II.
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o summons calls them to the tower,To spend the hospitable hour.To Scotland’s camp the lord was gone;His cautious dame, in bower alone,Dreaded her castle to unclose,So late, to unknown friends or foes,On through the hamlet as they paced,Before a porch, whose front was gracedWith bush and flagon trimly placed,Lord Marmion drew his rein:The village inn seemed large, though rude:Its cheerful fire and hearty foodMight well relieve his train.Down from their seats the horsemen sprung,With jingling spurs the courtyard rung;They bind their horses to the stall,For forage, food, and firing call,And various clamour fills the hall:Weighing the labour with the cost,Toils everywhere the bustling host.
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