'Forget we that disastrous day, When senseless in the lists I lay. 170 Thence dragg'd,--but how I cannot know, For sense and recollection fled,- I found me on a pallet low, Within my ancient beadsman's shed. Austin,--remember'st thou, my Clare, 175 How thou didst blush, when the old man, When first our infant love began, Said we would make a matchless pair?-- Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled From the degraded traitor's bed,-- 180 He only held my burning head, And tended me for many a day, While wounds and fever held their sway. But far more needful was his care, When sense return'd to wake despair; 185 For I did tear the closing wound, And dash me frantic on the ground, If e'er I heard the name of Clare. At length, to calmer reason brought, Much by his kind attendance wrought, 190 With him I left my native strand, And, in a Palmer's weeds array'd My hated name and form to shade, I journey'd many a land; No more a lord of rank and birth, 195 But mingled with the dregs of earth. Oft Austin for my reason fear'd, When I would sit, and deeply brood On dark revenge, and deeds of blood, Or wild mad schemes uprear'd. 200 My friend at length fell sick, and said, God would remove him soon: And, while upon his dying bed, He begg'd of me a boon-- If e'er my deadliest enemy 205 Beneath my brand should conquer'd lie, Even then my mercy should awake, And spare his life for Austin's sake. VII. 'Still restless as a second Cain, To Scotland next my route was ta'en, 210 Full well the paths I knew. Fame of my fate made various sound, That death in pilgrimage I found, That I had perish'd of my wound,-- None cared which tale was true: 215 And living eye could never guess De Wilton in his Palmer's dress; For now that sable slough is shed, And trimm'd my shaggy beard and head, I scarcely know me in the glass. 220 A chance most wondrous did provide, That I should be that Baron's guide-- I will not name his name!-- Vengeance to God alone belongs; But, when I think on all my wrongs, 225 My blood is liquid flame! And ne'er the time shall I forget, When in a Scottish hostel set, Dark looks we did exchange: What were his thoughts I cannot tell; 230 But in my bosom muster'd Hell Its plans of dark revenge. VIII.