To stop him as he outward pass'd;
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast,
He vanish'd from our eyes,
Like sunbeam on the billow cast
That glances but, and dies.'"

While telling the strange story, Sir David had not marked in the dim
twilight the pallor that had overspread the countenance of Marmion, who,
after a pause, said:

"Three days ago, I had judged your tale a myth, but since crossing the
Tweed, I have seen that which makes me credit the miracle you relate."

He hesitated, and evidently wished his remark unmade, but pressed by the
strong impulse that prompts man to reveal a secret to some listening
ear, he told of the midnight ride and the tilt with the elfin knight at
Gifford's Court. The same sly expression crept over the face of the
King-at-arms as he asked, "Where lodged the Palmer on that fateful
night?"

Here their conversation was interrupted. By the King's command, each
train on the following day was to proceed by its own way to Scotland's
camp, near Edinburgh. Early they set out for the moor surrounding the
city, where lay the Scotch hosts.

From the crown of Blackford, Marmion gazed on the martial scene. It was
a Kingdom's vast array. Thousands on thousands of pavilions, white as
snow, dotted the upland, dale, and down, and checkered the heath between
town and forest. The relics of the old oaks softened the glaring white
with a background of restful green.

From north, from south, from east, from west, had gathered Scotland's
warriors. All between the ages of sixteen and sixty, from king to
vassal, stood ready to fight for the beloved land. Marmion heard the
mingled hum of myriads of voices float up the mountain side. He saw the
shifting lines, and marked the flashing of shield and lance. Nor did he
mark less that in the air,

"A thousand streamers flaunted fair,
Various in shape, device and hue,
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,
Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,
Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol, there
O'er the pavilions flew.
Highest and midmost, was descried
The royal banner floating wide;
The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,
Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,
Yet bent beneath the standard's weight
Whene'er the western wind unroll'd,
With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,
And gave to view the dazzling field,
Where, in proud Scotland's royal shi