Burn'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, And shook his very frame for ire, 410 And--'This to me!' he said, 'An 'twere not for thy hoary beard, Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 'To cleave the Douglas' head! And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer, 415 He, who does England's message here, Although the meanest in her state, May well, proud Angus, be thy mate: And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, Even in thy pitch of pride, 420 Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, (Nay, never look upon your lord, And lay your hands upon your sword,) I tell thee, thou'rt defied! And if thou said'st, I am not peer 425 To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied!'-- On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage O'ercame the ashen hue of age: 430 Fierce he broke forth,--'And darest thou then To beard the lion in his den, The Douglas in his hall? And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?-- No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no! 435 Up drawbridge, grooms--what, Warder, ho! Let the portcullis fall.'-- Lord Marmion turn'd,--well was his need, And dash'd the rowels in his steed, Like arrow through the archway sprung, 440 The ponderous grate behind him rung: To pass there was such scanty room, The bars, descending, razed his plume. XV. The steed along the drawbridge flies, Just as it trembled on the rise; 445 Nor lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake's level brim: And when Lord Marmion reach'd his band, He halts, and turns with clenched hand, And shout of loud defiance pours, 450 And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 'Horse! horse!' the Douglas cried, 'and chase!' But soon he rein'd his fury's pace: 'A royal messenger he came, Though most unworthy of the name.-- 455 A letter forged! Saint Jude to speed! Did ever knight so foul a deed! At first in heart it liked me ill, When the King praised his clerkly skill. Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine, 460 Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line: So swore I, and I swear it still, Let my boy-bishop fret his fill.-- Saint Mary mend my fiery mood! Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, 465 I thought to slay him where he stood. 'Tis pity of him too,' he cried; 'Bold can he speak, and fairly ride, I warrant him a warrior tried.' With this his mandate he recalls, 470 And slowly seeks his castle halls. XVI.