“Let pass,” quoth Marmion; “by my fay, This man shall guide me on my way, Although the great arch-fiend and he Had sworn themselves of company. So please you, gentle youth, to call This Palmer to the castle-hall.” The summoned Palmer came in place; His sable cowl o’erhung his face; In his black mantle was he clad, With Peter’s keys, in cloth of red, On his broad shoulders wrought; The scallop-shell his cap did deck; The crucifix around his neck Was from Loretto brought; His sandals were with travel tore, Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore; The faded palm-branch in his hand Showed pilgrim from the Holy Land. XXVIII. Whenas the Palmer came in hall, Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tall, Or had a statelier step withal, Or looked more high and keen; For no saluting did he wait, But strode across the hall of state, And fronted Marmion where he sate, As he his peer had been. But his gaunt frame was worn with toil; His cheek was sunk, alas, the while! And when he struggled at a smile His eye looked haggard wild: Poor wretch! the mother that him bare, If she had been in presence there, In his wan face and sun-burned hair, She had not known her child. Danger, long travel, want, or woe, Soon change the form that best we know— For deadly fear can time outgo, And blanch at once the hair; Hard toil can roughen form and face, And want can quench the eye’s bright grace, Nor does old age a wrinkle trace More deeply than despair. Happy whom none of these befall, But this poor Palmer knew them all. XXIX. Lord Marmion then his boon did ask; The Palmer took on him the task, So he would march with morning tide, To Scottish court to be his guide. “But I have solemn vows to pay, And may not linger by the way, To fair St. Andrews bound, Within the ocean-cave to pray, Where good Saint Rule his holy lay, From midnight to the dawn of day, Sung to the billows’ sound; Thence to Saint Fillan’s blessèd well, Whose springs can frenzied dreams dispel, And the crazed brain restore: Saint Mary grant that cave or spring Could back to peace my bosom bring, Or bid it throb no more!” XXX.