buxom chief shall lead his hostFrom India’s fires to Zembla’s frost.
Resting upon his pilgrim staff, 80
Right opposite the Palmer stood;
His thin dark visage seen but half,
Half hidden by his hood.
Still fix’d on Marmion was his look,
Which he, who ill such gaze could brook, 85
Strove by a frown to quell;
But not for that, though more than once
Full met their stern encountering glance,
The Palmer’s visage fell.
By fits less frequent from the crowd 90
Was heard the burst of laughter loud;
For still, as squire and archer stared
On that dark face and matted beard,
Their glee and game declined.
All gazed at length in silence drear, 95
Unbroke, save when in comrade’s ear
Some yeoman, wondering in his fear,
Thus whispered forth his mind: -
‘Saint Mary! saw’st thou e’er such sight?
How pale his cheek, his eye how bright, 100
Whene’er the firebrand’s fickle light
Glances beneath his cowl!
Full on our Lord he sets his eye;
For his best palfrey, would not I
Endure that sullen scowl.’ 105
But Marmion, as to chase the awe
Which thus had quell’d their hearts, who saw
The ever-varying fire-light show
That figure stern and face of woe,
Now call’d upon a squire: – 110
‘Fitz-Eustace, know’st thou not some lay,
To speed the lingering night away?
We slumber by the fire.’-
‘So please you,’ thus the youth rejoin’d,
‘Our choicest minstrel’s left behind. 115
Ill may we hope to please your ear,
Accustom’d Constant’s strains to hear.
The harp full deftly can he strike,
And wake the lover’s lute alike;
To dear Saint Valentine, no thrush 120
Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush,
No nightingale her love-lorn tune
More sweetly warbles to the moon.
Woe to the cause, whate’er it be,
Detains from us his melody, 125
Lavish’d on rocks, and billows stern,
Or duller monks of Lindisfarne.
Now must I venture as I may,
To sing his favourite roundelay.’
A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had, 130
The air he chose was wild and sad;
Such have I heard, in Scottish land,
Rise from the busy harvest band,
When falls before the mountaineer,
On Lowland plains, the ripen’d ear. 135
Now one shrill voice the notes prolong,
Now a wild chorus swells the song:
Oft have I listen’d, and stood still,
As it came soften’d up the hill,
And deem’d it the lament of men 140
Who languish’d for their native glen;
And thought how sad would be such sound,
On Susquehanna’s swampy ground,
Kentucky’s wood-encumber’d brake,
Or wild Ontario’s boundless lake, 145
Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain,
Recall’d fair Scotland’s hills again!
Song
Where shall the lover rest,
Whom the fates sever
From his true maiden’s breast, 150
Parted for ever?
Where, through groves deep and high,
Sounds the far billow,
Where early violets die,
Under the willow. 155
CHORUS.
Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow.
There, through the summer day,
Cool streams are laving;
There, while the tempests sway,
Scarce are boughs waving; 160
There, thy rest shalt thou take,
Parted for ever,
Never again to wake,
Never, O never!
CHORUS.
Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never! 165
Where shall the traitor rest,
He, the deceiver,
Who could win maiden’s breast,
Ruin, and leave her?
In the lost battle, 170
Borne down by the flying,
Where mingles war’s rattle
With groans of the dying.
CHORUS.
Eleu loro, &c. There shall he be lying.
Her wing shall the eagle flap 175
O’er the false-hearted;
His warm blood the wolf shall lap,
Ere life be parted.
Shame and dishonour sit
By his grave ever; 180
Blessing shall hallow it, -
Never,
