And he, neglected and oppressed,
Wished to be with them and at rest.
No more on prancing palfrey borne,
He carolled, light as lark at morn;
No longer courted and caressed,
High placed in hall, a welcome guest,
He poured to lord and lady gay
The unpremeditated lay:
Old times were changed, old manners gone; A stranger filled the Stuart's throne;
The bigots of the iron time
Had called his harmless art a crime.
A wandering harper, scorned and poor,
He begged his bread from door to door;
And tuned, to please a peasant's ear,
The harp a king had loved to hear.
2. MARMION'S ESCAPE.
Marmion stopp'd to bid adieu : Though something I might plain," he said "Of cold respect to stranger guest Sent hither by your king's behest, While in Tantallon's towers I stayed, Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble earl, receive my hand." But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :
My manors, halls and towers shall still
Be open at my sovereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone-
The hand of Douglas is his own;
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp."
Burn'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,
And-" This to me!" he said,--
"An 'twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's nad not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!
And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He, who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate.
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
E'en in thy pitch of pride,
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,—
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword,)—
I tell thee, thou'rt defied!
And if thou said'st, I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age;
Fierce he broke forth,-" And darest thou then
To beard the lion in his den,
The Douglas in his hall?
And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!—
Up drawbridge, grooms-what, Warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall."
Lord Marmion turn'd-well was his need,
And dash'd the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung,
The ponderous gate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.
The moon is in her summer glow,
But hoarse and high the breezes blow,
And racking o'er her face, the cloud
Varies the tincture of her shroud ;
On Barnard's towers, and Tees's stream,
She changes as a guilty dream,
When Conscience, with remorse and fear,
Goads sleeping Fancy's wild career.
Her light seem'd now the blush of shame,
Seem'd now fierce anger's darker flame,
Shifting that shade, to come and go,
Like apprehension's hurried glow;
Then sorrow's livery dims the air,
And dies in darkness, like despair.
Such varied hues the warder sees
Reflected from the woodland Tees;
Then from old Baliol's tower looks forth,
Sees the clouds mustering in the north,
Hears, upon turret-roof and wall,
By fits the plashing raindrop fall,
Lists to the breeze's boding sound,
And wraps his shaggy mantle round.
Those towers, which in the changeful gleam
Throw murky shadows on the stream,
Those towers of Barnard hold a guest,
Th' emotions of whose troubled breast,
In wild and strange confusion driven,
Rival the flitting rack of heaven.
Ere sleep stern Oswald's senses tied,
Oft had he changed his weary side,
Composed his limbs, and vainly sought
By effort strong to banish thought.
Sleep came at length, but with a train
Of feelings true and fancies vain,
Mingling, in wild disorder cast,
The expected future with the past.
Conscience, anticipating time,
Already rues the unacted crime,
And calls her furies forth to shake
The sounding scourge and hissing snake;
While her poor victim's outward throes
Bear witness to his mental woes.
And show what lesson may be read
Beside a sinner's restless bed.
Thus Oswald's labouring feelings trace
Strange changes in his sleeping face,
Rapid and ominous as these
With which the moon-beams tinge the Tees.
There might be seen of shame the blush,
There anger's dark and fiercer flush,
While the perturbéd sleeper's hand
Seem'd grasping dagger-knife, or brand.
Relax'd that grasp, the heavy sigh,
The tear in the half-opening eye,
The pallid cheek and brow, confess'd
That grief was busy in his breast ;
Nor paused that mood—a sudden start
Impell'd the life-blood from the heart;
Features convulsed, and mutterings dread,
Show terror reigns in sorrow's stead:
That pang the painful slumber broke,
And Oswald, with a start, awoke.
4. DEATH OF OSWALD WYCLIFFE.
The outmost crowd have heard a sound,
Like horse's hoofs on harden'd ground:
Nearer it came, and yet more near,-
The very death's-men paused to hear.
'Tis in the church-yard now-the tread
Hath waked the dwelling of the dead!
Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone,
Return the tramp in varied tone.
All eyes upon the gate-way hung,
When through the gothic arch there sprung
A horseman arm'd, at headlong speed-
Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed.
Fire from the flinty floor was spurn'd,
The vaults unwonted clang return'd!—
One instant's glance around he threw,
From saddle-bow his pistol drew :
Grimly determined was his look!
His charger with the spurs he strook-
All scatter'd backward as he came,
For all knew Bertram Risingham!
Three bounds that noble courser gave;
The first has reach'd the central nave,
The second clear'd the chancel wide,
The third--he was at Wycliffe's side.
Fail levell'd at the Baron's head,
Rung the report-the bullet sped-
And to his long account and last,
Without a groan dark Oswald past!
All was so quick, that it might seem
A flash of lightning, or a dream.
While yet the smoke the deed conceals,
Bertram his ready charger wheels ;
But flounder'd on the pavement floor
The steel, and down the rider bore,
And bursting in the headlong sway,
The faithless saddle-girths gave way.
'Twas while he toil'd him to be freed,
And with the rein to raise the steed,
That from amazement's iron trance
All Wycliffe's soldiers waked at once.
Sword, halbert, musket-butt, their blows
Hail'd upon Bertram as he rose ;
A score of pikes, with each a wound,
Bore down and pinn'd him to the ground:
But still his struggling force he rears,
'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears
Thrice from assailants shook him free,
Once gain'd his feet, and twice his knee.
By tenfold odds oppress'd at length,
Despite his struggles and his strength,
He took a hundred mortal wounds,
As mute as fox 'mid mangling hounds;
And when he died, his parting groan
Had more of laughter than of moan!
-They gazed, as when a lion dies,
And hunters scarcely trust their eyes,
But bend their weapons on the slain,
Lest the grim king should rouse again!-
Then blow and insult some renew'd,
And from the trunk the head had hew'd,
But Basil's voice the deed forbade ;
A mantle o'er the corse he laid :-
"Fell as he was in act and mind,
He left no bolder heart behind:
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