And smooth and level course were here,
In her defence to break a spear. 80
Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells;
And oft, in such, the story tells,
The damsel kind, from danger freed,
Did grateful pay her champion’s meed.’ 
He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion’s mind; 85
Perchance to show his lore design’d;
  For Eustace much had pored
Upon a huge romantic tome,
In the hall-window of his home,
Imprinted at the antique dome 90
  Of Caxton, or de Worde. 
Therefore he spoke,—­but spoke in vain,
For Marmion answer’d nought again.

V.

Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill,
In notes prolong’d by wood and hill, 95
  Were heard to echo far;
Each ready archer grasp’d his bow,
But by the flourish soon they know,
  They breathed no point of war. 
Yet cautious, as in foeman’s land, 100
Lord Marmion’s order speeds the band,
  Some opener ground to gain;
And scarce a furlong had they rode,
When thinner trees, receding, show’d
  A little woodland plain. 105
Just in that advantageous glade,
The halting troop a line had made,
As forth from the opposing shade
  Issued a gallant train.

VI.

First came the trumpets, at whose clang 110
So late the forest echoes rang;
On prancing steeds they forward press’d,
With scarlet mantle, azure vest;
Each at his trump a banner wore,
Which Scotland’s royal scutcheon bore:  115
Heralds and pursuivants, by name
Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay, came,
In painted tabards, proudly showing
Gules, Argent, Or, and Azure glowing,
  Attendant on a King-at-arms, 120
Whose hand the armorial truncheon held,
That feudal strife had often quell’d,
  When wildest its alarms.

VII.

  He was a man of middle age;
  In aspect manly, grave, and sage, 125
    As on King’s errand come;
  But in the glances of his eye,
  A penetrating, keen, and sly
    Expression found its home;
  The flash of that satiric rage, 130
  Which, bursting on the early stage,
  Branded the vices of the age,
    And broke the keys of Rome. 
  On milk-white palfrey forth he paced;
  His cap of maintenance was graced 135
    With the proud heron-plume. 
  From his steed’s shoulder, loin, and breast,
    Silk housings swept the ground,
  With Scotland’s arms, device, and crest,
    Embroider’d round and round. 140
  The double tressure might you see,