“The joyful King turned home again, Headed his host, and quelled the Dane; But yearly, when returned the night Of his strange combat with the sprite, His wound must bleed and smart; Lord Gifford then would gibing say, ‘Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay The penance of your start.’ Long since, beneath Dunfermline’s nave, King Alexander fills his grave, Our Lady give him rest! Yet still the knightly spear and shield The Elfin Warrior doth wield, Upon the brown hill’s breast; And many a knight hath proved his chance, In the charmed ring to break a lance, But all have foully sped; Save two, as legends tell, and they Were Wallace wight, and Gilbert Hay. Gentles, my tale is said.” XXVI. The quaighs were deep, the liquors strong, And on the tale the yeoman-throng Had made a comment sage and long, But Marmion gave a sign: And, with their lord, the squires retire; The rest around the hostel fire, Their drowsy limbs recline: For pillow, underneath each head, The quiver and the targe were laid. Deep slumbering on the hostel floor, Oppressed with toil and ale, they snore: The dying flame, in fitful change, Threw on the group its shadows strange. XXVII. Apart, and nestling in the hay Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay; Scarce by the pale moonlight, were seen The foldings of his mantle green: Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream Of sport by thicket, or by stream Of hawk or hound, of ring or glove, Or, lighter yet, of lady’s love. A cautious tread his slumber broke, And close beside him, when he woke, In moonbeam half, and half in gloom, Stood a tall form, with nodding plume; But ere his dagger Eustace drew, His master Marmion’s voice he knew. XXVIII. “Fitz-Eustace! rise,—I cannot rest;— Yon churl’s wild legend haunts my breast, And graver thoughts have chafed my mood; The air must cool my feverish blood; And fain would I ride forth, to see The scene of elfin chivalry. Arise, and saddle me my steed; And, gentle Eustace, take good heed Thou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves; I would not, that the prating knaves Had cause for saying, o’er their ale, That I could credit such a tale.” Then softly down the steps they slid; Eustace the stable door undid, And darkling, Marmion’s steed arrayed, While, whispering, thus the baron said:— XXIX.