Marmion

Room, room, ye gentles gay,
For him who conquer’d in the right,
Marmion of Fontenaye!’                                  190

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,                          195
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,                            200
‘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,              205
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                          210
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                          215
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:                                  220
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,                          225
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;                              230
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,                  235
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,                      240
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,                          245
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,                              250
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,                          255
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:                                  260
‘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,                          265
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                        270
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:                                275
Norham is grim and grated close,