While thus in Marmion’s bosom strove Repentance and reviving love, Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway I’ve seen Loch Vennachar obey, Their host the Palmer’s speech had heard, And, talkative, took up the word: “Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray From Scotland’s simple land away, To visit realms afar, Full often learn the art to know Of future weal, or future woe, By word, or sign, or star; Yet might a knight his fortune hear, If, knightlike, he despises fear, Not far from hence; if fathers old Aright our hamlet legend told.” These broken words the menials move, For marvels still the vulgar love, And, Marmion giving license cold, His tale the host thus gladly told: XIX. THE HOST’S TALE. “A clerk could tell what years have flown Since Alexander filled our throne, Third monarch of that warlike name, And eke the time when here he came To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord; A braver never drew a sword; A wiser never, at the hour Of midnight, spoke the word of power: The same, whom ancient records call The founder of the Goblin Hall. I would, Sir Knight, your longer stay Gave you that cavern to survey. Of lofty roof, and ample size, Beneath the castle deep it lies: To hew the living rock profound, The floor to pave, the arch to round, There never toiled a mortal arm— It all was wrought by word and charm; And I have heard my grandsire say, That the wild clamour and affray Of those dread artisans of hell, Who laboured under Hugo’s spell, Sounded as loud as ocean’s war Among the caverns of Dunbar. XX. “The king Lord Gifford’s castle sought, Deep labouring with uncertain thought: Even then he mustered all his host, To meet upon the western coast: For Norse and Danish galleys plied Their oars within the frith of Clyde. There floated Haco’s banner trim, Above Norwayan warriors grim, Savage of heart, and large of limb; Threatening both continent and isle, Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle. Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground, Heard Alexander’s bugle sound, And tarried not his garb to change, But, in his wizard habit strange, Came forth—a quaint and fearful sight: His mantle lined with fox-skins white; His high and wrinkled forehead bore A pointed cap, such as of yore Clerks say that Pharaoh’s Magi wore: His shoes were marked with cross and spell, Upon his breast a pentacle; His zone, of virgin parchment thin, Or, as some tell, of dead man’s skin, Bore many a planetary sign, Combust, and retrograde, and trine; And in his hand he held prepared A naked sword without a guard. XXI.