Page:Marmion - Walter Scott (ed. Bayne, 1889).pdf/214

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MARMION.
 His hands to Heaven upraised;And all around, on scutcheon rich,And tablet carved, and fretted niche, His arms and feats were blazed.1105And yet, though all was carved so fair,And priest for Marmion breathed the prayer,The last Lord Marmion lay not there.From Ettrick woods, a peasant swainFollow'd his lord to Flodden plain,—1110One of those flowers, whom plaintive layIn Scotland mourns as 'wede away':Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied,And dragg'd him to its foot, and died,Close by the noble Marmion's side.1115The spoilers stripp'd and gash'd the slain,And thus their corpses were mista'en;And thus, in the proud Baron's tomb,The lowly woodsman took the room.
XXXVII.Less easy task it were, to show1120Lord Marmion's nameless grave, and low. They dug his grave e'en where he lay,  But every mark is gone; Time's wasting hand has done away The simple Cross of Sybil Grey,1125  And broke her font of stone:But yet from out the little hillOozes the slender springlet still, Oft halts the stranger there,For thence may best his curious eye1130The memorable field descry; And shepherd boys repairTo seek the water-flag and rush,And rest them by the hazel bush, And plait their garlands fair;1135Nor dream they sit upon the grave,That holds the bones of Marmion brave.—
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