They whispered one to another: "Sawest thou ever
such a face? How pale his cheek! How bright his eye! His heart must be
set only on his soul's salvation."
To chase away the gloom gradually stealing over the company, and to draw
from himself the sullen scowl of the Palmer, Marmion called upon his
favorite squire:
"'Fitz-Eustace, knows't thou not some lay
To speed the lingering night away?'"
The youth made an unhappy choice. He had a rich, mellow voice, and chose
the wild, sad ballad often sung to Marmion by the unfortunate Constance
de Beverley. When all was quiet, quiveringly the notes fell upon the
air:
SONG.
"Where shall the lover rest,
Whom the fates sever
From his true maiden's breast,
Parted forever?
Where early violets die
Under the willow.
"There through the summer day,
Cool streams are laving
There while the tempests sway,
Scarce are boughs waving;
There thy rest shalt thou take,
Never again to awake,
Never, O never!
"Where shall the traitor rove,
He, the deceiver,
Who could win maiden's love,
Win and then leave her?
In the lost battle,
Borne down by the flying,
Where mingles war's rattle
With groans of the dying.
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