CANTO THIRD.
THE HOSTEL, OR INN
IThe livelong day Lord Marmion rode:
The mountain path the Palmer showd
By glen and streamlet winded still,
Where stunted birches hid the rill.
They might not choose the lowland road, 5
For the Merse forayers were abroad,
Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey,
Had scarcely faild to bar their way.
Oft on the trampling band, from crown
Of some tall cliff, the deer lookd down; 10
On wing of jet, from his repose
In the deep heath, the black-cock rose;
Sprung from the gorse the timid roe,
Nor waited for the bending bow;
And when the stony path began, 15
By which the naked peak they wan,
Up flew the snowy ptarmigan.
The noon had long been passd before
They gaind the height of Lammermoor;
Thence winding down the northern way, 20
Before them, at the close of day,
Old Giffords towers and hamlet lay.
No summons calls them to the tower,
To spend the hospitable hour.
To Scotlands camp the Lord was gone; 25
His cautious dame, in bower alone,
Dreaded her castle to unclose,
So late, to unknown friends or foes.
On through the hamlet as they paced,
Before a porch, whose front was graced 30
With bush and flagon trimly placed,
Lord Marmion drew his rein:
The village inn seemd large, though rude;
Its cheerful fire and hearty food
Might well relieve his train. 35
Down from their seats the horsemen sprung,
With jingling spurs the court-yard rung;
They bind their horses to the stall,
For forage, food, and firing call,
And various clamour fills the hall: 40
Weighing the labour with the cost,
Toils everywhere the bustling host.
Soon, by the chimneys merry blaze,
Through the rude hostel might you gaze;
Might see, where, in dark nook aloof, 45
The rafters of the sooty roof
Bore wealth of winter cheer;
Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store,
And gammons of the tusky boar,
And savoury haunch of deer. 50
The chimney arch projected wide;
Above, around it, and beside,
Were tools for housewives hand;
Nor wanted, in that martial day,
The implements of Scottish fray, 55
The buckler, lance, and brand.
Beneath its shade, the place of state,
On oaken settle Marmion sate,
And viewd around the blazing hearth.
His followers mix in noisy mirth; 60
Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide,
From ancient vessels ranged aside,
Full actively their host supplied.
Theirs was the glee of martial breast,
And laughter theirs at little jest; 65
And oft Lord Marmion deignd to aid,
And mingle in the mirth they made;
For though, with men of high degree,
The proudest of the proud was he,
Yet, traind in camps, he knew the art 70
To win the soldiers hardy heart.
They love a captain to obey,
Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May;
With open hand, and brow as free,
Lover of wine and minstrelsy; 75
Ever the first to scale a tower,
As venturous in a ladys bower: -
Such buxom chief shall lead his host
From Indias fires to Zemblas frost.
Resting upon his pilgrim staff, 80
Right opposite the Palmer stood;
His thin dark visage seen but half,
Half hidden by his hood.
Still fixd on Marmion was his look,
Which he, who ill such gaze could brook, 85
Strove by a frown to quell;
But not for that, though more than once
Full met their stern encountering glance,
The Palmers visage fell.
By fits less frequent from the crowd 90
Was heard the burst of laughter loud;
For still, as squire and archer stared
On that dark face and matted beard,
Their glee and game declined.
All gazed at length in silence drear, 95
Unbroke, save when in comrades ear
Some yeoman, wondering in his fear,
Thus whispered forth his mind: -
Saint Mary! sawst thou eer such sight?
How pale his cheek, his eye how bright, 100
Wheneer the firebrands fickle light
Glances beneath his cowl!
Full on our Lord he sets his eye;
For his best palfrey, would not I
Endure that sullen scowl. 105
But Marmion, as to chase the awe
Which thus had quelld their hearts, who saw
The ever-varying fire-light show
That figure stern and face of woe,
Now calld upon a squire: 110
Fitz-Eustace, knowst thou not some lay,
To speed the lingering night away?
We slumber by the fire.-
So please you, thus the youth rejoind,
Our choicest minstrels left behind. 115
Ill may we hope to please your ear,
Accustomd Constants strains to hear.
The harp full deftly can he strike,
And wake the lovers lute alike;
To dear Saint Valentine, no thrush 120
Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush,
No nightingale her love-lorn tune
More sweetly warbles to the moon.
Woe to the cause, whateer it be,
Detains from us his melody, 125
Lavishd on rocks, and billows stern,
Or duller monks of Lindisfarne.
Now must I venture as I may,
To sing his favourite roundelay.
A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had, 130
The air he chose was wild and sad;
Such have I heard, in Scottish land,
Rise from the busy harvest band,
When falls before the mountaineer,
On Lowland plains, the ripend ear. 135
Now one shrill voice the notes prolong,
Now a wild chorus swells the song:
Oft have I listend, and stood still,
As it came softend up the hill,
And deemd it the lament of men 140
Who languishd for their native glen;
And thought how sad would be such sound,
On Susquehannas swampy ground,
Kentuckys wood-encumberd brake,
Or wild Ontarios boundless lake, 145
Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain,
Recalld fair Scotlands hills again!
Song
Where shall the lover rest,
Whom the fates sever
From his true maidens breast, 150
Parted for ever?
Where, through groves deep and high,
Sounds the far billow,
Where early violets die,
Under the willow. 155
CHORUS.
Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow.
There, through the summer day,
Cool streams are laving;
There, while the tempests sway,
Scarce are boughs waving; 160
There, thy rest shalt thou take,
Parted for ever,
Never again to wake,
Never, O never!
CHORUS.
Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never! 165
Where shall the traitor rest,
He, the deceiver,
Who could win maidens breast,
Ruin, and leave her?
In the lost battle, 170
Borne down by the flying,
Where mingles wars rattle
With groans of the dying.
CHORUS.
Eleu loro, &c. There shall he be lying.
Her wing shall the eagle flap 175
Oer the false-hearted;
His warm blood the wolf shall lap,
Ere life be parted.
Shame and dishonour sit
By his grave ever; 180
Blessing shall hallow it, -
Never, O never.
CHORUS.
Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never!
It ceased, the melancholy sound;
And silence sunk on all around. 185
The air was sad; but sadder still
It fell on Marmions ear,
And plaind as if disgrace and ill,
And shameful death, were near.
He drew his mantle past his face, 190
Between it and the band,
And rested with his head a space,
Reclining on his hand.
His thoughts I scan not; but I ween,
That, could their import have been seen, 195
The meanest groom in all the hall,
That eer tied courser to a stall,
Would scarce have wished to be their prey,
For Lutterward and Fontenaye.
High minds, of native pride and force, 200
Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse!
Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have,
Thou art the torturer of the brave!
Yet fatal strength they boast to steel
Their minds to bear the wounds they feel, 205
Even while they writhe beneath the smart
Of civil conflict in the heart.
For soon Lord Marmion raised his head,
And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said,
Is it not strange, that, as ye sung, 210
Seemd in mine ear a death-peal rung,
Such as in nunneries they toll
For some departing sisters soul?
Say, what may this portend?-
Then first the Palmer silence broke, 215
(The livelong day he had not spoke)
The death of a dear friend.
Marmion, whose steady heart and eye
Neer changed in worst extremity;
Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, 220
Even from his King, a haughty look;
Whose accents of command controlld,
In camps, the boldest of the bold-
Thought, look, and utterance faild him now,
Falln was his glance, and flushd his brow: 225
For either in the tone,
Or something in the Palmers look,
So full upon his conscience strook,
That answer he found none.
Thus oft it haps, that when within 230
They shrink at sense of secret sin,
A feather daunts the brave;
A fools wild speech confounds the wise,
And proudest princes vail their eyes
Before their meanest slave. 235
Well might he falter! By his aid
Was Constance Beverley betrayd.
Not that he augurd of the doom,
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 deemd restraint in convent strange
Would hide her wrongs, and her revenge,
Himself, proud Henrys 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 deemd the favourite page
Was left behind, to spare his age; 255
Or other if they deemd, none dared
To mutter what he thought and heard:
Woe to the vassal, who durst pry
Into Lord Marmions privacy!
His conscience slept-he deemd her well, 260
And safe secured in yonder cell;
But, wakend by her favourite lay,
And that strange Palmers boding say,
That fell so ominous and drear,
Full on the object of his fear, 265
To aid remorses venomd throes,
Dark tales of convent-vengeance rose;
And Constance, late betrayd and scornd,
All lovely on his soul returnd;
Lovely as when, at treacherous call, 270
She left her convents peaceful wall,
Crimsond with shame, with terror mute,
Dreading alike escape, pursuit,
Till love, victorious oer 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 steeld her brow, and armd 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 mans success remove
The very charms that wake his love! -
Her convents 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 Sovereigns 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.
While thus in Marmions bosom strove
Repentance and reviving love, 305
Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway
Ive seen Loch Vennachar obey,
Their Host the Palmers speech had heard,
And, talkative, took up the word:
Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray 310
From Scotlands 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: -
The Hosts Tale
A Clerk could tell what years have flown
Since Alexander filld 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 toild 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 labourd under Hugos spell, 345
Sounded as loud as oceans war,
Among the caverns of Dunbar.
The King Lord Giffords 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 Hacos banner trim,
Above Norweyan warriors grim, 355
Savage of heart, and large of limb;
Threatening both continent and isle,
Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle.
Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground,
Heard Alexanders bugle sound, 360
And tarried not his garb to change,
But, in his wizard habit strange,
Came forth, a quaint and fearful sight;
His mantle lined with fox-skins white;
His high and wrinkled forehead bore 365
A pointed cap, such as of yore
Clerks say that Pharaohs Magi wore:
His shoes were markd with cross and spell,
Upon his breast a pentacle;
His zone, of virgin parchment thin, 370
Or, as some tell, of dead mans skin,
Bore many a planetary sign,
Combust, and retrograde, and trine;
And in his hand he held prepared,
A naked sword without a guard. 375
Dire dealings with the fiendish race
Had markd strange lines upon his face;
Vigil and fast had worn him grim,
His eyesight dazzled seemd and dim,
As one unused to upper day; 380
Even his own menials with dismay
Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly Sire,
In his unwonted wild attire;
Unwonted, for traditions run,
He seldom thus beheld the sun. 385
I know, he said, his voice was hoarse,
And broken seemd its hollow force, -
I know the cause, although untold,
Why the King seeks his vassals hold:
Vainly from me my liege would know 390
His kingdoms future weal or woe;
But yet, if strong his arm and heart,
His courage may do more than art.
Of middle air the demons proud,
Who ride upon the racking cloud, 395
Can read, in fixd or wandering star,
The issue of events afar;
But still their sullen aid withhold,
Save when by mightier force controlld.
Such late I summond to my hall; 400
And though so potent was the call,
That scarce the deepest nook of hell
I deemd a refuge from the spell,
Yet, obstinate in silence still,
The haughty demon mocks my skill. 405
But thou, who little knowst thy might,
As born upon that blessed night
When yawning graves, and dying groan,
Proclaimd hells empire overthrown, -
With untaught valour shalt compel 410
Response denied to magic spell.-
Gramercy, quoth our Monarch free,
Place him but front to front with me,
And, by this good and honourd brand,
The gift of Coeur-de-Lions hand, 415
Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide,
The demon shall a buffet bide.-
His bearing bold the wizard viewd,
And thus, well pleased, his speech renewd: -
There spoke the blood of Malcolm! mark: 420
Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark,
The rampart seek, whose circling crown
Crests the ascent of yonder down:
A southern entrance shalt thou find;
There halt, and there thy bugle wind, 425
And trust thine elfin foe to see,
In guise of thy worst enemy:
Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed-
Upon him! and Saint George to speed!
If he go down, thou soon shalt know 430
Whateer these airy sprites can show: -