The air must cool my feverish blood; And fain would I ride forth, to see The scene of elfin chivalry.Arise, and saddle me my steed; And, gentle Eustace, take good heed Thou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves; I would not, that the prating knaves Had cause for saying, o’er their ale, That I could credit such a tale.’-Then softly down the steps they slid, Eustace the stable door undid, And, darkling, Marmion’s steed array’d, While, whispering, thus the Baron said:-
XXIX.
‘Did’st never, good my youth, hear tell, That on the hour when I was born, Saint George, who graced my sire’s chapelle, Down from his steed of marble fell, A weary wight forlorn?The flattering chaplains all agree, The champion left his steed to me. I would, the omen’s truth to show, That I could meet this Elfin Foe!Blithe would I battle, for the right To ask one question at the sprite: Vain thought! for elves, if elves there be, An empty race, by fount or sea, To dashing waters dance and sing, Or round the green oak wheel their ring.’Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode, And from the hostel slowly rode.
XXX.
Fitz-Eustace follow’d him abroad, And mark’d him pace the village road, And listen’d to his horse’s tramp, Till, by the lessening sound, He judged that of the Pictish camp Lord Marmion sought the round. Wonder it seem’d, in the squire’s eyes, That one, so wary held, and wise,? Of whom ‘twas said, he scarce received For gospel, what the Church believed,- Should, stirr’d by idle tale, Ride forth in silence of the night, As hoping half to meet a sprite, Array’d in plate and mail.For little did Fitz-Eustace know, That passions, in contending flow, Unfix the strongest mind; Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee, We welcome fond credulity, Guide confident, though blind.
XXXI.
Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared, But, patient, waited till he heard, At distance, prick’d to utmost speed, The foot-tramp of a flying steed,
