Would they had tongues the deeds of yore to tell, What pageants sported in their mid-day sun; How changed is the fcene fince lords and ladies gay lived and loved, and wooed and fmiled, within thofe embattled walls All ruined and wild is their roofless abode, And lonely the dark ravens' sheltering tree; From Grongar hill Dyer faw this charm of English scenery Gaudy as the opening dawn. Lies a long and level lawn, On which a dark hill, steep and high, Deep are his feet in Towy's flood, His sides are clothed with waving wood; Huge heaps of hoary mouldered walls. Let us endeavour, with the aid of Sir Walter Scott, to realize the picture of one of our old castles in the height of its lordly profperity. We felect one of the most famous of the border caftles of our country. Day set on Norham's castled steep, And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, And Cheviot's mountains lone : In yellow lustre shone. The warriors on the turrets high, Seem'd forms of giant height: St. George's banner, broad and gay, Less bright, and less, was flung; So heavily it hung. The scouts had parted on their search, Above the gloomy portal arch, The warder kept his guard; A distant trampling sound he hears; A horseman darting from the crowd, His bugle horn he blew; The warder hasted from the wall, "Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, And quickly make the entrance free, And every minstrel sound his glee, And all our trumpets blow; And from the platform, spare ye not To fire a noble salvo-shot; Lord Marmion waits below!" Then to the Castle's lower ward Sped forty yeomen tall, The iron-studded gates unbarr'd, Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard, The lofty palisade unsparr'd, And let the drawbridge fall. And there we leave the bold Marmion to the welcome provided for him. Charles Knight tells of other duties and occupations befides thofe of war, and pastime, and feasting, in which the lordly tenants |