THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Walter Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">       He wore a cap and shirt of mail;

       And leaned his large and wrinkled hand

       Upon the huge and sweeping brand

       Which wont of yore, in battle fray,

       His foeman’s limbs to shred away,

       As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.

       He seemed as, from the tombs around

       Rising at Judgment-Day,

       Some giant Douglas may be found

       In all his old array;

       So pale his face, so huge his limb,

       So old his arms, his look so grim.

       XII

      Then at the altar Wilton kneels,

       And Clare the spurs bound on his heels;

       And think what next he must have felt

       At buckling of the falchion belt!

       And judge how Clara changed her hue,

       While fastening to her lover’s side

       A friend, which, though in danger tried,

       He once had found untrue!

       Then Douglas struck him with his blade:

       “Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid,

       I dub thee knight.

       Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton’s heir!

       For king, for church, for lady fair,

       See that thou fight.”

       And Bishop Gawain, as he rose,

       Said—”Wilton! grieve not for thy woes,

       Disgrace, and trouble;

       For he, who honour best bestows,

       May give thee double.”

       De Wilton sobbed, for sob he must -

       “Where’er I meet a Douglas, trust

       That Douglas is my brother!”

       “Nay, nay,” old Douglas said, “not so;

       To Surrey’s camp thou now must go,

       Thy wrongs no longer smother.

       I have two sons in yonder field;

       And, if thou meet’st them under shield

       Upon them bravely—do thy worst;

       And foul fall him that blenches first!”

       XIII

      Not far advanced was morning day,

       When Marmion did his troop array,

       To Surrey’s camp to ride;

       He had safeconduct for his band,

       Beneath the royal seal and hand,

       And Douglas gave a guide:

       The ancient earl, with stately grace,

       Would Clara on her palfrey place,

       And whispered in an undertone,

       “Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown.”

       The train from out the castle drew,

       But Marmion stopped to bid adieu:-

       “Though something I might plain,” he said,

       “Of cold respect to stranger guest,

       Sent hither by your king’s behest,

       While in Tantallon’s towers I stayed;

       Part we in friendship from your land,

       And, noble earl, receive my hand.”

       But Douglas round him drew his cloak,

       Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:

       “My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still

       Be open, at my sovereign’s will,

       To each one whom he lists, howe’er

       Unmeet to be the owner’s peer.

       My castles are my king’s alone,

       From turret to foundation-stone -

       The hand of Douglas is his own;

       And never shall in friendly grasp

       The hand of such as Marmion clasp.”

       XIV

      Burned Marmion’s swarthy cheek like fire,

       And shook his very frame for ire,

       And—”This to me!” he said;

       “‘An ‘twere not for thy hoary head,

       Such hand as Marmion’s had not spared

       To cleave the Douglas’ head!

       And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer,

       He who does England’s message here,

       Although the meanest in her state,

       May well, proud Angus, be thy mate:

       And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,

       Even in thy pitch of pride,

       Here in thy hold, thy vassals near -

       Nay, never look upon your lord,

       And lay your hands upon your sword -

       I tell thee, thou’rt defied!

       And if thou said’st, I am not peer

       To any lord in Scotland here,

       Lowland or Highland, far or near,

       Lord Angus, thou hast lied!”

       On the Earl’s cheek the flush of rage

       O’ercame the ashen hue of age:

       Fierce he broke forth—”And dar’st thou then

       To beard the lion in СКАЧАТЬ