The jealous churl hath deeply swore,

That, if again he ventures o’er,

He shall shrieve penitent no more.
Little he loves such risques, I know;

Yet, in your guard, perchance will go."

XXIII.

Young Selby, at the fair hall-board,
Carved to his uncle, and that lord,
And reverently took up the word.
"Kind uncle, woe were we each one,
If harm should hap to Brother John.
He is a man of mirthful speech,
Can many a game and gambol teach;
Full well at tables can he play,

And sweep at bowls the stake away.

None can a lustier carol bawl,
The needfullest among us all,

When time hangs heavy in the hall,

And snow comes thick at Christmass tide,

And we can neither hunt, nor ride
A foray on the Scottish side.

The vowed revenge of Bughtrig rude,
May end in worse than loss of hood.
Let Friar John, in safety, still
In chimney corner snore his fill,
Roast hissing crabs, or flaggons swill:
Last night, to Norham there came one,
Will better guide Lord Marmion."

Nephew," quoth Heron, "by my fay, Well hast thou spoke; say forth thy say."

XXIV.

"Here is a holy Palmer come,

From Salem first, and last from Rome;
One, that hath kissed the blessed tomb,

And visited each holy shrine,

In Araby and Palestine ;

On hills of Armenie hath been,

Where Noah's ark may yet be seen;
By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod,
Which parted at the prophet's rod;
In Sinai's wilderness he saw

The Mount, where Israel heard the law,
Mid thunder-dint, and flashing levin,
And shadows, mists, and darkness, given.
He shews Saint James's cockle shell,
Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell ;

And of that Grot where Olives nod,
Where, darling of each heart and eye,
From all the youth of Sicily,

Saint Rosalie retired to God.

XXV.

"To stout Saint George of Norwich merry, Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury,

Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Bede,

For his sins' pardon hath he prayed.

He knows the passes of the North,

And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth ; Little he eats, and long will wake,

And drinks but of the stream or lake.

This were a guide o'er moor and dale ;

But, when our John hath quaffed his ale, As little as the wind that blows,

And warms itself against his nose,

Kens he, or cares,

which way he

goes."

XXVI.

"Gramercy," quoth Lord Marmion,

"Full loth were I, that Friar John, That venerable man, for me,

Were placed in fear, or jeopardy;

If this same Palmer will me lead
From hence to Holy Rood,

Like his good saint, I'll pay his meed,
Instead of cockle-shell, or bead,

With angels fair and good.

I love such holy ramblers; still

They know to charm a weary hill,
With song, romance, or lay :
Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest,
Some lying legend at the least,

They bring to cheer the way.”

XXVII.

Ah! noble sir," young Selby said,

And finger on his lip he laid,

"This man knows much, perchance e'en more

Than he could learn by holy lore.

Still to himself he's muttering,

And shrinks as at some unseen thing.

Last night we listened at his cell;

Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell,

He murmured on till morn, howe'er

No living mortal could be near.
Sometimes I thought I heard it plain,

As other voices spoke again.