CANTO VI.
185
When thou shalt find the little hill,
With thy heart commune, and be still.
If ever, in temptation strong,
1140Thou left'st the right path for the wrong;
If every devious step, thus trod,
Still led thee farther from the road;
Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb;
1145But say, 'He died a gallant knight,
With sword in hand, for England's right.'
With thy heart commune, and be still.
If ever, in temptation strong,
1140Thou left'st the right path for the wrong;
If every devious step, thus trod,
Still led thee farther from the road;
Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb;
1145But say, 'He died a gallant knight,
With sword in hand, for England's right.'
XXXVIII.
I do not rhyme to that dull elf,
Who cannot image to himself,
That all through Flodden's dismal night,
1150Wilton was foremost in the fight;
That, when brave Surrey's steed was slain,
'Twas Wilton mounted him again;
'Twas Wilton's brand that deepest hew'd,
Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood:
1155Unnamed by Hollinshed or Hall,
He was the living soul of all;
That, after fight, his faith made plain,
He won his rank and lands again;
And charged his old paternal shield
1160With bearings won on Flodden Field.
Nor sing I to that simple maid,
To whom it must in terms be said,
That King and kinsmen did agree,
To bless fair Clara's constancy;
1165Who cannot, unless I relate,
Paint to her mind the bridal's state;
That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke,
More, Sands, and Denny, pass'd the joke:
That bluff King Hal the curtain drew,
1170And Catherine's hand the stocking threw;
And afterwards, for many a day,
That it was held enough to say,
I do not rhyme to that dull elf,
Who cannot image to himself,
That all through Flodden's dismal night,
1150Wilton was foremost in the fight;
That, when brave Surrey's steed was slain,
'Twas Wilton mounted him again;
'Twas Wilton's brand that deepest hew'd,
Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood:
1155Unnamed by Hollinshed or Hall,
He was the living soul of all;
That, after fight, his faith made plain,
He won his rank and lands again;
And charged his old paternal shield
1160With bearings won on Flodden Field.
Nor sing I to that simple maid,
To whom it must in terms be said,
That King and kinsmen did agree,
To bless fair Clara's constancy;
1165Who cannot, unless I relate,
Paint to her mind the bridal's state;
That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke,
More, Sands, and Denny, pass'd the joke:
That bluff King Hal the curtain drew,
1170And Catherine's hand the stocking threw;
And afterwards, for many a day,
That it was held enough to say,
