Marmion

My friend at length fell sick, and said, 
  God would remove him soon: 
And, while upon his dying bed, 
He begg’d of me a boon- 
If e’er my deadliest enemy  
Beneath my brand should conquer’d lie, 
Even then my mercy should awake, 
And spare his life for Austin’s sake.

VII.

‘Still restless as a second Cain, 
To Scotland next my route was ta’en, 
  Full well the paths I knew. 
Fame of my fate made various sound, 
That death in pilgrimage I found, 
That I had perish’d of my wound,- 
  None cared which tale was true:

And living eye could never guess 
De Wilton in his Palmer’s dress; 
For now that sable slough is shed, 
And trimm’d my shaggy beard and head, 
I scarcely know me in the glass.             

A chance most wondrous did provide, 
That I should be that Baron’s guide- 
  I will not name his name!- 
Vengeance to God alone belongs; 
But, when I think on all my wrongs, 
  My blood is liquid flame!

And ne’er the time shall I forget, 
When in a Scottish hostel set, 
  Dark looks we did exchange: 
What were his thoughts I cannot tell; 
But in my bosom muster’d Hell 
Its plans of dark revenge.

VIII.

‘A word of vulgar augury, 
That broke from me, I scarce knew why, 
  Brought on a village tale;                      
Which wrought upon his moody sprite, 
And sent him armed forth by night. 
I borrow’d steed and mail, 

And weapons, from his sleeping band; 
  And, passing from a postern door,     
We met, and ‘counter’d, hand to hand,- 
  He fell on Gifford-moor.

For the death-stroke my brand I drew, 
(O then my helmed head he knew, 
  The Palmer’s cowl was gone,)      
Then had three inches of my blade 
The heavy debt of vengeance paid,- 
My hand the thought of Austin staid; 
  I left him there alone.-

O good old man! even from the grave, 
Thy spirit could thy master save:

If I had slain my foeman, ne’er 
Had Whitby’s Abbess, in her fear, 
Given to my hand this packet dear, 
Of power to clear my injured fame, 
And vindicate De Wilton’s name.-

Perchance you heard the Abbess tell 
Of the strange pageantry of Hell, 
  That broke our secret speech- 
It rose from the infernal shade, 
Or featly was some juggle play’d, 
  A tale of peace to teach.

Appeal to Heaven I judged was best,