Marmion

by Walter Scott

  He long’d to stretch his wide command

  O’er luckless Clara’s ample land:

  Besides, when Wilton with him vied,

  Although the pang of humbled pride

  The place of jealousy supplied,

  Yet conquest, by that meanness won

  He almost loath’d to think upon,

  Led him, at times, to hate the cause,

  Which made him burst through honour’s laws.

  If e’er he loved, ‘twas her alone,

  Who died within that vault of stone.

  XXIX.

  And now, when close at hand they saw

  North Berwick’s town, and lofty Law,

  Fitz-Eustace bade them pause a while,

  Before a venerable pile,

  Whose turrets view’d, afar,

  The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle,

  The ocean’s peace or war.

  At tolling of a bell, forth came

  The convent’s venerable Dame,

  And pray’d Saint Hilda’s Abbess rest

  With her, a loved and honour’d guest,

  Till Douglas should a bark prepare

  To wait her back to Whitby fair.

  Glad was the Abbess, you may guess,

  And thank’d the Scottish Prioress;

  And tedious were to tell, I ween,

  The courteous speech that pass’d between.

  O’erjoy’d the nuns their palfreys leave;

  But when fair Clara did intend,

  Like them, from horseback to descend,

  Fitz-Eustace said,-’I grieve,

  Fair lady, grieve e’en from my heart,

  Such gentle company to part;-

  Think not discourtesy,

  But lords’ commands must be obey’d;

  And Marmion and the Douglas said,

  That you must wend with me.

  Lord Marmion hath a letter broad,

  Which to the Scottish Earl he show’d,

  Commanding, that, beneath his care,

  Without delay, you shall repair

  To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare.’

  XXX.

  The startled Abbess loud exclaim’d;

  But she, at whom the blow was aim’d,

  Grew pale as death, and cold as lead,-

  She deem’d she heard her death-doom read.

  ‘Cheer thee, my child!’ the Abbess said,

  ‘They dare not tear thee from my hand,

  To ride alone with armed band.’-

  ‘Nay, holy mother, nay,’

  Fitz-Eustace said, ‘the lovely Clare

  Will be in Lady Angus’ care,

  In Scotland while we stay;

  And, when we move, an easy ride

  Will bring us to the English side,

  Female attendance to provide

  Befitting Gloster’s heir;

  Nor thinks, nor dreams, my noble lord,

  By slightest look, or act, or word,

  To harass Lady Clare.

  Her faithful guardian he will be,

  Nor sue for slightest courtesy

  That e’en to stranger falls,

  Till he shall place her, safe and free,

  Within her kinsman’s halls.’

  He spoke, and blush’d with earnest grace;

  His faith was painted on his face,

  And Clare’s worst fear relieved.

  The Lady Abbess loud exclaim’d

  On Henry, and the Douglas blamed,

  Entreated, threaten’d, grieved;

  To martyr, saint, and prophet pray’d,

  Against Lord Marmion inveigh’d,

  And call’d the Prioress to aid,

  To curse with candle, bell, and book.

  Her head the grave Cistertian shook:

  ‘The Douglas, and the King,’ she said,

  ‘In their commands will be obey’d;

  Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall

  The maiden in Tantallon hall.’

  XXXI.

  The Abbess, seeing strife was vain,

  Assumed her wonted state again,

  For much of state she had,-

  Composed her veil, and raised her head,

  And-‘Bid,’ in solemn voice she said,

  ‘Thy master, bold and bad,

  The records of his house turn o’er,

  And, when he shall there written see,

  That one of his own ancestry

  Drove the monks forth of Coventry,

  Bid him his fate explore!

  Prancing in pride of earthly trust,

  His charger hurl’d him to the dust,

  And, by a base plebeian thrust,

  He died his band before.

  God judge ‘twixt Marmion and me;

  He is a Chief of high degree,

  And I a poor recluse;

  Yet oft, in holy writ, we see

  Even such weak minister as me

  May the oppressor bruise:

  For thus, inspired, did Judith slay

  The mighty in his sin,

  And Jael thus, and Deborah’-

  Here hasty Blount broke in:

  ‘Fitz-Eustace, we must march our band;

  Saint Anton’ fire thee! wilt thou stand

  All day, with bonnet in thy hand,

  To hear the Lady preach?

  By this good light! if thus we stay,

  Lord Marmion, for our fond delay,

  Will sharper sermon teach.

  Come, don thy cap, and mount thy horse;

  The Dame must patience take perforce.’-

  XXXII.

  ‘Submit we then to force,’ said Clare,

  ‘But let this barbarous lord despair

  His purposed aim to win;

  Let him take living, land, and life;

  But to be Marmion’s wedded wife

  In me were deadly sin:

  And if it be the King’s decree,

  That I must find no sanctuary,

  In that inviolable dome,

  Where even a homicide might come,

  And safely rest his head,

  Though at its open portals stood,

  Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood,

  The kinsmen of the dead;

  Yet one asylum is my own

  Against the dreaded hour;

  A low, a silent, and a lone,

  Where kings have little power.

  One victim is before me there.-

  Mother, your blessing, and in prayer

  Remember your unhappy Clare!’

  Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows

  Kind blessings many a one:

  Weeping and wailing loud arose,

  Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes

  Of every simple nun.

  His eyes the gentle Eustace dried,

  And scarce rude Blount the sight could bide.

  Then took the squire her rein,

  And gently led away her steed,

  And, by each courteous word and deed,

  To cheer her strove in vain.

  XXXIII.

  But scant three miles the band had rode,

  When o’er a height they pass’d,

  And, sudden, close before them show’d

  His towers, Tantallon vast;

  Broad, massive, high, and stretching far,

  And held impregnable in war.

  On a projecting rock they rose,

  And round three sides the ocean flows,

  The fourth did battled walls enclose,

  And double mound and fosse.

  By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong,

  Through studded gates, an entrance long,

  To the main court they cross.

  It was a wide and stately square:

  Around were lodgings, fit and fair,

  And towers of various form,

  Which on the court projected far,

  And broke its lines quadrangular.

  Here was square keep, there turret high,

  Or
pinnacle that sought the sky,

  Whence oft the Warder could descry

  The gathering ocean-storm.

  XXXIV.

  Here did they rest.-The princely care

  Of Douglas, why should I declare,

  Or say they met reception fair?

  Or why the tidings say,

  Which, varying, to Tantallon came,

  By hurrying posts, or fleeter fame,

  With every varying day?

  And, first, they heard King James had won

  Etall, and Wark, and Ford; and then,

  That Norham Castle strong was ta’en.

  At that sore marvell’d Marmion;-

  And Douglas hoped his Monarch’s hand

  Would soon subdue Northumberland:

  But whisper’d news there came,

  That, while his host inactive lay,

  And melted by degrees away,

  King James was dallying off the day

  With Heron’s wily dame.-

  Such acts to chronicles I yield;

  Go seek them there, and see:

  Mine is a tale of Flodden Field,

  And not a history.-

  At length they heard the Scottish host

  On that high ridge had made their post,

  Which frowns o’er Millfield Plain;

  And that brave Surrey many a band

  Had gather’d in the Southern land,

  And march’d into Northumberland,

  And camp at Wooler ta’en.

  Marmion, like charger in the stall,

  That hears, without, the trumpet-call,

  Began to chafe, and swear:-

  ‘A sorry thing to hide my head

  In castle, like a fearful maid,

  When such a field is near!

  Needs must I see this battle-day:

  Death to my fame if such a fray

  Were fought, and Marmion away!

  The Douglas, too, I wot not why,

  Hath ‘bated of his courtesy:

  No longer in his halls I’ll stay.’

  Then bade his band they should array

  For march against the dawning day.

  INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH.

  TO RICHARD HEBER, ESQ.

  Mertoun-House, Christmas.

  Heap on more wood!-the wind is chill;

  But let it whistle as it will,

  We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.

  Each age has deem’d the new-born year

  The fittest time for festal cheer:

  Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane

  At Iol more deep the mead did drain;

  High on the beach his galleys drew,

  And feasted all his pirate crew;

  Then in his low and pine-built hall,

  Where shields and axes deck’d the wall,

  They gorged upon the half-dress’d steer;

  Caroused in seas of sable beer;

  While round, in brutal jest, were thrown

  The half-gnaw’d rib, and marrow-bone,

  Or listen’d all, in grim delight,

  While scalds yell’d out the joys of fight.

  Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie,

  While wildly-loose their red locks fly,

  And dancing round the blazing pile,

  They make such barbarous mirth the while,

  As best might to the mind recall

  The boisterous joys of Odin’s hall.

  And well our Christian sires of old

  Loved when the year its course had roll’d,

  And brought blithe Christmas back again,

  With all his hospitable train.

  Domestic and religious rite

  Gave honour to the holy night;

  On Christmas eve the bells were rung;

  On Christmas eve the mass was sung:

  That only night in all the year,

  Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.

  The damsel donn’d her kirtle sheen;

  The hall was dress’d with holly green;

  Forth to the wood did merry-men go,

  To gather in the mistletoe.

  Then open’d wide the Baron’s hall

  To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;

  Power laid his rod of rule aside,

  And Ceremony doff’d his pride.

  The heir, with roses in his shoes,

  That night might village partner choose;

  The Lord, underogating, share

  The vulgar game of ‘post and pair.’

  All hail’d, with uncontroll’d delight,

  And general voice, the happy night,

  That to the cottage, as the crown,

  Brought tidings of salvation down.

  The fire, with well-dried logs supplied,

  Went roaring up the chimney wide:

  The huge hall-table’s oaken face,

  Scrubb’d till it shone, the day to grace,

  Bore then upon its massive board

  No mark to part the squire and lord.

  Then was brought in the lusty brawn,

  By old blue-coated serving-man;

  Then the grim boar’s head frown’d on high,

  Crested with bays and rosemary.

  Well can the green-garb’d ranger tell,

  How, when, and where, the monster fell;

  What dogs before his death he tore,

  And all the baiting of the boar.

  The wassel round, in good brown bowls,

  Garnish’d with ribbons, blithely trowls.

  There the huge sirloin reek’d; hard by

  Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie:

  Nor fail’d old Scotland to produce,

  At such high tide, her savoury goose.

  Then came the merry maskers in,

  And carols roar’d with blithesome din;

  If unmelodious was the song,

  It was a hearty note, and strong.

  Who lists may in their mumming see

  Traces of ancient mystery;

  White shirts supplied the masquerade,

  And smutted cheeks the visors made;

  But, O! what maskers, richly dight,

  Can boast of bosoms half so light!

  England was merry England, when

  Old Christmas brought his sports again.

  ‘Twas Christmas broach’d the mightiest ale;

  ‘Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;

  A Christmas gambol oft could cheer

  The poor man’s heart through half the year.

  Still linger, in our northern clime,

  Some remnants of the good old time;

  And still, within our valleys here,

  We hold the kindred title dear,

  Even when, perchance, its far-fetch’d claim

  To Southron ear sounds empty name;

  For course of blood, our proverbs deem,

  Is warmer than the mountain-stream.

  And thus, my Christmas still I hold

  Where my great-grandsire came of old,

  With amber beard, and flaxen hair,

  And reverend apostolic air-

  The feast and holy-tide to share,

  And mix sobriety with wine,

  And honest mirth with thoughts divine:

  Small thought was his, in after time

  E’er to be hitch’d into a rhyme.

  The simple sire could only boast,

  That he was loyal to his cost;

  The banish’d race of kings revered,

  And lost his land,-but kept his beard.

  In these dear halls, where welcome kind

  Is with fair liberty combined;

  Where cordial friendship gives the hand,

  And flies constraint the magic wand

  Of the fair dame that rules the land.

  Little we heed the tempest drear,

  While music, mirth, and social cheer,

  Speed on their wings the passing year.

  And Mertoun’s halls are fair e’en now,

  Whe
n not a leaf is on the bough.

  Tweed loves them well, and turns again,

  As loth to leave the sweet domain,

  And holds his mirror to her face,

  And clips her with a close embrace:-

  Gladly as he, we seek the dome,

  And as reluctant turn us home.

  How just that, at this time of glee,

  My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee!

  For many a merry hour we’ve known,

  And heard the chimes of midnight’s tone.

  Cease, then, my friend! a moment cease,

  And leave these classic tomes in peace!

  Of Roman and of Grecian lore,

  Sure mortal brain can hold no more.

  These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say,

  ‘Were pretty fellows in their day;’

  But time and tide o’er all prevail-

  On Christmas eve a Christmas tale-

  Of wonder and of war-‘Profane!

  What! leave the lofty Latian strain,

  Her stately prose, her verse’s charms,

  To hear the clash of rusty arms:

  In Fairy Land or Limbo lost,

  To jostle conjurer and ghost,

  Goblin and witch!’-Nay, Heber dear,

  Before you touch my charter, hear;

  Though Leyden aids, alas! no more,

  My cause with many-languaged lore,

  This may I say:-in realms of death

  Ulysses meets Alcides’ wraith;

  Aeneas, upon Thracia’s shore,

  The ghost of murder’d Polydore;

  For omens, we in Livy cross,

  At every turn, locutus Bos.

  As grave and duly speaks that ox,