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Where, through groves deep and high,

Sounds the far billow,

Where early violets die,

Under the willow.

CHORUS.

Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow.

There, through the summer day,

Cool streams are laving;

There, while the tempests sway,

Scarce are bows waving;

There, thy rest shalt thou take,

Parted for ever,

Never again to wake,

Never, O never.

CHORUS.

Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never.

XI.

Where shall the traitor rest,

He, the deceiver,

Who could win maiden's breast,

Ruin, and leave her?

In the lost battle,

Borne down by the flying,

Where mingles war's rattle,

With groans of the dying.

CHORUS.

Eleu loro, &c. There shall he be lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap

O'er the false hearted;

His warm blood the wolf shall lap,

Ere life be parted.

Shame and dishonour sit

By his grave ever;

Blessing shall hallow it,

Never, O never.

CHORUS.

Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never.

XII.

It ceased, the melancholy sound;

And silence sunk on all around.

The air was sad; but sadder still

It fell on Marmion's ear,

And plained as if disgrace and ill,
And shameful death were near.

He drew his mantle past his face,
Between it and the band,

And rested with his head a space,

Reclining on his hand.

His thoughts I scan not; but I ween,

That, could their import have been seen,

The meanest groom in all the hall,

That e'er tied courser to a stall,

Would scarce have wished to be their prey,

For Lutterward and Fontenaye.

XIII.

High minds, of native pride and force,

Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse!

Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have,

Thou art the torturer of the brave;

Yet fatal strength they boast to steel
Their minds to bear the wounds they feel;

Even while they writhe beneath the smart
Of civil conflict in the heart.

For soon Lord Marmion raised his head,
And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said :-
"Is it not strange, that, as ye sung,
Seemed in mine ear a death-peal rung,

Such as in nunneries they toll

For some departing sister's soul?

Say, what may this portend?"---

Then first the Palmer silence broke, (The live-long day he had not spoke,)

"The death of a dear friend."

XIV.

Marmion, whose steady heart and eye
Ne'er changed in worst extremity;

K

Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook,

Even from his king, a haughty look;

Whose accent of command controuled,

In camps, the boldest of the bold-
Thought, look, and utterance, failed him now,
Fallen was his glance, and flushed his brow:

For either in the tone,

Or something in the Palmer's look,

So full upon his conscience strook,
That answer he found none.

Thus oft it haps, that when within

They shrink at sense of secret sin,

A feather daunts the brave;

A fool's wild speech confounds the wise,

And proudest princes vail their eyes

Before their meanest slave.

XV.

Well might he faulter!-by his aid

Was Constance Beverley betrayed;

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