'Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer, Whose names I now shall call, Scottish, or foreigner, give ear! Subjects of him who sent me here, At his tribunal to appear, 740 I summon one and all: I cite you by each deadly sin, That e'er hath soil'd your hearts within; I cite you by each brutal lust, That e'er defiled your earthly dust,-- 745 By wrath, by pride, by fear, By each o'er-mastering passion's tone, By the dark grave, and dying groan! When forty days are pass'd and gone, I cite you at your Monarch's throne, 750 To answer and appear.'-- Then thundered forth a roll of names:-- The first was thine, unhappy James! Then all thy nobles came; Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Argyle, 755 Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle,- Why should I tell their separate style? Each chief of birth and fame, Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle, Fore-doom'd to Flodden's carnage pile, 760 Was cited there by name; And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye, Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye; De Wilton, erst of Aberley, The self-same thundering voice did say.-- 765 But then another spoke: 'Thy fatal summons I deny, And thine infernal Lord defy, Appealing me to Him on high, Who burst the sinner's yoke.' 770 At that dread accent, with a scream, Parted the pageant like a dream, The summoner was gone. Prone on her face the Abbess fell, And fast, and fast, her beads did tell; 775 Her nuns came, startled by the yell, And found her there alone. She mark'd not, at the scene aghast, What time, or how, the Palmer pass'd. XXVII. Shift we the scene.--The camp doth move, 780 Dun-Edin's streets are empty now, Save when, for weal of those they love, To pray the prayer, and vow the vow, The tottering child, the anxious fair, The grey-hair'd sire, with pious care, 785 To chapels and to shrines repair-- Where is the Palmer now? and where The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare?-- Bold Douglas! to Tantallon fair They journey in thy charge: 790 Lord Marmion rode on his right hand, The Palmer still was with the band; Angus, like Lindesay, did command, That none should roam at large. But in that Palmer's altered mien 795 A wondrous change might now be seen; Freely he spoke of war, Of marvels wrought by single hand, When lifted for a native land; And still look'd high, as if he plann'd 800 Some desperate deed afar. His courser would he feed and stroke, And, tucking up his sable frocke, Would first his mettle bold provoke, Then soothe or quell his pride. 805 Old Hubert said, that never one He saw, except Lord Marmion, A steed so fairly ride. XXVIII.