Marmion

  By every step that thou hast trod 
To holy shrine and grotto dim, 
By every martyr’s tortured limb, 
By angel, saint, and seraphim, 
And by the Church of God!

For mark:-When Wilton was betray’d, 
And with his squire forged letters laid, 
She was, alas! that sinful maid, 
  By whom the deed was done,- 
Oh! shame and horror to be said! 
  She was a perjured nun!           

No clerk in all the land, like her, 
Traced quaint and varying character. 
Perchance you may a marvel deem, 
  That Marmion’s paramour 
(For such vile thing she was) should scheme 
  Her lover’s nuptial hour; 
But o’er him thus she hoped to gain, 
As privy to his honour’s stain, 
  Illimitable power: 

For this she secretly retain’d 
  Each proof that might the plot reveal, 
  Instructions with his hand and seal; 
And thus Saint Hilda deign’d,

  Through sinners’ perfidy impure, 
  Her house’s glory to secure,        
And Clare’s immortal weal.

XXIV.

‘Twere long, and needless, here to tell, 
How to my hand these papers fell; 
  With me they must not stay. 
Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true! 
Who knows what outrage he might do, 
  While journeying by the way?- 
O, blessed Saint, if e’er again 
I venturous leave thy calm domain, 
To travel or by land or main,          
  Deep penance may I pay!- 

Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer: 
I give this packet to thy care, 
For thee to stop they will not dare; 
And O! with cautious speed,            
To Wolsey’s hand the papers ‘bring, 
That he may show them to the King: 
  And, for thy well-earn’d meed, 
Thou holy man, at Whitby’s shrine 
A weekly mass shall still be thine,  
  While priests can sing and read. 

What ail’st thou?-Speak!’-For as he took 
The charge, a strong emotion shook 
  His frame; and, ere reply, 
They heard a faint, yet shrilly tone, 
Like distant clarion feebly blown, 
  That on the breeze did die;

And loud the Abbess shriek’d in fear, 
‘Saint Withold, save us!-What is here! 
  Look at yon City Cross!                     
See on its battled tower appear 
Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear, 
And blazon’d banners toss!’-

XXV.

Dun-Edin’s Cross, a pillar’d stone, 
Rose on a turret octagon;             

  (But now is razed that monument, 
    Whence royal edict rang, 
  And voice of Scotland’s law was sent 
    In glorious trumpet-clang.