The Monarch o'er the siren hung, And beat the measure as she sung; And, pressing closer, and more near, He whisper'd praises in her ear. In loud applause the courtiers vied; 365 And ladies wink'd, and spoke aside. The witching dame to Marmion threw A glance, where seem'd to reign The pride that claims applauses due, And of her royal conquest too, 370 A real or feign'd disdain: Familiar was the look, and told, Marmion and she were friends of old. The King observed their meeting eyes, With something like displeased surprise; 375 For monarchs ill can rivals brook, Even in a word, or smile, or look. Straight took he forth the parchment broad, Which Marmion's high commission show'd: 'Our Borders sack'd by many a raid, 380 Our peaceful liege-men robb'd,' he said; 'On day of truce our Warden slain, Stout Barton kill'd, his vessels ta'en-- Unworthy were we here to reign, Should these for vengeance cry in vain; 385 Our full defiance, hate, and scorn, Our herald has to Henry borne.' XIV. He paused, and led where Douglas stood, And with stern eye the pageant view'd: I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore, 390 Who coronet of Angus bore, And, when his blood and heart were high, Did the third James in camp defy, And all his minions led to die On Lauder's dreary flat: 395 Princes and favourites long grew tame, And trembled at the homely name Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat; The same who left the dusky vale Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 400 Its dungeons, and its towers, Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air, And Bothwell bank is blooming fair, To fix his princely bowers. Though now, in age, he had laid down 405 His armour for the peaceful gown, And for a staff his brand, Yet often would flash forth the fire, That could, in youth, a monarch's ire And minion's pride withstand; 410 And even that day, at council board, Unapt to soothe his sovereign's mood, Against the war had Angus stood, And chafed his royal Lord. XV.