Marmion

When, pouring from their Highland height, 
The Scottish clans, in headlong sway,         
Had swept the scarlet ranks away.

While stretch’d at length upon the floor, 
Again I fought each combat o’er, 
Pebbles and shells, in order laid, 
The mimic ranks of war display’d;

And onward still the Scottish Lion bore, 
And still the scattered Southron fled before. 

  Still, with vain fondness, could I trace, 
Anew, each kind familiar face, 
That brighten’d at our evening fire! 
From the thatch’d mansion’s grey-hair’d Sire, 
Wise without learning, plain and good, 
And sprung of Scotland’s gentler blood;

Whose eye, in age, quick, clear, and keen, 
Show’d what in youth its glance had been; 
Whose doom discording neighbours sought, 
Content with equity unbought;

To him the venerable Priest, 
Our frequent and familiar guest, 
Whose life and manners well could paint 
Alike the student and the saint;

Alas! whose speech too oft I broke 
With gambol rude and timeless joke: 
For I was wayward, bold, and wild, 
A self-will’d imp, a grandame’s child;

But half a plague, and half a jest, 
Was still endured, beloved, caress’d.

  From me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask 
The classic poet’s well-conn’d task? 
Nay, Erskine, nay-On the wild hill          
Let the wild heath-bell flourish still;

Cherish the tulip, prune the vine, 
But freely let the woodbine twine, 
And leave untrimm’d the eglantine: 
Nay, my friend, nay-Since oft thy praise 
Hath given fresh vigour to my lays;

Since oft thy judgment could refine 
My flatten’d thought, or cumbrous line; 
Still kind, as is thy wont, attend, 
And in the minstrel spare the friend.

Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale, 
Flow forth, flow unrestrain’d, my Tale!

CANTO THIRD. THE HOSTEL, OR INN.

I.

The livelong day Lord Marmion rode: 
The mountain path the Palmer show’d 
By glen and streamlet winded still, 
Where stunted birches hid the rill.

They might not choose the lowland road, 
For the Merse forayers were abroad, 
Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey, 
Had scarcely fail’d to bar their way.

Oft on the trampling band, from crown 
Of some tall cliff, the deer look’d down; 
On wing of jet, from his repose 
In the deep heath, the black-cock rose;

Sprung from the gorse the timid roe,