And now the midnight draught of sleep, 515 Where wine and spices richly steep, In massive bowl of silver deep, The page presents on knee. Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest, The Captain pledged his noble guest, 520 The cup went through among the rest, Who drain'd it merrily; Alone the Palmer pass'd it by, Though Selby press'd him courteously. This was a sign the feast was o'er; 525 It hush'd the merry wassel roar, The minstrels ceased to sound. Soon in the castle nought was heard, But the slow footstep of the guard, Pacing his sober round. 530 XXXI. With early dawn Lord Marmion rose: And first the chapel doors unclose; Then, after morning rites were done, (A hasty mass from Friar John,) And knight and squire had broke their fast, 535 On rich substantial repast, Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse: Then came the stirrup-cup in course: Between the Baron and his host, No point of courtesy was lost; 540 High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid, Solemn excuse the Captain made, Till, filing from the gate, had pass'd That noble train, their Lord the last. Then loudly rung the trumpet call; 545 Thunder'd the cannon from the wall, And shook the Scottish shore; Around the castle eddied slow, Volumes of smoke as white as snow, And hid its turrets hoar; 550 Till they roli'd forth upon the air, And met the river breezes there, Which gave again the prospect fair. INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. TO THE REV JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M. Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. The scenes are desert now, and bare Where flourish'd once a forest fair, When these waste glens with copse were lined, And peopled with the hart and hind. Yon Thorn--perchance whose prickly spears 5 Have fenced him for three hundred years, While fell around his green compeers-- Yon lonely Thorn, would he could tell The changes of his parent dell, Since he, so grey and stubborn now, 10 Waved in each breeze a sapling bough; Would he could tell how deep the shade A thousand mingled branches made; How broad the shadows of the oak, How clung the rowan to the rock, 15 And through the foliage show'd his head, With narrow leaves and berries red; What pines on every mountain sprung, O'er every dell what birches hung, In every breeze what aspens shook, 20 What alders shaded every brook!