Marmion. Walter Scott

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Marmion - Walter Scott


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’Tis meet that I should tell you now,

       How fairly arm’d, and order’d how,

       The soldiers of the guard,

       With musket, pike, and morion, 130

       To welcome noble Marmion,

       Stood in the Castle-yard;

       Minstrels and trumpeters were there,

       The gunner held his linstock yare,

       For welcome-shot prepared: 135

       Enter’d the train, and such a clang,

       As then through all his turrets rang,

       Old Norham never heard.

       X.

       The guards their morrice-pikes advanced,

       The trumpets flourish’d brave, 140

       The cannon from the ramparts glanced,

       And thundering welcome gave.

       A blithe salute, in martial sort,

       The minstrels well might sound,

       For, as Lord Marmion cross’d the court, 145

       He scatter’d angels round.

       ‘Welcome to Norham, Marmion!

       Stout heart, and open hand!

       Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan,

       Thou flower of English land!’ 150

       XI.

       Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck,

       With silver scutcheon round their neck,

       Stood on the steps of stone,

       By which you reach the donjon gate,

       And there, with herald pomp and state, 155

       They hail’d Lord Marmion:

       They hail’d him Lord of Fontenaye,

       Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye,

       Of Tamworth tower and town;

       And he, their courtesy to requite, 160

       Gave them a chain of twelve marks’ weight,

       All as he lighted down.

       ‘Now, largesse, largesse, Lord Marmion,

       Knight of the crest of gold!

       A blazon’d shield, in battle won, 165

       Ne’er guarded heart so bold.’

       XII.

       They marshall’d him to the Castle-hall,

       Where the guests stood all aside,

       And loudly nourish’d the trumpet-call,

       And the heralds loudly cried, 170

       --‘Room, lordings, room for Lord Marmion,

       With the crest and helm of gold!

       Full well we know the trophies won

       In the lists at Cottiswold:

       There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove 175

       ’Gainst Marmion’s force to stand;

       To him he lost his lady-love,

       And to the King his land.

       Ourselves beheld the listed field,

       A sight both sad and fair; 180

       We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield,

       And saw his saddle bare;

       We saw the victor win the crest,

       He wears with worthy pride;

       And on the gibbet-tree, reversed, 185

       His foeman’s scutcheon tied.

       Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight!

       Room, room, ye gentles gay,

       For him who conquer’d in the right,

       Marmion of Fontenaye!’ 190

       XIII.

       Then stepp’d, to meet that noble Lord,

       Sir Hugh the Heron bold,

       Baron of Twisell, and of Ford,

       And Captain of the Hold.

       He led Lord Marmion to the deas, 195

       Raised o’er the pavement high,

       And placed him in the upper place

       They feasted full and high;

       The whiles a Northern harper rude

       Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, 200

       ‘How the fierce Thirwalls, and Ridleys all,

       Stout Willimondswick,

       And Hardriding Dick,

       And Hughie of Hawdon, and Will o’ the Wall,

       Have set on Sir Albany Featherstonhaugh, 205

       And taken his life at the Deadman’s-shaw.’

       Scantly Lord Marmion’s ear could brook

       The harper’s barbarous lay;

       Yet much he praised the pains he took,

       And well those pains did pay 210

       For lady’s suit, and minstrel’s strain,

       By knight should ne’er be heard in vain,

       XIV.

       ‘Now, good Lord Marmion,’ Heron says,

       ‘Of your fair courtesy,

       I pray you bide some little space 215

       In this poor tower with me.

       Here may you keep your arms from rust,

       May breathe your war-horse well;

       Seldom hath pass’d a week but giust

       Or feat of arms befell: 220

       The Scots can rein a mettled steed;

       And love to couch a spear:-

       Saint George! a stirring life they lead,

       That have such neighbours near.

       Then stay with us a little space, 225

       Our northern wars to learn;

       I pray you, for your lady’s grace!’-

       Lord Marmion’s brow grew stern.

       XV.

       The Captain mark’d his alter’d look,

       And gave a squire the sign; 230

       A mighty wassell-bowl he took,

       And crown’d it high with wine.

       ‘Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion:

       But first I pray thee fair,

       Where hast thou left that page of thine, 235

       That used to serve thy cup of wine,

       Whose beauty was so rare?

       When last in Raby towers we met,

       The boy I closely eyed,

       And often mark’d his cheeks were wet, 240

       With tears he fain would hide:

       His was no rugged horse-boy’s hand,

       To burnish shield or sharpen brand,

       Or saddle battle-steed;

       But meeter seem’d for lady fair, 245

       To fan her cheek, or curl her hair,

       Or through embroidery, rich and rare,

       The slender silk to lead:

       His skin was fair, his ringlets gold,

      


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