His giant form like ruined tower, Though fall’n its muscles’ brawny vaunt, Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt, Seemed o’er the gaudy scene to lower: His locks and beard in silver grew; His eyebrows kept their sable hue. Near Douglas when the monarch stood, His bitter speech he thus pursued: “Lord Marmion, since these letters say That in the north you needs must stay While slightest hopes of peace remain, Uncourteous speech it were, and stern, To say—return to Lindisfarne Until my herald come again. Then rest you in Tantallon Hold; Your host shall be the Douglas bold— A chief unlike his sires of old. He wears their motto on his blade, Their blazon o’er his towers displayed; Yet loves his sovereign to oppose, More than to face his country’s foes. And, I bethink me, by Saint Stephen, But e’en this morn to me was given A prize, the first-fruits of the war, Ta’en by a galley from Dunbar, A bevy of the maids of Heaven. Under your guard these holy maids Shall safe return to cloister shades; And, while they at Tantallon stay, Requiem for Cochrane’s soul may say.” And with the slaughtered favourite’s name Across the monarch’s brow there came A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame.
In answer nought could Angus speak; His proud heart swelled well-nigh to break: He turned aside, and down his cheek A burning tear there stole. His hand the monarch sudden took; That sight his kind heart could not brook: “Now, by the Bruce’s soul, Angus, my hasty speech forgive! For sure as doth his spirit live, As he said of the Douglas old, I well may say of you— That never king did subject hold In speech more free, in war more bold, More tender and more true: Forgive me, Douglas, once again.” And while the king his hand did strain, The old man’s tears fell down like rain. To seize the moment Marmion tried, And whispered to the king aside: “Oh! let such tears unwonted plead For respite short from dubious deed! A child will weep a bramble’s smart, A maid to see her sparrow part, A stripling for a woman’s heart: But woe awaits a country when She sees the tears of bearded men. Then, oh! what omen, dark and high, When Douglas wets his manly eye!”
Displeased was James, that stranger viewed And tampered with his changing mood. “Laugh those that can, weep those that may,” Thus did the fiery monarch say, “Southward I march by break of day; And if within Tantallon strong, The good Lord Marmion tarries long, Perchance our meeting next may fall At Tamworth, in his castle-hall.” The haughty Marmion felt the taunt, And answered, grave, the royal vaunt:— “Much honoured were my humble home If in its halls King James should come; But Nottingham has archers good, And Yorkshire-men are stern of mood; Northumbrian prickers wild and rude. On Derby hills the paths are steep; In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep; And many a banner will be torn, And many a knight to earth be borne, And many a sheaf of arrows spent, Ere Scotland’s king shall cross the Trent: Yet pause, brave prince, while yet you may.” The monarch lightly turned away, And to his nobles loud did call, “Lords, to the dance—a hall! a hall!” Himself his cloak and sword flung by, And led Dame Heron gallantly; And minstrels, at the royal order, Rung out “Blue Bonnets o’er the Border.”