XXI.

“O holy Palmer!” she began— “For sure he must be sainted man Whose blessèd feet have trod the ground Where the Redeemer’s tomb is found— For His dear Church’s sake my tale Attend, nor deem of light avail, Though I must speak of worldly love— How vain to those who wed above! De Wilton and Lord Marmion wooed Clara de Clare, of Gloucester’s blood; Idle it were of Whitby’s dame, To say of that same blood I came; And once, when jealous rage was high, Lord Marmion said despiteously, Wilton was traitor in his heart, And had made league with Martin Swart, When he came here on Simnel’s part And only cowardice did restrain His rebel aid on Stokefield’s plain, And down he threw his glove: the thing Was tried, as wont, before the king; Where frankly did De Wilton own That Swart in Gueldres he had known; And that between them then there went Some scroll of courteous compliment. For this he to his castle sent; But when his messenger returned, Judge how De Wilton’s fury burned For in his packet there were laid Letters that claimed disloyal aid, And proved King Henry’s cause betrayed. His fame, thus blighted, in the field He strove to clear by spear and shield; To clear his fame in vain he strove, For wondrous are His ways above! Perchance some form was unobserved; Perchance in prayer or faith he swerved; Else how could guiltless champion quail, Or how the blessèd ordeal fail?