VIII.

Through this mixed crowd of glee and game, The King to greet Lord Marmion came, While, reverent, all made room. An easy task it was, I trow, King James’s manly form to know, Although, his courtesy to show, He doffed, to Marmion bending low, His broidered cap and plume. For royal was his garb and mien: His cloak, of crimson velvet piled. Trimmed with the fur of martin wild; His vest of changeful satin sheen The dazzled eye beguiled; His gorgeous collar hung adown, Wrought with the badge of Scotland’s crown, The thistle brave, of old renown; His trusty blade, Toledo right, Descended from a baldric bright: White were his buskins, on the heel His spurs inlaid of gold and steel; His bonnet, all of crimson fair, Was buttoned with a ruby rare: And Marmion deemed he ne’er had seen A prince of such a noble mien.