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With dinted shield, and helmet beat,
Said " By Saint George, he's gone!
"Unnurtured Blount!-thy brawling cease: He opes his eyes," " said Eustace; "peace!"
When, doffed his casque, he felt free air,
Redeem my pennon,-charge again!
Tell him his squadrons up to bring.—
Tunstall lies dead upon the field;
Let Stanley charge with spur of fire,—---
Must I bid twice ?—hence, varlets, fly! · Leave Marmion here alone-to die." They parted, and alone he lay : Clare drew her from the sight away, Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan, And half he murmured,——“ Is there none,
Of all my halls have nurst,
O woman! in our hours of ease,
Scarce were the piteous accents said,
Sees but the dying man.
She stooped her by the runnel's side,
But in abhorrence backward drew; For, oozing from the mountain wide, Where raged the war, a dark-red tide
Was curdling in the streamlet blue. Where shall she turn!-behold her mark
A little fountain-cell,
Above, some half-worn letters say—
Who. built. this. cross. and . well."
A Monk supporting Marmion's head:
To shrieve the dying, bless the dead.
"Or injured Constance, bathes my head?" Then, as remembrance rose,-
"Speak not to me of shrift or prayer! I must redress her woes.
Short space, few words, are mine to spare Forgive and listen, gentle Clare !"--
"Alas!" she said, "the while,-O think of your immortal weal! In vain for Constance is your zeal; She died at Holy Isle."e."-Lord Marmion started from the ground As light as if he felt no wound; Though in the action burst the tide, In torrents, from his wounded side. "Then it was truth,” he said—“ I knew That the dark presage must be true.— I would the Fiend, to whom belongs The vengeance due to all her wrongs, Would spare me but a day!
For, wasting fire, and dying groan,
Might bribe him for delay.
With fruitless labour, Clara bound
And that the priest he could not hear,
For that she ever sung,
“In the lost battle, borne down by the flying,
Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the
So the notes rung;
"Avoid thee, Fiend !-with cruel hand,
Shake not the dying sinner's sand !---
O, think on faith and bliss!--
But never aught like this."
The war, that for a space did fail,
And--" STANLEY !" was the cry ;-
And shouted, "Victory!-
Charge, Chester, charge! on, Stanley, on!" Were the last words of Marmion.
THE LADY OF THE LAKE.
MEETING OF ELLEN AND FITZJAMES.
HE western waves of ebbing day Rolled o'er the glen their level way; Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire. But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravines below, Where twined the path in shadow hid, Round many a rocky pyramid, Shooting abruptly from the dell Its thunder-splintered pinnacle; Round many an insulated mass, The native bulwarks of the pass, Huge as the tower which builders vain Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. Their rocky summits, split and rent, Formed turret, dome, or battlement, Or seemed fantastically set With cupola or minaret,