Whose doom discording neighbours sought,
Content with equity unbought;
To him the venerable Priest,
Our frequent and familiar guest,
Whose life and manners well could paint 220
Alike the student and the saint;
Alas! whose speech too oft I broke
With gambol rude and timeless joke: 
For I was wayward, bold, and wild,
A self-will’d imp, a grandame’s child; 225
But half a plague, and half a jest,
Was still endured, beloved, caress’d.

From me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask
The classic poet’s well-conn’d task? 
Nay, Erskine, nay—­On the wild hill 230
Let the wild heath-bell flourish still;
Cherish the tulip, prune the vine,
But freely let the woodbine twine,
And leave untrimm’d the eglantine: 
Nay, my friend, nay—­Since oft thy praise 235
Hath given fresh vigour to my lays;
Since oft thy judgment could refine
My flatten’d thought, or cumbrous line;
Still kind, as is thy wont, attend,
And in the minstrel spare the friend. 240
Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale,
Flow forth, flow unrestrain’d, my Tale!

CANTO THIRD.

The hostel, or inn.

I.

The livelong day Lord Marmion rode: 
The mountain path the Palmer show’d
By glen and streamlet winded still,
Where stunted birches hid the rill. 
They might not choose the lowland road, 5
For the Merse forayers were abroad,
Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey,
Had scarcely fail’d to bar their way. 
Oft on the trampling band, from crown
Of some tall cliff, the deer look’d down; 10
On wing of jet, from his repose
In the deep heath, the black-cock rose;
Sprung from the gorse the timid roe,
Nor waited for the bending bow;
And when the stony path began, 15
By which the naked peak they wan,
Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. 
The noon had long been pass’d before
They gain’d the height of Lammermoor;
Thence winding down the northern way, 20
Before them, at the close of day,
Old Gifford’s towers and hamlet lay.

II.

No summons calls them to the tower,
To spend the hospitable hour. 
To Scotland’s camp the Lord was gone; 25
His cautious dame, in bower alone,
Dreaded her castle to unclose,
So late, to unknown friends or foes. 
  On through the hamlet as they paced,
  Before a porch, whose front was graced 30
  With bush and flagon trimly placed,
    Lord Marmion drew his rein: 
  The village inn seem’d large, though rude;
  Its cheerful fire and hearty food