Marmion Part 3

'Now, good Lord Marmion,' Heron says, 'Of your fair courtesy, I pray you bide some little s.p.a.ce 215 In this poor tower with me.

Here may you keep your arms from rust, May breathe your war-horse well; Seldom hath pa.s.s'd a week but giust Or feat of arms befell: 220 The Scots can rein a mettled steed; And love to couch a spear:-- Saint George! a stirring life they lead, That have such neighbours near.

Then stay with us a little s.p.a.ce, 225 Our northern wars to learn; I pray you, for your lady's grace!'-- Lord Marmion's brow grew stern.

XV.

The Captain mark'd his alter'd look, And gave a squire the sign; 230 A mighty wa.s.sell-bowl he took, And crown'd it high with wine.

'Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion: But first I pray thee fair, Where hast thou left that page of thine, 235 That used to serve thy cup of wine, Whose beauty was so rare?

When last in Raby towers we met, The boy I closely eyed, And often mark'd his cheeks were wet, 240 With tears he fain would hide: His was no rugged horse-boy's hand, To burnish shield or sharpen brand, Or saddle battle-steed; But meeter seem'd for lady fair, 245 To fan her cheek, or curl her hair, Or through embroidery, rich and rare, The slender silk to lead: His skin was fair, his ringlets gold, His bosom--when he sigh'd, 250 The russet doublet's rugged fold Could scarce repel its pride!

Say, hast thou given that lovely youth To serve in lady's bower?

Or was the gentle page, in sooth, 255 A gentle paramour?'

XVI.

Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest; He roll'd his kindling eye, With pain his rising wrath suppress'd, Yet made a calm reply: 260 'That boy thou thought'st so goodly fair, He might not brook the northern air.

More of his fate if thou wouldst learn, I left him sick in Lindisfarn: Enough of him.--But, Heron, say, 265 Why does thy lovely lady gay Disdain to grace the hall to-day?

Or has that dame, so fair and sage, Gone on some pious pilgrimage?'-- He spoke in covert scorn, for fame 270 Whisper'd light tales of Heron's dame.

XVII.

Unmark'd, at least unreck'd, the taunt, Careless the Knight replied, 'No bird, whose feathers gaily flaunt, Delights in cage to bide: 275 Norham is grim and grated close, Hemm'd in by battlement and fosse, And many a darksome tower; And better loves my lady bright To sit in liberty and light, 280 In fair Queen Margaret's bower.

We hold our greyhound in our hand, Our falcon on our glove; But where shall we find leash or band, For dame that loves to rove? 285 Let the wild falcon soar her swing, She'll stoop when she has tired her wing.'--

XVIII.

'Nay, if with Royal James's bride The lovely Lady Heron bide, Behold me here a messenger, 290 Your tender greetings prompt to bear; For, to the Scottish court address'd, I journey at our King's behest, And pray you, of your grace, provide For me, and mine, a trusty guide. 295 I have not ridden in Scotland since James back'd the cause of that mock prince, Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit, Who on the gibbet paid the cheat.

Then did I march with Surrey's power, 300 What time we razed old Ayton tower.'--

XIX.

'For such-like need, my lord, I trow, Norham can find you guides enow; For here be some have p.r.i.c.k'd as far, On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar; 305 Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's ale, And driven the beeves of Lauderdale; Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods, And given them light to set their hoods.'--

XX.

'Now, in good sooth,' Lord Marmion cried, 310 'Were I in warlike wise to ride, A better guard I would not lack, Than your stout forayers at my back; But as in form of peace I go, A friendly messenger, to know, 315 Why through all Scotland, near and far, Their King is mustering troops for war, The sight of plundering Border spears Might justify suspicious fears, And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil, 320 Break out in some unseemly broil: A herald were my fitting guide; Or friar, sworn in peace to bide; Or pardoner, or travelling priest, Or strolling pilgrim, at the least.' 325

XXI.

The Captain mused a little s.p.a.ce, And pa.s.s'd his hand across his face.

--'Fain would I find the guide you want, But ill may spare a pursuivant, The only men that safe can ride 330 Mine errands on the Scottish side: And though a bishop built this fort, Few holy brethren here resort; Even our good chaplain, as I ween, Since our last siege, we have not seen: 335 The ma.s.s he might not sing or say, Upon one stinted meal a-day; So, safe he sat in Durham aisle, And pray'd for our success the while.

Our Norham vicar, woe betide, 340 Is all too well in case to ride; The priest of Sh.o.r.eswood--he could rein The wildest war-horse in your train; But then, no spearman in the hall Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. 345 Friar John of Tillmouth were the man: A blithesome brother at the can, A welcome guest in hall and bower, He knows each castle, town, and tower, In which the wine and ale is good, 350 'Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood.

But that good man, as ill befalls, Hath seldom left our castle walls, Since, on the vigil of St. Bede, In evil hour, he cross'd the Tweed, 355 To teach Dame Alison her creed.

Old Bughtrig found him with his wife; And John, an enemy to strife, Sans frock and hood, fled for his life.

The jealous churl hath deeply swore, 360 That, if again he venture o'er, He shall shrieve penitent no more.

Little he loves such risks, I know; Yet, in your guard, perchance will go.'

XXII.

Young Selby, at the fair hall-board, 365 Carved to his uncle and that lord, And reverently took up the word.

'Kind uncle, woe were we each one, If harm should hap to brother John.

He is a man of mirthful speech, 370 Can many a game and gambol teach; Full well at tables can he play, And sweep at bowls the stake away.

None can a l.u.s.tier carol bawl, The needfullest among us all, 375 When time hangs heavy in the hall, And snow comes thick at Christmas tide, And we can neither hunt, nor ride A foray on the Scottish side.

The vow'd revenge of Bughtrig rude, 380 May end in worse than loss of hood.

Let Friar John, in safety, still In chimney-corner snore his fill, Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill: Last night, to Norham there came one, 385 Will better guide Lord Marmion.'-- 'Nephew,' quoth Heron, 'by my fay, Well hast thou spoke; say forth thy say,'--

XXIII

'Here is a holy Palmer come, From Salem first, and last from Rome; 390 One, that hath kiss'd the blessed tomb, And visited each holy shrine, In Araby and Palestine; On hills of Armenie hath been, Where Noah's ark may yet be seen; 395 By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod, Which parted at the Prophet's rod; In Sinai's wilderness he saw The Mount, where Israel heard the law, 'Mid thunder-dint and flashing levin, 400 And shadows, mists, and darkness, given.

He shows Saint James's c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.l, Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell; And of that Grot where Olives nod, Where, darling of each heart and eye, 405 From all the youth of Sicily, Saint Rosalie retired to G.o.d.

XXIV.

'To stout Saint George of Norwich merry, Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Bede, 410 For his sins' pardon hath he pray'd.

He knows the pa.s.ses of the North, And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth; Little he eats, and long will wake, And drinks but of the stream or lake. 415 This were a guide o'er moor and dale; But, when our John hath quaff'd his ale, As little as the wind that blows, And warms itself against his nose, Kens he, or cares, which way he goes.'-- 420

XXV.

'Gramercy!' quoth Lord Marmion, 'Full loth were I, that Friar John, That venerable man, for me, Were placed in fear or jeopardy.

If this same Palmer will me lead 425 From hence to Holy-Rood, Like his good saint, I'll pay his meed, Instead of c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.l, or bead, With angels fair and good.

I love such holy ramblers; still 430 They know to charm a weary hill, With song, romance, or lay: Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest, Some lying legend, at the least, They bring to cheer the way.'-- 435

XXVI.

'Ah! n.o.ble sir,' young Selby said, And finger on his lip he laid, 'This man knows much, perchance e'en more Than he could learn by holy lore.

Still to himself he's muttering, 440 And shrinks as at some unseen thing.

Last night we listen'd at his cell; Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell, He murmur'd on till morn, howe'er No living mortal could be near. 445 Sometimes I thought I heard it plain, As other voices spoke again.

I cannot tell--I like it not-- Friar John hath told us it is wrote, No conscience clear, and void of wrong, 450 Can rest awake, and pray so long.

Himself still sleeps before his beads Have mark'd ten aves, and two creeds.'--

XXVII.

--'Let pa.s.s,' quoth Marmion; 'by my fay, This man shall guide me on my way, 455 Although the great arch-fiend and he Had sworn themselves of company.

So please you, gentle youth, to call This Palmer to the Castle-hall.'

The summon'd Palmer came in place; 460 His sable cowl o'erhung his face; In his black mantle was he clad, With Peter's keys, in cloth of red, On his broad shoulders wrought; The scallop sh.e.l.l his cap did deck; 465 The crucifix around his neck Was from Loretto brought; His sandals were with travel tore, Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore; The faded palm-branch in his hand 470 Show'd pilgrim from the Holy Land.

XXVIII.