XXVII.
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ar on the left, unseen the while,Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle;Though there the western mountaineerRushed with bare bosom on the spear,And flung the feeble targe aside,And with both hands the broadsword plied,’Twas vain:—But Fortune, on the right,With fickle smile, cheered Scotland’s fight.Then fell that spotless banner white,The Howard’s lion fell;Yet still Lord Marmion’s falcon flewWith wavering flight, while fiercer grewAround 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 barque’s mast in the gale,When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail,It wavered ’mid the foes.No longer Blount the view could bear:“By heaven and all its saints! I swear,I will not see it lost;Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady ClareMay bid your beads, and patter prayer—I gallop to the host.”And to the fray he rode amain,Followed by all the archer train.The fiery youth, with desperate charge,Made, for a space, an opening large—The rescued banner rose—But darkly closed the war around,Like pine-trees, rooted from the ground,It sunk among the foes.Then Eustace mounted too:—yet stayed,As loth to leave the helpless maid,When, fast as shaft can fly,Bloodshot his eyes, his nostrils spread,The loose rein dangling from his head,Housing and saddle bloody red,Lord Marmion’s steed rushed by;And Eustace, maddening at the sight,A look and sign to Clara cast,To mark he would return in haste,Then plunged into the fight.
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