Marmion . )ledge me here, Lord Marmion; But first I pray thee fair,Where hast thou left that page of used to serve thy cup of wine. Whose beauty was so rare ?When last in Raby-towers we met. The boy I closely eyed,And often marked his cheeks were wet. With tears he fain would was no rugged horse-boys burnish shield or sharpen brand, Or saddle battle-steed,But meeter seemed for lady fair,To fan her cheek, or curl her through embroidery, rich and rare, The slender silk to lead ;His skin was fair, his ringlets gold, His bosom — when he russet doublet
Marmion . )ledge me here, Lord Marmion; But first I pray thee fair,Where hast thou left that page of used to serve thy cup of wine. Whose beauty was so rare ?When last in Raby-towers we met. The boy I closely eyed,And often marked his cheeks were wet. With tears he fain would was no rugged horse-boys burnish shield or sharpen brand, Or saddle battle-steed,But meeter seemed for lady fair,To fan her cheek, or curl her through embroidery, rich and rare, The slender silk to lead ;His skin was fair, his ringlets gold, His bosom — when he russet doublets rugged fold Could scarce repel its pride!Say, hast thou given that lovely youth To serve in ladys bower ?Or was the gentle page, in sooth, A gentle paramour ? XVI. Lord Marmion ill could brook such jestHe rolled his kindling eye,. THE CASTLE. 45 With pain his rising wrath suppressed, Yet made a calm reply: That boy thou thought so goodly fair,He might not brook the northern of his fate if thou wouldst learn,I left him sick in of him. — But, Heron, say,Why does thy lovely lady gayDisdain to grace the hall to-day ?Or has that dame, so fair and on some pious pilgrimage ? —He spoke in covert scorn, for fameWhispered light tales of Herons dame. Unmarked, at least unrecked, the taunt, Careless the Knight replied : No bird whose featliers gayly flaunt Delights in cage to bide ;Norham is grim and grated in by battlement and fosse. And many a darksome better loves my lady brightTo sit in liberty and light In fair Queen Margarets hold our greyhound in our hand, Our falcon on our where shall we find leash or l)and For dame that loves to rove ?Let the wild falcon soar her 11 stoop wlien she has tired her wing. Nay, if with Royal J
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookidmarmion00sco, bookyear1885
