'There soon again we meet, my Clare! 285 This Baron means to guide thee there: Douglas reveres his King's command, Else would he take thee from his band. And there thy kinsman, Surrey, too, Will give De Wilton justice due. 290 Now meeter far for martial broil, Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil, Once more'--'O Wilton! must we then Risk new-found happiness again, Trust fate of arms once more? 295 And is there not an humble glen, Where we, content and poor, Might build a cottage in the shade, A shepherd thou, and I to aid Thy task on dale and moor?-- 300 That reddening brow!--too well I know, Not even thy Clare can peace bestow, While falsehood stains thy name: Go then to fight! Clare bids thee go! Clare can a warrior's feelings know, 305 And weep a warrior's shame; Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel, Buckle the spurs upon thy heel, And belt thee with thy brand of steel, And send thee forth to fame!' 310 XI. That night, upon the rocks and bay, The midnight moon-beam slumbering lay, And pour'd its silver light, and pure, Through loop-hole, and through embrazure, Upon Tantallon tower and hall; 315 But chief where arched windows wide Illuminate the chapel's pride, The sober glances fall. Much was there need; though seam'd with scars, Two veterans of the Douglas' wars, 320 Though two grey priests were there, And each a blazing torch held high, You could not by their blaze descry The chapel's carving fair. Amid that dim and smoky light, 325 Chequering the silvery moon-shine bright, A bishop by the altar stood, A noble lord of Douglas blood, With mitre sheen, and rocquet white. Yet show'd his meek and thoughtful eye 330 But little pride of prelacy; More pleased that, in a barbarous age, He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page, Than that beneath his rule he held The bishopric of fair Dunkeld. 335 Beside him ancient Angus stood, Doff'd his furr'd gown, and sable hood: O'er his huge form and visage pale, He wore a cap and shirt of mail; And lean'd his large and wrinkled hand 340 Upon the huge and sweeping brand Which wont of yore, in battle fray, His foeman's limbs to shred away, As wood-knife lops the sapling spray. He seem'd as, from the tombs around 345 Rising at judgment-day, Some giant Douglas may be found In all his old array; So pale his face, so huge his limb, So old his arms, his look so grim. 350 XII.