Walter Scott - The Complete Poems of Sir Walter Scott

The convoy of their dangerous guide.

XIX

Their lodging, so the king assigned,

To Marmion’s, as their guardian, joined;

And thus it fell that, passing nigh,

The Palmer caught the Abbess’ eye,

Who warned him by a scroll

She had a secret to reveal

That much concerned the Church’s weal

And health of sinner’s soul;

And with deep charge of secrecy

She named a place to meet,

Within an open balcony

That hung from dizzy pitch, and high

Above the stately street;

To which, as common to each home,

At night they might in secret come.

XX

At night, in secret, there they came,

The Palmer and the holy dame.

The moon among the clouds rose high,

And all the city hum was by.

Upon the street, where late before

Did din of war and warriors roar,

You might have heard a pebble fall,

A beetle hum, a cricket sing,

An owlet flap his boding wing

On Giles’s steeple tall.

The antique buildings, climbing high,

Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky,

Were here wrapt deep in shade;

There on their brows the moonbeam broke

Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke,

And on the casements played.

And other light was none to see,

Save torches gliding far,

Before some chieftain of degree,

Who left the royal revelry

To bowne him for the war.

A solemn scene the Abbess chose;

A solemn hour, her secret to disclose.

XXI

“O holy Palmer!” she began -

“For sure he must be sainted man

Whose blessed feet have trod the ground

Where the Redeemer’s tomb is found -

For His dear Church’s sake my tale

Attend, nor deem of light avail,

Though I must speak of worldly love -

How vain to those who wed above!

De Wilton and Lord Marmion wooed

Clara de Clare, of Gloucester’s blood;

Idle it were of Whitby’s dame,

To say of that same blood I came;

And once, when jealous rage was high,

Lord Marmion said despiteously,

Wilton was traitor in his heart,

And had made league with Martin Swart,

When he came here on Simnel’s part

And only cowardice did restrain

His rebel aid on Stokefield’s plain,

And down he threw his glove: the thing

Was tried, as wont, before the king;

Where frankly did De Wilton own

That Swart in Gueldres he had known;

And that between them then there went

Some scroll of courteous compliment.

For this he to his castle sent;

But when his messenger returned,

Judge how De Wilton’s fury burned

For in his packet there were laid

Letters that claimed disloyal aid,

And proved King Henry’s cause betrayed.

His fame, thus blighted, in the field

He strove to clear by spear and shield;

To clear his fame in vain he strove,

For wondrous are His ways above!

Perchance some form was unobserved;

Perchance in prayer or faith he swerved;

Else how could guiltless champion quail,

Or how the blessed ordeal fail?

XXII

‘His squire, who now De Wilton saw

As recreant doomed to suffer law,

Repentant, owned in vain,

That while he had the scrolls in care,

A stranger maiden, passing fair,

Had drenched him with a beverage rare;

His words no faith could gain.

With Clare alone he credence won,

Who, rather than wed Marmion,

Did to Saint Hilda’s shrine repair,

To give our house her livings fair,

And die a vestal vot’ress there.

The impulse from the earth was given,

But bent her to the paths of heaven.

A purer heart, a lovelier maid,

Ne’er sheltered her in Whitby’s shade,

No, not since Saxon Edelfled:

Only one trace of earthly strain,

That for her lover’s loss

She cherishes a sorrow vain,

And murmurs at the cross.

And then her heritage;—it goes

Along the banks of Tame;

Deep fields of grain the reaper mows,

In meadows rich the heifer lows,

The falconer and huntsman knows

Its woodlands for the game.

Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear,

And I, her humble vot’ress here,

Should do a deadly sin,

Her temple spoiled before mine eyes,

If this false Marmion such a prize

By my consent should win;

Yet hath our boisterous monarch sworn

That Clare shall from our house be torn;

And grievous cause have I to fear

Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear.

XXIII

“Now, prisoner, helpless, and betrayed

To evil power, I claim thine aid,

By every step that thou hast trod

To holy shrine and grotto dim,

By every martyr’s tortured limb,

By angel, saint, and seraphim,

And by the Church of God!

For mark:- When Wilton was betrayed,

And with his squire forged letters laid,

She was, alas! that sinful maid

By whom the deed was done -

Oh! shame and horror to be said! -

She was a perjured nun!

No clerk in all the land, like her

Traced quaint and varying character.

Perchance you may a marvel deem

That Marmion’s paramour

(For such vile thing she was) should scheme

Her lover’s nuptial hour;

But o’er him thus she hoped to gain,

As privy to his honour’s stain,

Illimitable power:

For this she secretly retained

Each proof that might the plot reveal,

Instructions with his hand and seal;

And thus Saint Hilda deigned,

Through sinners’ perfidy impure,

Her house’s glory to secure

And Clare’s immortal weal.

XXIV

“‘Twere long and needless here to tell

How to my hand these papers fell;

With me they must not stay.

Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true!

Who knows what outrage he might do

While journeying by the way?

O blessed saint, if e’er again

I venturous leave thy calm domain,

To travel or by land or main,

Deep penance may I pay!

Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer:

I give this packet to thy care,

For thee to stop they will not dare;

And, oh! with cautious speed

To Wolsey’s hand the papers bring,

That he may show them to the king

And for thy well-earned meed,

Thou holy man, at Whitby’s shrine

A weekly mass shall still be thine

While priests can sing and read.

What ail’st thou? Speak!” For as he took

The charge, a strong emotion shook

His frame; and, ere reply,

They heard a faint yet shrilly tone,

Like distant clarion feebly blown,

That on the breeze did die;

And loud the Abbess shrieked in fear,

“Saint Withold, save us! What is here?

Look at yon city cross!

See, on its battled tower appear

Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear,

And blazoned banners toss!”

XXV

Dunedin’s Cross, a pillared stone,

Rose on a turret octagon;

(But now is razed that monument

Whence royal edict rang,

And voice of Scotland’s law was sent

In glorious trumpet-clang.

Oh! be his tomb as lead to lead

Upon its dull destroyer’s head! -

A minstrel’s malison is said).

Then on its battlements they saw

A vision, passing Nature’s law,

Strange, wild, and dimly seen -

Figures that seemed to rise and die,

Gibber and sign, advance and fly,

While nought confirmed could ear or eye

Discern of sound or mien.

Yet darkly did it seem, as there

Heralds and pursuivants prepare,

With trumpet sound and blazon fair,

A summons to proclaim;

But indistinct the pageant proud,