That none should roam at large. 
But in that Palmer’s altered mien 795
A wondrous change might now be seen;
  Freely he spoke of war,
Of marvels wrought by single hand,
When lifted for a native land;
And still look’d high, as if he plann’d 800
  Some desperate deed afar. 
His courser would he feed and stroke,
And, tucking up his sable frocke,
Would first his mettle bold provoke,
  Then soothe or quell his pride. 805
Old Hubert said, that never one
He saw, except Lord Marmion,
  A steed so fairly ride.

XXVIII.

Some half-hour’s march behind, there came,
  By Eustace govern’d fair, 810
A troop escorting Hilda’s Dame,
  With all her nuns, and Clare. 
No audience had Lord Marmion sought;
  Ever he fear’d to aggravate
  Clara de Clare’s suspicious hate; 815
And safer ’twas, he thought,
  To wait till, from the nuns removed,
  The influence of kinsmen loved,
And suit by Henry’s self approved,
Her slow consent had wrought. 820
  His was no flickering flame, that dies
  Unless when fann’d by looks and sighs,
  And lighted oft at lady’s eyes;
  He long’d to stretch his wide command
  O’er luckless Clara’s ample land:  825
  Besides, when Wilton with him vied,
  Although the pang of humbled pride
  The place of jealousy supplied,
Yet conquest, by that meanness won
He almost loath’d to think upon, 830
Led him, at times, to hate the cause,
Which made him burst through honour’s laws. 
If e’er he loved, ’twas her alone,
Who died within that vault of stone.

XXIX.

And now, when close at hand they saw 835
North Berwick’s town, and lofty Law,
Fitz-Eustace bade them pause a while,
Before a venerable pile,
  Whose turrets view’d, afar,
The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle, 840
  The ocean’s peace or war. 
At tolling of a bell, forth came
The convent’s venerable Dame,
And pray’d Saint Hilda’s Abbess rest
With her, a loved and honour’d guest, 845
Till Douglas should a bark prepare
To wait her back to Whitby fair. 
Glad was the Abbess, you may guess,
And thank’d the Scottish Prioress;
And tedious were to tell, I ween, 850
The courteous speech that pass’d between. 
  O’erjoy’d the nuns their palfreys leave;
But when fair Clara did intend,
Like them, from horseback to descend,
  Fitz-Eustace said,—­’I grieve, 855
Fair lady, grieve e’en from my heart,
Such gentle company to part;—­