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he startled Abbess loud exclaimed;But she at whom the blow was aimedGrew pale as death, and cold as lead—She deemed she heard her death-doom read.“Cheer thee, my child,” the Abbess said;“They dare not tear thee from my handTo ride alone with armèd band.”“Nay, holy mother, nay,”Fitz-Eustace said, “the lovely ClareWill be in Lady Angus’ care,In Scotland while we stay;And when we move, an easy rideWill bring us to the English side,Female attendance to provideBefitting Gloucester’s heir;Nor thinks, nor dreams, my noble lord,By slightest look, or act, or word,To harass Lady Clare.Her faithful guardian he will be,Nor sue for slightest courtesyThat e’en to stranger falls.Till he shall place her, safe and free,Within her kinsman’s halls.”He spoke, and blushed with earnest grace;His faith was painted on his face,And Clare’s worst fear relieved.The Lady Abbess loud exclaimedOn Henry, and the Douglas blamed,Entreated, threatened, grieved;To martyr, saint, and prophet prayed,Against Lord Marmion inveighed,And called the Prioress to aid,To curse with candle, bell, and book.Her head the grave Cistercian shook:“The Douglas and the King,” she said,“In their commands will be obeyed;Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fallThe maiden in Tantallon Hall.”
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