How different now! condemn’d to bide
My doom from this dark tyrant’s pride.—­
But Marmion has to learn, ere long, 125
That constant mind, and hate of wrong,
Descended to a feeble girl,
From Red De Clare, stout Gloster’s Earl: 
Of such a stem, a sapling weak,
He ne’er shall bend, although he break. 130

V.

’But see!—­what makes this armour here?’—­
  For in her path there lay
Targe, corslet, helm;—­she view’d them near.—­
’The breast-plate pierced!—­Ay, much I fear,
Weak fence wert thou ’gainst foeman’s spear, 135
That hath made fatal entrance here,
  As these dark blood-gouts say.—­
Thus Wilton!—­Oh! not corslet’s ward,
Not truth, as diamond pure and hard,
Could be thy manly bosom’s guard, 140
  On yon disastrous day!’—­
She raised her eyes in mournful mood,—­
Wilton himself before her stood! 
It might have seem’d his passing ghost,
For every youthful grace was lost; 145
And joy unwonted, and surprise,
Gave their strange wildness to his eyes.—­
Expect not, noble dames and lords,
That I can tell such scene in words: 
What skilful limner e’er would choose 150
To paint the rainbow’s varying hues,
Unless to mortal it were given
To dip his brush in dyes of heaven? 
Far less can my weak line declare
  Each changing passion’s shade; 155
Brightening to rapture from despair,
Sorrow, surprise, and pity there,
And joy, with her angelic air,
And hope, that paints the future fair,
  Their varying hues display’d:  160
Each o’er its rival’s ground extending,
Alternate conquering, shifting, blending,
Till all, fatigued, the conflict yield,
And mighty Love retains the field,
Shortly I tell what then he said, 165
By many a tender word delay’d,
And modest blush, and bursting sigh,
And question kind, and fond reply:—­

VI.

De Wilton’s History.

’Forget we that disastrous day,
When senseless in the lists I lay. 170
  Thence dragg’d,—­but how I cannot know,
    For sense and recollection fled,-
  I found me on a pallet low,
    Within my ancient beadsman’s shed. 
Austin,—­remember’st thou, my Clare, 175
How thou didst blush, when the old man,
When first our infant love began,
  Said we would make a matchless pair?—­
Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled
From the degraded traitor’s bed,—­ 180
He only held my burning head,
And tended me for many a day,
While wounds and fever held their sway. 
But far more needful was his care,