Marmion . rom the light as if he felt no wound;Though in the action burst the torrents, from his wounded it was truth, he said — I knewThat the dark presage must be true.—I would the Fiend, to whom belongsThe vengeance due to all her wrongs, Would spare me but a day!For wasting fire, and dying priests slain on the altar stone. Might bribe him for may not be! — this dizzy trance —Curse on yon base marauders doubly cursed my failing brand!A sinful heart makes feeble , fainting, down on earth he sunk,Supported by the trembling Monk
Marmion . rom the light as if he felt no wound;Though in the action burst the torrents, from his wounded it was truth, he said — I knewThat the dark presage must be true.—I would the Fiend, to whom belongsThe vengeance due to all her wrongs, Would spare me but a day!For wasting fire, and dying priests slain on the altar stone. Might bribe him for may not be! — this dizzy trance —Curse on yon base marauders doubly cursed my failing brand!A sinful heart makes feeble , fainting, down on earth he sunk,Supported by the trembling Monk. XXXII. With fruitless labor, Clara bound. And strove to stanch the gushing wound: The Monk, with unavailing cares. Exhausted all the Churchs prayers. Ever, he said, that, close and near, A ladys voice was in his ear. And that the priest he could not hear; For that she ever sung, In the lost battle^ home doum by the flying,Where mingles war\s rattle ivith groans of the dying!So the notes rung; —. CANTO VI. THE BATTLE. 281 Avoid thee, Fiend! — with cruel hand,Shake not the dying sinners sand! —Oh, look, my son, upon yon signOf the Redeemers grace divine; Oh, tliink on faith and bliss! —By many a death-bed I have been,And many a sinners parting seen. But never aught like this. —The war, that for a space did fail,Now trebly thundering swelled the gale, And — Stanley ! was the cry ; —A light on Marmions visage spread, fired his glazing eye:With dying hand, above his shook the fragment of his blade. And shouted Victory ! —Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!Were the last words of Marmion. XXXIII. By this, though deep the evening fell,Still rose the battles deadly still the Scots, around their King,Unbroken, fought in desperate now their victor vaward wing. Where Huntly, and where Home ? —Oh, for a blast of that dread Fontarabian echoes borne, That to King Charles did Rowland brave, and Olivier,And
Size: 1303px × 1918px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookidmarmion00sco, bookyear1885
