion belt!

And judge how Clara changed her hue, 355 While fastening to her lover's side A friend, which, though in danger tried, He once had found untrue!

Then Douglas struck him with his blade: 'Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid, 360 I dub thee knight.

Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir!

For King, for Church, for Lady fair, See that thou fight.'-- And Bishop Gawain, as he rose, 365 Said--'Wilton! grieve not for thy woes, Disgrace, and trouble; For He, who honour best bestows, May give thee double.'-- De Wilton sobb'd, for sob he must-- 370 'Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust That Douglas is my brother!'

'Nay, nay,' old Angus said, 'not so; To Surrey's camp thou now must go, Thy wrongs no longer smother. 375 I have two sons in yonder field; And, if thou meet'st them under s.h.i.+eld, Upon them bravely--do thy worst; And foul fall him that blenches first!'

XIII.

Not far advanced was morning day, 380 When Marmion did his troop array To Surrey's camp to ride; He had safe-conduct for his band, Beneath the royal seal and hand, And Douglas gave a guide: 385 The ancient Earl, with stately grace, Would Clara on her palfrey place, And whisper'd in an under tone, 'Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown.'-- The train from out the castle drew, 390 But Marmion stopp'd to bid adieu:- 'Though something I might plain,' he said, 'Of cold respect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your King's behest, While in Tantallon's towers I staid; 395 Part we in friends.h.i.+p from your land, And, n.o.ble Earl, receive my hand.'-- But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:-- 'My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still 400 Be open, at my Sovereign's will, To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer.

My castles are my King's alone, From turret to foundation-stone-- 405 The hand of Douglas is his own; And never shall in friendly grasp The hand of such as Marmion clasp.'--

XIV.

Burn'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, And shook his very frame for ire, 410 And--'This to me!' he said, 'An 'twere not for thy h.o.a.ry beard, Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 'To cleave the Douglas' head!

And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer, 415 He, who does England's message here, Although the meanest in her state, May well, proud Angus, be thy mate: And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, Even in thy pitch of pride, 420 Here in thy hold, thy va.s.sals near, (Nay, never look upon your lord, And lay your hands upon your sword,) I tell thee, thou'rt defied!

And if thou said'st, I am not peer 425 To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied!'-- On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage O'ercame the ashen hue of age: 430 Fierce he broke forth,--'And darest thou then To beard the lion in his den, The Douglas in his hall?

And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?-- No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no! 435 Up drawbridge, grooms--what, Warder, ho!

Let the portcullis fall.'-- Lord Marmion turn'd,--well was his need, And dash'd the rowels in his steed, Like arrow through the archway sprung, 440 The ponderous grate behind him rung: To pa.s.s there was such scanty room, The bars, descending, razed his plume.

XV.

The steed along the drawbridge flies, Just as it trembled on the rise; 445 Nor lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake's level brim: And when Lord Marmion reach'd his band, He halts, and turns with clenched hand, And shout of loud defiance pours, 450 And shook his gauntlet at the towers.