Soon by the chimney’s merry blaze, Through the rude hostel might you gaze; Might see, where, in dark nook aloof, The rafters of the sooty roof Bore wealth of winter cheer; Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store And gammons of the tusky boar, And savoury haunch of deer. The chimney arch projected wide; Above, around it, and beside, Were tools for housewives’ hand; Nor wanted, in that martial day, The implements of Scottish fray, The buckler, lance, and brand. Beneath its shade, the place of state, On oaken settle Marmion sate, And viewed around the blazing hearth His followers mix in noisy mirth; Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide, From ancient vessels ranged aside, Full actively their host supplied.
Theirs was the glee of martial breast, And laughter theirs at little jest; And oft Lord Marmion deigned to aid, And mingle in the mirth they made; For though, with men of high degree, The proudest of the proud was he, Yet, trained in camps, he knew the art To win the soldier’s hardy heart. They love a captain to obey, Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May; With open hand, and brow as free, Lover of wine and minstrelsy; Ever the first to scale a tower, As venturous in a lady’s bower: Such buxom chief shall lead his host From India’s fires to Zembla’s frost.
Resting upon his pilgrim staff, Right opposite the Palmer stood; His thin dark visage seen but half, Half hidden by his hood. Still fixed on Marmion was his look, Which he, who ill such gaze could brook, Strove by a frown to quell; But not for that, though more than once Full met their stern encountering glance, The Palmer’s visage fell.
By fits less frequent from the crowd Was heard the burst of laughter loud For still, as squire and archer stared On that dark face and matted beard Their glee and game declined. All gazed at length in silence drear, Unbroke, save when in comrade’s ear Some yeoman, wondering in his fear, Thus whispered forth his mind:— “Saint Mary! saw’st thou e’er such sight? How pale his cheek, his eye how bright, Whene’er the firebrand’s fickle light Glances beneath his cowl! Full on our lord he sets his eye; For his best palfrey, would not I Endure that sullen scowl.”
But Marmion, as to chase the awe Which thus had quelled their hearts, who saw The ever-varying firelight show That figure stern and face of woe, Now called upon a squire: “Fitz-Eustace, know’st thou not some lay, To speed the lingering night away? We slumber by the fire.”