'Why need my tongue the issue tell? We ran our course,--my charger fell;-- What could he 'gainst the shock of hell? I roll'd upon the plain. High o'er my head, with threatening hand, 425 The spectre shook his naked brand,-- Yet did the worst remain: My dazzled eyes I upward cast,-- Not opening hell itself could blast Their sight, like what I saw! 430 Full on his face the moonbeam strook!-- A face could never be mistook! I knew the stern vindictive look, And held my breath for awe. I saw the face of one who, fled 435 To foreign climes, has long been dead,-- I well believe the last; For ne'er, from vizor raised, did stare A human warrior, with a glare So grimly and so ghast. 440 Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade; But when to good Saint George I pray'd, (The first time e'er I ask'd his aid), He plunged it in the sheath; And, on his courser mounting light, 445 He seem'd to vanish from my sight: The moonbeam droop'd, and deepest night Sunk down upon the heath.-- 'Twere long to tell what cause I have To know his face, that met me there, 450 Call'd by his hatred from the grave, To cumber upper air: Dead, or alive, good cause had he To be my mortal enemy.' XXII. Marvell'd Sir David of the Mount; 455 Then, learn'd in story, 'gan recount Such chance had happ'd of old, When once, near Norham, there did fight A spectre fell of fiendish might, In likeness of a Scottish knight, 460 With Brian Bulmer bold, And train'd him nigh to disallow The aid of his baptismal vow. 'And such a phantom, too, 'tis said, With Highland broadsword, targe, and plaid 465 And fingers red with gore, Is seen in Rothiemurcus glade, Or where the sable pine-tree shade Dark Tomantoul, and Auchnaslaid, Dromouchty, or Glenmore. 470 And yet, whate'er such legends say, Of warlike demon, ghost, or lay, On mountain, moor, or plain, Spotless in faith, in bosom bold, True son of chivalry should hold 475 These midnight terrors vain; For seldom have such spirits power To harm, save in the evil hour, When guilt we meditate within, Or harbour unrepented sin.'-- 480 Lord Marmion turn'd him half aside, And twice to clear his voice he tried, Then press'd Sir David's hand,-- But nought, at length, in answer said; And here their farther converse staid, 485 Each ordering that his band Should bowne them with the rising day, To Scotland's camp to take their way,- Such was the King's command. XXIII.