‘Alas!’ he thought, ’how changed that mien! 
How changed these timid looks have been,
Since years of guilt, and of disguise,
Have steel’d her brow, and arm’d her eyes! 
No more of virgin terror speaks 280
The blood that mantles in her cheeks;
Fierce, and unfeminine, are there,
Frenzy for joy, for grief despair;
And I the cause—­for whom were given
Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven!—­ 285
Would,’ thought he, as the picture grows,
’I on its stalk had left the rose! 
Oh, why should man’s success remove
The very charms that wake his love!—­
Her convent’s peaceful solitude 290
Is now a prison harsh and rude;
And, pent within the narrow cell,
How will her spirit chafe and swell! 
How brook the stern monastic laws! 
The penance how—­and I the cause!—­ 295
Vigil, and scourge—­perchance even worse!’—­
And twice he rose to cry, ‘To horse!’
And twice his Sovereign’s mandate came,
Like damp upon a kindling flame;
And twice he thought, ’Gave I not charge 300
She should be safe, though not at large? 
They durst not, for their island, shred
One golden ringlet from her head.’

XVIII.

While thus in Marmion’s bosom strove
Repentance and reviving love, 305
Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway
I’ve seen Loch Vennachar obey,
Their Host the Palmer’s speech had heard,
And, talkative, took up the word: 
  ’Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray 310
From Scotland’s simple land away,
  To visit realms afar,
Full often learn the art to know
Of future weal, or future woe,
  By word, or sign, or star; 315
Yet might a knight his fortune hear,
If, knight-like, he despises fear,
Not far from hence;—­if fathers old
Aright our hamlet legend told.’—­
These broken words the menials move,
(For marvels still the vulgar love,) 320
And, Marmion giving license cold,
His tale the host thus gladly told:—­

XIX.

The Host’s Tale

’A Clerk could tell what years have flown
Since Alexander fill’d our throne, 325
(Third monarch of that warlike name,)
And eke the time when here he came
To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord: 
A braver never drew a sword;
A wiser never, at the hour 330
Of midnight, spoke the word of power: 
The same, whom ancient records call
The founder of the Goblin-Hall. 
I would, Sir Knight, your longer stay
Gave you that cavern to survey. 335
Of lofty roof, and ample size,
Beneath the castle deep it lies: