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Although the pang of humbled pride

       The place of jealousy supplied,

       Yet conquest, by that meanness won

       He almost loathed 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 awhile

       Before a venerable pile,

       Whose turrets viewed, 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 prayed Saint Hilda’s Abbess rest

       With her, a loved and honoured guest,

       Till Douglas should a barque prepare

       To waft her back to Whitby fair.

       Glad was the Abbess, you may guess,

       And thanked the Scottish Prioress;

       And tedious were to tell, I ween,

       The courteous speech that passed between.

       O’erjoyed, 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 obeyed;

       And Marmion and the Douglas said

       That you must wend with me.

       Lord Marmion hath a letter broad,

       Which to the Scottish earl he showed,

       Commanding that beneath his care

       Without delay you shall repair

       To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare.”

       XXX

      The startled Abbess loud exclaimed;

       But she at whom the blow was aimed

       Grew pale as death, and cold as lead -

       She deemed 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 Gloucester’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 blushed with earnest grace;

       His faith was painted on his face,

       And Clare’s worst fear relieved.

       The Lady Abbess loud exclaimed

       On Henry, and the Douglas blamed,

       Entreated, threatened, grieved;

       To martyr, saint, and prophet prayed,

       Against Lord Marmion inveighed,

       And called the Prioress to aid,

       To curse with candle, bell, and book.

       Her head the grave Cistercian shook:

       “The Douglas and the King,” she said,

       “In their commands will be obeyed;

       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 hurled 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,

      

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