XXX.

Still on the spot Lord Marmion stay’d, 600
For fairer scene he ne’er survey’d. 
  When sated with the martial show
  That peopled all the plain below,
  The wandering eye could o’er it go,
  And mark the distant city glow 605
    With gloomy splendour red;
  For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow,
  That round her sable turrets flow,
    The morning beams were shed,
  And tinged them with a lustre proud, 610
  Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. 
Such dusky grandeur clothed the height,
Where the huge Castle holds its state,
  And all the steep slope down,
Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, 615
Piled deep and massy, close and high,
  Mine own romantic town! 
But northward far, with purer blaze,
On Ochil mountains fell the rays,
And as each heathy top they kiss’d, 620
It gleam’d a purple amethyst. 
Yonder the shores of Fife you saw;
Here Preston-Bay, and Berwick-Law;
  And, broad between them roll’d,
The gallant Frith the eye might note, 625
Whose islands on its bosom float,
  Like emeralds chased in gold. 
Fitz-Eustace’ heart felt closely pent;
As if to give his rapture vent,
The spur he to his charger lent, 630
  And raised his bridle hand,
And, making demi-volte in air,
Cried, ’Where’s the coward that would not dare
  To fight for such a land!’
The Lindesay smiled his joy to see; 635
Nor Marmion’s frown repress’d his glee.

XXXI.

Thus while they look’d, a flourish proud,
Where mingled trump, and clarion loud,
  And fife, and kettle-drum,
And sackbut deep, and psaltery, 640
And war-pipe with discordant cry,
And cymbal clattering to the sky,
Making wild music bold and high,
  Did up the mountain come;
The whilst the bells, with distant chime, 645
Merrily toll’d the hour of prime,
  And thus the Lindesay spoke: 
’Thus clamour still the war-notes when
The King to mass his way has ta’en,
Or to Saint Katharine’s of Sienne, 650
  Or Chapel of Saint Rocque. 
To you they speak of martial fame;
But me remind of peaceful game,
  When blither was their cheer,
Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air, 655
In signal none his steed should spare,
But strive which foremost might repair
  To the downfall of the deer.

XXXII.