Thus through the Scottish camp they passed, And reached the city gate at last, Where all around, a wakeful guard, Armed burghers kept their watch and ward. Well had they cause of jealous fear, When lay encamped, in field so near, The Borderer and the Mountaineer. As through the bustling streets they go, All was alive with martial show; At every turn, with dinning clang, The armourer’s anvil clashed and rang; Or toiled the swarthy smith, to wheel The bar that arms the charger’s heel; Or axe or falchion to the side Of jarring grindstone was applied. Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying pace, Through street and lane and market-place Bore lance, or casque, or sword; While burghers, with important face, Described each new-come lord, Discussed his lineage, told his name, His following and his warlike fame. The Lion led to lodging meet, Which high o’erlooked the crowded street; There must the baron rest Till past the hour of vesper tide, And then to Holyrood must ride— Such was the king’s behest. Meanwhile the Lion’s care assigns A banquet rich, and costly wines, To Marmion and his train; And when the appointed hour succeeds, The baron dons his peaceful weeds, And following Lindesay as he leads, The palace-halls they gain. VII. Old Holyrood rung merrily That night with wassail, mirth, and glee: King James within her princely bower Feasted the chiefs of Scotland’s power, Summoned to spend the parting hour; For he had charged that his array Should southward march by break of day. Well loved that splendid monarch aye The banquet and the song, By day the tourney, and by night The merry dance, traced fast and light, The maskers quaint, the pageant bright, The revel loud and long. This feast outshone his banquets past: It was his blithest—and his last. The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay, Cast on the Court a dancing ray; Here to the harp did minstrels sing; There ladies touched a softer string; With long-eared cap and motley vest The licensed fool retailed his jest; His magic tricks the juggler plied; At dice and draughts the gallants vied; While some, in close recess apart, Courted the ladies of their heart, Nor courted them in vain; For often in the parting hour Victorious Love asserts his power O’er coldness and disdain; And flinty is her heart, can view To battle march a lover true— Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, Nor own her share of pain. VIII.