Amid that dim and smoky light,
Chequering the silvery moon-shine bright,
A bishop by the altar stood,
A noble lord of Douglas blood,
With mitre sheen, and rocquet white.
Yet show’d his meek and thoughtful eye
But little pride of prelacy;
More pleased that, in a barbarous age,
He gave rude Scotland Virgil’s page,
Than that beneath his rule he held
The bishopric of fair Dunkeld.
Beside him ancient Angus stood,
Doff’d his furr’d gown, and sable hood:
O’er his huge form and visage pale,
He wore a cap and shirt of mail;
And lean’d his large and wrinkled hand
Upon the huge and sweeping brand
Which wont of yore, in battle fray,
His foeman’s limbs to shred away,
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.
He seem’d as, from the tombs around
Rising at judgment-day,
Some giant Douglas may be found
In all his old array;
So pale his face, so huge his limb,
So old his arms, his look so grim.
XII.
Then at the altar Wilton kneels,
And Clare the spurs bound on his heels;
And think what next he must have felt,
At buckling of the falchion belt!
And judge how Clara changed her hue,
While fastening to her lover’s side
A friend, which, though in danger tried,
He once had found untrue!
Then Douglas struck him with his blade:
‘Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid,
I dub thee knight.
Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton’s heir!
For King, for Church, for Lady fair,
See that thou fight.’-
And Bishop Gawain, as he rose,
Said-‘Wilton! grieve not for thy woes,
Disgrace, and trouble;
For He, who honour best bestows,
May give thee double.’-
De Wilton sobb’d, for sob he must-
‘Where’er I meet a Douglas, trust
That Douglas is my brother!’
‘Nay, nay,’ old Angus said, ‘not so;
To Surrey’s camp thou now must go,
Thy wrongs no longer smother.
I have two sons in yonder field;
And, if thou meet’st them under shield,
Upon them bravely-do thy worst;
And foul fall him that blenches first!’
XIII.
Not far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array
To Surrey’s camp to ride;
He had safe-conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,
And Douglas gave a guide:
The ancient Earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,
And whisper’d in an under tone,
‘Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown.’-
The train from out the castle drew,
But Marmion stopp’d to bid adieu:
‘Though something I might plain,’ he said,
‘Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your King’s behest,
While in Tantallon’s towers I staid;
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble Earl, receive my hand.’-
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:-
‘My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still
Be open, at my Sovereign’s will,
To each one whom he lists, howe’er
Unmeet to be the owner’s peer.
My castles are my King’s alone,
From turret to foundation-stone-
The hand of Douglas is his own;
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp.’-
XIV.
Burn’d Marmion’s swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,
And-‘This to me!’ he said,
‘An ‘twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion’s had not spared
‘To cleave the Douglas’ head!
And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer,
He, who does England’s message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate:
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword,)
I tell thee, thou’rt defied!
And if thou said’st, I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied!’-
On the Earl’s cheek the flush of rage
O’ercame the ashen hue of age:
Fierce he broke forth,-‘And darest thou then
To beard the lion in his den,
The Douglas in his hall?
And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?-
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!
Up drawbridge, grooms-what, Warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall.’-
Lord Marmion turn’d,-well was his need,
And dash’d the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung,
The ponderous grate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.
XV.
The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Nor lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake’s level brim:
And when Lord Marmion reach’d his band,
He halts, and turns with clenched hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,
And shook his gauntlet at the towers.
‘Horse! horse!’ the Douglas cried, ‘and chase!’
But soon he rein’d his fury’s pace:
‘A royal messenger he came,
Though most unworthy of the name.-
A letter forged! Saint Jude to speed!
Did ever knight so foul a deed!