Marmion Part 11

Another aspect Crichtoun show'd, As through its portal Marmion rode; But yet 'twas melancholy state Received him at the outer gate; For none were in the Castle then, 240 But women, boys, or aged men.

With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame, To welcome n.o.ble Marmion, came; Her son, a stripling twelve years old, Proffer'd the Baron's rein to hold; 245 For each man that could draw a sword Had march'd 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! 250 She ne'er shall see his gallant train, Come sweeping back through Crichtoun-Dean.

'Twas a brave race, before the name Of hated Bothwell stain'd their fame.

XIII.

And here two days did Marmion rest, 255 With every rite that honour claims, Attended as the King's own guest;-- Such the command of Royal James, Who marshall'd then his land's array, Upon the Borough-moor that lay. 260 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 265 Oft cheer the Baron's moodier fit; And, in his turn, he knew to prize Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and wise,-- Train'd in the lore of Rome and Greece, And policies of war and peace. 270

XIV.

It chanced, as fell the second night, That on the battlements they walk'd, And, by the slowly fading light, Of varying topics talk'd; And, unaware, the Herald-bard 275 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: 280 And, closer question'd, thus he told A tale, which chronicles of old In Scottish story have enroll'd:-

XV.

Sir David Lindsey's Tale.

'Of all the palaces so fair, Built for the royal dwelling, 285 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! 290 The wild buck bells from ferny brake, The coot dives merry on the lake, The saddest heart might pleasure take To see all nature gay.

But June is to our Sovereign dear 295 The heaviest month in all the year: Too well his cause of grief you know, June saw his father's overthrow.

Woe to the traitors, who could bring The princely boy against his King! 300 Still in his conscience burns the sting.

In offices as strict as Lent, King James's June is ever spent.

XVI.

'When last this ruthful month was come, And in Linlithgow's holy dome 305 The King, as wont, was praying; While, for his royal father's soul, The chanters sung, the bells did toll, The Bishop ma.s.s was saying-- For now the year brought round again 310 The day the luckless King was slain-- In Katharine's aisle the monarch knelt, With sackcloth-shirt, and iron belt, And eyes with sorrow streaming; Around him in their stalls of state, 315 The Thistle's Knight-Companions sate, Their banners o'er them beaming.

I too was there, and, sooth to tell, Bedeafen'd with the jangling knell, Was watching where the sunbeams fell, 320 Through the stain'd cas.e.m.e.nt gleaming; But, while I mark'd what next befell, It seem'd as I were dreaming.

Stepp'd from the crowd a ghostly wight, In azure gown, with cincture white; 325 His forehead bald, his head was bare, Down hung at length his yellow hair.-- Now, mock me not, when, good my Lord, I pledge to you my knightly word, That, when I saw his placid grace, 330 His simple majesty of face, His solemn bearing, and his pace So stately gliding on,-- Seem'd to me ne'er did limner paint So just an image of the Saint, 335 Who propp'd the Virgin in her faint,-- The loved Apostle John!

XVII.

'He stepp'd before the Monarch's chair, And stood with rustic plainness there, And little reverence made; 340 Nor head, nor body, bow'd nor bent, But on the desk his arm he leant, And words like these he said, In a low voice,--but never tone So thrill'd through vein, and nerve, and bone:-- "My mother sent me from afar, 346 Sir King, to warn thee not to war,-- Woe waits on thine array; If war thou wilt, of woman fair, Her witching wiles and wanton snare, 350 James Stuart, doubly warn'd, beware: G.o.d keep thee as He may!"-- The wondering monarch seem'd to seek For answer, and found none; And when he raised his head to speak, 355 The monitor was gone.

The Marshal and myself had cast To stop him as he outward pa.s.s'd; But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast, He vanish'd from our eyes, 360 Like sunbeam on the billow cast, That glances but, and dies.'

XVIII.

While Lindesay told his marvel strange, The twilight was so pale, He mark'd not Marmion's colour change, 365 While listening to the tale: But, after a suspended pause, The Baron spoke:--'Of Nature's laws So strong I held the force, That never superhuman cause 370 Could e'er control their course; And, three days since, had judged your aim Was but to make your guest your game.

But I have seen, since past the Tweed, What much has changed my sceptic creed, 375 And made me credit aught.'--He staid, And seem'd to wish his words unsaid: But, by that strong emotion press'd, Which prompts us to unload our breast, Even when discovery's pain, 380 To Lindesay did at length unfold The tale his village host had told, At Gifford, to his train.

Nought of the Palmer says he there, And nought of Constance, or of Clare; 385 The thoughts, which broke his sleep, he seems To mention but as feverish dreams.

XIX.

'In vain,' said he, 'to rest I spread My burning limbs, and couch'd my head: Fantastic thoughts return'd; 390 And, by their wild dominion led, My heart within me burn'd.

So sore was the delirious goad, I took my steed, and forth I rode, And, as the moon shone bright and cold, 395 Soon reach'd the camp upon the wold.

The southern entrance I pa.s.s'd through, And halted, and my bugle blew.

Methought an answer met my ear,-- Yet was the blast so low and drear, 400 So hollow, and so faintly blown, It might be echo of my own.

XX.

'Thus judging, for a little s.p.a.ce I listen'd, ere I left the place; But scarce could trust my eyes, 405 Nor yet can think they serve me true, When sudden in the ring I view, In form distinct of shape and hue, A mounted champion rise.-- I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day, 410 In single fight, and mix'd affray, And ever, I myself may say, Have borne me as a knight; But when this unexpected foe Seem'd starting from the gulf below,-- 415 I care not though the truth I show,-- I trembled with affright; And as I placed in rest my spear, My hand so shook for very fear, I scarce could couch it right. 420

XXI.

'Why need my tongue the issue tell?

We ran our course,--my charger fell;-- What could he 'gainst the shock of h.e.l.l?

I roll'd upon the plain.

High o'er my head, with threatening hand, 425 The spectre shook his naked brand,-- Yet did the worst remain: My dazzled eyes I upward cast,-- Not opening h.e.l.l itself could blast Their sight, like what I saw! 430 Full on his face the moonbeam strook!-- A face could never be mistook!

I knew the stern vindictive look, And held my breath for awe.

I saw the face of one who, fled 435 To foreign climes, has long been dead,-- I well believe the last; For ne'er, from vizor raised, did stare A human warrior, with a glare So grimly and so ghast. 440 Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade; But when to good Saint George I pray'd, (The first time e'er I ask'd his aid), He plunged it in the sheath; And, on his courser mounting light, 445 He seem'd to vanish from my sight: The moonbeam droop'd, and deepest night Sunk down upon the heath.-- 'Twere long to tell what cause I have To know his face, that met me there, 450 Call'd by his hatred from the grave, To c.u.mber upper air: Dead, or alive, good cause had he To be my mortal enemy.'

XXII.

Marvell'd Sir David of the Mount; 455 Then, learn'd in story, 'gan recount Such chance had happ'd of old, When once, near Norham, there did fight A spectre fell of fiendish might, In likeness of a Scottish knight, 460 With Brian Bulmer bold, And train'd him nigh to disallow The aid of his baptismal vow.

'And such a phantom, too, 'tis said, With Highland broadsword, targe, and plaid 465 And fingers red with gore, Is seen in Rothiemurcus glade, Or where the sable pine-tree shade Dark Tomantoul, and Auchnaslaid, Dromouchty, or Glenmore. 470 And yet, whate'er such legends say, Of warlike demon, ghost, or lay, On mountain, moor, or plain, Spotless in faith, in bosom bold, True son of chivalry should hold 475 These midnight terrors vain; For seldom have such spirits power To harm, save in the evil hour, When guilt we meditate within, Or harbour unrepented sin.'-- 480 Lord Marmion turn'd him half aside, And twice to clear his voice he tried, Then press'd Sir David's hand,-- But nought, at length, in answer said; And here their farther converse staid, 485 Each ordering that his band Should bowne them with the rising day, To Scotland's camp to take their way,- Such was the King's command.

XXIII.

Early they took Dun-Edin's road, 490 And I could trace each step they trode: Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone, Lies on the path to me unknown.

Much might if boast of storied lore; But, pa.s.sing such digression o'er, 495 Suffice it that their route was laid Across the furzy hills of Braid.

They pa.s.s'd the glen and scanty rill, And climb'd the opposing bank, until They gain'd the top of Blackford Hill. 500

XXIV.

Blackford! on whose uncultured breast, Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, A truant-boy, I sought the nest, Or listed, as I lay at rest, While rose, on breezes thin, 505 The murmur of the city crowd, And, from his steeple jangling loud, Saint Giles's mingling din.

Now, from the summit to the plain, Waves all the hill with yellow grain; 510 And o'er the landscape as I look, Nought do I see unchanged remain, Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook.

To me they make a heavy moan, Of early friendships past and gone. 515

XXV.

But different far the change has been, Since Marmion, from the crown Of Blackford, saw that martial scene Upon the bent so brown: Thousand pavilions, white as snow, 520 Spread all the Borough-moor below, Upland, and dale, and down:-- A thousand did I say? I ween, Thousands on thousands there were seen That chequer'd all the heath between 525 The streamlet and the town; In crossing ranks extending far, Forming a camp irregular; Oft giving way, where still there stood Some relics of the old oak wood, 530 That darkly huge did intervene, And tamed the glaring white with green: In these extended lines there lay A martial kingdom's vast array.

XXVI.

For from Hebudes, dark with rain, 535 To eastern Lodon's fertile plain, And from the southern Redswire edge, To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge: From west to east, from south to north, Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 540 Marmion might hear the mingled hum Of myriads up the mountain come; The horses' tramp, and tingling clank, Where chiefs review'd their va.s.sal rank, And charger's shrilling neigh; 545 And see the shifting lines advance, While frequent flash'd, from shield and lance, The sun's reflected ray.