Displeased was James, that stranger view’d And tamper’d with his changing mood.‘Laugh those that can, weep those that may,’ Thus did the fiery Monarch say, ‘Southward I march by break of day;And if within Tantallon strong, The good Lord Marmion tarries long, Perchance our meeting next may fall At Tamworth, in his castle-hall.’-The haughty Marmion felt the taunt, And answer’d, grave, the royal vaunt:‘Much honour’d were my humble home, If in its halls King James should come; But Nottingham has archers good, And Yorkshire men are stem of mood; Northumbrian prickers wild and rude. On Derby Hills the paths are steep; In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep; And many a banner will be torn, And many a knight to earth be borne, And many a sheaf of arrows spent, Ere Scotland’s King shall cross the Trent:Yet pause, brave Prince, while yet you may!’- The Monarch lightly turn’d away, And to his nobles loud did call,- ‘Lords, to the dance,-a hall! a hall!’ Himself his cloak and sword flung by, And led Dame Heron gallantly;And Minstrels, at the royal order, Rung out-‘Blue Bonnets o’er the Border.’
XVIII.
Leave we these revels now, to tell What to Saint Hilda’s maids befell, Whose galley, as they sail’d again To Whitby, by a Scot was ta’en.Now at Dun-Edin did they bide, Till James should of their fate decide; And soon, by his command, Were gently summon’d to prepare To journey under Marmion’s care, As escort honour’d, safe, and fair, Again to English land.The Abbess told her chaplet o’er, Nor knew which Saint she should implore; For, when she thought of Constance, sore She fear’d Lord Marmion’s mood. And judge what Clara must have felt! The sword, that hung in Marmion’s belt, Had drunk De Wilton’s blood.Unwittingly, King James had given, As guard to Whitby’s shades, The man most dreaded under heaven By these defenceless maids:Yet what petition could avail, Or who would listen to the tale Of woman, prisoner, and nun, Mid bustle of a war begun?They deem’d it hopeless to avoid The convoy of their dangerous guide.
