Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"
On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age:
Fierce he broke forth: "And darest thou, then,
To beard the lion in his den,--
The Douglas in his hall?
And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!--
Up drawbridge, grooms! what, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall."
Lord Marmion turned,--well was his need,--
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung;
The ponderous gate behind him rung:
To pass, there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim:
And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clenched hand,
A shout of loud defiance pours,
And shakes his gauntlet at the towers!
Sir W. Scott.


CLXV.