250
Thy spirit could thy master save: 
If I had slain my foeman, ne’er
Had Whitby’s Abbess, in her fear,
Given to my hand this packet dear,
Of power to clear my injured fame, 255
And vindicate De Wilton’s name.—­
Perchance you heard the Abbess tell
Of the strange pageantry of Hell,
  That broke our secret speech—­
It rose from the infernal shade, 260
Or featly was some juggle play’d,
  A tale of peace to teach. 
Appeal to Heaven I judged was best,
When my name came among the rest.

IX.

’Now here, within Tantallon Hold, 265
To Douglas late my tale I told,
To whom my house was known of old. 
Won by my proofs, his falchion bright
This eve anew shall dub me knight. 
These were the arms that once did turn 270
The tide of fight on Otterburne,
And Harry Hotspur forced to yield,
When the Dead Douglas won the field. 
These Angus gave—­his armourer’s care,
Ere morn, shall every breach repair; 275
For nought, he said, was in his halls,
But ancient armour on the walls,
And aged chargers in the stalls,
And women, priests, and grey-hair’d men;
The rest were all in Twisel glen. 280
And now I watch my armour here,
By law of arms, till midnight’s near;
Then, once again a belted knight,
Seek Surrey’s camp with dawn of light.

X.

’There soon again we meet, my Clare! 285
This Baron means to guide thee there: 
Douglas reveres his King’s command,
Else would he take thee from his band. 
And there thy kinsman, Surrey, too,
Will give De Wilton justice due. 290
Now meeter far for martial broil,
Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil,
Once more’—­’O Wilton! must we then
Risk new-found happiness again,
  Trust fate of arms once more? 295
And is there not an humble glen,
  Where we, content and poor,
Might build a cottage in the shade,
A shepherd thou, and I to aid
  Thy task on dale and moor?—­ 300
That reddening brow!—­too well I know,
Not even thy Clare can peace bestow,
  While falsehood stains thy name: 
Go then to fight!  Clare bids thee go! 
Clare can a warrior’s feelings know, 305
  And weep a warrior’s shame;
Can Red Earl Gilbert’s spirit feel,
Buckle the spurs upon thy heel,
And belt thee with thy brand of steel,
  And send thee forth to fame!’ 310

XI.