The marriage took place in May, 1503, on which occasion the high-piled
capital wore holiday attire, balconies blazed with scarlet cloth, and the
loyal multitude shouted as bride and bridegroom rode past, with the
chivalry of two kingdoms in their train. Early in May, Dunbar composed
his most celebrated poem in honour of the event. Next year he said mass
in the king's presence for the first time, and received a liberal reward.
In 1505, he received a sum in addition to his stated pension, and two
years thereafter his pension was doubled. In August, 1510, his pension
was increased to 80 pounds per annum, until he became possessed of a
benefice of the annual value of 10 pounds or upwards. In 1513, Flodden
was fought, and in the confusion consequent on the king's death, Dunbar
and his slowly-increasing pensions disappear from the records of things.
We do not know whether he received his benefice; we do not know the date
of his death, and to this day his grave is secret as the grave of Moses.

Knowing but little of Dunbar's life, our interest is naturally
concentrated on what of his writings remain to us. And to modern eyes
the old poet is a singular spectacle. His language is different than
ours; his mental structure and modes of thought are unfamiliar; in his
intellectual world, as we map it out to ourselves, it is difficult to
conceive how a comfortable existence could be attained. Times, manners,
and ideas have changed, and we look upon Dunbar with a certain
reverential wonder and curiosity as we look upon Tantallon, standing up,
grim and gray, in the midst of the modern landscape. The grand old
fortress is a remnant of a state of things which have utterly passed
away. Curiously, as we walk beside it, we think of the actual human life
its walls contained. In those great fire-places logs actually burned
once, and in winter nights men-at-arms spread out big palms against the
grateful heat. In those empty apartments was laughter, and feasting, and
serious talk enough in troublous times, and births, and deaths, and the
bringing home of brides in their blushes. This empty moat was filled
with water, to keep at bay long-forgotten enemies, and yonder loop-hole
was made narrow, as a protection from long-moulded arrows. In Tantallon
we know the Douglasses lived in state, and bearded kings, and hung out
banners to the breeze; but a sense of wonder is mingled with our
knowledge, for the bothy of the Lothian farmer is even