And now the midnight draught of sleep, Where wine and spices richly steep, In massive bowl of silver deep, The page presents on knee. Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest, The captain pledged his noble guest, The cup went through among the rest, Who drained it merrily; Alone the Palmer passed it by, Though Selby pressed him courteously. This was a sign the feast was o’er, It hushed the merry wassail roar, The minstrels ceased to sound. Soon in the castle nought was heard But the slow footstep of the guard, Pacing his sober round. XXXI. With early dawn Lord Marmion rose: And first the chapel doors unclose; Then after morning rites were done (A hasty mass from Friar John), And knight and squire had broke their fast On rich substantial repast, Lord Marmion’s bugles blew to horse Then came the stirrup-cup in course: Between the baron and his host No point of courtesy was lost: High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid, Solemn excuse the captain made, Till, filing from the gate, had passed That noble train, their lord the last. Then loudly rung the trumpet call; Thundered the cannon from the wall, And shook the Scottish shore: Around the castle eddied slow, Volumes of smoke as white as snow, And hid its turrets hoar; Till they rolled forth upon the air, And met the river breezes there, Which gave again the prospect fair. INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. TO THE REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A.M. _Ashestiel_, _Ettrick Forest_. THE scenes are desert now, and bare, Where flourished once a forest fair When these waste glens with copse were lined, And peopled with the hart and hind. Yon thorn—perchance whose prickly spears Have fenced him for three hundred years, While fell around his green compeers— Yon lonely thorn, would he could tell The changes of his parent dell, Since he, so grey and stubborn now, Waved in each breeze a sapling bough: Would he could tell how deep the shade A thousand mingled branches made; How broad the shadows of the oak, How clung the rowan to the rock, And through the foliage showed his head, With narrow leaves and berries red; What pines on every mountain sprung, O’er every dell what birches hung, In every breeze what aspens shook, What alders shaded every brook!