Seem’d in mine ear a death-peal rung, Such as in nunneries they toll For some departing sister’s soul? Say, what may this portend?’- Then first the Palmer silence broke, (The livelong day he had not spoke) ‘The death of a dear friend.’
XIV.
Marmion, whose steady heart and eye Ne’er changed in worst extremity; Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, Even from his King, a haughty look;Whose accents of command controll’d, In camps, the boldest of the bold- Thought, look, and utterance fail’d him now, Fall’n was his glance, and flush’d his brow: For either in the tone, Or something in the Palmer’s look, So full upon his conscience strook, That answer he found none.Thus oft it haps, that when within They shrink at sense of secret sin, A feather daunts the brave; A fool’s wild speech confounds the wise, And proudest princes vail their eyes Before their meanest slave.
XV.
Well might he falter!-By his aid Was Constance Beverley betray’d.Not that he augur’d of the doom, Which on the living closed the tomb: But, tired to hear the desperate maid Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid;And wroth, because, in wild despair, She practised on the life of Clare; Its fugitive the Church he gave, Though not a victim, but a slave;And deem’d restraint in convent strange Would hide her wrongs, and her revenge, Himself, proud Henry’s favourite peer, Held Romish thunders idle fear, Secure his pardon he might hold, For some slight mulct of penance-gold.Thus judging, he gave secret way, When the stern priests surprised their prey. His train but deem’d the favourite page Was left behind, to spare his age; Or other if they deem’d, none dared To mutter what he thought and heard: Woe to the vassal, who durst pry Into Lord Marmion’s privacy!
XVI.
His conscience slept-he deem’d her well, And safe secured in yonder cell;But, waken’d by her favourite lay,
