--'Fitz-Eustace! rise,--I cannot rest;
Yon churl's wild legend haunts my breast,
And graver thoughts have chafed my mood:
The air must cool my feverish blood; 540
And fain would I ride forth, to see
The scene of elfin chivalry.
Arise, and saddle me my steed;
And, gentle Eustace, take good heed
Thou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves; 545
I would not, that the prating knaves
Had cause for saying, o'er their ale,
That I could credit such a tale.'--
Then softly down the steps they slid,
Eustace the stable door undid, 550
And, darkling, Marmion's steed array'd,
While, whispering, thus the Baron said:--