At night, in secret, there they came, The Palmer and the holy dame. 550 The moon among the clouds rose high, And all the city hum was by. Upon the street, where late before Did din of war and warriors roar, You might have heard a pebble fall, 555 A beetle hum, a cricket sing, An owlet flap his boding wing On Giles's steeple tall. The antique buildings, climbing high, Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky, 560 Were here wrapt deep in shade; There on their brows the moon-beam broke, Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke, And on the casements play'd. And other light was none to see, 565 Save torches gliding far, Before some chieftain of degree, Who left the royal revelry To bowne him for the war.-- A solemn scene the Abbess chose; 570 A solemn hour, her secret to disclose. XXI. 'O, holy Palmer!' she began,-- 'For sure he must be sainted man, Whose blessed feet have trod the ground Where the Redeemer's tomb is found,-- 575 For His dear Church's sake, my tale Attend, nor deem of light avail, Though I must speak of worldly love,-- How vain to those who wed above!-- De Wilton and Lord Marmion woo'd 580 Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood; (Idle it were of Whitby's dame, To say of that same blood I came;) And once, when jealous rage was high, Lord Marmion said despiteously, 585 Wilton was traitor in his heart, And had made league with Martin Swart, When he came here on Simnel's part; And only cowardice did restrain His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain,-- 590 And down he threw his glove:--the thing Was tried, as wont, before the King; Where frankly did De Wilton own, That Swart in Guelders he had known; And that between them then there went 595 Some scroll of courteous compliment. For this he to his castle sent; But when his messenger return'd, Judge how De Wilton's fury burn'd! For in his packet there were laid 600 Letters that claim'd disloyal aid, And proved King Henry's cause betray'd. His fame, thus blighted, in the field He strove to clear, by spear and shield;-- To clear his fame in vain he strove, 605 For wondrous are His ways above! Perchance some form was unobserved; Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved; Else how could guiltless champion quail, Or how the blessed ordeal fail? 610 XXII.