Walter Scott - The Complete Poems of Sir Walter Scott

Moving athwart the evening sky,

Seemed forms of giant height:

Their armour, as it caught the rays,

Flashed back again the western blaze,

In lines of dazzling light.

II

Saint George’s banner, broad and gay,

Now faded, as the fading ray

Less bright, and less, was flung;

The evening gale had scarce the power

To wave it on the donjon tower,

So heavily it hung.

The scouts had parted on their search,

The castle gates were barred;

Above the gloomy portal arch,

Timing his footsteps to a march,

The warder kept his guard;

Low humming, as he paced along,

Some ancient Border gathering song.

III

A distant trampling sound he hears;

He looks abroad, and soon appears

O’er Horncliff Hill a plump of spears,

Beneath a pennon gay;

A horseman, darting from the crowd,

Like lightning from a summer cloud,

Spurs on his mettled courser proud,

Before the dark array.

Beneath the sable palisade

That closed the castle barricade,

His bugle-horn he blew;

The warder hasted from the wall,

And warned the captain in the hall,

For well the blast he knew;

And joyfully that knight did call,

To sewer, squire, and seneschal.

IV

“Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie,

Bring pasties of the doe,

And quickly make the entrance free,

And bid my heralds ready be,

And every minstrel sound his glee,

And all our trumpets blow;

And, from the platform, spare ye not

To fire a noble salvo-shot:

Lord Marmion waits below!”

Then to the castle’s lower ward

Sped forty yeomen tall,

The iron-studded gates unbarred,

Raised the portcullis’ ponderous guard,

The lofty palisade unsparred,

And let the drawbridge fall.

V

Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode,

Proudly his red-roan charger trode,

His helm hung at the saddlebow;

Well by his visage you might know

He was a stalwart knight, and keen,

And had in many a battle been;

The scar on his brown cheek revealed

A token true of Bosworth field;

His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire,

Showed spirit proud and prompt to ire;

Yet lines of thought upon his cheek

Did deep design and counsel speak.

His forehead, by his casque worn bare,

His thick moustache, and curly hair,

Coal-black, and grizzled here and there,

But more through toil than age;

His square-turned joints, and strength of limb,

Showed him no carpet knight so trim,

But in close fight a champion grim,

In camps a leader sage.

VI

Well was he armed from head to heel,

In mail and plate of Milan steel;

But his strong helm, of mighty cost,

Was all with burnished gold embossed;

Amid the plumage of the crest,

A falcon hovered on her nest,

With wings outspread, and forward breast:

E’en such a falcon, on his shield,

Soared sable in an azure field:

The golden legend bore aright,

“Who checks at me, to death is dight.”

Blue was the charger’s broidered rein;

Blue ribbons decked his arching mane;

The knightly housing’s ample fold

Was velvet blue, and trapped with gold.

VII

Behind him rode two gallant squires,

Of noble name and knightly sires:

They burned the gilded spurs to claim;

For well could each a warhorse tame,

Could draw the bow, the sword could sway,

And lightly bear the ring away;

Nor less with courteous precepts stored,

Could dance in hall, and carve at board,

And frame love-ditties passing rare,

And sing them to a lady fair.

VIII

Four men-at-arms came at their backs,

With halbert, bill, and battleaxe:

They bore Lord Marmion’s lance so strong,

And led his sumpter-mules along,

And ambling palfrey, when at need

Him listed ease his battle-steed.

The last and trustiest of the four,

On high his forky pennon bore;

Like swallow’s tail, in shape and hue,

Fluttered the streamer glossy blue,

Where, blazoned sable, as before,

The towering falcon seemed to soar.

Last, twenty yeomen, two and two,

In hosen black, and jerkins blue,

With falcons broidered on each breast,

Attended on their lord’s behest:

Each, chosen for an archer good,

Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood;

Each one a six-foot bow could bend,

And far a clothyard shaft could send;

Each held a boar-spear tough and strong,

And at their belts their quivers rung.

Their dusty palfreys, and array,

Showed they had marched a weary way.

IX

‘Tis meet that I should tell you now,

How fairly armed, and ordered how,

The soldiers of the guard,

With musket, pike, and morion,

To welcome noble Marmion,

Stood in the castleyard;

Minstrels and trumpeters were there,

The gunner held his linstock yare,

For welcome-shot prepared:

Entered the train, and such a clang,

As then through all his turrets rang,

Old Norham never heard.

X

The guards their morrice-pikes advanced,

The trumpets flourished brave,

The cannon from the ramparts glanced,

And thundering welcome gave.

A blithe salute, in martial sort,

The minstrels well might sound,

For, as Lord Marmion crossed the court,

He scattered angels round.

“Welcome to Norham, Marmion!

Stout heart, and open hand!

Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan,

Thou flower of English land!”

XI

Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck,

With silver scutcheon round their neck,

Stood on the steps of stone,

By which you reach the donjon gate,

And there, with herald pomp and state,

They hailed Lord Marmion:

They hailed him Lord of Fontenaye,

Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye,

Of Tamworth tower and town;

And he, their courtesy to requite,

Gave them a chain of twelve marks’ weight,

All as he lighted down.

“Now, largesse, largesse, Lord Marmion,

Knight of the crest of gold!

A blazoned shield, in battle won,

Ne’er guarded heart so bold.”

XII

They marshalled him to the castle-hall,

Where the guests stood all aside,

And loudly flourished the trumpet-call,

And the heralds loudly cried -

“Room, lordlings, room for Lord Marmion,

With the crest and helm of gold!

Full well we know the trophies won

In the lists at Cottiswold:

There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove

‘Gainst Marmion’s force to stand;

To him he lost his lady-love,

And to the king his land.

Ourselves beheld the listed field,

A sight both sad and fair;

We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield,

And saw his saddle bare;

We saw the victor win the crest

He wears with worthy pride;

And on the gibbet-tree, reversed,

His foeman’s scutcheon tied.

Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight!

Room, room, ye gentles gay,

For him who conquered in the right,

Marmion of Fontenaye!”

XIII

Then stepped, to meet that noble lord,

Sir Hugh the Heron bold,

Baron of Twisell and of Ford,

And captain of the hold.

He led Lord Marmion to the dais,

Raised o’er the pavement high,

And placed him in the upper place -

They feasted full and high:

The whiles a Northern harper rude

Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud,

“How the fierce Thirwalls, and Ridleys all,