Marmion. Вальтер Скотт

lightly bear the ring away;

      Nor less with courteous precepts stored,

      Could dance in hall, and carve at board,                  100

      And frame love-ditties passing rare,

      And sing them to a lady fair.

VIII

      Four men-at-arms came at their backs,

      With halbert, bill, and battle-axe:

      They bore Lord Marmion’s lance so strong,                  105

      And led his sumpter-mules along,

      And ambling palfrey, when at need

      Him listed ease his battle-steed.

      The last and trustiest of the four,

      On high his forky pennon bore;                            110

      Like swallow’s tail, in shape and hue,

      Flutter’d the streamer glossy blue,

      Where, blazon’d sable, as before,

      The towering falcon seem’d to soar.

      Last, twenty yeomen, two and two,                          115

      In hosen black, and jerkins blue,

      With falcons broider’d on each breast,

      Attended on their lord’s behest.

      Each, chosen for an archer good,

      Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood;                        120

      Each one a six-foot bow could bend,

      And far a cloth-yard shaft could send;

      Each held a boar-spear tough and strong,

      And at their belts their quivers rung.

      Their dusty palfreys, and array,                          125

      Show’d they had march’d a weary way.

IX

      ‘Tis meet that I should tell you now,

      How fairly arm’d, and order’d how,

        The soldiers of the guard,

      With musket, pike, and morion,                            130

      To welcome noble Marmion,

        Stood in the Castle-yard;

      Minstrels and trumpeters were there,

      The gunner held his linstock yare,

        For welcome-shot prepared:                              135

      Enter’d the train, and such a clang,

      As then through all his turrets rang,

        Old Norham never heard.

X

      The guards their morrice-pikes advanced,

        The trumpets flourish’d brave,                          140

      The cannon from the ramparts glanced,

        And thundering welcome gave.

      A blithe salute, in martial sort,

        The minstrels well might sound,

      For, as Lord Marmion cross’d the court,                    145

        He scatter’d angels round.

      ‘Welcome to Norham, Marmion!

        Stout heart, and open hand!

      Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan,

        Thou flower of English land!’                            150

XI

      Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck,

      With silver scutcheon round their neck,

        Stood on the steps of stone,

      By which you reach the donjon gate,

      And there, with herald pomp and state,                    155

        They hail’d Lord Marmion:

      They hail’d him Lord of Fontenaye,

      Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye,

        Of Tamworth tower and town;

      And he, their courtesy to requite,                        160

      Gave them a chain of twelve marks’ weight,

        All as he lighted down.

      ‘Now, largesse, largesse, Lord Marmion,

        Knight of the crest of gold!

      A blazon’d shield, in battle won,                          165

      Ne’er guarded heart so bold.’

XII

      They marshall’d him to the Castle-hall,

        Where the guests stood all aside,

      And loudly nourish’d the trumpet-call,

        And the heralds loudly cried,                            170

      -‘Room, lordings, room for Lord Marmion,

        With the crest and helm of gold!

      Full well we know the trophies won

        In the lists at Cottiswold:

      There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove                      175

        ‘Gainst Marmion’s force to stand;

      To him he lost his lady-love,

        And to the King his land.

      Ourselves beheld the listed field,

        A sight both sad and fair;                              180

      We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield,

        And saw his saddle bare;

      We saw the victor win the crest,

        He wears with worthy pride;

      And on the gibbet-tree, reversed,                          185

        His foeman’s scutcheon tied.

      Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight!

        Room, room, ye gentles gay,

      For him who conquer’d in the right,

        Marmion of Fontenaye!’                                  190

XIII

      Then stepp’d, to meet that noble Lord,

        Sir Hugh the Heron bold,

      Baron of Twisell, and of Ford,

        And Captain of the Hold.

      He led Lord Marmion to the deas,                          195

        Raised o’er the pavement high,

      And placed him in the upper place

        They feasted full and high;

      The whiles a Northern harper rude

      Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud,                            200

        ‘How the fierce Thirwalls, and Ridleys all,    Stout Willimondswick,      And Hardriding Dick,     And Hughie of Hawdon, and Will o’ the Wall,    Have set on Sir Albany Featherstonhaugh,              205

      And taken his life at the Deadman’s-shaw.’

        Scantly