Sidor som bilder

With falcons broider'd on each breast,
Attended on their lord's behest.
Each, chosen for an archer good,
Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood;
Each one a six foot bow could bend,
And far a clothyard shaft could send ;
Each held a boar-spear tough and strong,
And at their belts their quivers rung,
Their dusty palfreys, and array,
Show'd they had march'd a weary way.

'Tis meet that I should tell you now,
How fairly arm'd, and order'd how,

The soldiers of the guard,
With musket, pipe, and morion,
To welcome noble Marmion,

Stood in the castleyard ;
Minstrels and trumpeters were there,
The gunner held his linstock yare,

For welcome shot prepared
Enter'd the train, and such a clang,
As then through all his turrets rang,

Old Norbam never heard.


Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode,
Proudly his red-roan charger trod,
His helm hung at the saddle bow;
Well, by his visage, you might know
He was a stalworth knight, and keen,
And had in many a battle been :
The scar on his brown cheek reveal'd
A token true of Bosworth field;
His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire,
Show'd spirit proud, and prompt to ire:
Yet lines of thought upon his cheek
Did deep design and counsel speak.
His forehead, by his casque worn bare,
His thin mustache, and curly hair,
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there,
But more through toil than age ;
His square turn'd joints, and strength of limb,
Show'd him no carpet knight so trim,
But, in close fight, a champion grim,
In camps, a leader sage.

Well was he arm’d from head to heel,
In mail and plate of Milan steel ;
But his strong helm, of mighty cost,
Was all with burnish'd gold emboss'd;
Amid the plumage of the crest
A falcon hover'd on her nest,
With wings outspread, and forward breast;
E'en such a falcon, on his shield,
Soar'd sable in an azure field:
The golden legend bore aright,
Who checks at me, to death is dight.
Blue was the charger's broider'd rein ;
Blue ribands deck'd his arching mane;
The knightly housing's ample fold
Was velvet blue, and trapp'd with gold.

Behind him rode two gallant squires,
Of noble name, and knightly sires;
They burn'd the gilded spurs to claim ;
For well could each a war-horse lame,
Could draw the bow, the sword could sway,
And lightly bear the ring away ;
Nor less with courteous precepts stored,
Could dance in ball, and carve at board,
And frame love-ditties passing rare,
And sing them to a ladye fair.

Four men-at-arms came at their backs,
With halbert, bill, and battle-axe :
They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong,
And led his sumpter-mules along,
And ambling palfrey, when at need
Him listed ease his battle-steed.
The last, and trustiest of the four,
On high his forky pennon bore;
Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue,
Flutter'd the streamer glossy blue,
Where, blazon'd sable, as before,
The towering falcon seem'd to soar.
Last, twenty yeomen, two and two,
In hosen black, and jerkin blue,

The guards their morrice-pikes advanced,

The trumpets flourish'd brave,
The cannon from the ramparts glanced,

And thundering welcome gave.
A blithe salute, in martial sort,

The minstrels well might sound,
For, as Lord Marmion cross'd the court,

He scatter'd angels round.
“Welcome to Norham, Marmion,

Stout heart, and open hand!
Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan,
Thou flower of English land!”

Two pursuivants, whom tabards deck,
With silver scutcheon round their neck,

Stood on the steps of stone,
By which you reach the donjon gate,
And there, with herald pomp and state,

They hail'd Lord Marmion:
They hail'd him Lord of Fontenaye,
Of Lutterward and Scrivelbaye,

Of Tamworth tower and town;
And be, their courtesy to requite,
Gave them a chain of twelve marks weight,

All as he lighted down.
“Now, largesse;* largesse, Lord Marmion,

Knight of the crest of gold !
A blazon'd shield in battle won,
Ne'er guarded heart so bold.”

They marshall’d him to the castle hall,

Where the guests stood all aside,
And loudly flourish'd the trumpet call,

And the heralds loudly cried, -“ Room, lordings, room, for Lord Marmion,

With the crest and helm of gold !

* The cry by which the heralds express their thanks for the bounty of the noblez.


Full well we know the trophies won

“ Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion : In the lists at Cottiswold:

But first, I pray thee fair, There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove

Where hast thou left that page of thine, 'Gainst Marmion's force to stand ;

That used to serve thy cup of wine, To him he lost his ladye love,

Whose beauty was so rare? And to the king his land.

When last in Raby towers we met, Ourselves beheld the listed field,

The boy I closely eyed, A sight both sad and fair;

And often mark'd his cheeks were wet We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield,

With tears he fain would hide: And saw his saddle bare;

His was no rugged horse-boy's hand, We saw the victor win the crest

To burnish shield, or sharpen brand, He wears with worthy pride;

Or saddle battle steed; And on the gibbet tree, reversed,

But meeter seem'd for lady fair, His foeman's scutcheon tied.

To fan her cheeks, or curl her hair, Place, nobles, for the Falcon-knight!

Or through embroidery, rich and rare, Room, room, ye gentles gay,

The slender silk to lead : For him who conquer'd in the right,

His skin was fair, his ringlets gold, Marmion of Fontenaye !"

His bosom--when he sigh’d,

The russet doublet's rugged fold

Could scarce repel its pride!
Then stepp'd to meet that noble lord,

Say, hast thou given that lovely youth Sir Hugh, the Heron bold,

To serve in ladye's bower? Baron of Twisell, and of Ford,

Or was the gentle page, in sooth, And captain of the Hold.

A gentle paramour's ?"
He led Lord Marmion to the deas,

Raised o'er the pavement high,
And placed him in the upper place-

Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest;
They feasted full and high :

He rollid bis kindling eye, The whiles a northern harper rude,

With pain his rising wrath suppress'd, Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud,

Yet made a calm reply: How the fierce Thirlwalls, and Ridleys all,

“ That boy thou thought'st so goodly fair, Stout Willimondswick,

He might not brook the northern air.

More of his fate if thou wouldst learn,
And Hard-riding Dick,
And Hughie of Hawden, and IVill o' the Wall,

I left him sick in Lindisfarn :

Enough of him.-But, Heron, say,
Have set on Sir Albany Featherstonhaugh,
And taken his life at the deadman's shaw."

Why does thy lovely lady gay
Scantly Lord Marmion's ear could brook

Disdain to grace the hall to-day?

Or has that dame, so sair and sage,
The harper's barbarous lay;
Yet much he praised the pains he took,

Gone on some pious pilgrimage.”
And well those pains did pay ;

He spoke in covert scorn, for fame For ladye's suit and minstrel's strain,

Whisper'd light tales of Heron's dame. By knight should ne'er be heard in vain.


Unmark'd, at least unreck'd, the taunt,

Careless the knight replied, “Now, good Lord Marmion,” Heron says,

“ No bird whose feathers gayly flaunt, “Of your fair courtesy,

Delights in cage to bide: I pray you bide some little space

Norham is grim, and grated close, In this poor tower with me.

Hemm'd in by battlement and fosse, Here may you keep your arms from rust,

And many a darksome tower; May breathe your war-horse well;

And better loves my lady bright, Seldom hath pass'd a week, but giust

To sit in liberty and light, Or feat of arms befel:

In fair queen Margaret's bower. The Scots can rein a mettled steed,

We hold our greyhound in our hand, And love to couch a spear ;

Our falcon on our glove; St. George! a stirring life they lead,

But where shall we find leash or band, That have such neighbours near.

For dame that loves to rove? Then stay with us a little space,

Let the wild falcon soar her swing
Our northern wars to learn;

She'll stoop when she has tired her wing."-
I pray you for your ladye’s grace.”
Lord Marmion's brow grew stern.


« Nay, if with royal James's bride, XV.

The lovely lady Heron bide, The captain mark'd his alter'd look,

Behold me here a messenger, And gave a squire the sign;

Your tender greetings prompt to bear; A mighty wassail bowl he took,

For, to the Scottish court address'd, And crown'd it high with wine.

I journey at our king's behest,


And pray you, of your grace, provide
For me, and mine, a trusty guide.
I have not ridden in Scotland since
James back'd the cause of that mock prince,
Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit,
Who on the gibbet paid the cheat.
Then did I march with Surrey's power
What time we razed old Ayton tower."

Since, on the vigil of St. Bede,
In evil hour, he cross'd the Tweed,
To teach dame Alison her creed.
Old Bughtrig found him with his wife;
And John, an enemy to strife,
Sans frock and hood, fled for his life.
The jealous churl hath deeply swore,
That, if again he venture o'er,
He shall sbrieve penitent no more.
Little he loves such risks, I know;
Yet, in your guard, perchance, will go."-

XIX. « For such like need, my lord, I trow, Norham can find you guides enow; For here be some have prick'd as far, On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar; Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's ale, And driven the beeves of Lauderdale ; Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods, And given them light to set their hoods.”_

XX, “Now, in good sooth,” Lord Marmion cried, “ Were I in warlike-wise to ride A better guard I would not lack, Than your stout forayers at my back; But, as in form of peace I go, A friendly messenger, to know, Why, through all Scotland, near and far, Their king is mustering troops for war, The sight of plundering border spears Might justify suspicious fears, And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil, Break out in some unseemly broil: A herald were my fitting guide; Or friar, sworn in peace to bide; Or pardoner, or travelling priest, Or strolling pilgrim, at the least.”

XXII. Young Selby, at the fair hall-board, Carved to his uncle, and that lord, And reverently took up the word. “Kind uncle, wo were we each one, If harm should hap to brother John. He is a man of mirthful speech, Can many a game and gambol teach; Full well at tables can he play, And sweep, at bowls, the stake away. None can a lustier carol bawl, The needfullest among us all, When time hangs heavy in the hall, And snow comes thick at Christmas tide, And we can neither bunt, nor ride A soray on the Scottish side. The vow'd revenge of Bughtrig rude, May end in worse than loss of hood. Let Friar Joho, in safety, still In chimney-corner snore his fill, Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill: Last night to Norham there came one Will better guide Lord Marmion.” “Nephew," quoth Heron,“ by my fay, Well hast thou spoke; say forth thy say.”

The captain mused a little space,
And pass’d his hand across his face.

_" Fain would I find the guide you want,
But ill may spare a pursuivant,
The only men that safe can ride
Mine errands on the Scottish side:
And, though a bishop built this fort,
Few holy brethren here resort;
E'en our good chaplain, as I ween,
Since our last siege, we have not seen ;
The mass he might not sing or say,
Upon one stinted meal a day;
So, safe he sat in Durham aisle,
And pray'd for our success the while.
Our Norham vicar, wo betide,
Is all too well in case to ride.
The priest of Shoreswood-he could rein
The wildest warhorse in your train;
But then, no spearman in the hall
Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl.
Friar John of Tillmouth were the man;
A blithsome brother at the can,
A welcome guest it hall and bower,
He knows each castle, town, and tower,
In which the wine and ale are good,
'Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood.
But that good man, as ill befalls,
Hath seldom left our castle walls,

XXIII. “ Here is a holy palmer come, From Salem first, and last from Rome : One, that hath kiss'd the blessed tomb, And visited each holy shrine, In Araby and Palestine; On hills of Armenie hath been, Where Noah's ark may yet be seen; By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod, Which parted at the prophet's rod; In Sinai's wilderness he saw The mount, where Israel heard the law, Mid thunder-dint, and fashing levin, And shadows, mists, and darkness, given. He shows Saint James's cockle shell, Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell;

And of that grot where olives nod, Where, darling of each heart and eye, From all the youth of Sicily,

Saint Rosalie retired to God.

XXIV. “ To stout Saint George of Norwich merry,' Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, Cuthbert of Durham, and Saint Bede, For his sins' pardon hath he pray’d. He knows the passes of the North, And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth ;

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Little he eats, and long will wake,
And drinks but of the streams or lake.
This were a guide o'er moor and dale ;
But, when our John hath quafl'd his ale,
As little as the wind that blows,
And warms itself against his nose,
Kens he, or cares, which way he goes.”_

“Gramercy !” quoth Lord Marmion,
“ Full loth were I, that friar John,
That venerable man, for me,
Were placed in fear or jeopardy:
If this same palmer will me lead

From hence to Holy-Rood,
Like his good saint, I'll pay his meed,
Instead of cockle shell or bead,

With angels fair and good.
I love such holy ramblers ; still
They know to charm a weary hill,

With song, romance, or lay:
Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest,
Some lying legend, at the least,
They bring to cheer the way.”—

“ Ah! noble sir,” young Selby said,
And finger on his lip he laid,
“ This man knows much, perchance, e'en more
Than he could learn by holy lore.
Still to himself he's muttering,
And shrinks, as at some unseen thing.
Last night we listen’d at his cell ;
Strange sounds we heard, and, soooth to tell,
He murmur'd on till morn, howe'er,
No living mortal could be near.
Sometimes I thought I heard it plain,
As other voices spoke again.
I cannot tell-I like it not-
Friar John hath told us it is wrote,
No conscience clear and void of wrong,
Can rest awake, and pray so long.
Himself still sleeps before his beads
Have mark'd ten aves, and two creeds.”_

Let pass,” quoth Marmion ; “by my fay,
This man shall guide me on my way,
Although the great arch fiend and he
Had sworn themselves of company;
So please you, gentle youth, to call
This palmer to the castle hall.”
The summond palmer came in place ;
His sable cowl o'erhung his face:

In his black mantle was he clad,
With Peter's keys, in cloth of red,

On his broad shoulders wrought;
The scallop shell his cap did deck;
The crucifix around his neck

Was from Loretto brought;
His sandals were with travel tore,
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore:
The faded palm branch in his hand,
Show'd pilgrim from the Holy Land.

When as the palmer came in hall,
Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tall,

Or had a statelier step withal,

Or look'd more high and keen :
For no saluting did he wait,
But strode across the hall of state,
And fronted Marmion where he sate,

As he his peer had been.
But his gaunt frame was worn with toil,
His cheek was sunk, alas, the while !
And when he struggled at a smile,

His eye look'd haggard wild :
Poor wretch! the mother that him bare,
If she had been in presence there,
In his wan face, and sunburn'd hair,

She had not known her child.
Danger, long travel, want, or wo,
Soon change the form that best we know-
For deadly fear can time outgo,

And blanch at once the hair;
Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want can quench the eye's bright grace;
Nor does old age a wrinkle trace,

More deeply than despair.
Happy whom none of these befall,
But this poor palmer knew them all.

Lord Marmion then his boon did ask;
The palmer took on him the task,
So he would march with morning tide,
To Scottish court to be his guide.
-“But I have solemn vows to pay,
And may not linger by the way,

To fair Saint Andrew's bound,
Within the ocean-cave to pray,
Where good Saint Rule his holy lay,
From midnight to the dawn of day,

Sung to the billows' sound;
Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed well,
Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel,
And the crazed brain restore :-
Saint Mary grant, that cave or spring
Could back to peace my bosom bring,
Or bid it throb no more !”

And now the midnight draught of sleep,
Where wine and spices richly steep,
In massive bowl of silver deep,

The page presents on knee.
Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest,
The captain pledged his noble guest,
The cup went through among the rest,

Who drain'd it merrily:
Alone the palmer pass'd it by,
Though Selby press'd him courteously.

This was the sign the feast was o'er:
It hush'd the merry wassel-roar,

The minstrels ceased to sound.
Soon in the castle naught was heard,
But the slow footsteps of the guard,
Pacing his sober round.

With early dawn Lord Marmion rose:
And first the chapel doors unclose ;
Then, after morning rites were done,
(A hasty mass from friar John,)


And knight, and squire had broke their fast, And foresters, in greenw bod trim,
On rich substantial repast,

Lead in the leash the guzehounds grim, Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse :

Attentive, as the bratchet's* bay Then came the stirrup cup in course,

From the dark covert drove the prey, Between the baron and his host,

To slip them as he broke away. No point of courtesy was lost;

The startled quarry bounds amain, High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid, As fast the gallant greyhounds strain : Solemn excuse the captain made,

Whistles the arrow from the bow, Till, filing from the gate had past

Answers the harquebuss below; That noble train, their lord the last.

While all the rocking hills reply, Tben loudly rung the trumpet call;

To hoof-clang, hound, and hunters' cry, Thunder'd the cannon from the wall,

And bugles ringing lightsomely.”— And shook the Scottish shore ;

Of such proud huntings, many tales Around the castle eddied slow,

Yet linger in our lonely dales, Volumes of smoke as white as snow,

Up pathless Ettrick, and on Yarrow, And hid its turret's hoar;

Where erst the Outlaw drew his arrow. Till they roll’d forth upon the air,

But not more blith that sylvan court, And met the river breezes there,

Than we have been at humbler sport;
Which gave again the prospect fair.

Though small our pomp and mean our game,
Our mirth, dear Marriot, was the same,

Rememberest thou my greyhounds true ?

O’er holt, or hill, there never flew,

From slip, or leash, there never sprang, TO THE REV. JOHN MARRIOT, M. A.

More fleet of foot or sure of fang, Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. Nor dull, between each merry chase, The scenes are desert now, and bare,

Pass’d by the intermitted space ; Where flourish'd once a forest fair,

For we had fair resource in store, When these waste glens with copse were lined, In classic, and in Gothic lore; And peopled with the hart and hind.

We mark'd each memorable scene, Yon thorn-perchance, whose prickly spears And held poetic talk between; Have fenced him for three hundred years,

Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, While fell around his green compeers

But had its legend or its song. Yon lonely thorn, would he could tell

All silent now-for now are still The changes of his parent dell,

Thy bowers untenanted Bowhill! Since he, so gray and stubborn now,

No longer, from thy mountains dun, Waved in each breeze a sappling bough;

The yeoman bears the well-known gun, Would he could tell how deep the shade,

And, while his honest heart grows warm, A thousand mingled branches made;

At thought of his paternal farm, How broad the shadows of the oak,

Round to his mates a brimmer fills, How clung the rowan* to the rock,

And drinks, “ The chieftain of the hills !" And through the foliage show'd his head, No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers, With narrow leaves, and berries red;

Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers, What pines on every mountain sprung,

Fair as the elves whom Janet saw, O'er every dell what birches hung,

By moonlight, dance on Carterhaugh; In every breeze what aspens shook,

No youthful baron's left to grace What alders shaded every brook!

The forest-sheriff's lonely chase, “Here, in my shade,” methinks he'd say, And ape, in manly step and tone, “ The mighty stag at noontide lay:

The majesty of Oberon; The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game,

And she is gone, whose lovely face (The neighbouring dingle bears his name,) Is but her least and lowest grace; With lurching step around me prowl,

Though if to Sylphid queen 'twere given, And stop against the moon to howl;

To show our earth the charms of heaven, The mountain-boar, on battle set,

She could not glide along the air, His tusks upon my stem would whet,

With form more light, or face more fair. While doe and roe, and red-deer good,

No more the widow's deafen'd ear Have bounded by through gay greenwood. Grows quick, that lady's step to hear; Then oft, from Newark's riven tower,

At noontide she expects her not, Sallied a Scottish monarch's power:

Nor busies her to trim the cot; A thousand vassals muster'd round,

Pensive she turns her humming wheel, With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound; Or pensive cooks her orphan's meal; And I might see the youth intent,

Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread, Guard every pass with crossbow bent;

The gentle hand by which they're fed. And through the brake the rangers stalk,

From Yair-which hills so closely bind, And falconers hold the ready hawk;

Scarce can the Tweed his passage find,

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