Walter Scott - The Complete Poems of Sir Walter Scott

I

The livelong day Lord Marmion rode:

The mountain path the Palmer showed,

By glen and streamlet winded still,

Where stunted birches hid the rill.

They might not choose the lowland road,

For the Merse forayers were abroad,

Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey,

Had scarcely failed to bar their way.

Oft on the trampling band, from crown

Of some tall cliff, the deer looked down;

On wing of jet, from his repose

In the deep heath, the blackcock rose;

Sprung from the gorse the timid roe,

Nor waited for the bending bow;

And when the stony path began,

By which the naked peak they wan,

Up flew the snowy ptarmigan.

The noon had long been passed before

They gained the height of Lammermoor;

Thence winding down the northern way,

Before them, at the close of day,

Old Gifford’s towers and hamlet lay.

II

No summons calls them to the tower,

To spend the hospitable hour.

To Scotland’s camp the lord was gone;

His cautious dame, in bower alone,

Dreaded her castle to unclose,

So late, to unknown friends or foes,

On through the hamlet as they paced,

Before a porch, whose front was graced

With bush and flagon trimly placed,

Lord Marmion drew his rein:

The village inn seemed large, though rude:

Its cheerful fire and hearty food

Might well relieve his train.

Down from their seats the horsemen sprung,

With jingling spurs the courtyard rung;

They bind their horses to the stall,

For forage, food, and firing call,

And various clamour fills the hall:

Weighing the labour with the cost,

Toils everywhere the bustling host.

III

Soon by the chimney’s merry blaze,

Through the rude hostel might you gaze;

Might see, where, in dark nook aloof,

The rafters of the sooty roof

Bore wealth of winter cheer;

Of seafowl dried, and solands store

And gammons of the tusky boar,

And savoury haunch of deer.

The chimney arch projected wide;

Above, around it, and beside,

Were tools for housewives’ hand;

Nor wanted, in that martial day,

The implements of Scottish fray,

The buckler, lance, and brand.

Beneath its shade, the place of state,

On oaken settle Marmion sate,

And viewed around the blazing hearth

His followers mix in noisy mirth;

Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide,

From ancient vessels ranged aside,

Full actively their host supplied.

IV

Theirs was the glee of martial breast,

And laughter theirs at little jest;

And oft Lord Marmion deigned to aid,

And mingle in the mirth they made;

For though, with men of high degree,

The proudest of the proud was he,

Yet, trained in camps, he knew the art

To win the soldier’s hardy heart.

They love a captain to obey,

Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May;

With open hand, and brow as free,

Lover of wine and minstrelsy;

Ever the first to scale a tower,

As venturous in a lady’s bower:

Such buxom chief shall lead his host

From India’s fires to Zembla’s frost.

V

Resting upon his pilgrim staff,

Right opposite the Palmer stood;

His thin dark visage seen but half,

Half hidden by his hood.

Still fixed on Marmion was his look,

Which he, who ill such gaze could brook,

Strove by a frown to quell;

But not for that, though more than once

Full met their stern encountering glance,

The Palmer’s visage fell.

VI

By fits less frequent from the crowd

Was heard the burst of laughter loud

For still, as squire and archer stared

On that dark face and matted beard

Their glee and game declined.

All gazed at length in silence drear,

Unbroke, save when in comrade’s ear

Some yeoman, wondering in his fear,

Thus whispered forth his mind:-

“Saint Mary! saw’st thou e’er such sight?

How pale his cheek, his eye how bright,

Whene’er the firebrand’s fickle light

Glances beneath his cowl!

Full on our lord he sets his eye;

For his best palfrey, would not I

Endure that sullen scowl.”

VII

But Marmion, as to chase the awe

Which thus had quelled their hearts, who saw

The ever-varying firelight show

That figure stern and face of woe,

Now called upon a squire:

“Fitz-Eustace, know’st thou not some lay,

To speed the lingering night away?

We slumber by the fire.”

VIII

“So please you,” thus the youth rejoined,

“Our choicest minstrel’s left behind.

Ill may we hope to please your ear,

Accustomed Constant’s strains to hear.

The harp full deftly can he strike,

And wake the lover’s lute alike;

To dear Saint Valentine, no thrush

Sings livelier from a springtide bush,

No nightingale her lovelorn tune

More sweetly warbles to the moon.

Woe to the cause, whate’er it be,

Detains from us his melody,

Lavished on rocks, and billows stern,

Or duller monks of Lindisfarne.

Now must I venture, as I may

To sing his favourite roundelay.”

IX

A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had,

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 ripened ear.

Now one shrill voice the notes prolong,

Now a wild chorus swells the song:

Oft have I listened, and stood still,

As it came softened up the hill,

And deemed it the lament of men

Who languished for their native glen;

And thought how sad would be such sound

On Susquehana’s swampy ground,

Kentucky’s wood-encumbered brake,

Or wild Ontario’s boundless lake,

Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain,

Recalled fair Scotland’s hills again!

X

SONG

Where shall the lover rest,

Whom the fates sever

From his true maiden’s breast,

Parted for ever?

Where, through groves deep and high,

Sounds the far billow,

Where early violets die,

Under the willow.

CHORUS

Eleu loro, etc. Soft shall be his pillow. There, through the summer day, Cool streams are laving; There, while the tempests sway, Scarce are boughs waving; There, thy rest shalt thou take, Parted for ever, Never again to wake, Never, oh, never!

CHORUS

Eleu loro, etc. Never, oh, never!

XI

Where shall the traitor rest,

He, the deceiver,

Who could win maiden’s breast,

Ruin, and leave her?

In the lost battle,

Borne down by the flying,

Where mingles war’s rattle

With groans of the dying.

CHORUS

Eleu loro, etc. There shall he be lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap

O’er the false-hearted;

His warm blood the wolf shall lap,

Ere life be parted.

Shame and dishonour sit

By his grave ever:

Blessing shall hallow it,

Never, oh, never!

CHORUS

Eleu loro, etc. Never, oh, never!

XII

It ceased, the melancholy sound;

And silence sunk on all around.

The air was sad; but sadder still

It fell on Marmion’s ear,

And plained as if disgrace and ill,

And shameful death, were near.

He drew his mantle past his face,

Between it and the band,