At length up that wild dale they wind, Where Crichtoun Castle crowns the bank; For there the Lion's care assign'd 195 A lodging meet for Marmion's rank. That Castle rises on the steep Of the green vale of Tyne: And far beneath, where slow they creep, From pool to eddy, dark and deep, 200 Where alders moist, and willows weep, You hear her streams repine. The towers in different ages rose; Their various architecture shows The builders' various hands; 205 A mighty mass, that could oppose, When deadliest hatred fired its foes, The vengeful Douglas bands. XI. Crichtoun! though now thy miry court But pens the lazy steer and sheep, 210 Thy turrets rude, and totter'd Keep, Have been the minstrel's loved resort. Oft have I traced, within thy fort, Of mouldering shields the mystic sense, Scutcheons of honour, or pretence, 215 Quarter'd in old armorial sort, Remains of rude magnificence. Nor wholly yet had time defaced Thy lordly gallery fair; Nor yet the stony cord unbraced, 220 Whose twisted knots, with roses laced, Adorn thy ruin'd stair. Still rises unimpair'd below, The court-yard's graceful portico; Above its cornice, row and row 225 Of fair hewn facets richly show Their pointed diamond form, Though there but houseless cattle go, To shield them from the storm. And, shuddering, still may we explore, 230 Where oft whilom were captives pent, The darkness of thy Massy More; Or, from thy grass-grown battlement, May trace, in undulating line, The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. 235 XII. Another aspect Crichtoun show'd, As through its portal Marmion rode; But yet 'twas melancholy state Received him at the outer gate; For none were in the Castle then, 240 But women, boys, or aged men. With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame, To welcome noble Marmion, came; Her son, a stripling twelve years old, Proffer'd the Baron's rein to hold; 245 For each man that could draw a sword Had march'd that morning with their lord, Earl Adam Hepburn,--he who died On Flodden, by his sovereign's side. Long may his Lady look in vain! 250 She ne'er shall see his gallant train, Come sweeping back through Crichtoun-Dean. 'Twas a brave race, before the name Of hated Bothwell stain'd their fame. XIII.