THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Walter Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">       And broke the keys of Rome.

       On milk-white palfrey forth he paced;

       His cap of maintenance was graced

       With the proud heron-plume.

       From his steed’s shoulder, loin, and breast,

       Silk housings swept the ground,

       With Scotland’s arms, device, and crest,

       Embroidered round and round.

       The double tressure might you see,

       First by Achaius borne,

       The thistle and the fleur-de-lis,

       And gallant unicorn.

       So bright the king’s armorial coat,

       That scarce the dazzled eye could note,

       In living colours, blazoned brave,

       The lion, which his title gave;

       A train, which well beseemed his state,

       But all unarmed, around him wait.

       Still is thy name in high account,

       And still thy verse has charms,

       Sir David Lindesay of the Mount,

       Lord Lion King-at-Arms!

       VIII

      Down from his horse did Marmion spring,

       Soon as he saw the Lion-King;

       For well the stately baron knew

       To him such courtesy was due,

       Whom royal James himself had crowned,

       And on his temples placed the round

       Of Scotland’s ancient diadem;

       And wet his brow with hallowed wine,

       And on his finger given to shine

       The emblematic gem.

       Their mutual greetings duly made,

       The Lion thus his message said:-

       “Though Scotland’s king hath deeply swore

       Ne’er to knit faith with Henry more,

       And strictly hath forbid resort

       From England to his royal court;

       Yet, for he knows Lord Marmion’s name,

       And honours much his warlike fame,

       My liege hath deemed it shame, and lack

       Of courtesy, to turn him back:

       And, by his order, I, your guide,

       Must lodging fit and fair provide,

       Till finds King James meet time to see

       The flower of English chivalry.”

       IX

      Though inly chafed at this delay,

       Lord Marmion bears it as he may.

       The Palmer, his mysterious guide,

       Beholding thus his place supplied,

       Sought to take leave in vain:

       Strict was the Lion-King’s command,

       That none, who rode in Marmion’s band

       Should sever from the train:

       “England has here enow of spies

       In Lady Heron’s witching eyes:”

       To Marchmount thus, apart, he said,

       But fair pretext to Marmion made.

       The right hand path they now decline,

       And trace against the stream the Tyne.

       X

      At length up that wild dale they wind,

       Where Crichtoun Castle crowns the bank;

       For there the Lion’s care assigned

       A lodging meet for Marmion’s rank.

       That castle rises on the steep

       Of the green vale of Tyne:

       And far beneath, where slow they creep,

       From pool to eddy, dark and deep,

       Where alders moist, and willows weep,

       You hear her streams repine.

       The towers in different ages rose;

       Their various architecture shows

       The builders’ various hands:

       A mighty mass, that could oppose,

       When deadliest hatred fired its foes,

       The vengeful Douglas bands.

       XI

      Crichtoun! though now thy miry court

       But pens the lazy steer and sheep,

       Thy turrets rude and tottered keep,

       Have been the minstrel’s loved resort.

       Oft have I traced within thy fort,

       Of mouldering shields the mystic sense,

       Scutcheons of honour or pretence,

       Quartered in old armorial sort,

       Remains of rude magnificence.

       Nor wholly yet had time defaced

       Thy lordly gallery fair;

       Nor yet the stony cord unbraced,

       Whose twisted knots, with roses laced,

       Adorn thy ruined stair.

       Still rises unimpaired below,

       The courtyard’s graceful portico;

       Above its cornice, row and row

       Of fair hewn facets richly show

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