Page:Marmion - Walter Scott (ed. Bayne, 1889).pdf/196

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MARMION.
A letter forged! Saint Jude to speed!Did ever knight so foul a deed!At first in heart it liked me ill,When the King praised his clerkly skill.460Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine,Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line:So swore I, and I swear it still,Let my boy-bishop fret his fill.—Saint Mary mend my fiery mood!465Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood,I thought to slay him where he stood.'Tis pity of him too,' he cried;'Bold can he speak, and fairly ride,I warrant him a warrior tried.'470With this his mandate he recalls,And slowly seeks his castle halls.
XVI.The day in Marmion's journey wore;Yet, e'er his passion's gust was o'er,They cross'd the heights of Stanrig-moor.475His troop more closely there he scann'd,And miss'd the Palmer from the band.—'Palmer or not,' young Blount did say,'He parted at the peep of day;Good sooth, it was in strange array.'—480'In what array?' said Marmion, quick.'My Lord, I ill can spell the trick;But all night long, with clink and bang,Close to my couch did hammers clang;At dawn the falling drawbridge rang,485And from a loop-hole while I peep,Old Bell-the-Cat came from the Keep,Wrapp'd in a gown of sables fair,As fearful of the morning air;Beneath, when that was blown aside,490A rusty shirt of mail I spied,By Archibald won in bloody work,Against the Saracen and Turk:
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