Marmion Part 14

The Monarch o'er the siren hung, And beat the measure as she sung; And, pressing closer, and more near, He whisper'd praises in her ear.

In loud applause the courtiers vied; 365 And ladies wink'd, and spoke aside.

The witching dame to Marmion threw A glance, where seem'd to reign The pride that claims applauses due, And of her royal conquest too, 370 A real or feign'd disdain: Familiar was the look, and told, Marmion and she were friends of old.

The King observed their meeting eyes, With something like displeased surprise; 375 For monarchs ill can rivals brook, Even in a word, or smile, or look.

Straight took he forth the parchment broad, Which Marmion's high commission show'd: 'Our Borders sack'd by many a raid, 380 Our peaceful liege-men robb'd,' he said; 'On day of truce our Warden slain, Stout Barton kill'd, his vessels ta'en-- Unworthy were we here to reign, Should these for vengeance cry in vain; 385 Our full defiance, hate, and scorn, Our herald has to Henry borne.'

XIV.

He paused, and led where Douglas stood, And with stern eye the pageant view'd: I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore, 390 Who coronet of Angus bore, And, when his blood and heart were high, Did the third James in camp defy, And all his minions led to die On Lauder's dreary flat: 395 Princes and favourites long grew tame, And trembled at the homely name Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat; The same who left the dusky vale Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 400 Its dungeons, and its towers, Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air, And Bothwell bank is blooming fair, To fix his princely bowers.

Though now, in age, he had laid down 405 His armour for the peaceful gown, And for a staff his brand, Yet often would flash forth the fire, That could, in youth, a monarch's ire And minion's pride withstand; 410 And even that day, at council board, Unapt to soothe his sovereign's mood, Against the war had Angus stood, And chafed his royal Lord.

XV.

His giant-form, like ruin'd tower, 415 Though fall'n its muscles' brawny vaunt, Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt, Seem'd o'er the gaudy scene to lower: His locks and beard in silver grew; His eyebrows kept their sable hue. 420 Near Douglas when the Monarch stood, His bitter speech he thus pursued :- 'Lord Marmion, since these letters say That in the North you needs must stay, While slightest hopes of peace remain, 425 Uncourteous speech it were, and stern, To say--Return to Lindisfarne, Until my herald come again.-- Then rest you in Tantallon Hold; Your host shall be the Douglas bold,-- 430 A chief unlike his sires of old.

He wears their motto on his blade, Their blazon o'er his towers display'd; Yet loves his sovereign to oppose, More than to face his country's foes. 435 And, I bethink me, by Saint Stephen, But e'en this morn to me was given A prize, the first fruits of the war, Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, A bevy of the maids of Heaven. 440 Under your guard, these holy maids Shall safe return to cloister shades, And, while they at Tantallon stay, Requiem for Cochran's soul may say.'

And, with the slaughter'd favourite's name, 445 Across the Monarch's brow there came A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame.

XVI.

In answer nought could Angus speak; His proud heart swell'd wellnigh to break: He turn'd aside, and down his cheek 450 A burning tear there stole.

His hand the Monarch sudden took, That sight his kind heart could not brook: 'Now, by the Bruce's soul, Angus, my hasty speech forgive! 455 For sure as doth his spirit live, As he said of the Douglas old, I well may say of you,-- That never King did subject hold, In speech more free, in war more bold, 460 More tender and more true: Forgive me, Douglas, once again.'-- And, while the King his hand did strain, The old man's tears fell down like rain.

To seize the moment Marmion tried, 465 And whisper'd to the King aside: 'Oh! let such tears unwonted plead For respite short from dubious deed!

A child will weep a bramble's smart, A maid to see her sparrow part, 470 A stripling for a woman's heart: But woe awaits a country, when She sees the tears of bearded men.

Then, oh! what omen, dark and high, When Douglas wets his manly eye!' 475

XVII.

Displeased was James, that stranger view'd And tamper'd with his changing mood.

'Laugh those that can, weep those that may,'

Thus did the fiery Monarch say, 'Southward I march by break of day; 480 And if within Tantallon strong, The good Lord Marmion tarries long, Perchance our meeting next may fall At Tamworth, in his castle-hall.'-- The haughty Marmion felt the taunt, 485 And answer'd, grave, the royal vaunt: 'Much honour'd were my humble home, If in its halls King James should come; But Nottingham has archers good, And Yorks.h.i.+re men are stem of mood; 490 Northumbrian p.r.i.c.kers wild and rude.

On Derby Hills the paths are steep; In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep; And many a banner will be torn, And many a knight to earth be borne, 495 And many a sheaf of arrows spent, Ere Scotland's King shall cross the Trent: Yet pause, brave Prince, while yet you may!'-- The Monarch lightly turn'd away, And to his n.o.bles loud did call,-- 500 'Lords, to the dance,--a hall! a hall!'

Himself his cloak and sword flung by, And led Dame Heron gallantly; And Minstrels, at the royal order, Rung out--'Blue Bonnets o'er the Border.' 505

XVIII.

Leave we these revels now, to tell What to Saint Hilda's maids befell, Whose galley, as they sail'd again To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en.

Now at Dun-Edin did they bide, 510 Till James should of their fate decide; And soon, by his command, Were gently summon'd to prepare To journey under Marmion's care, As escort honour'd, safe, and fair, 515 Again to English land.

The Abbess told her chaplet o'er, Nor knew which Saint she should implore; For, when she thought of Constance, sore She fear'd Lord Marmion's mood. 520 And judge what Clara must have felt!

The sword, that hung in Marmion's belt, Had drunk De Wilton's blood.

Unwittingly, King James had given, As guard to Whitby's shades, 525 The man most dreaded under heaven By these defenceless maids: Yet what pet.i.tion could avail, Or who would listen to the tale Of woman, prisoner, and nun, 530 Mid bustle of a war begun?

They deem'd it hopeless to avoid The convoy of their dangerous guide.

XIX.

Their lodging, so the King a.s.sign'd, To Marmion's, as their guardian, join'd; 535 And thus it fell, that, pa.s.sing nigh, The Palmer caught the Abbess' eye, Who warn'd him by a scroll, She had a secret to reveal, That much concern'd the Church's weal, 540 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, 545 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. 550 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, 555 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, 560 Were here wrapt deep in shade; There on their brows the moon-beam broke, Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke, And on the cas.e.m.e.nts play'd.

And other light was none to see, 565 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; 570 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,-- 575 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 woo'd 580 Clara de Clare, of Gloster'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, 585 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,-- 590 And down he threw his glove:--the thing Was tried, as wont, before the King; Where frankly did De Wilton own, That Swart in Guelders he had known; And that between them then there went 595 Some scroll of courteous compliment.

For this he to his castle sent; But when his messenger return'd, Judge how De Wilton's fury burn'd!

For in his packet there were laid 600 Letters that claim'd disloyal aid, And proved King Henry's cause betray'd.

His fame, thus blighted, in the field He strove to clear, by spear and s.h.i.+eld;-- To clear his fame in vain he strove, 605 For wondrous are His ways above!

Perchance some form was un.o.bserved; Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved; Else how could guiltless champion quail, Or how the blessed ordeal fail? 610

XXII.

'His squire, who now De Wilton saw As recreant doom'd to suffer law, Repentant, own'd in vain, That, while he had the scrolls in care, A stranger maiden, pa.s.sing fair, 615 Had drench'd 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, 620 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, 625 Ne'er shelter'd 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, 630 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, 635 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, 640 Her temple spoil'd 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; 645 And grievous cause have I to fear, Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear.

XXIII.

'Now, prisoner, helpless, and betray'd To evil power, I claim thine aid, By every step that thou hast trod 650 To holy shrine and grotto dim, By every martyr's tortured limb, By angel, saint, and seraphim, And by the Church of G.o.d!

For mark:--When Wilton was betray'd, 655 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! 660 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 665 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 retain'd 670 Each proof that might the plot reveal, Instructions with his hand and seal; And thus Saint Hilda deign'd, Through sinners' perfidy impure, Her house's glory to secure, 675 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! 680 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, 685 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 O! with cautious speed, 690 To Wolsey's hand the papers 'bring, That he may show them to the King: And, for thy well-earn'd meed, Thou holy man, at Whitby's shrine A weekly ma.s.s shall still be thine, 695 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, 700 Like distant clarion feebly blown, That on the breeze did die; And loud the Abbess shriek'd in fear, 'Saint Withold, save us!--What is here!

Look at yon City Cross! 705 See on its battled tower appear Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear, And blazon'd banners toss!'--

XXV.

Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillar'd stone, Rose on a turret octagon; 710 (But now is razed that monument, Whence royal edict rang, And voice of Scotland's law was sent In glorious trumpet-clang.

O! be his tomb as lead to lead, 715 Upon its dull destroyer's head!-- A minstrel's malison is said.)-- Then on its battlements they saw A vision, pa.s.sing Nature's law, Strange, wild, and dimly seen; 720 Figures that seem'd to rise and die, Gibber and sign, advance and fly, While nought confirm'd could ear or eye Discern of sound or mien.

Yet darkly did it seem, as there 725 Heralds and Pursuivants prepare, With trumpet sound, and blazon fair, A summons to proclaim; But indistinct the pageant proud, As fancy forms of midnight cloud, 730 When flings the moon upon her shroud A wavering tinge of flame; It flits, expands, and s.h.i.+fts, till loud, From midmost of the spectre crowd, This awful summons came:-- 735