Walter Scott - The Complete Poems of Sir Walter Scott

For thus, inspired, did Judith slay

The mighty in his sin,

And Jael thus, and Deborah” -

Here hasty Blount broke in:-

“Fitz-Eustace, we must march our band;

Saint Anton’ fire thee! wilt thou stand

All day, with bonnet in thy hand,

To hear the lady preach?

By this good light! if thus we stay,

Lord Marmion, for our fond delay,

Will sharper sermon teach.

Come, don thy cap, and mount thy horse;

The dame must patience take perforce.”

XXXII

“Submit we, then, to force,” said Clare,

“But let this barbarous lord despair

His purposed aim to win;

Let him take living, land, and life;

But to be Marmion’s wedded wife

In me were deadly sin:

And if it be the king’s decree

That I must find no sanctuary

In that inviolable dome

Where even a homicide might come

And safely rest his head,

Though at its open portals stood,

Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood,

The kinsmen of the dead;

Yet one asylum is my own

Against the dreaded hour -

A low, a silent, and a lone,

Where kings have little power.

One victim is before me there.

Mother, your blessing, and in prayer

Remember your unhappy Clare!”

Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows

Kind blessings many a one:

Weeping and wailing loud arose

Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes

Of every simple nun.

His eyes the gentle Eustace dried,

And scarce rude Blount the sight could bide.

Then took the squire her rein,

And gently led away her steed,

And, by each courteous word and deed,

To cheer her strove in vain.

XXXIII

But scant three miles the band had rode,

When o’er a height they passed,

And, sudden, close before them showed

His towers, Tantallon vast;

Broad, massive, high, and stretching far,

And held impregnable in war,

On a projecting rock they rose,

And round three sides the ocean flows,

The fourth did battled walls enclose,

And double mound and fosse.

By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong,

Through studded gates, an entrance long,

To the main court they cross;

It was a wide and stately square;

Around were lodgings, fit and fair,

And towers of various form,

Which on the court projected far,

And broke its lines quadrangular.

Here was square keep, there turret high,

Or pinnacle that sought the sky,

Whence oft the warder could descry

The gathering ocean-storm.

XXXIV

Here did they rest. The princely care

Of Douglas, why should I declare,

Or say they met reception fair?

Or why the tidings say,

Which, varying, to Tantallon came,

By hurrying posts or fleeter fame,

With every varying day?

And, first, they heard King James had won

Etall, and Wark, and Ford; and then

That Norham Castle strong was ta’en.

At that sore marvelled Marmion;

And Douglas hoped his monarch’s hand

Would soon subdue Northumberland:

But whispered news there came,

That, while his host inactive lay,

And melted by degrees away,

King James was dallying off the day

With Heron’s wily dame.

Such acts to chronicles I yield:

Go seek them there and see;

Mine is a tale of Flodden Field,

And not a history.

At length they heard the Scottish host

On that high ridge had made their post

Which frowns o’er Milfield Plain,

And that brave Surrey many a band

Had gathered in the Southern land,

And marched into Northumberland,

And camp at Wooler ta’en.

Marmion, like charger in the stall,

That hears, without, the trumpet call,

Began to chafe and swear:

“A sorry thing to hide my head

In castle, like a fearful maid,

When such a field is near!

Needs must I see this battle-day;

Death to my fame if such a fray

Were fought, and Marmion away!

The Douglas, too, I wot not why,

Hath ‘bated of his courtesy:

No longer in his halls I’ll stay.”

Then bade his band they should array

For march against the dawning day.

TO RICHARD HEBER, ESQ. Mertoun House, Christmas.

Table of Contents

Heap on more wood! the wind is chill;

But let it whistle as it will,

We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.

Each age has deemed the new-born year

The fittest time for festal cheer;

E’en, heathen yet, the savage Dane

At Iol more deep the mead did drain;

High on the beach his galleys drew,

And feasted all his pirate crew;

Then in his low and pine-built hall,

Where shields and axes decked the wall,

They gorged upon the half-dressed steer;

Caroused in seas of sable beer;

While round, in brutal jest, were thrown

The half-gnawed rib and marrowbone;

Or listened all, in grim delight,

While scalds yelled out the joys of fight.

Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie,

While wildly-loose their red locks fly,

And dancing round the blazing pile,

They make such barbarous mirth the while,

As best might to the mind recall

The boist’rous joys of Odin’s hall.

And well our Christian sires of old

Loved, when the year its course had rolled,

And brought blithe Christmas back again,

With all his hospitable train.

Domestic and religious rite

Gave honour to the holy night;

On Christmas Eve the bells were rung;

On Christmas Eve the mass was sung;

That only night in all the year

Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.

The damsel donned her kirtle sheen;

The hall was dressed with holly green;

Forth to the wood did merry men go,

To gather in the mistletoe.

Then opened wide the baron’s hall

To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;

Power laid his rod of rule aside,

And Ceremony doffed his pride.

The heir, with roses in his shoes,

That night might village partner choose;

The lord, underogating, share

The vulgar game of “post and pair.”

All hailed, with uncontrolled delight,

And general voice, the happy night,

That to the cottage, as the crown,

Brought tidings of salvation down.

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied,

Went roaring up the chimney wide;

The huge hall table’s oaken face,

Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace,

Bore then upon its massive board

No mark to part the squire and lord.

Then was brought in the lusty brawn,

By old blue-coated servingman;

Then the grim boar’s head frowned on high,

Crested with bays and rosemary.

Well can the green-garbed ranger tell,

How, when, and where, the monster fell:

What dogs before his death he tore,

And all the baiting of the boar.

The wassail round, in good brown bowls,

Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls.

There the huge sirloin reeked; hard by

Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie;

Nor failed old Scotland to produce,

At such high tide, her savoury goose.

Then came the merry maskers in,

And carols roared with blithesome din;

If unmelodious was the song,

It was a hearty note, and strong.

Who lists may in their mumming see

Traces of ancient mystery;

White shirts supplied the masquerade,

And smutted cheeks the visors made;

But oh! what maskers richly dight

Can boast of bosoms half so light!

England was merry England, when

Old Christmas brought his sports again.

‘Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale;