Marmion Read online

  Day set on Norham’s castled steep,

  And Tweed’s fair river, broad and deep,

  And Cheviot’s mountains lone:

  The battled towers, the donjon keep,

  The loophole grates, where captives weep,

  The flanking walls that round it sweep,

  In yellow lustre shone.

  The warriors on the turrets high,

  Moving athwart the evening sky,

  Seem’d forms of giant height:

  Their armour, as it caught the rays,

  Flash’d back again the western blaze,

  In lines of dazzling light.

  II.

  Saint George’s banner, broad and gay,

  Now faded, as the fading ray

  Less bright, and less, was flung;

  The evening gale had scarce the power

  To wave it on the Donjon Tower,

  So heavily it hung.

  The scouts had parted on their search,

  The Castle gates were barr’d;

  Above the gloomy portal arch,

  Timing his footsteps to a march,

  The Warder kept his guard;

  Low humming, as he paced along,

  Some ancient Border gathering-song.

  III.

  A distant trampling sound he hears;

  He looks abroad, and soon appears,

  O’er Horncliff-hill a plump of spears,

  Beneath a pennon gay;

  A horseman, darting from the crowd,

  Like lightning from a summer cloud,

  Spurs on his mettled courser proud,

  Before the dark array.

  Beneath the sable palisade,

  That closed the Castle barricade,

  His buglehorn he blew;

  The warder hasted from the wall,

  And warn’d the Captain in the hall,

  For well the blast he knew;

  And joyfully that knight did call,

  To sewer, squire, and seneschal.

  IV.

  ‘Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie,

  Bring pasties of the doe,

  And quickly make the entrance free

  And bid my heralds ready be,

  And every minstrel sound his glee,

  And all our trumpets blow;

  And, from the platform, spare ye not

  To fire a noble salvo-shot;

  Lord MARMION waits below!’

  Then to the Castle’s lower ward

  Sped forty yeomen tall,

  The iron-studded gates unbarr’d,

  Raised the portcullis’ ponderous guard,

  The lofty palisade unsparr’d,

  And let the drawbridge fall.

  V.

  Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode,

  Proudly his red-roan charger trode,

  His helm hung at the saddlebow;

  Well by his visage you might know

  He was a stalworth knight, and keen,

  And had in many a battle been;

  The scar on his brown cheek reveal’d

  A token true of Bosworth field;

  His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire,

  Show’d spirit proud, and prompt to ire;

  Yet lines of thought upon his cheek

  Did deep design and counsel speak.

  His forehead by his casque worn bare,

  His thick mustache, and curly hair,

  Coal-black, and grizzled here and there,

  But more through toil than age;

  His square-turn’d joints, and strength of limb,

  Show’d him no carpet knight so trim,

  But in close fight a champion grim,

  In camps a leader sage.

  VI.

  Well was he arm’d from head to heel,

  In mail and plate of Milan steel;

  But his strong helm, of mighty cost,

  Was all with burnish’d gold emboss’d;

  Amid the plumage of the crest,

  A falcon hover’d on her nest,

  With wings outspread, and forward breast;

  E’en such a falcon, on his shield,

  Soar’d sable in an azure field:

  The golden legend bore aright,

  Who checks at me, to death is dight.

  Blue was the charger’s broider’d rein;

  Blue ribbons deck’d his arching mane;

  The knightly housing’s ample fold

  Was velvet blue, and trapp’d with gold.

  VII.

  Behind him rode two gallant squires,

  Of noble name, and knightly sires;

  They burn’d the gilded spurs to claim:

  For well could each a warhorse tame,

  Could draw the bow, the sword could sway,

  And lightly bear the ring away;

  Nor less with courteous precepts stored,

  Could dance in hall, and carve at board,

  And frame love-ditties passing rare,

  And sing them to a lady fair.

  VIII.

  Four men-at-arms came at their backs,

  With halbert, bill, and battle-axe:

  They bore Lord Marmion’s lance so strong,

  And led his sumpter-mules along,

  And ambling palfrey, when at need

  Him listed ease his battle-steed.

  The last and trustiest of the four,

  On high his forky pennon bore;

  Like swallow’s tail, in shape and hue,

  Flutter’d the streamer glossy blue,

  Where, blazon’d sable, as before,

  The towering falcon seem’d to soar.

  Last, twenty yeomen, two and two,

  In hosen black, and jerkins blue,

  With falcons broider’d on each breast,

  Attended on their lord’s behest.

  Each, chosen for an archer good,

  Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood;

  Each one a six-foot bow could bend,

  And far a cloth-yard shaft could send;

  Each held a boar-spear tough and strong,

  And at their belts their quivers rung.

  Their dusty palfreys, and array,

  Show’d they had march’d a weary way.

  IX.

  ‘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,

  To welcome noble Marmion,

  Stood in the Castle-yard;

  Minstrels and trumpeters were there,

  The gunner held his linstock yare,

  For welcome-shot prepared:

  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,

  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,

  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!’

  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,

  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,

  Gave them a chain of twelve marks’ weight,

  All as he lighted down.

  ‘Now, largesse, largesse, Lord Marmion,

&n
bsp; Knight of the crest of gold!

  A blazon’d shield, in battle won,

  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,

  ―‘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

  ‘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;

  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,

  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!’

  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,

  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,

  ‘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,

  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

  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

  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:

  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,

  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;

  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,

  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,

  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,

  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,

  His bosom-when he sigh’d,

  The russet doublet’s rugged fold

  Could scarce repel its pride!

  Say, hast thou given that lovely youth

  To serve in lady’s bower?

  Or was the gentle page, in sooth,

  A gentle paramour?’

  XVI.

  Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest;

  He roll’d his kindling eye,

  With pain his rising wrath suppress’d,

  Yet made a calm reply:

  ‘That boy thou thought’st so goodly fair,

  He might not brook the northern air.

  More of his fate if thou wouldst learn,

  I left him sick in Lindisfarn:

  Enough of him.-But, Heron, say,

  Why does thy lovely lady gay

  Disdain to grace the hall to-day?

  Or has that dame, so fair and sage,

  Gone on some pious pilgrimage?’-

  He spoke in covert scorn, for fame

  Whisper’d light tales of Heron’s dame.

  XVII.

  Unmark’d, at least unreck’d, the taunt,

  Careless the Knight replied,

  ‘No bird, whose feathers gaily flaunt,

  Delights in cage to bide:

  Norham is grim and grated close,

  Hemm’d in by battlement and fosse,

  And many a darksome tower;

  And better loves my lady bright

  To sit in liberty and light,

  In fair Queen Margaret’s bower.

  We hold our greyhound in our hand,

  Our falcon on our glove;

  But where shall we find leash or band,

  For dame that loves to rove?

  Let the wild falcon soar her swing,

  She’ll stoop when she has tired her wing.’―

  XVIII.

  ‘Nay, if with Royal James’s bride

  The lovely Lady Heron bide,

  Behold me here a messenger,

  Your tender greetings prompt to bear;

  For, to the Scottish court address’d,

  I journey at our King’s behest,

  And pray you, of your grace, provide

  For me, and mine, a trusty guide.

  I have not ridden in Scotland since

  James back’d the cause of that mock prince,

  Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit,

  Who on the gibbet paid the cheat.

  Then did I march with Surrey’s power,

  What time we razed old Ayton tower.’-

  XIX.

  ‘For such-like need, my lord, I trow,

  Norham can find you guides enow;

  For here be some have prick’d as far,

  On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar;

  Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan’s ale,

  And driven the beeves of Lauderdale;

  Harried the wives of Greenlaw’s goods,

  And given them light to set their hoods.’-

  XX.

  ‘Now, in good sooth,’ Lord Marmion cried,

  ‘Were I in warlike wise to ride,

  A better guard I would not lack,

  Than your stout forayers at my back;

  But as in form of peace I go,

  A friendly messenger, to know,

  Why through all Scotland, near and far,

  Their King is mustering troops for war,

  The sight of plundering Border spears

  Might justify suspicious fears,

  And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil,

  Break out in some unseemly broil:

  A herald were my fitting guide;

  Or friar, sworn in peace to bide;

  Or pardoner, or travelling priest,

  Or strolling pilgrim, at the least.’

  XXI.

  The Captain mused a little space,

  And pass’d his hand across hi
s face.

  -’Fain would I find the guide you want,

  But ill may spare a pursuivant,

  The only men that safe can ride

  Mine errands on the Scottish side:

  And though a bishop built this fort,

  Few holy brethren here resort;

  Even our good chaplain, as I ween,

  Since our last siege, we have not seen:

  The mass he might not sing or say,

  Upon one stinted meal a-day;

  So, safe he sat in Durham aisle,

  And pray’d for our success the while.

  Our Norham vicar, woe betide,

  Is all too well in case to ride;

  The priest of Shoreswood-he could rein

  The wildest war-horse in your train;

  But then, no spearman in the hall

  Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl.

  Friar John of Tillmouth were the man:

  A blithesome brother at the can,

  A welcome guest in hall and bower,

  He knows each castle, town, and tower,