Then stepp'd, to meet that noble Lord, Sir Hugh the Heron bold, Baron of Twisell, and of Ford, And Captain of the Hold. He led Lord Marmion to the deas, 195 Raised o'er the pavement high, And placed him in the upper place- They feasted full and high; The whiles a Northern harper rude Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, 200 'How the fierce Thirwalls, and Ridleys all, Stout Willimondswick, And Hardriding Dick, And Hughie of Hawdon, and Will o' the Wall, Have set on Sir Albany Featherstonhaugh, 205 And taken his life at the Deadman's-shaw.' Scantly Lord Marmion's ear could brook The harper's barbarous lay; Yet much he praised the pains he took, And well those pains did pay 210 For lady's suit, and minstrel's strain, By knight should ne'er be heard in vain, XIV. 'Now, good Lord Marmion,' Heron says, 'Of your fair courtesy, I pray you bide some little space 215 In this poor tower with me. Here may you keep your arms from rust, May breathe your war-horse well; Seldom hath pass'd a week but giust Or feat of arms befell: 220 The Scots can rein a mettled steed; And love to couch a spear:-- Saint George! a stirring life they lead, That have such neighbours near. Then stay with us a little space, 225 Our northern wars to learn; I pray you, for your lady's grace!'-- Lord Marmion's brow grew stern. XV. The Captain mark'd his alter'd look, And gave a squire the sign; 230 A mighty wassell-bowl he took, And crown'd it high with wine. 'Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion: But first I pray thee fair, Where hast thou left that page of thine, 235 That used to serve thy cup of wine, Whose beauty was so rare? When last in Raby towers we met, The boy I closely eyed, And often mark'd his cheeks were wet, 240 With tears he fain would hide: His was no rugged horse-boy's hand, To burnish shield or sharpen brand, Or saddle battle-steed; But meeter seem'd for lady fair, 245 To fan her cheek, or curl her hair, Or through embroidery, rich and rare, The slender silk to lead: His skin was fair, his ringlets gold, His bosom--when he sigh'd, 250 The russet doublet's rugged fold Could scarce repel its pride! Say, hast thou given that lovely youth To serve in lady's bower? Or was the gentle page, in sooth, 255 A gentle paramour?' XVI.