What dreadful noise of water in my ears:
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men, that fishes gnawed upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
All scattered in the bottom of the sea :
Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
(As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems,
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.
Oh, then began the tempest to my soul !
I passed, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The first that there did greet my stranger soul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Who cried aloud,—What Scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?
And so he vanished: Then came wand'ring by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud,—
Clarence is come-false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury;
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments!
With that, methought a legion of foul fiends
Environed me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I trembling waked, and, for a season after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell:
Such terrible impression made my dream.
40. MARMION AND THE DOUGLAS.
Nor far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array
To Surrey's camp to ride;
He had safe conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,
And Douglas gave a guide.
The train from out the castle drew;
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu :-
"Though something I might plain," he said,
"Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your king's behest,
While in Tantallon's towers I staid;
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble earl, receive my hand."
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :-
My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still
Be open at my sovereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer:
My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone,-
The hand of Douglas is his own;
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp."
Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,
And-"This to me!" he said:
"An 'twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!
And first, I tell thee, haughty Peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate:
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword),
I tell thee, thou'rt defied!
And if thou saidst, I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age;
Fierce he broke forth :-"And darest thou then
To beard the lion in his den,
The Douglas in his hall?
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!
Up drawbridge, grooms-what, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall."
Lord Marmion turned-well was his need,
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung,
The ponderous grate behind him rung :
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.
41. THE DEATH OF MARMION.
WITH that, straight up the hill there rode
Two horsemen drenched with gore,
And in their arms, a helpless load,
A wounded knight they bore.
His hand still strained the broken brand;
His arms were smeared with blood and sand;
Dragged from among the horses' feet,
With dinted shield, and helmet beat,
The falcon-crest and plumage gone,
Can that be haughty Marmion?
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!
Cry-' Marmion to the rescue !'-Vain!
Last of my race, on battle-plain
That shout shall ne'er be heard again!-
Yet my last thought is England's-fly!
Must I bid twice ?-hence, varlets! fly!
Leave Marmion here alone-to die."
They parted, and alone he lay :
With fruitless labor Clara bound,
And strove to stanch the gushing wound:
The Monk, with unavailing cares,
Exhausted all the Church's prayers.
Ever, he said, that, close and near,
A lady's voice was in his ear,
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!"
So the notes rung:
"Avoid thee, Fiend!-with cruel hand,
Shake not the dying sinner's sand!
Oh look, my son, upon yon sign
Of the Redeemer's grace divine;
Oh think on faith and bliss!
By many a death-bed I have been,
And many a sinner's parting seen,
But never aught like this."
The war, that for a space did fail,
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale,
And-Stanley! was the cry.
A light on Marmion's visage spread,
And fired his glazing eye:
With dying hand, above his head,
He shook the fragment of his blade,
And shouted "Victory!-
Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!"
Were the last words of Marmion.
42. THE LOVE OF COUNTRY.
BREATHES there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
"This is my own, my native land ?"
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go mark him well :
For him, no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, power, or pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.
43. RIENZI'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS.
I come not here to talk. Ye know too well
The story of our thraldom. We are slaves!
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves!-He sets, and his last beam
Falls on a slave. Not such as, swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads
To crimson glory and undying fame;
But base ignoble slaves-slaves to a horde
Of petty despots, feudal tyrants; lords,
Rich in some dozen paltry villages;
Strong in some hundred spearmen, only great
In that strange spell, a name.
Each hour, dark fraud,
Or open rapine, or protected murder,
Cry out against them. But this very day,
An honest man-my neighbor;-there he stands ;—
Was struck-struck like a dog-by one who wore
The badge of Ursini; because, forsooth,
He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
At sight of that great ruffian. Be we men,
And suffer such dishonor ?-men, and wash not
The stain away in blood? Such shames are common:
I have known deeper wrongs,-I that speak to ye.
I had a brother once, a gracious boy,
Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope,
Of sweet and quiet joy. Oh, how I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years:
Brother at once and son! He left my side;
A summer-bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour,
The pretty harmless boy was slain! I saw
His corse, his mangled corse; and then I cried
For vengeance-
Rouse ye, Romans! rouse ye, slaves!
Have ye brave sons? Look in the next fierce brawl
To see them die. Have ye fair daughters? Look
To see them live, torn from your arms-distained,
Dishonored; and if ye dare to call for justice,
Be answered with the lash! Yet this is Rome
That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne
Of beauty ruled the world! And we are Romans!
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