By fits less frequent from the crowd 90
Was heard the burst of laughter loud;
For still, as squire and archer stared
On that dark face and matted beard,
  Their glee and game declined. 
All gazed at length in silence drear, 95
Unbroke, save when in comrade’s ear
Some yeoman, wondering in his fear,
  Thus whispered forth his mind:—­
’Saint Mary! saw’st thou e’er such sight? 
How pale his cheek, his eye how bright, 100
Whene’er the firebrand’s fickle light
  Glances beneath his cowl! 
Full on our Lord he sets his eye;
For his best palfrey, would not I
  Endure that sullen scowl.’ 105

VII.

But Marmion, as to chase the awe
Which thus had quell’d their hearts, who saw
The ever-varying fire-light show
That figure stern and face of woe,
  Now call’d upon a squire:—­ 110
’Fitz-Eustace, know’st thou not some lay,
To speed the lingering night away? 
  We slumber by the fire.’—­

VIII.

‘So please you,’ thus the youth rejoin’d,
’Our choicest minstrel’s left behind. 115
Ill may we hope to please your ear,
Accustom’d Constant’s strains to hear. 
The harp full deftly can he strike,
And wake the lover’s lute alike;
To dear Saint Valentine, no thrush 120
Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush,
No nightingale her love-lorn tune
More sweetly warbles to the moon. 
Woe to the cause, whate’er it be,
Detains from us his melody, 125
Lavish’d on rocks, and billows stern,
Or duller monks of Lindisfarne. 
Now must I venture as I may,
To sing his favourite roundelay.’

IX.

A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had, 130
The air he chose was wild and sad;
Such have I heard, in Scottish land,
Rise from the busy harvest band,
When falls before the mountaineer,
On Lowland plains, the ripen’d ear. 135
Now one shrill voice the notes prolong,
Now a wild chorus swells the song: 
Oft have I listen’d, and stood still,
As it came soften’d up the hill,
And deem’d it the lament of men 140
Who languish’d for their native glen;
And thought how sad would be such sound,
On Susquehanna’s swampy ground,
Kentucky’s wood-encumber’d brake,
Or wild Ontario’s boundless lake, 145
Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain,
Recall’d fair Scotland’s hills again!

X.

Song

Where shall the lover rest,
  Whom the fates sever
From his true maiden’s breast, 150
  Parted for ever? 
Where, through groves deep and high,
  Sounds the far billow,
Where early violets die,
  Under the willow. 155