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      ‘Now, good Lord Marmion,’ Heron says,

        ‘Of your fair courtesy,

      I pray you bide some little space                          215

        In this poor tower with me.

      Here may you keep your arms from rust,

        May breathe your war-horse well;

      Seldom hath pass’d a week but giust

        Or feat of arms befell:                                  220

      The Scots can rein a mettled steed;

        And love to couch a spear: -

      Saint George! a stirring life they lead,

        That have such neighbours near.

      Then stay with us a little space,                          225

        Our northern wars to learn;

      I pray you, for your lady’s grace!’-

        Lord Marmion’s brow grew stern.

      The Captain mark’d his alter’d look,

        And gave a squire the sign;                              230

      A mighty wassell-bowl he took,

        And crown’d it high with wine.

      ‘Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion:

        But first I pray thee fair,

      Where hast thou left that page of thine,                  235

        That used to serve thy cup of wine,

        Whose beauty was so rare?

      When last in Raby towers we met,

        The boy I closely eyed,

      And often mark’d his cheeks were wet,                      240

        With tears he fain would hide:

      His was no rugged horse-boy’s hand,

      To burnish shield or sharpen brand,

        Or saddle battle-steed;

      But meeter seem’d for lady fair,                          245

      To fan her cheek, or curl her hair,

      Or through embroidery, rich and rare,

        The slender silk to lead:

      His skin was fair, his ringlets gold,

        His bosom-when he sigh’d,                              250

      The russet doublet’s rugged fold

        Could scarce repel its pride!

      Say, hast thou given that lovely youth

        To serve in lady’s bower?

      Or was the gentle page, in sooth,                          255

        A gentle paramour?’

      Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest;

        He roll’d his kindling eye,

      With pain his rising wrath suppress’d,

        Yet made a calm reply:                                  260

      ‘That boy thou thought’st so goodly fair,

        He might not brook the northern air.

      More of his fate if thou wouldst learn,

        I left him sick in Lindisfarn:

      Enough of him. – But, Heron, say,                          265

      Why does thy lovely lady gay

      Disdain to grace the hall to-day?

      Or has that dame, so fair and sage,

      Gone on some pious pilgrimage?’-

      He spoke in covert scorn, for fame                        270

      Whisper’d light tales of Heron’s dame.

      Unmark’d, at least unreck’d, the taunt,

        Careless the Knight replied,

      ‘No bird, whose feathers gaily flaunt,

        Delights in cage to bide:                                275

      Norham is grim and grated close,

      Hemm’d in by battlement and fosse,

        And many a darksome tower;

      And better loves my lady bright

      To sit in liberty and light,                              280

        In fair Queen Margaret’s bower.

      We hold our greyhound in our hand,

        Our falcon on our glove;

      But where shall we find leash or band,

        For dame that loves to rove?                            285

      Let the wild falcon soar her swing,

      She’ll stoop when she has tired her wing.’-

      ‘Nay, if with Royal James’s bride

      The lovely Lady Heron bide,

      Behold me here a messenger,                                290

      Your tender greetings prompt to bear;

      For, to the Scottish court address’d,

      I journey at our King’s behest,

      And pray you, of your grace, provide

      For me, and mine, a trusty guide.                          295

      I have not ridden in Scotland since

      James back’d the cause of that mock prince,

      Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit,

      Who on the gibbet paid the cheat.

      Then did I march with Surrey’s power,                      300

      What time we razed old Ayton tower.’-

      ‘For such-like need, my lord, I trow,

      Norham can find you guides enow;

      For here be some have prick’d as far,

      On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar;                          305

      Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan’s ale,

      And driven the beeves of Lauderdale;

      Harried the wives of Greenlaw’s goods,

      And given them light to set their hoods.’-

      ‘Now, in good sooth,’ Lord Marmion cried,                  310

      ‘Were I in warlike wise to ride,

      A better guard I would not lack,

      Than your stout forayers at my back;

      But as in form of peace I go,

      A friendly messenger, to know,                            315

      Why through all Scotland, near and far,

      Their King is mustering troops

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