Marmion . g Jamess June is ever spent. XVI. ? When last this ruthful month was come,And in Linlithgows holy dome The King, as wont, was praying;While, for his royal fathers chanters sung, the bells did toll, The Bishop mass was saying —For noAv the year brought round againThe day the luckless King was slain —In Katharines aisle the Monarch sackcloth-shirt, and iron belt. And eyes with sorrow streaming;Around him in their stalls of Thistles Knight-Companions sate, Their banners oer them too was there, and, sooth to tell,Bedeafened with the jangling knell,
Marmion . g Jamess June is ever spent. XVI. ? When last this ruthful month was come,And in Linlithgows holy dome The King, as wont, was praying;While, for his royal fathers chanters sung, the bells did toll, The Bishop mass was saying —For noAv the year brought round againThe day the luckless King was slain —In Katharines aisle the Monarch sackcloth-shirt, and iron belt. And eyes with sorrow streaming;Around him in their stalls of Thistles Knight-Companions sate, Their banners oer them too was there, and, sooth to tell,Bedeafened with the jangling knell,Was watching where the sunbeams fell. Through the stained casement gleaming:But, while I marked Avhat next befell, It seemed as I were from the crowd a ghostly wight, CANTO IV, CANTO IV. THE CAMP. 161 In azure gown, with cincture white;llis forehead bald, his head was bare,Down liung- at length his yellow hair. —Now, mock me not, when, good my Lord,I pledge to you my knightly word,. That, when 1 saw his placid grace, His simple majesty of face. His solemn bearing, and his pace So stately gliding on, —Seemed to me neer did limner paintSo just an image of the SaintWho propped the Virgin in her faint, The loved Apostle John! 162 MARMION. CANTO IV. XVII. He stepped before the Monarchs chair,And stood with rustic plainness there, And little reverence made;Nor head, nor body, bowed, nor bent,But on the desk his arm he leant. And words like these he said,In a low voice, — but never toneSo thrilled through vein, and nerve, and bone:-My mother sent me from King, to warn thee not to war,— Woe waits on thine array;If war thou wilt, of woman witching wiles and wanton snare,James Stuart, doubly warned, beware: God keep thee as he may! —The wondering monarch seemed to seek For answer, and found none;And when he raised his head to speak. The monitor was marshal and myself had castTo stop him as he outward passed;But, lighter than the w
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