1c0 
might pleasure share,” appeared charmed 
' with the delights of their voyage; the ob- 
ject of which was, in conjunction with St. 
Cuthbert’s abbot,and the prioress of Tyne- 
mouth, to hold a chapter of the order of 
St. Benedict, “ for inquisition stern,” and 
strict, on two apostates from the faith, 
and if need ‘* were to doom to death.” 
Sister Clare is described as young and 
beautiful, and having been betrothed to 
one now dead, or worse, who had fled dis- 
honoured, she was bent to take the ves- 
tal vow. Those who lay prisoned in Cuth- 
bert’s isle were charged with practising 
against the mourner’s harmless life. 
On their landing at Lindisfarn, council 
was held in a dark and subterraneous 
aisle of the abbey “ of life and death.” 
Before the three judges stood the two de- 
linquents. Of one it is said, that “ a 
page’s dress her sex belied.” On her bo- 
som appeared the badge of blue, Lord 
Marmion’s falcon crest. This was Con- 
stance de Beverley, sister professed of 
Fontevraud, 
6¢ Whom the church numbered with the 
dead, 
For broken vows and convent fled.” 
The other was a murderer clad 
jn frock and cow). The punishment to 
which they were doomed was to be im- 
mured in two niches built in the wall, 
where after consuming their slender meal 
of roots, water, and bread, they were des- 
tined to starvein dreadful solitude. 
Previous to the execution of this horrid 
sentence, Constance in convulsive accents 
confessed her guilt “ that listening to a 
traitor’s tale, she had quitted her convent, 
and bowed her pride to accompany him 
in the habit of a page for three long years: 
till at length he saw young Clara’s face, 
and knowing her to be the heiress of great 
estates, he foreswore his faith, and Con- 
stance was beloved no more. 
The faith of Clara however was plighted 
to another lover, who was unjustly accused 
by the perjured Marmion of treason, and 
his suceess in a single combat with his 
rival De Wilton being supposed to prove 
the charge, the latter was condemned to 
lose both life and estate. Thus says the 
wretched Constance :— 
«6 How false the charge, how true he fell, 
This guilty pacquet best can tell.” 
On the issue of the combat, Clara fled 
to the convent of Whitby, “ the hated 
match to shun;” but King Henry swore 
she should be Marmion’s bride: as the 
only means of préventing which, Con- 
Remarks on the Poetie Romance of Marmion. [ Sept. ly 
stance confessed that she had suborned 
the caitiff monk, destined to perish with. 
her, to repair to Whithy, and destroy her 
fair rival with poisonous drugs. Aban- 
doned to rage and despair, she thus pro- 
ceeds :— 
And now my tongue the secret tells, 
Not that remorse my bosom swells, 
But to assure my soul that none 
Shall ever wed with Marmion. 
Had fortune my last hope betrayed 
This pscquet to the king conveyed, 
Had given him to the headsman’s stroke, 
Although my heart that instant broke,” 
After this horrid and disgusting recital, 
the infernal sentence was passed and fur- 
thermore carried into execution; the 
shriekings of despair sounding in the 
ears of the judges as they ascended to 
the light of day. Such is the strange 
information conveyed in the six or sever 
hundred lines comprised in the secoud 
Canto. 
It is obvious to remark that the cha. 
racters of Constance and Marmion are 
so detestably profligate and abandoned, ~ 
that no art can repress the glow of indig- 
nation, or excite the sliglitest interest in 
their favour. The first 1s left to perish 
without any feeling of sympathy different 
from that which attends the fate of the 
vilest criminal, and the latter pursues his 
splendid course in defiance of the divine 
vengeance, and in contempt of human 
laws, the object of wonder and execra~ 
tion. 
The canto is spun out to an immea- 
surable length by weaving into the scanty 
narrative, long and tedious descriptions uf 
a Lady Abbess, a voyage, a monastery, a 
legend, a trial, a prophesy, and an exe- 
cution; the far greater part of these de- 
tails bearing no sort of relation to the fa- 
ble, which is thus expanded as it were by 
the bréath of the poet, into an airy no- 
thing; a sort of gay and gaudy bubble, 
dazzling to the eye, but vanishing at the 
talismanic touch of rational criticism. 
That this canto exhibits some beautiful 
specimens of the poetic art will indeed 
not be denied. The following passages 
may be cited as proofs. 
&¢ In Saxon strength the abbey frown’d, 
With massive arches broad and round, 
That rose alternate row and rows. 
On ponderous columns short and Tow: 
Built ere the art was known, 
By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk, 
The arcades of an alley’d walk, 
Yo emulate in stone. 
On the deep walls the heathen Dane 
Had pour’d his impious rage in vain. 
The 
