And here two days did Marmion rest, With every rite that honour claims, Attended as the king’s own guest;— Such the command of royal James, Who marshalled then his land’s array, Upon the Borough Moor that lay. Perchance he would not foeman’s eye Upon his gathering host should pry, Till full prepared was every band To march against the English land. Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay’s wit Oft cheer the baron’s moodier fit; And, in his turn, he knew to prize Lord Marmion’s powerful mind, and wise— Trained in the lore of Rome and Greece, And policies of war and peace. XIV. It chanced, as fell the second night, That on the battlements they walked, And, by the slowly fading night, Of varying topics talked; And, unaware, the herald-bard Said, Marmion might his toil have spared, In travelling so far; For that a messenger from heaven In vain to James had counsel given Against the English war: And, closer questioned, thus he told A tale, which chronicles of old In Scottish story have enrolled:— XV. SIR DAVID LINDESAY’S TALE. “Of all the palaces so fair, Built for the royal dwelling, In Scotland far beyond compare, Linlithgow is excelling; And in its park, in jovial June, How sweet the merry linnet’s tune, How blithe the blackbird’s lay; The wild-buck bells from ferny brake, The coot dives merry on the lake; The saddest heart might pleasure take To see all nature gay. But June is, to our sovereign dear, The heaviest month in all the year: Too well his cause of grief you know, June saw his father’s overthrow, Woe to the traitors, who could bring The princely boy against his king! Still in his conscience burns the sting. In offices as strict as Lent, King James’s June is ever spent. XVI.