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The kinsmen of the dead;

       Yet one asylum is my own

       Against the dreaded hour -

       A low, a silent, and a lone,

       Where kings have little power.

       One victim is before me there.

       Mother, your blessing, and in prayer

       Remember your unhappy Clare!”

       Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows

       Kind blessings many a one:

       Weeping and wailing loud arose

       Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes

       Of every simple nun.

       His eyes the gentle Eustace dried,

       And scarce rude Blount the sight could bide.

       Then took the squire her rein,

       And gently led away her steed,

       And, by each courteous word and deed,

       To cheer her strove in vain.

       XXXIII

      But scant three miles the band had rode,

       When o’er a height they passed,

       And, sudden, close before them showed

       His towers, Tantallon vast;

       Broad, massive, high, and stretching far,

       And held impregnable in war,

       On a projecting rock they rose,

       And round three sides the ocean flows,

       The fourth did battled walls enclose,

       And double mound and fosse.

       By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong,

       Through studded gates, an entrance long,

       To the main court they cross;

       It was a wide and stately square;

       Around were lodgings, fit and fair,

       And towers of various form,

       Which on the court projected far,

       And broke its lines quadrangular.

       Here was square keep, there turret high,

       Or pinnacle that sought the sky,

       Whence oft the warder could descry

       The gathering ocean-storm.

       XXXIV

      Here did they rest. The princely care

       Of Douglas, why should I declare,

       Or say they met reception fair?

       Or why the tidings say,

       Which, varying, to Tantallon came,

       By hurrying posts or fleeter fame,

       With every varying day?

       And, first, they heard King James had won

       Etall, and Wark, and Ford; and then

       That Norham Castle strong was ta’en.

       At that sore marvelled Marmion;

       And Douglas hoped his monarch’s hand

       Would soon subdue Northumberland:

       But whispered news there came,

       That, while his host inactive lay,

       And melted by degrees away,

       King James was dallying off the day

       With Heron’s wily dame.

       Such acts to chronicles I yield:

       Go seek them there and see;

       Mine is a tale of Flodden Field,

       And not a history.

       At length they heard the Scottish host

       On that high ridge had made their post

       Which frowns o’er Milfield Plain,

       And that brave Surrey many a band

       Had gathered in the Southern land,

       And marched into Northumberland,

       And camp at Wooler ta’en.

       Marmion, like charger in the stall,

       That hears, without, the trumpet call,

       Began to chafe and swear:

       “A sorry thing to hide my head

       In castle, like a fearful maid,

       When such a field is near!

       Needs must I see this battle-day;

       Death to my fame if such a fray

       Were fought, and Marmion away!

       The Douglas, too, I wot not why,

       Hath ‘bated of his courtesy:

       No longer in his halls I’ll stay.”

       Then bade his band they should array

       For march against the dawning day.

      Introduction to Canto Sixth

      TO RICHARD HEBER, ESQ. Mertoun House, Christmas.

       Table of Contents

      Heap on more wood! the wind is chill;

       But let it whistle as it will,

       We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.

       Each age has deemed the new-born year

       The fittest time for festal cheer;

       E’en, heathen yet, the savage Dane

       At Iol more deep the mead did drain;

       High on the beach his galleys drew,

       And feasted all his pirate crew;

       Then in his low and pine-built hall,

       Where shields and axes decked the wall,

       They gorged upon the half-dressed steer;

       Caroused in seas of sable beer;

       While round, in brutal jest, were thrown

       The half-gnawed rib and marrowbone;

       Or listened all, in grim delight,

       While scalds yelled out the joys of fight.

       Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie,

       While wildly-loose their red locks fly,

       And dancing round the blazing pile,

       They make such barbarous mirth the while,

       As best might to the mind recall

       The boist’rous joys of Odin’s hall.

       And well our Christian sires of old

       Loved, when the year its course had rolled,

       And brought blithe Christmas back again,

       With all his hospitable train.

       Domestic and religious rite

       Gave honour to the holy night;

       On Christmas Eve the bells were rung;

       On Christmas Eve the mass was sung;

       That only night in all the year

       Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.

       The damsel donned her kirtle sheen;

       The hall was dressed with holly green;

       Forth to the wood did merry men go,

       To gather in the mistletoe.

      

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