Some half-hour’s march behind, there came, By Eustace governed fair, A troop escorting Hilda’s dame, With all her nuns and Clare. No audience had Lord Marmion sought; Ever he feared to aggravate Clara de Clare’s suspicious hate; And safer ’twas, he thought, To wait till, from the nuns removed, The influence of kinsmen loved, And suit by Henry’s self approved, Her slow consent had wrought. His was no flickering flame, that dies Unless when fanned by looks and sighs, And lighted oft at lady’s eyes; He longed to stretch his wide command O’er luckless Clara’s ample land; Besides, when Wilton with him vied, Although the pang of humbled pride The place of jealousy supplied, Yet conquest, by that meanness won He almost loathed to think upon, Led him, at times, to hate the cause Which made him burst through honour’s laws If e’er he loved, ’twas her alone Who died within that vault of stone. XXIX. And now when close at hand they saw North Berwick’s town and lofty Law, Fitz-Eustace bade them pause awhile Before a venerable pile, Whose turrets viewed, afar, The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle, The ocean’s peace or war. At tolling of a bell, forth came The convent’s venerable dame, And prayed Saint Hilda’s Abbess rest With her, a loved and honoured guest, Till Douglas should a barque prepare To waft her back to Whitby fair. Glad was the Abbess, you may guess, And thanked the Scottish Prioress; And tedious were to tell, I ween, The courteous speech that passed between. O’erjoyed, the nuns their palfreys leave; But when fair Clara did intend, Like them, from horseback to descend, Fitz-Eustace said, “I grieve, Fair lady—grieve e’en from my heart— Such gentle company to part; Think not discourtesy, But lords’ commands must be obeyed; And Marmion and the Douglas said That you must wend with me. Lord Marmion hath a letter broad, Which to the Scottish earl he showed, Commanding that beneath his care Without delay you shall repair To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare.” XXX.