gibes' now? your gambols'? your songs'? your flashes of merriment', that
were wont to set the table on a roar'? Not one', now, to mock your own
grinning'? quite chopfallen'? Now get you to my lady's chamber' and tell
her', let her paint an inch thick' to this favor' she must come'; make her
laugh at that'.



IV. DESCRIPTION OF A BATTLE.

Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew'
With wavering flight', while fiercer grew
Around, the battle yell.
The border slogan rent the sky',
A Home'! a Gordon'! was the cry';
Loud' were the clanging blows';
Advanced',--forced back',--now low',--now high',
The pennon sunk'--and rose';
As bends the bark's mast in the gale',
When rent are rigging', shrouds', and sail',
It wavered 'mid the foes'.
The war, that for a space did fail',
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale',
And Stanley'! was the cry;
A light on Marmion's visage spread',
And fired his glazing eye':--
With dying' hand', above his head',
He shook the fragment of his blade',
And shouted',--"Victory'!
Charge', Chester', charge'! On' Stanley', on'!"--