CHORUS. _Eleu loro_, &c. Never, oh, never! XI. Where shall the traitor rest, He, the deceiver, Who could win maiden’s breast, Ruin, and leave her? In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war’s rattle With groans of the dying. CHORUS. _Eleu loro_, &c. There shall he be lying. Her wing shall the eagle flap O’er the false-hearted; His warm blood the wolf shall lap, Ere life be parted. Shame and dishonour sit By his grave ever: Blessing shall hallow it, Never, oh, never! CHORUS. _Eleu loro_, &c. Never, oh, never! XII. It ceased, the melancholy sound; And silence sunk on all around. The air was sad; but sadder still It fell on Marmion’s ear, And plained as if disgrace and ill, And shameful death, were near. He drew his mantle past his face, Between it and the band, And rested with his head a space Reclining on his hand. His thoughts I scan not; but I ween, That, could their import have been seen, The meanest groom in all the hall, That e’er tied courser to a stall, Would scarce have wished to be their prey, For Lutterward and Fontenaye. XIII. High minds, of native pride and force, Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse! Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have, Thou art the torturer of the brave! Yet fatal strength they boast to steel Their minds to bear the wounds they feel, Even while they writhe beneath the smart Of civil conflict in the heart. For soon Lord Marmion raised his head, And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said— “Is it not strange, that, as ye sung, Seemed in mine ear a death-peal rung, Such as in nunneries they toll For some departing sister’s soul; Say, what may this portend?” Then first the Palmer silence broke, (The livelong day he had not spoke) “The death of a dear friend.” XIV. Marmion, whose steady heart and eye Ne’er changed in worst extremity; Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, Even from his king, a haughty look: Whose accent of command controlled, In camps, the boldest of the bold; Thought, look, and utterance failed him now— Fall’n was his glance, and flushed his brow: For either in the tone, Or something in the Palmer’s look, So full upon his conscience strook, That answer he found none. Thus oft it haps, that when within They shrink at sense of secret sin, A feather daunts the brave; A fool’s wild speech confounds the wise, And proudest princes veil their eyes Before their meanest slave. XV.