Marmion Part 19

Short s.p.a.ce, few words, are mine to spare 940 Forgive and listen, gentle Clare!'-- 'Alas!' she said, 'the while,-- O, think of your immortal weal!

In vain for Constance is your zeal; She--died at Holy Isle.'-- 945 Lord Marmion started from the ground, As light as if he felt no wound; Though in the action burst the tide, In torrents, from his wounded side.

'Then it was truth,'--he said--'I knew 950 That the dark presage must be true.-- I would the Fiend, to whom belongs The vengeance due to all her wrongs, Would spare me but a day!

For wasting fire, and dying groan, 955 And priests slain on the altar stone, Might bribe him for delay.

It may not be!--this dizzy trance-- Curse on yon base marauder's lance, And doubly cursed my failing brand! 960 A sinful heart makes feeble hand.'

Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk, Supported by the trembling Monk.

x.x.xII.

With fruitless labour, Clara bound, And strove to stanch the gus.h.i.+ng wound: 965 The Monk, with unavailing cares, Exhausted all the Church's prayers.

Ever, he said, that, close and near, A lady's voice was in his ear, And that the priest he could not hear; 970 For that she ever sung, 'In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying!'

So the notes rung;-- 'Avoid thee, Fiend!--with cruel hand, 975 Shake not the dying sinner's sand!-- O, look, my son, upon yon sign Of the Redeemer's grace divine; O, think on faith and bliss!

By many a death-bed I have been, 980 And many a sinner's parting seen, But never aught like this.'-- The war, that for a s.p.a.ce did fail, Now trebly thundering swell'd the gale, And--STANLEY! was the cry;-- 985 A light on Marmion's visage spread, And fired his glazing eye: With dying hand, above his head, He shook the fragment of his blade, And shouted 'Victory!-- 990 Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!'

Were the last words of Marmion.

x.x.xIII.

By this, though deep the evening fell, Still rose the battle's deadly swell, For still the Scots, around their King, 995 Unbroken, fought in desperate ring.

Where's now their victor vaward wing, Where Huntly, and where Home?-- O, for a blast of that dread horn, On Fontarabian echoes borne, 1000 That to King Charles did come, When Rowland brave, and Olivier, And every paladin and peer, On Roncesvalles died!

Such blasts might warn them, not in vain, 1005 To quit the plunder of the slain, And turn the doubtful day again, While yet on Flodden side, Afar, the Royal Standard flies, And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies, 1010 Our Caledonian pride!

In vain the wish--for far away, While spoil and havoc mark their way, Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray.-- 'O Lady,' cried the Monk, 'away!' 1015 And placed her on her steed, And led her to the chapel fair, Of Tilmouth upon Tweed.

There all the night they spent in prayer, And at the dawn of morning, there 1020 She met her kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare.

x.x.xIV.

But as they left the dark'ning heath, More desperate grew the strife of death, The English shafts in volleys hail'd, In headlong charge their horse a.s.sail'd; 1025 Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep To break the Scottish circle deep, That fought around their King.

But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, 1030 Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow, Unbroken was the ring; The stubborn spear-men still made good Their dark impenetrable wood, Each stepping where his comrade stood, 1035 The instant that he fell.

No thought was there of dastard flight; Link'd in the serried phalanx tight, Groom fought like n.o.ble, squire like knight, As fearlessly and well; 1040 Till utter darkness closed her wing O'er their thin host and wounded King.

Then skilful Surrey's sage commands Led back from strife his shatter'd bands; And from the charge they drew, 1045 As mountain-waves, from wasted lands, Sweep back to ocean blue.

Then did their loss his foemen know; Their King, their Lords, their mightiest low, They melted from the field, as snow, 1050 When streams are swoln and south winds blow Dissolves in silent dew.

Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash, While many a broken band, Disorder'd, through her currents dash, 1055 To gain the Scottish land; To town and tower, to down and dale, To tell red Flodden's dismal tale, And raise the universal wail.

Tradition, legend, tune, and song, 1060 Shall many an age that wail prolong: Still from the sire the son shall hear Of the stern strife, and carnage drear, Of Flodden's fatal field, Where s.h.i.+ver'd was fair Scotland's spear, And broken was her s.h.i.+eld!

x.x.xV.

Day dawns upon the mountain's side:-- There, Scotland! lay thy bravest pride, Chiefs, knights, and n.o.bles, many a one: The sad survivors all are gone.-- 1072 View not that corpse mistrustfully, Defaced and mangled though it be; Nor to yon Border castle high, Look northward with upbraiding eye; Nor cherish hope in vain, 1075 That, journeying far on foreign strand, The Royal Pilgrim to his land May yet return again.

He saw the wreck his rashness wrought; Reckless of life, he desperate fought, 1080 And fell on Flodden plain: And well in death his trusty brand, Firm clench'd within his manly hand, Beseem'd the monarch slain.

But, O! how changed since yon blithe night! 1085 Gladly I turn me from the sight, Unto my tale again.

x.x.xVI.

Short is my tale:--Fitz-Eustace' care A pierced and mangled body bare To moated Lichfield's lofty pile; 1090 And there, beneath the southern aisle, A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair, Did long Lord Marmion's image bear, (Now vainly for its site you look; 'Twas levell'd, when fanatic Brook 1095 The fair cathedral storm'd and took; But, thanks to Heaven, and good Saint Chad, A guerdon meet the spoiler had!) There erst was martial Marmion found, His feet upon a couchant hound, 1100 His hands to Heaven upraised; And all around, on scutcheon rich, And tablet carved, and fretted niche, His arms and feats were blazed.

And yet, though all was carved so fair, 1105 And priest for Marmion breathed the prayer, The last Lord Marmion lay not there.

From Ettrick woods, a peasant swain Follow'd his lord to Flodden plain,-- One of those flowers, whom plaintive lay 1110 In Scotland mourns as 'wede away': Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied, And dragg'd him to its foot, and died, Close by the n.o.ble Marmion's side.

The spoilers stripp'd and gash'd the slain, 1115 And thus their corpses were mista'en; And thus, in the proud Baron's tomb, The lowly woodsman took the room.

x.x.xVII.

Less easy task it were, to show Lord Marmion's nameless grave, and low. 1120 They dug his grave e'en where he lay, But every mark is gone; Time's wasting hand has done away The simple Cross of Sybil Grey, And broke her font of stone: 1123 But yet from out the little hill Oozes the slender springlet still, Oft halts the stranger there, For thence may best his curious eye The memorable field descry; 1130 And shepherd boys repair To seek the water-flag and rush, And rest them by the hazel bush, And plait their garlands fair; Nor dream they sit upon the grave, 1135 That holds the bones of Marmion brave.-- When thou shalt find the little hill, With thy heart commune, and be still.

If ever, in temptation strong, Thou left'st the right path for the wrong; 1140 If every devious step, thus trod, Still led thee farther from the road; Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom On n.o.ble Marmion's lowly tomb; But say, 'He died a gallant knight, 1145 With sword in hand, for England's right.'

x.x.xVIII.

I do not rhyme to that dull elf, Who cannot image to himself, That all through Flodden's dismal night, Wilton was foremost in the fight; 1150 That, when brave Surrey's steed was slain, 'Twas Wilton mounted him again; 'Twas Wilton's brand that deepest hew'd, Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood: Unnamed by Hollinshed or Hall, 1155 He was the living soul of all; That, after fight, his faith made plain, He won his rank and lands again; And charged his old paternal s.h.i.+eld With bearings won on Flodden Field. 1160 Nor sing I to that simple maid, To whom it must in terms be said, That King and kinsmen did agree, To bless fair Clara's constancy; Who cannot, unless I relate, 1165 Paint to her mind the bridal's state; That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke, More, Sands, and Denny, pa.s.s'd the joke: That bluff King Hal the curtain drew, And Catherine's hand the stocking threw; 1170 And afterwards, for many a day, That it was held enough to say, In blessing to a wedded pair, 'Love they like Wilton and like Clare!'

L'Envoy.

TO THE READER.

Why then a final note prolong, Or lengthen out a closing song, Unless to bid the gentles speed, Who long have listed to my rede?

To Statesmen grave, if such may deign 5 To read the Minstrel's idle strain, Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wit, And patriotic heart--as PITT!

A garland for the hero's crest, And twined by her he loves the best; 10 To every lovely lady bright, What can I wish but faithful knight?

To every faithful lover too, What can I wish but lady true?

And knowledge to the studious sage; 15 And pillow to the head of age.

To thee, dear school-boy, whom my lay Has cheated of thy hour of play, Light task, and merry holiday!

To all, to each, a fair good-night, 20 And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light!

NOTES

by

Thomas Bayne INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST.

With regard to the Introductions generally, Lockhart writes, in Life of Scott, ii. 150:--'Though the author himself does not allude to, and had perhaps forgotten the circ.u.mstance, when writing the Introductory Essay of 1830--they were announced, by an advertis.e.m.e.nt early in 1807, as "Six Epistles from Ettrick Forest," to be published in a separate volume, similar to that of the Ballads and Lyrical Pieces; and perhaps it might have been better that this first plan had been adhered to. But however that may be, are there any pages, among all he ever wrote, that one would be more sorry he should not have written? They are among the most delicious portraitures that genius ever painted of itself--buoyant, virtuous, happy genius--exulting in its own energies, yet possessed and mastered by a clear, calm, modest mind, and happy only in diffusing happiness around it.

'With what gratification those Epistles were read by the friends to whom they were addressed it is superfluous to show. He had, in fact, painted them almost as fully as himself; and who might not have been proud to find a place in such a gallery? The tastes and habits of six of those men, in whose intercourse Scott found the greatest pleasure when his fame was approaching its meridian splendour, are thus preserved for posterity; and when I reflect with what avidity we catch at the least hint which seems to afford us a glimpse of the intimate circle of any great poet of former ages, I cannot but believe that posterity would have held this record precious, even had the individuals been in themselves far less remarkable than a Rose, an Ellis, a Heber, a Skene, a Marriott, and an Erskine.'

William Stewart Rose (1775-1843), to whom Scott addresses the Introduction to Canto First, was a well-known man of letters in his time. He addressed to Hallam, in 1819, a work in two vols., ent.i.tled 'Letters from the North of Italy,' and escaped a prohibitory order from the Emperor of Austria by ingeniously changing his t.i.tle to 'A Treatise upon Sour Krout,' &c. His other original works are, 'Apology addressed to the Travellers' Club; or, Anecdotes of Monkeys'; 'Thoughts and Recollections by one of the Last Century'; and 'Epistle to the Hon. J. Hookham Frere in Malta.' His translations are these:--'Amadis of Gaul: a Poem in three Books, freely translated from the French version of Nicholas de Herberay'

(1803); 'Partenopex de Blois, a Romance in four Cantos, from the French of M. Le Grand' (1807); 'Court and Parliament of Beasts, translated from the Animali Parlanti of Giambatista Casti' (1819); and 'Orlando Furioso, translated into English Verse' (1825-1831).

The closing lines of this Introduction refer to Rose's 'Amadis' and 'Partenopex.'

Ashestiel, whence the Introduction to the First Canto is dated, is on the Tweed, about six miles above Abbotsford. 'The valley there is narrow,' says Lockhart, 'and the aspect in every direction is that of perfect pastoral repose.' This was Scott's home from 1804 to l812, when he removed to Abbotsford.

lines 1-52. This notable winter piece is the best modern contribution to that series of poetical descriptions by Scottish writers which includes Dunbar's 'Meditatioun in Winter,' Gavin Douglas's Scottish winter scene in the Prologue to his Virgil's Aeneid VII, Hamilton of Bangour's Ode III, and, of course, Thomson's 'Winter' in 'The Seasons.' The details of the piece are given with admirable skill, and the local place-names are used with characteristic effect. The note of regret over winter's ravages, common to all early Scottish poets, is skilfully struck and preserved, and thus the contrast designed between the wintry landscape and 'my Country's wintry state' is rendered sharper and more decisive.

line 3. steepy linn. Steepy is Elizabethan = steep, precipitous.

Linn (Gael. linne = pool; A.S. hlinna = brook) is variously used for 'pool under a waterfall,' 'cascade,' 'precipice,' and 'ravine.' The reference here is to the ravine close by Ashestiel, mentioned in Lockhart's description of the surroundings:--'On one side, close under the windows, is a deep ravine clothed with venerable trees, down which a mountain rivulet is heard, more than seen, in its progress to the Tweed.'