IX.

A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had, 130 The air he chose was wild and sad; Such have I heard, in Scottish land, Rise from the busy harvest band, When falls before the mountaineer, On Lowland plains, the ripen'd ear. 135 Now one shrill voice the notes prolong, Now a wild chorus swells the song: Oft have I listen'd, and stood still, As it came soften'd up the hill, And deem'd it the lament of men 140 Who languish'd for their native glen; And thought how sad would be such sound, On Susquehanna's swampy ground, Kentucky's wood-enc.u.mber'd brake, Or wild Ontario's boundless lake, 145 Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain, Recall'd fair Scotland's hills again!

X.

Song

Where shall the lover rest, Whom the fates sever From his true maiden's breast, 150 Parted for ever?

Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die, Under the willow. 155

CHORUS.

Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow.

There, through the summer day, Cool streams are laving; There, while the tempests sway, Scarce are boughs waving; 160 There, thy rest shalt thou take, Parted for ever, Never again to wake, Never, O never!

CHORUS.

Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never! 165

XI.

Where shall the traitor rest, He, the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast, Ruin, and leave her?

In the lost battle, 170 Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying.

CHORUS.

Eleu loro, &c. There shall he be lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap 175 O'er the false-hearted; His warm blood the wolf shall lap, Ere life be parted.

Shame and dishonour sit By his grave ever; 180 Blessing shall hallow it,-- Never, O never.

CHORUS.

Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never!

XII.

It ceased, the melancholy sound; And silence sunk on all around. 185 The air was sad; but sadder still It fell on Marmion's ear, And plain'd as if disgrace and ill, And shameful death, were near.

He drew his mantle past his face, 190 Between it and the band, And rested with his head a s.p.a.ce, Reclining on his hand.

His thoughts I scan not; but I ween, That, could their import have been seen, 195 The meanest groom in all the hall, That e'er tied courser to a stall, Would scarce have wished to be their prey, For Lutterward and Fontenaye.

XIII.

High minds, of native pride and force, 200 Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse!

Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have, Thou art the torturer of the brave!

Yet fatal strength they boast to steel Their minds to bear the wounds they feel, 205 Even while they writhe beneath the smart Of civil conflict in the heart.

For soon Lord Marmion raised his head, And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said,- 'Is it not strange, that, as ye sung, 210 Seem'd in mine ear a death-peal rung, Such as in nunneries they toll For some departing sister's soul?

Say, what may this portend?'-- Then first the Palmer silence broke, 215 (The livelong day he had not spoke) 'The death of a dear friend.'

XIV.

Marmion, whose steady heart and eye Ne'er changed in worst extremity; Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, 220 Even from his King, a haughty look; Whose accents of command controll'd, In camps, the boldest of the bold-- Thought, look, and utterance fail'd him now, Fall'n was his glance, and flush'd his brow: 225 For either in the tone, Or something in the Palmer's look, So full upon his conscience strook, That answer he found none.

Thus oft it haps, that when within 230 They shrink at sense of secret sin, A feather daunts the brave; A fool's wild speech confounds the wise, And proudest princes vail their eyes Before their meanest slave. 235

XV.

Well might he falter!--By his aid Was Constance Beverley betray'd.

Not that he augur'd of the doom, Which on the living closed the tomb: But, tired to hear the desperate maid 240 Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid; And wroth, because, in wild despair, She practised on the life of Clare; Its fugitive the Church he gave, Though not a victim, but a slave; 245 And deem'd restraint in convent strange Would hide her wrongs, and her revenge, Himself, proud Henry's favourite peer, Held Romish thunders idle fear, Secure his pardon he might hold, 250 For some slight mulct of penance-gold.

Thus judging, he gave secret way, When the stern priests surprised their prey.

His train but deem'd the favourite page Was left behind, to spare his age; 255 Or other if they deem'd, none dared To mutter what he thought and heard: Woe to the va.s.sal, who durst pry Into Lord Marmion's privacy!

XVI.

His conscience slept--he deem'd her well, 260 And safe secured in yonder cell; But, waken'd by her favourite lay, And that strange Palmer's boding say, That fell so ominous and drear, Full on the object of his fear, 265 To aid remorse's venom'd throes, Dark tales of convent-vengeance rose; And Constance, late betray'd and scorn'd, All lovely on his soul return'd; Lovely as when, at treacherous call, 270 She left her convent's peaceful wall, Crimson'd with shame, with terror mute, Dreading alike escape, pursuit, Till love, victorious o'er alarms, Hid fears and blushes in his arms. 275

'Alas!' he thought, 'how changed that mien!

How changed these timid looks have been, Since years of guilt, and of disguise, Have steel'd her brow, and arm'd her eyes!

No more of virgin terror speaks 280 The blood that mantles in her cheeks; Fierce, and unfeminine, are there, Frenzy for joy, for grief despair; And I the cause--for whom were given Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven!-- 285 Would,' thought he, as the picture grows, 'I on its stalk had left the rose!

Oh, why should man's success remove The very charms that wake his love!-- Her convent's peaceful solitude 290 Is now a prison harsh and rude; And, pent within the narrow cell, How will her spirit chafe and swell!

How brook the stern monastic laws!

The penance how--and I the cause!-- 295 Vigil, and scourge--perchance even worse!'-- And twice he rose to cry, 'To horse!'

And twice his Sovereign's mandate came, Like damp upon a kindling flame; And twice he thought, 'Gave I not charge 300 She should be safe, though not at large?

They durst not, for their island, shred One golden ringlet from her head.'

XVIII.

While thus in Marmion's bosom strove Repentance and reviving love, 305 Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway I've seen Loch Vennachar obey, Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard, And, talkative, took up the word: 'Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray 310 From Scotland's simple land away, To visit realms afar, Full often learn the art to know Of future weal, or future woe, By word, or sign, or star; 315 Yet might a knight his fortune hear, If, knight-like, he despises fear, Not far from hence;--if fathers old Aright our hamlet legend told.'-- These broken words the menials move, (For marvels still the vulgar love,) 320 And, Marmion giving license cold, His tale the host thus gladly told:--

XIX.

The Host's Tale

'A Clerk could tell what years have flown Since Alexander fill'd our throne, 325 (Third monarch of that warlike name,) And eke the time when here he came To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord: A braver never drew a sword; A wiser never, at the hour 330 Of midnight, spoke the word of power: The same, whom ancient records call The founder of the Goblin-Hall.

I would, Sir Knight, your longer stay Gave you that cavern to survey. 335 Of lofty roof, and ample size, Beneath the castle deep it lies: To hew the living rock profound, The floor to pave, the arch to round, There never toil'd a mortal arm, 340 It all was wrought by word and charm; And I have heard my grandsire say, That the wild clamour and affray Of those dread artisans of h.e.l.l, Who labour'd under Hugo's spell, 345 Sounded as loud as ocean's war, Among the caverns of Dunbar.

XX.

'The King Lord Gifford's castle sought, Deep labouring with uncertain thought; Even then he mustered all his host, 350 To meet upon the western coast; For Norse and Danish galleys plied Their oars within the Frith of Clyde.

There floated Haco's banner trim, Above Norweyan warriors grim, 355 Savage of heart, and large of limb; Threatening both continent and isle, Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle.

Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground, Heard Alexander's bugle sound, 360 And tarried not his garb to change, But, in his wizard habit strange, Came forth,--a quaint and fearful sight; His mantle lined with fox-skins white; His high and wrinkled forehead bore 365 A pointed cap, such as of yore Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore: His shoes were mark'd with cross and spell, Upon his breast a pentacle; His zone, of virgin parchment thin, 370 Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin, Bore many a planetary sign, Combust, and retrograde, and trine; And in his hand he held prepared, A naked sword without a guard. 375