XXXI.
“But soft! what messenger of speed
Spurs hitherward his panting steed?
I guess his cognizance[320] afar—
What from our cousin,[321] John of Mar?”—
“He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound
Within the safe and guarded ground:
For some foul purpose yet unknown,—
Most sure for evil to the throne,—
The outlaw’d Chieftain, Roderick Dhu,