XXVIII.

When as the Palmer came in hall,
Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tall,
Or had a statelier step withal,
  Or look’d more high and keen; 475
For no saluting did he wait,
But strode across the hall of state,
And fronted Marmion where he sate,
  As he his peer had been. 
But his gaunt frame was worn with toil; 480
His cheek was sunk, alas the while! 
And when he struggled at a smile,
  His eye look ’d haggard wild: 
Poor wretch! the mother that him bare,
If she had been in presence there, 485
In his wan face, and sun-burn’d hair,
  She had not known her child. 
Danger, long travel, want, or woe,
Soon change the form that best we know—­
For deadly fear can time outgo, 490
  And blanch at once the hair;
Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want can quench the eye’s bright grace,
Nor does old age a wrinkle trace
  More deeply than despair. 495
Happy whom none of these befall,
But this poor Palmer knew them all.

XXIX.

Lord Marmion then his boon did ask;
The Palmer took on him the task,
So he would march with morning tide, 500
To Scottish court to be his guide. 
’But I have solemn vows to pay,
And may not linger by the way,
  To fair St. Andrews bound,
Within the ocean-cave to pray, 505
Where good Saint Rule his holy lay,
From midnight to the dawn of day,
  Sung to the billows’ sound;
Thence to Saint Fillan’s blessed well,
Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, 510
  And the crazed brain restore: 
Saint Mary grant, that cave or spring
Could back to peace my bosom bring,
  Or bid it throb no more!’

XXX.

And now the midnight draught of sleep, 515
Where wine and spices richly steep,
In massive bowl of silver deep,
  The page presents on knee. 
Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest,
The Captain pledged his noble guest, 520
The cup went through among the rest,
  Who drain’d it merrily;
Alone the Palmer pass’d it by,
Though Selby press’d him courteously. 
This was a sign the feast was o’er; 525
It hush’d the merry wassel roar,
  The minstrels ceased to sound. 
Soon in the castle nought was heard,
But the slow footstep of the guard,
  Pacing his sober round. 530

XXXI.