Walter Scott - Marmion

I have two sons in yonder field;
And, if thou meet’st them under shield,
Upon them bravely-do thy worst;
And foul fall him that blenches first!’

Not far advanced was morning day,
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:

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,
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;

Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble 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
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-
The hand of Douglas is his own;
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp.’-

Burn’d Marmion’s swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,
And-‘This to me!’ he said,
‘An ‘twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion’s had not spared
‘To cleave the Douglas’ head!

And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer,
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,
Here in thy hold, thy vassals 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
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:

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!
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,
The ponderous grate behind him rung:

To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
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,
And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

‘Horse! horse!’ the Douglas cried, ‘and chase!’
But soon he rein’d his fury’s pace:

‘A royal messenger he came,
Though most unworthy of the name.-
A letter forged! Saint Jude to speed!
Did ever knight so foul a deed!

At first in heart it liked me ill,
When the King praised his clerkly skill.

Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine,
Save Gawain, ne’er could pen a line:

So swore I, and I swear it still,
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill.-
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood!
Old age ne’er cools the Douglas blood,
I thought to slay him where he stood.

‘Tis pity of him too,’ he cried;
‘Bold can he speak, and fairly ride,
I warrant him a warrior tried.’
With this his mandate he recalls,
And slowly seeks his castle halls.

The day in Marmion’s journey wore;
Yet, e’er his passion’s gust was o’er,
They cross’d the heights of Stanrig-moor.
His troop more closely there he scann’d,
And miss’d the Palmer from the band.-

‘Palmer or not,’ young Blount did say,
‘ He parted at the peep of day;
Good sooth, it was in strange array.’-
‘In what array?’ said Marmion, quick.
‘My Lord, I ill can spell the trick;

But all night long, with clink and bang,
Close to my couch did hammers clang;
At dawn the falling drawbridge rang,
And from a loop-hole while I peep,
Old Bell-the-Cat came from the Keep,
Wrapp’d in a gown of sables fair,
As fearful of the morning air;

Beneath, when that was blown aside,
A rusty shirt of mail I spied,
By Archibald won in bloody work,
Against the Saracen and Turk:

Last night it hung not in the hall;
I thought some marvel would befall.
And next I saw them saddled lead
Old Cheviot forth, the Earl’s best steed;

A matchless horse, though something old,
Prompt to his paces, cool and bold.

I heard the Sheriff Sholto say,
The Earl did much the Master pray
To use him on the battle-day;

But he preferr’d’-’Nay, Henry, cease!
Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace.-
Eustace, thou bear’st a brain-I pray,
What did Blount see at break of day?’

‘In brief, my lord, we both descried
(For then I stood by Henry’s side)
The Palmer mount, and outwards ride,
Upon the Earl’s own favourite steed:
All sheathed he was in armour bright,
And much resembled that same knight,
Subdued by you in Cotswold fight:
Lord Angus wish’d him speed.’-

The instant that Fitz-Eustace spoke,
A sudden light on Marmion broke;-
‘Ah! dastard fool, to reason lost!’
He mutter’d; ‘Twas nor fay nor ghost
I met upon the moonlight wold,
But living man of earthly mould.-
O dotage blind and gross!
Had I but fought as wont, one thrust
Had laid De Wilton in the dust,
My path no more to cross.-

How stand we now?-he told his tale
To Douglas; and with some avail;
‘Twas therefore gloom’d his rugged brow.-
Will Surrey dare to entertain,
‘Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and vain?
Small risk of that, I trow.

Yet Clare’s sharp questions must I shun;
Must separate Constance from the Nun-
O, what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!

A Palmer too!-no wonder why
I felt rebuked beneath his eye:
I might have known there was but one,
Whose look could quell Lord Marmion.’

Stung with these thoughts, he urged to speed
His troop, and reach’d, at eve, the Tweed,
Where Lennel’s convent closed their march;
(There now is left but one frail arch,
Yet mourn thou not its cells;
Our time a fair exchange has made;
Hard by, in hospitable shade,
A reverend pilgrim dwells,