‘Nor less,’ he said,—­’when looking forth,
I view yon Empress of the North 660
  Sit on her hilly throne;
Her palace’s imperial bowers,
Her castle, proof to hostile powers,
Her stately halls and holy towers—­
  Nor less,’ he said, ’I moan, 665
To think what woe mischance may bring,
And how these merry bells may ring
The death-dirge of our gallant King;
  Or with the larum call
The burghers forth to watch and ward, 670
’Gainst southern sack and fires to guard
  Dun-Edin’s leaguer’d wall.—­
But not for my presaging thought,
Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought! 
  Lord Marmion, I say nay:  675
God is the guider of the field,
He breaks the champion’s spear and shield,—­
  But thou thyself shalt say,
When joins yon host in deadly stowre,
That England’s dames must weep in bower, 680
  Her monks the death-mass sing;
For never saw’st thou such a power
  Led on by such a King.’—­
And now, down winding to the plain,
The barriers of the camp they gain, 685
  And there they made a stay.—­
There stays the Minstrel, till he fling
His hand o’er every Border string,
And fit his harp the pomp to sing,
Of Scotland’s ancient Court and King, 695
  In the succeeding lay.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH.

To George Ellis, Esq.

Edinburgh.

When dark December glooms the day,
And takes our autumn joys away;
When short and scant the sunbeam throws,
Upon the weary waste of snows,
A cold and profitless regard, 5
Like patron on a needy bard;
When silvan occupation’s done,
And o’er the chimney rests the gun,
And hang, in idle trophy, near,
The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear; 10
When wiry terrier, rough and grim,
And greyhound, with his length of limb,
And pointer, now employ’d no more,
Cumber our parlour’s narrow floor;
When in his stall the impatient steed 15
Is long condemn’d to rest and feed;
When from our snow-encircled home,
Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam
Since path is none, save that to bring
The needful water from the spring; 20
When wrinkled news-page, thrice conn’d o’er,
Beguiles the dreary hour no more,
And darkling politician, cross’d,
Inveighs against the lingering post,
And answering housewife sore complains 25
Of carriers’ snow-impeded wains;
When such the country cheer, I come,
Well pleased, to seek our city home;
For converse, and for books, to change
The Forest’s melancholy range, 30
And welcome, with renew’d delight,
The busy day and social night.