Walter Scott - The Complete Poems of Sir Walter Scott

Lord Marmion’s order speeds the band,

Some opener ground to gain;

And scarce a furlong had they rode,

When thinner trees, receding, showed

A little woodland plain.

Just in that advantageous glade,

The halting troop a line had made,

As forth from the opposing shade

Issued a gallant train.

VI

First came the trumpets, at whose clang

So late the forest echoes rang;

On prancing steeds they forward pressed,

With scarlet mantle, azure vest;

Each at his trump a banner wore,

Which Scotland’s royal scutcheon bore:

Heralds and pursuivants, by name

Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay, came,

In painted tabards, proudly showing

Gules, argent, or, and azure glowing,

Attendant on a king-at-arms,

Whose hand the armorial truncheon held,

That feudal strife had often quelled,

When wildest its alarms.

VII

He was a man of middle age;

In aspect manly, grave, and sage,

As on king’s errand come;

But in the glances of his eye,

A penetrating, keen, and sly

Expression found its home;

The flash of that satiric rage,

Which, bursting on the early stage,

Branded the vices of the age,

And broke the keys of Rome.

On milk-white palfrey forth he paced;

His cap of maintenance was graced

With the proud heron-plume.

From his steed’s shoulder, loin, and breast,

Silk housings swept the ground,

With Scotland’s arms, device, and crest,

Embroidered round and round.

The double tressure might you see,

First by Achaius borne,

The thistle and the fleur-de-lis,

And gallant unicorn.

So bright the king’s armorial coat,

That scarce the dazzled eye could note,

In living colours, blazoned brave,

The lion, which his title gave;

A train, which well beseemed his state,

But all unarmed, around him wait.

Still is thy name in high account,

And still thy verse has charms,

Sir David Lindesay of the Mount,

Lord Lion King-at-Arms!

VIII

Down from his horse did Marmion spring,

Soon as he saw the Lion-King;

For well the stately baron knew

To him such courtesy was due,

Whom royal James himself had crowned,

And on his temples placed the round

Of Scotland’s ancient diadem;

And wet his brow with hallowed wine,

And on his finger given to shine

The emblematic gem.

Their mutual greetings duly made,

The Lion thus his message said:-

“Though Scotland’s king hath deeply swore

Ne’er to knit faith with Henry more,

And strictly hath forbid resort

From England to his royal court;

Yet, for he knows Lord Marmion’s name,

And honours much his warlike fame,

My liege hath deemed it shame, and lack

Of courtesy, to turn him back:

And, by his order, I, your guide,

Must lodging fit and fair provide,

Till finds King James meet time to see

The flower of English chivalry.”

IX

Though inly chafed at this delay,

Lord Marmion bears it as he may.

The Palmer, his mysterious guide,

Beholding thus his place supplied,

Sought to take leave in vain:

Strict was the Lion-King’s command,

That none, who rode in Marmion’s band

Should sever from the train:

“England has here enow of spies

In Lady Heron’s witching eyes:”

To Marchmount thus, apart, he said,

But fair pretext to Marmion made.

The right hand path they now decline,

And trace against the stream the Tyne.

X

At length up that wild dale they wind,

Where Crichtoun Castle crowns the bank;

For there the Lion’s care assigned

A lodging meet for Marmion’s rank.

That castle rises on the steep

Of the green vale of Tyne:

And far beneath, where slow they creep,

From pool to eddy, dark and deep,

Where alders moist, and willows weep,

You hear her streams repine.

The towers in different ages rose;

Their various architecture shows

The builders’ various hands:

A mighty mass, that could oppose,

When deadliest hatred fired its foes,

The vengeful Douglas bands.

XI

Crichtoun! though now thy miry court

But pens the lazy steer and sheep,

Thy turrets rude and tottered keep,

Have been the minstrel’s loved resort.

Oft have I traced within thy fort,

Of mouldering shields the mystic sense,

Scutcheons of honour or pretence,

Quartered in old armorial sort,

Remains of rude magnificence.

Nor wholly yet had time defaced

Thy lordly gallery fair;

Nor yet the stony cord unbraced,

Whose twisted knots, with roses laced,

Adorn thy ruined stair.

Still rises unimpaired below,

The courtyard’s graceful portico;

Above its cornice, row and row

Of fair hewn facets richly show

Their pointed diamond form,

Though there but houseless cattle go

To shield them from the storm.

And, shuddering, still may we explore,

Where oft whilom were captives pent,

The darkness of thy massy-more;

Or, from thy grass-grown battlement,

May trace, in undulating line,

The sluggish mazes of the Tyne.

XII

Another aspect Crichtoun showed,

As through its portal Marmion rode;

But yet ‘twas melancholy state

Received him at the outer gate;

For none were in the castle then,

But women, boys, or aged men.

With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame,

To welcome noble Marmion came;

Her son, a stripling twelve years old,

Proffered the baron’s rein to hold;

For each man that could draw a sword

Had marched that morning with their lord,

Earl Adam Hepburn—he who died

On Flodden, by his sovereign’s side

Long may his lady look in vain!

She ne’er shall see his gallant train

Come sweeping back through Crichtoun Dean.

‘Twas a brave race, before the name

Of hated Bothwell stained their fame.

XIII

And here two days did Marmion rest,

With every rite that honour claims,

Attended as the king’s own guest; -

Such the command of royal James,

Who marshalled then his land’s array,

Upon the Borough Moor that lay.

Perchance he would not foeman’s eye

Upon his gathering host should pry,

Till full prepared was every band

To march against the English land.

Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay’s wit

Oft cheer the baron’s moodier fit;

And, in his turn, he knew to prize

Lord Marmion’s powerful mind, and wise -

Trained in the lore of Rome and Greece,

And policies of war and peace.

XIV

It chanced, as fell the second night,

That on the battlements they walked,

And, by the slowly fading night,

Of varying topics talked;

And, unaware, the herald-bard

Said, Marmion might his toil have spared,

In travelling so far;

For that a messenger from heaven

In vain to James had counsel given

Against the English war:

And, closer questioned, thus he told

A tale, which chronicles of old

In Scottish story have enrolled: -

XV

Sir David Lindesay’s Tale

“Of all the palaces so fair,

Built for the royal dwelling,

In Scotland far beyond compare,

Linlithgow is excelling;

And in its park, in jovial June,

How sweet the merry linnet’s tune,

How blithe the blackbird’s lay;

The wild-buck bells from ferny brake,