Marmion. Walter Scott

Which on the living closed the tomb:

       But, tired to hear the desperate maid 240

       Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid;

       And wroth, because, in wild despair,

       She practised on the life of Clare;

       Its fugitive the Church he gave,

       Though not a victim, but a slave; 245

       And deem’d restraint in convent strange

       Would hide her wrongs, and her revenge,

       Himself, proud Henry’s favourite peer,

       Held Romish thunders idle fear,

       Secure his pardon he might hold, 250

       For some slight mulct of penance-gold.

       Thus judging, he gave secret way,

       When the stern priests surprised their prey.

       His train but deem’d the favourite page

       Was left behind, to spare his age; 255

       Or other if they deem’d, none dared

       To mutter what he thought and heard:

       Woe to the vassal, who durst pry

       Into Lord Marmion’s privacy!

       XVI.

       His conscience slept-he deem’d her well, 260

       And safe secured in yonder cell;

       But, waken’d by her favourite lay,

       And that strange Palmer’s boding say,

       That fell so ominous and drear,

       Full on the object of his fear, 265

       To aid remorse’s venom’d throes,

       Dark tales of convent-vengeance rose;

       And Constance, late betray’d and scorn’d,

       All lovely on his soul return’d;

       Lovely as when, at treacherous call, 270

       She left her convent’s peaceful wall,

       Crimson’d with shame, with terror mute,

       Dreading alike escape, pursuit,

       Till love, victorious o’er alarms,

       Hid fears and blushes in his arms. 275

       ‘Alas!’ he thought, ‘how changed that mien!

       How changed these timid looks have been,

       Since years of guilt, and of disguise,

       Have steel’d her brow, and arm’d her eyes!

       No more of virgin terror speaks 280

       The blood that mantles in her cheeks;

       Fierce, and unfeminine, are there,

       Frenzy for joy, for grief despair;

       And I the cause-for whom were given

       Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven!- 285

       Would,’ thought he, as the picture grows,

       ‘I on its stalk had left the rose!

       Oh, why should man’s success remove

       The very charms that wake his love!-

       Her convent’s peaceful solitude 290

       Is now a prison harsh and rude;

       And, pent within the narrow cell,

       How will her spirit chafe and swell!

       How brook the stern monastic laws!

       The penance how-and I the cause!- 295

       Vigil, and scourge-perchance even worse!’-

       And twice he rose to cry, ‘To horse!’

       And twice his Sovereign’s mandate came,

       Like damp upon a kindling flame;

       And twice he thought, ‘Gave I not charge 300

       She should be safe, though not at large?

       They durst not, for their island, shred

       One golden ringlet from her head.’

       XVIII.

       While thus in Marmion’s bosom strove

       Repentance and reviving love, 305

       Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway

       I’ve seen Loch Vennachar obey,

       Their Host the Palmer’s speech had heard,

       And, talkative, took up the word:

       ‘Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray 310

       From Scotland’s simple land away,

       To visit realms afar,

       Full often learn the art to know

       Of future weal, or future woe,

       By word, or sign, or star; 315

       Yet might a knight his fortune hear,

       If, knight-like, he despises fear,

       Not far from hence;—if fathers old

       Aright our hamlet legend told.’-

       These broken words the menials move,

       (For marvels still the vulgar love,) 320

       And, Marmion giving license cold,

       His tale the host thus gladly told:-

       XIX.

       The Host’s Tale

       ‘A Clerk could tell what years have flown

       Since Alexander fill’d our throne, 325

       (Third monarch of that warlike name,)

       And eke the time when here he came

       To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord:

       A braver never drew a sword;

       A wiser never, at the hour 330

       Of midnight, spoke the word of power:

       The same, whom ancient records call

       The founder of the Goblin-Hall.

       I would, Sir Knight, your longer stay

       Gave you that cavern to survey. 335

       Of lofty roof, and ample size,

       Beneath the castle deep it lies:

       To hew the living rock profound,

       The floor to pave, the arch to round,

       There never toil’d a mortal arm, 340

       It all was wrought by word and charm;

       And I have heard my grandsire say,

       That the wild clamour and affray

       Of those dread artisans of hell,

       Who labour’d under Hugo’s spell, 345

       Sounded as loud as ocean’s war,

       Among the caverns of Dunbar.

       XX.

       ‘The King Lord Gifford’s castle sought,

       Deep labouring with uncertain thought;

       Even then he mustered all his host, 350

       To meet upon the western coast;

       For Norse and Danish galleys plied

       Their oars within the Frith of Clyde.

       There floated Haco’s banner trim,

       Above Norweyan warriors grim, 355

       Savage of heart, and large of limb;

       Threatening both continent and isle,