Across the furzy hills of Braid.
They pass'd the glen and scanty rill,
And climb'd the opposing bank, until
They gain'd the top of Blackford Hill,

XXIV.

Blackford! on whose uncultured breast,
Among the broom, and thorn, and whin,
A truant boy, I sought the nest,
Or listed, as I lay at rest,

While rose, on breezes thin,
The murmur of the city crowd,
And, from his steeple jangling loud,
Saint Giles's mingling din.

Now, from the summit to the plain,
Waves all the hill with yellow grain;
And o'er the landscape as I look,
Naught do I see unchanged remain,

Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook.
To me they make a heavy moan,
Of early friendships past and gone.

For from Hebudes, dark with rain,
To eastern Lodon's fertile plain,
And from the southern Redswire edge,
To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge;

1 MS.-"But, oh! far different change has been,
Since Marmion, from the crown
Of Blackford-hill, upon the scene
Of Scotland's war look'd down."

See Appendix, Note 3 E.
MS.-"A thousand said the verse? I ween,
Thousands on thousands there were seen,
That whiten'd all the heath between."

4 Here ends the stanza in the MS.

Seven culverins so called, cast by one Borthwick.

From west to east, from north to south,
Scotland sent all her warriors forth.
Marmion might hear the mingled hum
Of myriads up the mountain come:
The horses' tramp, and tingling clank,
Where chiefs review'd their vassal rank,
And charger's shrilling neigh;

And see the shifting lines advance,

While frequent flash'd, from shield and lance, The sun's reflected ray.

XXVII.

Thin curling in the morning air,

The wreaths of failing smoke declare

To embers now the brands decay'd,

Where the night-watch their fires had made.
They saw, slow rolling on the plain,
Full many a baggage-cart and wain,
And dire artillery's clumsy car,

By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war;

And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven,
And culverins which France had given.
Ill-omen'd gift! the guns remain
The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain.

XXVIII.

Nor mark'd they less, where in the air
A thousand streamers flaunted fair;
Various in shape, device, and hue,
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,
Broad, narrow, swallow-tail'd, and square,
Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol, there
O'er the pavilions flew."

Highest and midmost, was descried
The royal banner floating wide;

The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,"
Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,
Which still in memory is shown,

Yet bent beneath the standard's weight Whene'er the western wind unroll'd, With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold, And gave to view the dazzling field, Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield, The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold.'

Until within him burn'd his heart, And lightning from his eye did part, As on the battle-day;

Such glance did falcon never dart, When stooping on his prey. "Ob! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said, Thy King from warfare to dissuade

Were but a vain essay:

For, by Saint George, were that host mine,
Not power infernal, nor divine,

Should once to peace my soul incline,

Till I had dimm'd their armor's shine

In glorious battle-fray!"

Answer'd the Bard, of milder mood:

"Fair is the sight, and yet 'twere good,

That kings would think withal,

When peace and wealth their land has bless'd, 'Tis better to sit still at rest,'

Than rise, perchance to fall."

XXX.

Still on the spot Lord Marmion stay'd,
For fairer scene he ne'er survey'd.
When sated with the martial show
That peopled all the plain below,
The wandering eye could o'er it go,
And mark the distant city glow
With gloomy splendor red;

For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow,
That round her sable turrets flow,

The morning beams were shed,
And tinged them with a lustre proud,
Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud.
Such dusky grandeur clothed the height,
Where the huge Castle holds its state,

And all the steep slope down,
Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky,
Piled deep and massy, close and high,
Mine own romantic town!"
But northward far, with purer blaze,
On Ochil mountains fell the rays,
And as each heathy top they kiss'd,
It gleam'd a purple amethyst.
Yonder the shores of Fife you saw;
Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-Law:
And, broad between them roll'd,
The gallant Frith the eye might note,
Whose islands on its bosom float,

Like emeralds chased in gold.
Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent;

MS.-"'Tis better sitting still at rest,
Than rising but to fall;

And while these words they did exchange,
They reach'd the camp's extremest range."

The Poet appears to have struck his pen through the two lines in italies, on conceiving the magnificent picture which replaces them in the text.

MS-" Dan-Edin's towers and town."

As if to give his rapture vent, The spur he to his charger lent,

And raised his bridle hand,

And, making demi-volte in air,

Cried, "Where's the coward that would not dare
To fight for such a land!"

The Lindesay smiled his joy to see;3
Nor Marmion's frown repress'd his glee.

XXXI.

Thus while they look'd a flourish proud,
Where mingled trump and clarion loud,
And fife, and kettle-drum,
And sackbut deep, and psaltery,
And war-pipe with discordant cry,
And cymbal clattering to the sky,
Making wild music bold and high,

Did up the mountain come;

The whilst the bells, with distant chime,
Merrily toll'd the hour of prime,
And thus the Lindesay spoke

"Thus clamor still the war-notes when
The king to mass his way has ta'en,
Or to St. Katharine's of Sienne,"

Or Chapel of Saint Rocque. To you they speak of martial fame; · But me remind of peaceful game, When blither was their cheer, Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air, In signal none his steed should spare, But strive which foremost might repair To the downfall of the decr.

XXXII.

"Nor less," he said," when looking forth,
I view yon Empress of the North
Sit on her hilly throne;
Her palace's imperial bowers,
Her castle, proof to hostile powers,
Her stately halls and holy towers-
Nor less," he said, "I moan,

To think what woe mischance may bring,
And how these merry bells may ring
The death-dirge of our gallant king;
Or with the larum call

The burghers forth to watch and ward,
'Gainst southern sack and fires to guard
Dun-Edin's leaguer'd wall.—

But not for my presaging thought,
Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought!

Lord Marmion, I say nay: God is the guider of the field,

He breaks the champion's spear and shiela,—
But thou thyself shalt say,

When joins yon host in deadly stowre,
That England's dames must weep in bower,
Her monks the death-mass sing;
For never saw'st thou such a power

Led on by such a King."-
And now, down winding to the plain,
The barriers of the camp they gain,

And there they made a stay.—
There stays the Minstrel, till he fling
His hand o'er every Border string,
And fit his harp the pomp to sing,
Of Scotland's ancient Court and King,
In the succeeding lay.

Marmion.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH.?

TO

GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ.3

Edinburgh.

WHEN dark December glooms the day,
And takes our autumn joys away;
When short and scant the sunbeam throws,
Upon the weary waste of snows,

A cold and profitless regard,
Like patron on a needy bard;
When silvan occupation's done,
And o'er the chimney rests the gun,
And hang, in idle trophy, near,
The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear;
When wiry terrier, rough and grim,
And greyhound, with his length of limb,
And pointer, now employ'd no more,
Cumber our parlor's narrow floor;
When in his stall the impatient steed
Is long condemn'd to rest and feed;
When from our snow-encircled home,
Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam,
Since path is none, save that to bring

1 MS.-"Their monks dead masses sing." 2"These Introductory Epistles, though excellent in themselves, are in fact only interruptions to the fable, and accordingly, nine readers out of ten have perused them separately, either before, or after the poem. In short, the personal appearance of the Minstrel, who, though the Last, is the most charming of all minstrels, is by no means compensated by the idea of an author shorn of his picturesque beard, and writing letters to his intimate friends."-GEORGE ELLIS.

This accomplished gentleman, the well-known coadjutor of Mr. Canning and Mr. Frere in the "Antijacobin," and editor of "Specimens of Ancient English Romances," &c., died

The needful water from the spring;
When wrinkled news-page, thrice conn'd o'er,
Beguiles the dreary hour no more,
And darkling politician, cross'd,
Inveighs against the lingering post,
And answering housewife sore complains
Of carriers' snow-impeded wains;
When such the country cheer, I come,
Well pleased, to seek our city home;
For converse, and for books, to change
The Forest's melancholy range,
And welcome, with renew'd delight,
The busy day and social night.

Not here need my desponding rhyme Lament the ravages of time,

As erst by Newark's riven towers,
And Ettrick stripp'd of forest bowers,
True, Caledonia's Queen is changed,
Since on her dusky summit ranged,
Within its steepy limits pent,
By bulwark, line, and battlement,
And flanking towers, and laky flood,
Guarded and garrison'd she stood,
Denying entrance or resort,

Save at each tall embattled port:
Above whose arch, suspended, hung
Portcullis spiked with iron prong.
That long is gone,-but not so long,
Since, early closed, and opening late,
Jealous revolved the studded gate,
Whose task, from eve to morning tide,
A wicket churlishly supplied.
Stern then, and steel-girt was thy brow,
Dun-Edin! O, how alter'd now,
When safe amid thy mountain court
Thou sit'st, like Empress at her sport,
And liberal, unconfined and free,
Flinging thy white arms to the sea,
For thy dark cloud, with umber'd lower,
That hung o'er cliff, and lake, and tower,
Thou gleam'st against the western ray
Ten thousand lines of brighter day.

Not she, the Championess of old, In Spenser's magic tale enroll'd, She for the charmed spear renown'd

10th April, 1815, aged 70 years; being succeeded in his estates by his brother Charles Ellis, Esq., created, in 1827, Lord Sea ford.-ED.

4 See Introduction to canto ii.

5 See Appendix, Note 3 H.

e Since writing this line, I find I have inadvertently borrow ed it almost verbatim, though with somewhat a different mean ing, from a chorus in "Caractacus ;"

"Britain heard the descant bold,

She flung her white arms o'er the sea,
Proud in her leafy bosom to enfold

The freight of harmony."

Which forced each knight to kiss the ground,—
Not she more changed, when, placed at rest,
What time she was Malbecco's guest,'
She gave to flow her maiden vest;
When from the corslet's grasp relieved,
Free to the sight her bosom heaved;
Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile,
Erst hidden by the aventayle;

And down her shoulders graceful roll'd
Her locks profuse, of paly gold.
They who whilom, in midnight fight,
Had marvell'd at her matchless might,
No less her maiden charms approved,
But looking liked, and liking loved.'
The sight could jealous pangs beguile,
And charm Malbecco's cares a while;
And he, the wandering Squire of Dames,
Forgot his Columbella's claims,

And passion, erst unknown, could gain
The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane;
Nor durst light Paridel advance,
Bold as he was, a looser glance.

She charm'd, at once, and tamed the heart,
Incomparable Britomarte!

So thou, fair city! disarray'd Of battled wall, and rampart's aid, As stately seem'st, but lovelier far Than in that panoply of war. Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne Strength and security are flown; Still, as of yore, Queen of the North! Still canst thou send thy children forth. Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call Thy burghers rose to man thy wall, Than now, in danger, shall be thine, Thy dauntless voluntary line; For fosse and turret proud to stand, Their breasts the bulwarks of the land. Thy thousands, train'd to martial toil, Full red would stain their native soil, Ere from thy mural crown there fell The slightest knosp, or pinnacle. And if it come,-as come it may, Dun-Edin! that eventful day,Renown'd for hospitable deed, That virtue much with heaven may plead, In patriarchal times whose care Descending angels deign'd to share; That claim may wrestle blessings down On those who fight for The Good Town,

1 See "The Fairy Queen," book iii. canto ix. "For every one her liked, and every one her loved." SPENSER, as above.

1800 Appendix, Note 3 I.

In January, 1796, the exiled Count d'Artois, afterwards Charles X. of France, took up his residence in Holyrood, where

But who shall teach my harp to gain
A sound of the romantic strain,
Whose Anglo-Norman tones whilere
Could win the royal Henry's ear,
Famed Beauclerc call'd, for that he loved
The minstrel, and his lay approved?
Who shall these lingering notes redeem,
Decaying on Oblivion's stream;

Such notes as from the Breton tongue
Marie translated, Blondel sung ?-
O! born, Time's ravage to repair,
And make the dying Muse thy care,
Who, when his scythe her hoary foe
Was poising for the final blow,
The weapon from his hand could wring,
And break his glass, and shear his wing,
And bid, reviving in his strain,
The gentle poet live again;
Thou, who canst give to lightest lay
An unpedantic moral gay,

Nor less the dullest theme bid flit
On wings of unexpected wit;
In letters as in life approved
Example honor'd, and beloved,-
Dear ELLIS! to the bard impart
A lesson of thy magic art,

To win at once the head and heart,

he remained until August, 1799. When again driven from his country by the Revolution of July, 1830, the same unfortunate Prince, with all the immediate members of his family, sought refuge once more in the ancient palace of the Stuarts, and remained there until 18th September, 1832.

MS." Than gaze out on the foggy fen."
See Appendix, Note 3 K.

At once to charm, instruct and mend, My guide, my pattern, and my friend!

Such minstrel lesson to bestow Be long thy pleasing task,-but, O! No more by thy example teach, -What few can practise, all can preach,— With even patience to endure Lingering disease, and painful cure, And boast affliction's pangs subdued By mild and manly fortitude. Enough, the lesson has been given: Forbid the repetition, Heaven!

Come listen, then! for thou hast known, And loved the Minstrel's varying tone, Who, like his Border sires of old, Waked a wild measure rude and bold, Till Windsor's oaks, and Ascot plain, With wonder heard the northern strain." Come listen! bold in thy applause, The Bard shall scorn pedantic laws; And, as the ancient art could stain Achievements on the storied pane, Irregularly traced and plann'd, But yet so glowing and so grand,— So shall he strive, in changeful hue, Field, feast, and combat to renew, And loves, and arms, and harpers' glee, And all the pomp of chivalry.

Marmion.

CANTO FIFTH.

The Court.

I.

THE train has left the hills of Braid; The barrier guard have open made (So Lindesay bade) the palisade,

That closed the tented ground; Their men the warders backward drew, And carried pikes as they rode through, Into its ample bound."

Fast ran the Scottish warriors there,

1 "Come then, my friend, my genius, come along, Oh master of the poet and the song!"

Pope to Bolingbroke.

2 At Sunning-hill, Mr. Ellis's seat, near Windsor, part of the first two cantos of Marmion were written.

MS.-"The barrier guard the Lion knew,

Advanced their pikes, and soon withdrew
The slender palisades and few

That closed the tented ground;

Upon the Southern band to stare.
And envy with their wonder rose,
To see such well-appointed foes;
Such length of shafts, such mighty bows,*
So huge, that many simply thought,
But for a vaunt such weapons wrought;
And little deem'd their force to feel,
Through links of mail and plates of steel,
When rattling upon Flodden vale,
The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail

II.

Nor less did Marmion's skilful view
Glance every line and squadron through;
And much he marvell'd one small land
Could marshal forth such various band:
For men-at-arms were here,
Heavily sheathed in mail and plate,
Like iron towers for strength and weight,
On Flemish steeds of bone and height,
With battle-axe and spear.
Young knights and squires, a lighter train,
Practised their chargers on the plain,
By aid of leg, of hand, and rein,

Each warlike feat to show,
Το pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain,
And high curvett, that not in vain
The sword sway might descend amain
On foeman's casque below.
He saw the hardy burghers there
March arm'd, on foot, with faces bare,

For visor they wore none,

Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight; But burnish'd were their corslets bright, Their brigantines, and gorgets light,

Like very silver shone.

Long pikes they had for standing fight,
Two-handed swords they wore,
And many wielded mace of weight,
And bucklers bright they bore.