With dinted shield, and helmet beat, Said " By Saint George, he's gone! Good-night to Marmion." "Unnurtured Blount!-thy brawling cease: opes his " said Eustace; eyes," He 66 peace!" When, doffed his casque, he felt free air, Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare :— "Where's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace where Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare! Redeem my pennon,—charge again! That shout shall ne'er be heard again!— Tell him his squadrons up to bring.— Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, Must I bid twice ?-hence, varlets, fly! Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan, Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring O woman! in our hours of ease, By the light, quivering aspen made; Scarce were the piteous accents said, When, with the Baron's casque, the maid Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears; 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 water, clear as diamond-spark, Above, some half-worn letters say— 'Drink. weary. pilgrim. drink . and . pray. For the kind. soul . of. Sybil . Grey . Tho. built. this. cross. and . well.” She filled the helm, and back she hied, And with surprise and joy espied A Monk supporting Marmion's head: A pious man, whom duty brought To dubious verge of battle fought, To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave, And as she stooped his brow to lave— "Is it the hand of Clare," he said, "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; -died at Holy Isle.” She Lord Marmion started from the ground For, wasting fire, and dying groan, It may not be !--this dizzy trance— - With fruitless labour, Clara bound Ever, he said, that, close and near, 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 dying! 66 So the notes rung; Avoid thee, Fiend!—with cruel hand, Shake not the dying sinner's sand !—— O look, my son, upon yon sign The war, that for a space did fail, Now trebly thundering, swelled the gale, And--" STANLEY!" was the cry ;- With dying hand, above his head 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. THE HE western waves of ebbing day But not a setting beam could glow With cupola or minaret, |