XII.

They marshall’d him to the Castle-hall,
  Where the guests stood all aside,
And loudly nourish’d the trumpet-call,
  And the heralds loudly cried, 170
—­’Room, lordings, room for Lord Marmion,
  With the crest and helm of gold! 
Full well we know the trophies won
  In the lists at Cottiswold: 
There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove 175
  ’Gainst Marmion’s force to stand;
To him he lost his lady-love,
  And to the King his land. 
Ourselves beheld the listed field,
  A sight both sad and fair; 180
We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield,
  And saw his saddle bare;
We saw the victor win the crest,
  He wears with worthy pride;
And on the gibbet-tree, reversed, 185
  His foeman’s scutcheon tied. 
Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight! 
  Room, room, ye gentles gay,
For him who conquer’d in the right,
  Marmion of Fontenaye!’ 190

XIII.

Then stepp’d, to meet that noble Lord,
  Sir Hugh the Heron bold,
Baron of Twisell, and of Ford,
  And Captain of the Hold. 
He led Lord Marmion to the deas, 195
  Raised o’er the pavement high,
And placed him in the upper place-
  They feasted full and high;
The whiles a Northern harper rude
Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, 200
  ’How the fierce Thirwalls, and Ridleys all,
    Stout Willimondswick,
      And Hardriding Dick,
     And Hughie of Hawdon, and Will o’ the Wall,
    Have set on Sir Albany Featherstonhaugh, 205
And taken his life at the Deadman’s-shaw.’ 
  Scantly Lord Marmion’s ear could brook
    The harper’s barbarous lay;
  Yet much he praised the pains he took,
    And well those pains did pay 210
For lady’s suit, and minstrel’s strain,
By knight should ne’er be heard in vain,

XIV.

‘Now, good Lord Marmion,’ Heron says,
  ’Of your fair courtesy,
I pray you bide some little space 215
  In this poor tower with me. 
Here may you keep your arms from rust,
  May breathe your war-horse well;
Seldom hath pass’d a week but giust
  Or feat of arms befell:  220
The Scots can rein a mettled steed;
  And love to couch a spear:—­
Saint George! a stirring life they lead,
  That have such neighbours near. 
Then stay with us a little space, 225
  Our northern wars to learn;
I pray you, for your lady’s grace!’—­
  Lord Marmion’s brow grew stern.

XV.