POETKY OF FLOWERS. 
173 
Burn’d Marmion’s swarthy cheek with fire, 
And shook his very frame for ire, 
And—“ This to me!”—he said, 
“ An ’twere not for thy hoary head. 
Such hand as Marmion’s had not spared 
To cleave the Douglas’ head ! 
And first, I tell thee, haughty peer. 
He who does England’s message here. 
Although the meanest in her state. 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate ; 
And Douglas, more, I tell thee here, 
Even in thy pitch of pride. 
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near; 
(Nay, never look upon your lord. 
And lay your hands upon your sword,) 
I tell thee—thou’rt defied ! 
And, if thou said’st I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here. 
Lowland or Highland, far or near. 
Lord Angus, thou has lied !” 
On the Earl’s cheek the flush of rage 
O’ercame the ashen hue of age: 
Fierce he broke forth :—“ And dar’st thou then 
To beard the lion in bis den. 
The Douglas in his hall ? 
And hop’st thou hence unscathed to go ?— 
No, by St. Bryde of Bothwell, no !— 
Up drawbridge, grooms—what, warder, ho! 
Let the portcullis fall.” 
