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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS,

Chap. Copyright JSTo.

Shelf „ii„£o0^r

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

SCOTT'S POEMS
Cabinet <U3)itton

THE COMPLETE POETICAL
WORKS OF

SIR WALTER SCOTT
Cabinet CDttion

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY

($be ftifcersibe press, Camfcri&ae

MDCCCC

86215

24371

JUL 2< 19,

JUL 25 1900

PUBLISHERS' NOTE

^HEy^VRoifc edited The Poetical Works of Sir Walter
Scotit, ^Baronet, in 1877, he made a critical examination of the
several texts, with the result of discovering many errors and
inconsistencies in the current editions. His own text may be
taken as the most accurate and trustworthy of any extant ;
and it has been used as the basis of both the Cambridge and
Cabinet editions of Scott's Poems. But in preparing the
Cambridge edition the editor thought best to include the
poems which Dr. Rolfe had omitted, and also to follow an
order of arrangement wiiich was quite strictly chronological.
This Cabinet edition is thus a reproduction of the text of the
Cambridge edition, and with that may be regarded as the only
really complete edition of Scott's poems contained in a single
volume. By using a clear though small type, and studying
the proportions of the page and the quality of the paper, it has
been possible to bring the entire contents within the scope of
a small handy volume.

Boston, Spring, 1900.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

TWO BALLADS FROM THE
GERMAN OF BURGER.
William and Helen, imi-
tated FROM THE 'LENORE'

op Burgee

The Wild Huntsman, imi-
tated from Burger's
4 Wilde Jager '

EARLY BALLADS AND LYR-
ICS.

The Violet

To a Lady with Flowers
prom a Roman Wall . .

The Erl-King, from the Ger-
man op Goethe ....

War Song of the Royal
Edinburgh Light Dragoons

Song from ' Goetz yon Ber-
lichingen '

Songs prom 'The House of
Aspen.'

I. 'Joy to the victors,

THE SONS OF OLD As-
pen'

II. ' Sweet shone the sun

ON THE PAIR LAKE OF
TORO'

III. Rhein - Wein Ldzd
(' What makes the
troopers' frozen cour

AGE MUSTER?')

Glenpinlas, or Lord Ro-
nald's Coronach .... 13
The Eve of St. John ... 18
The Gray Brother .... 21

The Fire-King 23

Bothwell Castle .... 27

The Shepherd's Tale ... 27

Cheviot 30

Frederick and Alice ... 31
Cadyow Castle, addressed to
the Right Honorable Lady

Anne Hamilton .... 32

The Reiver's Wedding . . 36

Christie's Will 38

Thomas the Rhymer . . . #0
The Bard's Incantation,
written under the threat
of Invasion in the Autumn

of 1804 46

Hellvellyn 47

THE LAY OF THE LAST MIN-
STREL.

Introduction 48

Canto FmsT 50

Canto Second 56

Canto Third 64

Canto Fourth 71

Canto Fifth 82

Canto Sixth 91

MARMION : A TALE OF FLOD-

DEX FIELD.

Introduction to Canto First 101
Canto First : The Castle . 107
Introduction to Canto Sec-
ond 115

Canto Second : The Convent 119
Introduction to Canto Third 129
Canto Thhid : The Hostel, or

Inn 133

Introduction to Canto

Fourth 143

Canto Fourth: The Camp . 147
Introduction to Canto Fifth 157
Canto Fd?th : The Court . 160
Introduction to Canto Sixth 176
Canto Sixth : The Battle . 180
L'Envoy 198

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

Canto First: The Chase . 199
Canto Second : The Island . 212
Canto Third : The Gather-
ing 226

Canto Fourth: The Prophecy 239

Vlll

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Canto Fifth: The Combat . 252
Canto Sixth: The Guabd-
Room 267

THE VISION OF DON RODER-
ICK.

Introduction 283

The Vision op Don Roderick 286
Conclusion 298

ROKEBY.

• Canto First 302

Canto Second 315

Canto Third ...... 327

Canto Fourth 339

Canto Fifth 352

Canto Sixth 368

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN ;
OR, THE VALE OF SAINT
JOHN.

Introduction 384

Canto First 386

Canto Second 393

Introduction to Canto Third 405

Canto Third 406

Conclusion 420

THE LORD OF THE ISLES.

Canto FrasT 421

Canto Second 432

Canto Third 442

Canto Fourth 454

Canto Fifth 466

Canto Sixth 480

Conclusion 495

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 496
Conclusion ....... 504

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS.

Introduction 506

Canto First 507

Canto Second 514

Canto Third 520

Canto Fourth . . . . . 526

Canto Fifth 532

Canto Sixth 538

Conclusion 545

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

The Dying Bard 546

The Norman Horse-Shoe . . 546
The Maid of Toro .... 547

The Palmer 547

The Maid of Neidpath . . 548
Wandering Willie .... 548
Health to Lord Melville . 549

Hunting Song 551

Song : k O, say not, my Love ' 551
The Resolve (in imitation of

an old English Poem) . . 552
Epitaph designed for a Mon-
ument in Litchfield Cathe-
dral, at the Burial-Place
of the Family of Miss Sew-
ard 552

Prologue to Miss Baillie's
Play of 'The Family Le-
gend ' 553

The Poacher (written in imi-
tation of Crabbe) . . . 553
The Bold Dragoon; or, The

Plain of Badajos . . .557
On the Massacre of Glencoe 557
Song for the Anniversary
Meeting of the Pitt Club

of Scotland 558

Lines addressed to Ranald
Macdonald, Esq., of Staffa 559

Pharos Loquitur 560

Letters in Verse on the Voy-
age with the Commissioners
of Northern Lights.
To His Grace the Duke
of Buccleuch .... 560

-Postscriptum 562

Songs and Verses from Wa-

VERLEY.

I. ' And did ye not hear of

A MIRTH BEFELL ' . . . . 563

II. ' Late when the autumn

EVENING FELL ' . . . . 564

III. ■ The Knight 's to the
mountain' 564

IV. ' It 's up Glembarchan's

BRAES I GAED ' . . . . 564

V. ' Hie away, hie away ' . 565

VI. St. Swithin's Chair . 565

VII. ' Young men will love
thee more fair and more
fast ' 566

VIII. Flora MacIvor's
Song 566

IX. To an Oak Tree . .567

X. ' We are bound to drive
the bullocks' .... 568

TABLE OF CONTENTS

XI. k But follow, follow me '

568

Song from Rob Roy — To the

For a' That an' a' That . .

568

Memory of Edward the

Farewell to Mackenzie, High

Black Prince

591

Chief of Kintail

569

The Monks of Bangor's March 592

Imitation of the Preceding

Epilogue to the Appeal . .

593

Song

570

Mackrimmon's Lament . . .

593

War-Song of Lachlan, High

Donald Caird's Come Again .

594

Chief of Maclean . . . .

570

Madge Wildfire's Songs from

Saint Cloud

571

The Heart of Midlothian .

595

The Dance of Death ...

571

The Battle of Sempach. . .

596

Romance of Dunois . . . .

574

The Noble Moringer ....

599

The Troubadour

574

Epitaph on Mrs. Erskine . .

603

From the French . . . .

575

Songs from The Bride of Lam-

Song on the Lifting of the

mermoor.

Banner of the House of

I . ' Look not thou on beau-

BUCCLEUCH AT A GREAT FOOT-

ty's charming' ....

603

BALL Match on Carter-

II. 'The monk must arise

HAUGH

575

WHEN THE MATINS RING' .

603

Songs from Guy Mannering.

III. * When the last lalrd

I. 'Canny moment, lucky

of Ravenswood to Ra-

FIT '

576

VENSWOOD SHALL RIDE ' .

604

II. * Twist ye, twine ye ! even

Songs from The Legend of

so '

576

Montrose.
I. Ancient Gaelic Melody

III. ' Wasted, weary, where-

604

fore stay'

576

II. The Orphan Maid . .

604

IV ' Dark shall be light ' .

577

Verses from Ivanhoe.

Lullaby of an Infant Chdhf .

577

1. The Crusader's Return .

605

The Return to Ulster . . .

577

II. The Barefooted Friar .

606

Jock of Hazeldean . . . . ,

578

III. ' Norman saw on English

Pibroch of Donald Dhu. . .

578

oak'

606

Nora's Vow

579

IV. War Song

607

MacGregor's Gathering . .

579

V. Rebecca's Hymn ....

608

Verses sung at the Dinner

VI. The Black Knight and

GIVEN TO THE GRAND DUKE

Wamba

608

Nicholas of Russia and his

VII. Another Carol by the

Suite, 19th December, 1816 .

580

Same

609

Verses from The Antiquary.

VIII. Funeral Hymn . . .

610

I. ' He came, but valor had

Verses from The Monastery.

so fired his eye' . . . .

581

I. Answer to Introductory

n. ' Why sit' st thou by that

Epistle .......

609

RUINED HALL'

581

II. Border Song .....

610

III. Epitaph . . . . .

581

Ill Songs of the White Lady

IV. ' The herring loves the

of Avenel

610

MERRY MOON-LIGHT' . . .

581

IV. To the Sub-Prior . . .

611

The Search after Happiness ;

V. Halbert's Incantation .

612

or, The Quest of Sultaun

VI. To Halbert . . . , .

612

Solimaun

582

VII. To the Same . .

613

Lines written for Miss Smith .

589

VIII. To the Same ....

615

Mr. Kemble's Farewell Ad-

IX. To Mary Avenel , , .

615

dress ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE

X. To Edward Glendinn-

Edinburgh Stage . . . .

590

ING

616

The Sun upon the Wetrdlaw

XI. The White Lady's Fare-

Hill . .

591

well _ . .

616

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Goldthred's Song prom Kenil-

worth 616

Verses from The Pirate.

I. The Song op the Tempest . 617

II. Halcro's Song . . . .618

III. Song op Harold Har-

FAGER 619

IV. Song op the Mermaids
and Mermen 619

V. Norna's Verses .... 620

VI. Halcro and Norna . . 621

VII. The Fishermen's Song . 623

VIII. Cleveland's Songs . . 623

IX. Halcro's Verses . . . 624

X. Norna's Incantation . . 625

XI. The Same at the Meet-
ing with Minna .... 625

XII. Bryce Snailspoot's Ad-
vertisement 627

' On Ettrick Forest's Moun-
tains Dun' 627

The Maid op Isla 627

Farewell to the Muse . . . 628
Nigel's Initiation at White-
friars, prom 'The Fortunes

op Nigel' 628

' Carle, now the King 's come ' 629
The Bannatyne Club. . . . 632

County Guy 633

Epilogue to the Drama founded
on ' Saint Ronan's Well ' . 633

Epilogue . 635

Verses from Redgauntlet.

I. A Catch op Cowley's Al-
tered 635

II. ' As Lords their laborers'
hire delay ' 636

Lines addressed to Monsieur
Alexandre, the celebrated
ventriloquist 636

To J. G. Lockhart, Esq., on the
Composition of Maida's Epi-
taph ..... .... 636

Songs from The Betrothed.

I. * Soldier, wake! '. . . . 637

II. Woman's Faith . . . .638

III. ' I ASKED OP MY HARP ' . 638

IV. 'Widowed wipe and
wedded maid ' 639

Verses prom The Talisman.

I. 'Dark Ahriman, whom
Irak still ' 639

II. ' What brave chief shall

HEAD THE FORCES ' . . . . 640

III. The Bloody Vest . . . 640
Verses from Woodstock.

I. ' By pathless march, by

GREENWOOD TREE' .... 642

II. Glee for King Charles . 643

III. ' An hour with thee ' . 643

IV. 'Son of a witch' . . . 643
Lines to Sir Cuthbert Sharp . 643
Verses from Chronicles of the

Canon-Gate.

I. Old Song from 'The
Highland Widow ' . . . 644

II. The Lay of Poor Louise,
from ' The Fair Maid of
Perth ' 644

III. Death Chant . . . 645

IV. Song of the Glee-
Maiden 645

The Death of Keeldar . . . 645
The Secret Tribunal, from

* Anne of Geierstein ' . . .647
The Foray . . . ... .647

Inscription por the Monument

op the Rev. George Scott . 648
Songs from The Doom of De-

vorgodl.

I. ' The Sun upon the Lake ' 648

II. 'We love the shrill
trumpet' 648

III. ' Admire not that I
gained ' 649

IV. ' When the tempest ' . 649

V. Bonny Dundee . . . 649

VI. ' When friends are
met ' ........ . 651

'Hither we come' 651

Lines on Fortune 651

APPENDIX.

I. Juvenile Lines.

From Virgdl 653

On a Thunder-Storm . . 653
On the Setting Sun . . 653
II. Mottoes from the Novels.

From The Antiquary . . 653
From The Black Dwarf . 656
From Old Mortality . . 656
From Rob Roy . . . . 657
From The Heart of Mid-
lothian 658

From The Bride of Lam-

mermoor 658

From The Legend of Mon-
trose 659

TABLE OF CONTENTS

From Ivanhoe .... 659 |
From The Monastery . . 660 !
From The Abbot . . . . 663 j
From Kenilworth . . . 665
From The Pirate . . .667
From The Fortunes op

Nigel 668

From Peveril of the Peak 672
From Quentin Durward . 674
From Saint Ronan's Well 675
From The Betrothed . . 676
From The Talisman . . 677

From Woodstock . . . 678
From Chronicles of the

Canongate 670

From The Fair Maid of

Perth 680

From Anne of Geierstein 680
From Count Robert of

Paris 682

From Castle Dangerous . 684

INDEX OF FIRST LINES . . 687
INDEX OF TITLES .... 695

TWO BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN
OF BURGER

WILLIAM AND HELEN

IMITATED FROM THE ' LENORE '
OF BURGER

From heavy dreams fair Helen
rose,

And eyed the dawning red :
*. Alas, my love, thou tarriest long !

0 art thou false or dead? '

With gallant Frederick's princely
power

He sought the bold Crusade,
But not a word from Judah's wars

Told Helen how he sped.

With Paynim and with Saracen
At length a truce was made, 10

And every knight returned to dry
The tears his love had shed.

Our gallant host was homeward
bound
With many a song of joy ;
Green waved the laurel in each
plume,
The badge of victory.

And old and young, and sire and
son,

To meet them crowd the way,
With shouts and mirth and melody,

The debt of love to pay. 20

Full many a maid her true-love
met,
And sobbed in his embrace,
And fluttering joy in tears and
smiles .
Arrayed full many a face.

Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad,
She sought the host in vain ;

For none could tell her William's
fate,
If faithless or if slain.

The martial band is past and gone ;

She rends her raven hair, 30
And in distraction's bitter mood

She weeps with wild despair.

1 0, rise, my child,' her mother said,
4 Nor sorrow thus in vain ;

A perjured lover's fleeting heart
No tears recall again.'

1 0 mother, what is gone is gone,
What 's lost forever lorn :

Death, death alone can comfort
me;
0 had I ne'er been born ! 40

'0, break, my heart, O, break at
once!

Drink my life-blood, Despair !
No joy remains on earth for me,

For me in heaven no share.'

1 0, enter not in judgment, Lord ! '
The pious mother prays ;

1 Impute not guilt to thy frail child !
She knows not what she says.

1 0, say thy pater-noster, child !

O, turn to God and grace ! 50
His will, that turned thy bliss to
bale,

Can change thy bale to bliss.'

' 0 mother, mother, what is bliss ?
0 mother, what is bale ?

BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER

My William's love was heaven on
earth,
Without it earth is hell.

'Why should I pray to ruthless
Heaven,

Since my loved William 's slain?
I only prayed for William's sake,

And all my prayers were vain.' 60

* O, take the sacrament, my child,

And check these tears that flow ;
By resignation's humble prayer,
O, hallowed be thy woe ! '

' No sacrament can quench this fire,
Or slake this scorching pain ;

No sacrament can bid the dead
Arise and live again.

' O, break, my heart, O, break at

once!

Be thou my god, Despair ! 70

Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen

on me,

And vain each fruitless prayer.'

* O, enter not in judgment, Lord,

With thy frail child of clay !
She knows not what her tongue
has spoke ;
Impute it not, I pray !

* Forbear, my child, this desperate

woe,
And turn to God and grace ;
Well can devotion's heavenly glow
Convert thy bale to bliss.' 80

4 O mother, mother, what is bliss ?

O mother, what is bale ?
Without my William what were
heaven,

Or with him what were hell ? '

Wild she arraigns the eternal
doom,
Upbraids each sacred power,
Till, spent, she sought her silent
room,
All in the lonely tower.

She beat her breast, she wrung her
hands,
Till sun and day were o'er, 90
And through the glimmering lat-
tice shone
The twinkling of the star.

Then, crash! the heavy drawbridge
fell

That o'er the moat was hung ;
And, clatter ! clatter I on its boards

The hoof of courser rung.

The clank of echoing steel was
heard

As off the rider bounded ;
And slowly on the winding stair

A heavy footstep sounded. 100

And hark! and hark! a knock—
tap ! tap !
A rustling stifled noise ; —
Door-latch and tinkling staples
ring; —
At length a whispering voice.

* Awake, awake, arise, my love !

How, Helen, dost thou fare ?
Wak'st thou, or sleep'st? laugh'st
thou, or weep'st?

Hast thought on me, my fair?'

My love! my love! — so late by
night ! —
I waked, I wept for thee : 1 10
Much have I borne since dawn of
morn;
Where, William, couldst thou
be?'

1 We saddle late — from Hungary
I rode since darkness fell ;

And to its bourne we both re-
turn
Before the matin-bell.,

1 0,rest this night within my arms,
And warm thee in their fold !

Chill howls through hawthorn bush
the wind : —
My love is deadly cold.' 120

WILLIAM AND HELEN

* Let the wind howl through haw-

thorn bush !
This night we must away ;
The steed is wight, the spur is
bright ;
I cannot stay till day.

'Busk, busk, and boune! Thou
mount'st behind
Upon my black barb steed :
O'er stock and stile, a hundred
miles,
We haste to bridal bed.'

' To-night — to-night a hundred
miles ! —
O dearest William, stay ! 130
The bell strikes twelve — dark,
dismal hour !
O, wait, my love, till day ! ■

'Look here, look here — the moon
shines clear —

Full fast I ween we ride ;
Mount and away ! for ere the day

We reach our bridal bed.

* The black barb snorts, the bridle

rings ;
Haste, busk, and boune, and seat

thee!
The feast is made, the chamber

spread,
The bridal guests await thee.' 140

Strong love prevailed : she busks,
she bounes,
She mounts the barb behind,
And round her darling William's
waist
Her lily arms she twined.

And, hurry ! hurry ! off they rode,
As fast as fast might be ;

Spurned from the courser's thun-
dering heels
The flashing pebbles flee.

And on the right and on the left,
Ere they could snatch a view, 1 50

Fast, fast each mountain, mead,
and plain,
And cot and castle flew.

'Sit fast — dost fear?— The moon
shines clear —
Fleet goes my barb — keep hold !
Fear' st thou?'—' O no! ' she faintly
said,
' But why so stern and cold ?

' What yonder rings ? what yonder
sings?
Why shrieks the owlet gray ? ■
"T is death-bells' clang, 't is fu-
neral song,
The body to the clay. 160

' With song and clang at morrow's
dawn
Ye may inter the dead :
To-night I ride with my young
bride
To deck our bridal bed.

* Come with thy choir, thou coffined
guest,
To swell our nuptial song !
Come, priest, to bless our marriage
feast !
Come all, come all along ! '

Ceased clang and song ; down sunk
the bier ;

The shrouded corpse arose : 170
And hurry ! hurry ! all the train

The thundering steed pursues.

And forward! forward! on they
go;
High snorts the straining steed ;
Thick pants the rider's laboring
breath,
As headlong on they speed.

' 0 William, why this savage haste ?

And where thy bridal bed ? '
' 'T is distant far, low, damp, and
chill,

And narrow, trustless maid.' 180

BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER

1 No room f or me ? ' — ' Enough for
both; —
Speed, speed, my barb, thy
course ! '
O'er thundering bridge, through
boiling surge,
He drove the furious horse.

Tramp! tramp! along the land
they rode,
Splash ! splash ! along the sea ;
The scourge is wight, the spur is
bright,
The flashing pebbles flee.

Fled past on right and left how fast
Each forest, grove, and bower !

On right and left fled past how
fast 191

Each city, town, and tower !

'Dost fear? dost fear? The moon
shines clear,
Dost fear to ride with me ? —
Hurrah! hurrah! the dead can
ride ! ' —
1 0 William, let them be ! —

1 See there, see there ! What yonder
swings
And creaks mid whistling
rain?'—
*Gibbet and steel, the accursed
wheel ;
A murderer in his chain. — 200

1 Hollo ! thou felon, follow here :

To bridal bed we ride ;
And thou shalt prance a fetter
dance

Before me and my bride.'

And, hurry! hurry! clash, clash,
clash !
The wasted form descends ;
And fleet as wind through hazel
bush
The wild career attends.

Tramp! tramp! along the land
they rode, 209

Splash .' splash ! along the sea ;

The scourge is red, the spur drops
blood,
The flashing pebbles flee.

How fled what moonshine faintly

showed !

How fled what darkness hid !

How fled the earth beneath their

feet,

The heaven above their head !

' Dost fear ? dost fear ? The moon
shines clear,
And well the dead can ride ;
Dost faithful Helen fear for
them?,— 219

1 0 leave in peace the dead ! ' —

' Barb ! Barb ! methinks I hear the
cock;
The sand will soon be run :
Barb ! Barb ! I smell the morning
air;
The race is well-nigh done.'

Tramp! tramp! along the land
they rode,
Splash ! splash ! along the sea ;
The scourge is red, the spur drops
blood,
The flashing pebbles flee.

1 Hurrah ! hurrah ! well ride the
dead;

The bride, the bride is come ; 230
And soon we reach the bridal bed,

For, Helen, here 's my home.'

Reluctant on its rusty hinge

Revolved an iron door,
And by the pale moon's setting
beam

Were seen a church and tower.

With many a shriek and cry whiz
round

The birds of midnight scared ;
And rustling like autumnal leaves,

Unhallowed ghosts were heard.

O'er many a tomb and tombstone
pale 241

He spurred the fiery horse,

THE WILD HUNTSMAN

Till sudden at an open grave
He checked the wondrous course.

The falling gauntlet quits the rein,
Down drops the casque of steel,

The cuirass leaves his shrinking
side,
The spur his gory heel.

The eyes desert the naked skull,
The mouldering flesh the bone,

Till Helen's lily arms entwine 251
A ghastly skeleton.

The furious barb snorts fire and
foam,

And with a fearful bound
Dissolves at once in empty air,

And leaves her on the ground.

Half seen by fits, by fits half heard,

Pale spectres flit along,
Wheel round the maid in dismal
dance,

And howl the funeral song ; 260

'E'en when the heart's with an-
guish cleft

Revere the doom of Heaven,
Her soul is from her body reft ;

Her spirit be forgiven ! '

THE WILD HUNTSMAN

IMITATED FROM BURGER'S
'WILDE JAGER'

The Wildgrave winds his bugle-
horn,
To horse, to horse ! halloo,halloo !
His fiery courser snuffs the morn,
And thronging serfs their lord
pursue.

The eager pack from couples freed
Dash through the bush, the brier,
the brake ;
While answering hound and horn
and steed
The mountain echoes startling
wake.

The beams of God's own hallowed
day
Had painted yonder spire with
gold, 10

And, calling sinful man to pray,
Loud, long, and deep the bell had
tolled ;

But still the Wildgrave onward
rides ;
Halloo, halloo ! and, hark again !
When, spurring from opposing
sides,
Two stranger horsemen join the
train.

Who was each stranger, left and

right,

Well may I guess, but dare not

tell;

The right-hand steed was silver

white, 19

The left the swarthy hue of hell.

The right-hand horseman, young
and fair,
His smile was like the morn of
May ;
The left from eye of tawny glare
Shot midnight lightning's lurid
ray.

He waved his huntsman's cap on
high,
Cried, ' Welcome, welcome, noble
lord!
What sport can earth, or sea, or sky,
To match the princely chase,
afford ? '

'Cease thy loud bugle's clanging
knell,'
Cried the fair youth with silver
voice; 30

1 And for devotion's choral swell
Exchange the rude unhallowed
noise.

; To-day the ill-omened chase for-
bear,
Yon bell yet summons to the
fane;

BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER

To-day the Warning Spirit hear,
To-morrow thou mayst mourn in
vain/

'Away, and sweep the glades
along ! '
The sable hunter hoarse replies ;
' To muttering monks leave matin-
song,
And bells and books and mys-
teries.' 40

The Wildgrave spurred his ardent
steed,
And, launching forward with a
bound,
'Who, for thy drowsy priestlike
rede,
Would leave the jovial horn and
hound ?

1 Hence, if our manly sport offend !
With pious fools go chant and
pray: —
Well hast thou spoke, my dark-
browed friend ;
Halloo, halloo ! and hark away ! '

The Wildgrave spurred his courser
light,
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt
and hill ; 50

And on the left and on the right,
Each stranger horseman fol-
lowed still.

Up springs from yonder tangled
thorn
A stag more white than moun-
tain snow ;
And louder rung the Wildgrave's
horn,
' Hark forward, forward ! holla,
ho!'

A heedless wretch has crossed the

way;

He gasps the thundering hoofs

below ; —

But live who can, or die who may,

Still, 'Forward, forward!' on

they go. 60

See, where yon simple fences meet,
A field with autumn's blessings
crowned ;
See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's
feet,
A husbandman with toil em-
browned :

' 0 mercy, mercy, noble lord !
Spare the poor's pittance,' was
his cry,
' Earned by the sweat these brows
have poured
In scorching hour of fierce July.'

Earnest the right-hand stranger
pleads,
The left still cheering to the
prey ; 70

The impetuous Earl no warning
heeds,
But furious holds the onward
way.

1 Away, thou hound so basely born,
Or dread the scourge's echoing
blow!'
Then loudly rung his bugle-horn,
' Hark forward, forward ! holla,
ho!'

So said, so done : — A single bound

Clears the poor laborer's humble

pale;

Wild follows man and horse and

hound,

Like dark December's stormy

gale. 80

And man and horse, and hound
and horn,
Destructive sweep the field
along ;
While, joying o'er the wasted
corn,
Fell Famine marks the madden-
ing throng.

Again uproused the timorous prey
Scours moss and moor, and holt
and hill ;

THE WILD HUNTSMAN

Hard run, he feels his strength
decay,
And trusts for life his simple
skill.

Too dangerous solitude appeared ;

He seeks the shelter of the

crowd ; 90

Amid the flock's domestic herd

His harmless head he hopes to

shroud.

O'er moss and moor, and holt and
hill,
His track the steady blood-
hounds trace ;
O'er moss and moor, unwearied
still,
The furious Earl pursues the
chase.

Full lowly did the herdsman

fall:

■ O spare, thou noble baron, spare

These herds, a widow's little all ;

These flocks, an orphan's fleecy

care ! ' 100

Earnest the right-hand stranger
pleads,
The left still cheering to the
prey;
The Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds,
But furious keeps the onward
way.

1 Unmannered dog ! To stop my
sport
Vain were thy cant and beggar
whine,
Though human spirits of thy sort
Were tenants of these carrion
kine ! '

Again he winds his bugle-horn,
1 Hark forward, forward, holla,

ho!' no

And through the herd in ruthless
scorn
He cheers his furious hounds to
go.

In heaps the throttled victims fall;
Down sinks their mangled herds-
man near ;
The murderous cries the stag ap-
pall-
Again he starts, new-nerved by
fear.

With blood besmeared and white
with foam,
While big the tears of anguish
pour,
He seeks amid the forest's gloom
The humble hermit's hallowed
bower. 120

But man and horse, and horn and
hound,
Fast rattling on his traces go ;
The sacred chapel rung around
With, ' Hark away ! and, holla,
ho!'

All mild, amid the rout profane,
The holy hermit poured his
prayer ;
4 Forbear with blood God's house
to stain ;
Revere His altar and forbear !

' The meanest brute has rights to
plead,
Which, wronged by cruelty or
pride, 130

Draw vengeance on the ruthless
head: —
Be warned at length and turn
aside.'

Still the fair horseman anxious
pleads ;
The black, wrild whooping, points
the prey : —
Alas ! the Earl no warning heeds,
But frantic keeps the forward
way.

' Holy or not, or right or wrong,
Thy altar and its rites I spurn ;

Xot sainted martyrs' sacred song,

Not God himself shall make me

turn ! ' 140

8 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER

He spurs his horse, he winds his

4 Be chased forever through the

horn,

wood,

'Hark forward, forward, holla,

Forever roam the affrighted

ho!'

wild; 170

But off, on whirlwind's pinions

And let thy fate instruct the proud,

borne,

God's meanest creature is His

The stag, the hut, the hermit, go.

child.'

And horse and man, and horn and

'T was hushed : — One flash of som-

hound,

bre glare

And clamor of the chase, was

With yellow tinged the forests

gone;

brown ;

For hoofs and howls and bugle-

Uprose the Wildgrave's bristling

sound,

hair,

A deadly silence reigned alone.

And horror chilled each nerve

and bone.

Wild gazed the affrighted Earl

around ;

Cold poured the sweat in freezing

He strove in vain to wake his

rill;

horn, 150

A rising wind began to sing,

In vain to call ; for not a sound

And louder, louder, louder still,

Could from his anxious lips be

Brought storm and tempest on

borne.

its wing. 180

He listens for his trusty hounds,

Earth heard the call ;— her entrails

No distant baying reached his

rend;

ears;

From yawning rifts, with many a

His courser, rooted to the ground,

yen,

The quickening spur unmindful

Mixed with sulphureous flames,

bears.

ascend

The misbegotten dogs of hell.

Still dark and darker frown the

shades,

What ghastly huntsman next arose

Dark as the darkness of the

Well may I guess, but dare not

grave ;

tell;

And not a sound the still invades,

His eye like midnight lightning

Save what a di s tant torrent gave.

glows,

His steed the swarthy hue of

High o'er the sinner's humbled

hell.

head 161

At length the solemn silence

The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and

broke ;

thorn

And from a cloud of swarthy red

With many a shriek of helpless

The awful voice of thunder

woe ; 190

spoke.

Behind him hound and horse and
horn,
And, ' Hark away, and holla, ho ! '

* Oppressor of creation fair !

Apostate Spirits' hardened tool !

Scorner of God! Scourge of the

With wild despair's reverted eye,

poor!

Close, close behind, he marks the

The measure of thy cup is full.

throng,

THE ERL-KING

With bloody fangs and eager
cry;
In frantic fear he scours along. —

Still, still shall last the dreadful
chase
Till time itself shall have an
end;
By day they scour earth's caverned
space,
At midnight's witching hour as-
cend. 200

This is the horn and hound and
horse
That 6ft the lated peasant hears ;
Appalled he signs the frequent
cross,
When the wild din invades his
ears.

The wakeful priest oft drops a tear
For human pride, for human woe,

When at his midnight mass he
hears
The infernal cry of ' Holla, ho ! '

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

THE VIOLET

The violet in her greenwood

bower,

Where birchen boughs with ha-

zels mingle,

May boast itself the fairest flower

In glen or copse or forest dingle.

Though fair her gems of azure hue,
Beneath the dewdrop's weight
reclining,
I 've seen an eye of lovelier blue,
More sweet through watery lus-
tre shining.

The summer sun that dew shall
dry
Ere yet the day be past its mor-
row,
Nor longer in my false love's eye
Remained the tear of parting
sorrow.

TO A LADY

WITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN
WALL

Take these flowers which, purple
waving,
On the ruined rampart grew,

Where, the sons of freedom brav-
ing,
Rome's imperial standards flew.

Warriors from the breach of dan-
ger
Pluck no longer laurels there ;
They but yield the passing stranger
Wild-flower wreaths for Beauty's
hair.

THE ERL-KING
FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE

O, who rides by night thro' the

woodland so wild ?
It is the fond father embracing

his child ;
And close the boy nestles within

his loved arm,
To hold himself fast and to keep

himself warm.

1 0 father, see yonder ! see yonder ! '

he says ;
'My boy, upon what dost thou

fearfully gaze ? ' —
'0, 'tis the Erl-King with his

crown and his shroud.' —
' No, my son, it is but a dark

wreath of the cloud,'

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

(The Erl-King speaks)
*0, come and go with me, thou

loveliest child ;
By many a gay sport shall thy

time be beguiled ;
My mother keeps for thee full

many a fair toy,
And many a fine flower shall she

pluck for my boy.'

* O father, my father, and did you

not hear
The Erl-King whisper so low in

my ear ? ' —
4 Be still, my heart's darling — my

child, be at ease ;
It was but the wild blast as it

sung thro' the trees.'

Erl-King
'O, wilt thou go with me, thou

loveliest boy ?
My daughter shall tend thee with

care and with joy;
She shall bear thee so lightly thro'

wet and thro' wild,
And press thee and kiss thee and

sing to my child.'

* O, father, my father, and saw you

not plain,
The Erl-King's pale daughter glide
past through the rain?' —

* O yes, my loved treasure, I knew

it full soon ;
It was the gray willow that danced
to the moon.'

Erl-King

* O, come and go with me, no longer

delay,
Or else, silly child, I will drag thee
away.' —

* O father ! O father ! now, now

keep your hold,
The Erl-King has seized me — his
grasp is so cold ! '

Sore trembled the father; he
spurred thro' the wild,

Clasping close to his bosom his
shuddering child ;

He reaches his dwelling in doubt
and in dread,

But, clasped to his bosom, the in-
fant was dead !

WAK SONG OF THE ROYAL
EDINBURGH LIGHT DRA-
GOONS

To horse ! to horse ! the standard
flies,

The bugles sound the call ;
The Gallic navy stems the seas,
The voice of battle 's on the breeze,

Arouse ye, one and all !

From high Dunedin's towers we
come,
A band of brothers true ;
Our casques the leopard's spoils

surround,
With Scotland's hardy thistle
crown'd ;
We boast the red and blue.

Though tamely crouch to Gallia's
frown
Dull Holland's tardy train ;
Their ravished toys though Ro-
mans mourn ;
Though gallant Switzers vainly
spurn,
And, foaming, gnaw the chain ;

Oh ! had they marked the avenging
call
Their brethren's murder gave,
Disunion ne'er their ranks had

mown,
Nor patriot valor, desperate grown
Sought freedom in the grave !

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn

head,
In Freedom's temple born,
Dress our pale cheek in timid

smile,

SONGS

To hail a master in our isle,

Sa ! sa !

Or brook a victor's scorn?

Ha! ha!

Sa ! sa !

No! though destruction o'er the

He seized the cage, the latch did

land

draw,

Come pouring as a flood,

Ha ! ha !

The sun, that sees our falling

And in he thrust his knavish

day,

paw.

Shall mark our sabres' deadly

Sa ! sa !

sway,

Ha ! ha !

And set that night in blood.

Sa! sa!

The bird dashed out, and gained

For gold let Gallia's legions fight,

the thorn,

Or plunder's bloody gain ;

Ha ! ha !

Unbribed, unbought, our swords

And laughed the silly fool to scorn !

we draw,

Sa! sa!

To guard our king, to fence our

Ha ! ha !

law,

Sa ! sa !

Nor shall their edge be vain.

If ever breath of British gale

SONGS

Shall fan the tri-color,

Or footstep of invader rude,

FROM ' THE HOUSE OF ASPEN '

With rapine foul, and red with

blood,

Pollute our happy shore, —

Joy to the victors, the sons of old

Then farewell home ! and farewell

Aspen !

friends !

Joy to the race of the battle and

Adieu each tender tie !

scar!

Resolved, we mingle in the tide,

Glory's proud garland triumph-

Where charging squadrons furi-

antly grasping,

ous ride,

Generous in peace, and victorious

To conquer or to die.

in war.

Honor acquiring,

To horse! to horse! the sabres

Valor inspiring,

gleam ;

Bursting, resistless, through foe-

High sounds our bugle call ;

men they go ;

Combined by honor's sacred tie,

War-axes wielding,

Our word is Laws and Liberty !

Broken ranks yielding,

March forward, one and all !

Till from the battle proud Rod-

eric retiring,

SONG

Yields in wild rout the fair palm to

his foe.

FROM * GOETZ VON BERLICHIN-

GEN '

Joy to each warrior, true follower

of Aspen !

It was a little naughty page,

Joy to the heroes that gained the

Ha! ha!

bold day !

Would catch a bird was closed in

Health to our wounded, in agony

cage.

gasping ;

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

Peace to our brethren that fell
in the fray !
Boldly this morning,
Roderic's power scorning,
Well for their chieftain their
blades did they wield ;
Joy blest them dying,
As Maltingen flying,
Low laid his banners, our con-
quest adorning,
Their death-clouded eye-balls de-
scried on the field !

Now to our home, the proud man-
sion of Aspen,
Bend we, gay victors, triumphant
away.
There each fond damsel, her gal-
lant youth clasping,
Shall wipe from his forehead the
stains of the fray.
Listening the prancing
Of horses advancing ;
E'en now on the turrets our
maidens appear.
Love our hearts warming,
Songs the night charming,
Round goes the grape in the gob-
let gay dancing ;
Love, wine, and song, our blithe
evening shall cheer !

Sweet shone the sun on the fair
lake of Toro,
Weak were the whispers that
waved the dark wood,
As a fair maiden, bewildered in
sorrow,
Sighed to the breezes and wept
to the flood.—
' Saints, from the mansion of bliss
lowly bending,
Virgin, that hear'st the poor
suppliant's cry,
Grant my petition, in anguish as-
cending,
My Frederick restore, or let
Eleanor die,'

Distant and faint were the sounds
of the battle ;
With the breezes they rise, with
the breezes they fail,
Till the shout, and the groan, and
the conflict's dread rattle,
And the chase's wild clamor
came loading the gale.
Breathless she gazed through the
woodland so dreary,
Slowly approaching, a warrior
was seen;
Life's ebbing tide marked his foot-
steps so weary,
Cleft was his helmet, and woe
was his mien.

' Save thee, fair maid, for our
armies are flying ;
Save thee, fair maid, for thy
guardian is low ;
Cold on yon heath thy bold Fred-
erick is lying,
Fast through the woodland ap-
proaches the foe.'

[rhein-wein lied]

What makes the troopers' frozen

courage muster?

The grapes of juice divine.

Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine

they cluster :

Oh, blessed be the Rhine !

Let fringe and furs, and many a
rabbit skin, sirs,
Bedeck your Saracen ;
He '11 freeze without what warms
our heart within, sirs,
When the night-frost crusts
the fen.

But on the Rhine, but on the Rhine

they cluster,

The grapes of juice divine,

That make our troopers' frozen

courage muster :

Oh, blessed be the Rhine !

GLENFINLAS

OR, LORD RONALD'S CORONACH

For them the viewless forms of air obey,
Their bidding heed, and at their beck
repair ;
They know what spirit brews the storm-
ful day,
And heartless oft, like moody madness
stare,
To see the phantom-train their secret
work prepare.

Collins.

* O hone a rie' ! 0 hone a rie' !

The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest
tree;
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald
more ! '

0, sprung from great Macgillia-
nore,
The chief that never feared a
foe,
How matchless was thy broad
claymore,
How deadly thine unerring bow !

Well can the Saxon widows tell
How on the Teith's resounding
shore 10

The boldest Lowland warriors
fell,
As down from Lenny's pass you
bore.

But o'er his hills in festal day-
How blazed Lord Ronald's
beltane-tree,
While youths and maids the light
strathspey
So nimbly danced with Highland
glee!

Cheered by the strength of Ronald's

shell,

E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ;

But now the loud lament we swell,

O, ne'er to see Lord Ronald

more ! 20

From distant isles a chieftain came
The joys of Ronald's halls to
find,
And chase with him the dark-brown
game
That bounds o'er Albin's hills of
wind.

'Twas Moy; whom in Columba's

isle

The seer's prophetic spirit found,

As, with a minstrel's fire the while,

He waked his harp's harmonious

sound.

Full many a spell to him was

known

Which wandering spirits shrink

to hear ; 30

And many a lay of potent tone

Was never meant for mortal ear.

For there, 't is said, in mystic mood
High converse with the dead
they hold,
And oft espy the fated shroud
That shall the future corpse en-
fold.

0, so it fell that on a day,
To rouse the red deer from their
den,
The chiefs have ta'en their distant
way,
And scoured the deep Glenfinlas
glen. 40

No vassals wait their sports to aid,
To watch their safety, deck their
board ;
Their simple dress the Highland
plaid,
Their trusty guard the Highland
sword.

Three summer days through brake
and dell
Their whistling shafts success-
ful flew ;
And still when dewy evening fell
The quarry to their hut they
drew.

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

In gray Glenfinlas' deepest nook
The solitary cabin stood, 50

Fast by Moneira's sullen brook,
Which murmurs through that
lonely wood.

Soft fell the night, the sky was
calm,
When three successive days had
flown:
And summer mist in dewy balm
Steeped heathy bank and mossy
stone.

The moon, half -hid in silvery

flakes,

Afar her dubious radiance shed,

Quivering on Katrine's distant

lakes, 59

And resting on Benledi's head.

Now in their hut in social guise
Their sylvan fare the chiefs en-
joy;
And pleasure laughs in Ronald's
eyes,
As many a pledge he quaffs to
Moy.

1 What lack we here to crown our
bliss,
While thus the pulse of joy beats
high?
What but fair woman's yielding
kiss,
Her panting breath and melting
eye?

1 To chase the deer of yonder

shades,

This morning left their father's

pile 70

The fairest of our mountain maids,

The daughters of the proud

Glengyle.

' Long have I sought sweet Mary's
heart,
And dropped the tear and heaved
the sigh :

But vain the lover's wily art
Beneath a sister's watchful eye.

1 But thou mayst teach that guard-
ian fair,
While far with Mary I am flown,
Of other hearts to cease her care,
And find it hard to guard her
own. 80

'Touch but thy harp, thou soon
shalt see
The lovely Flora of Glengyle,
Unmindful of her charge and me,
Hang on thy notes 'twixt tear
and smile.

' Or, if she choose a melting tale,
All underneath the greenwood
bough,
Will good Saint Oran's rule prevail,
Stern huntsman of the rigid
brow?'

' Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's

death,

No more on me shall rapture

rise, '. 90

Responsive to the panting breath,

Or yielding kiss or melting eyes.

1 E'en then, when o'er the heath of
woe
Where sunk my hopes of love
and fame,
I bade my harp's wild wailings
flow,
On me the Seer's sad spirit came.

'The last dread curse of angry
heaven,
With ghastly sights and sounds
of woe
To dash each glimpse of joy was
given— 99

The gift the future ill to know.

'The bark thou saw'st, yon sum-
mer morn,
So gayly part from Oban's bay,

GLENFINLAS

My eye beheld her dashed and

'Or false or sooth thy words of

torn

woe,

Far on the rocky Colonsay.

Clangillian's Chieftain ne'er shall

fear ; 130

4 Thy Fergus too — thy sister's

His blood shall bound at rapture's

son,

glow,

Thou saw'st with pride the gal-

Though doomed to stain the

lant's power,

Saxon spear.

As marching 'gainst the Lord of

Downe

' E'en now, to meet me in yon dell,

He left the skirts of huge Ben-

My Mary's buskins brush the

more.

dew.'

He spoke, nor bade the chief fare-

'Thou only saw'st their tartans

well,

wave

But called his dogs and gay

As down Benvoirlich's side they

withdrew.

wound, no

Heard' st but the pibroch answer-

Within an hour returned each

ing brave

hound,

To many a target clanking round.

In rushed the rousers of the

deer;

' I heard the groans, I marked the

They howled in melancholy sound,

tears,

Then closely couched beside the

I saw the wound his bosom

Seer. 140

bore,

When on the serried Saxon spears

No Ronald yet, though midnight

He poured his clan's resistless

came,

roar.

And sad were Moy's prophetic

dreams,

* And thou, who bidst me think of

As, bending o'er the dying flame,

bliss,

He fed the watch-fire's quiver-

And bidst my heart awake to

ing gleams.

glee,

And court like thee the wanton

Sudden the hounds erect their ears,

kiss-

And sudden cease their moaning

That heart, 0 Ronald, bleeds for

howl,

thee! 120

Close pressed to Moy, they mark

their fears

*I see the death-damps chill thy

By shivering limbs and stifled

brow;

growl. 148

I hear thy Warning Spirit cry ;

The corpse-lights dance — they 're

Untouched the harp began to ring

gone, and now —

As softly, slowly, oped the door ;

No more is given to gifted eye ! ■

And shook responsive every string

As light a footstep pressed the

1 Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams,

floor.

Sad prophet of the evil hour !

Say, should we scorn joy's tran-

And by the watch-fire's glimmering

sient beams

light

Because to-morrow's storm may

Close by the minstrel's side was

lour ? '

seen

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

An huntress maid, in beauty bright,

' 0, aid me then to seek the pair,

All dropping wet her robes of

Whom, loitering in the woods, I

green.

lost;

Alone I dare not venture there,

All dropping wet her garments

Where walks, they say, the

seem;

shrieking ghost.'

Chilled was her cheek, her

bosom bare,

* Yes,manya shrieking ghost walks

As, bending o'er the dying gleam,

there ;

She wrung the moisture from her

Then first, my own sad vow to

hair. 160

keep,

Here will I pour my midnight

With maiden blush she softly said,

prayer,

4 0 gentle huntsman, hast thou

Which still must rise when mor-

seen,

tals sleep.'

In deep Glenfinlas' moonlight

glade,

4 0, first, for pity's gentle sake,

A lovely maid in vest of green :

Guide a lone wanderer on her

way ! 190

'With her a chief in Highland

For I must cross the haunted

pride ;

brake,

His shoulders bear the hunter's

And reach my father's towers

bow,

ere day.'

The mountain dirk adorns his

side,

'First, three times tell each Ave-

Far on the wind his tartans

bead,

flow?' —

And thrice a Pater-noster say ;

Then kiss with me the holy rede ;

'And who art thou? and who are

So shall we safely wend our

they?' 169

way.'

All ghastly gazing, Moy replied :

'And why, beneath the moon's

1 0, shame to knighthood, strange

pale ray,

and foul !

Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas'

Go, doff the bonnet from thy

side ? '

brow,

And shroud thee in the monkish

* Where wild Loch Katrine pours

cowl, 199

her tide,

Which best befits thy sullen vow.

Blue, dark, and deep, round

many an isle,

1 Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire,

Our father's towers o'erhang her

Thy heart was froze to love and

side,

joy,

The castle of the bold Glen-

When gayly rung thy raptured lyre

gyle.

To wanton Morna's melting eye.'

4 To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer

Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of

Our woodland course this morn

flame

we bore,

And high his sable locks arose.

And haply met while wandering

And quick his color went and came

here 179

As fear and rage alternate

The son of great Macgillianore.

rose.

GLENFINLAS

4 And thou! when by the blazing

High o'er the minstrel's head they

oak 209

sail

I lay, to her and love resigned,

And die amid the northern skies.

Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke,

Or sailed ye on the midnight

The voice of thunder shook the

wind?

wood,

As ceased the more than mortal

1 Not thine a race of mortal blood,

yell;

Nor old Glengyle's pretended

And spattering foul a shower of

line;

blood 239

Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood —

Upon the hissing firebrands fell.

Thy sire, the Monarch of the

Mine.'

Next dropped from high a mangled
arm;
The fingers strained an half-

He muttered thrice Saint Oran's

rhyme,

drawn blade :

And thrice Saint Fillan's power-

And last, the life-blood streaming

ful prayer ;

warm,

Then turned him to the eastern

Torn from the trunk, a gasping

clime,

head.

And sternly shook his coal-black

hair. 220

Oft o'er that head in battling

field

And, bending o'er his harp, he

Streamed the proud crest of high

flung

Benmore ;

His wildest witch-notes on the

That arm the broad claymore could

wind:

wield

And loud and high and strange

Which dyed the Teith with Saxon

they rung,

gore.

As many a magic change they

find.

Woe to Moneira's sullen rills ! 249

Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen !

Tall waxed the Spirit's altering

There never son of Albin's hills

form,

Shall draw the hunter's shaft

Till to the roof her stature grew ;

agen!

Then, mingling with the rising

storm,

E'en the tired pilgrim's burning

With one wild yell away she flew.

feet

At noon shall shun that shelter-

Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds

ing den,

tear :

Lest, journeying in their rage, he

The slender hut in fragments

meet

flew; 230

The wayward Ladies of the Glen.

But not a lock of Moy's loose hair

Was waved by wind or wet by

And we — behind the chieftain's

dew.

shield

No more shall we in safety dwell ;

Wild mingling with the howrling

None leads the people to the

gale,

field —

Loud bursts of ghastly laughter

And we the loud lament must

rise ;

swell. 260

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

O hone a rie' ! O hone a rie' !

The pride of Albin's line is o'er !
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest
tree ;
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald
more !

THE EVE OF SAINT JOHN

The Baron of Smaylho'me rose
with day,
He spurred his courser on,
Without stop or stay, down the
rocky way,
That leads to Brotherstone.

He went not with the hold Buc-
cleuch
His banner broad to rear ;
He went not 'gainst the English
yew
To lift the Scottish spear.

Yet his plate-jack was braced and

his helmet was laced,

And his vaunt-brace of proof he

wore ; 10

At his saddle-gerthe was a good

steel sperthe,

Full ten pound weight and more.

The baron returned in three days'
space,

And his looks were sad and sour ;
And weary was his courser's pace

As he reached his rocky tower.

He came not from where Ancram
Moor
Ran red with English blood ;
Where the Douglas true and the
bold Buccleuch 19

'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood.

Yet was his helmet hacked and
hewed,
His acton pierced and tore,
His axe and his dagger with blood
imbrued, —
But it was not English gore.

He lighted at the Chapellage,
He held him close and still ;

And he whistled thrice for his little
foot-page,
His name was English Will.

' Come thou hither, my little foot-
page,
Come hither to my knee ; 30

Though thou art young and tender
of age,
I think thou art true to me.

' Come, tell me all that thou hast
seen,
And look thou tell me true !
Since I from Smaylho'me tower
have been,
What did thy lady do ? »

' My lady, each night, sought the
lonely light
That burns on the wild WTatch-
fold;
For from height to height the bea-
cons bright
Of the English f oemen told. 40

' The bittern clamored from the
moss,
The wind blew loud and shrill ;
Yet the craggy pathway she did
cross
To the eiry Beacon Hill.

* I watched her steps, and silent
came
Where she sat her on a stone ; —
No watchman stood by the dreary
flame,
It burned all alone.

' The second night I kept her in
sight
Till to the fire she came, 50

And, by Mary's might ! an armed
knight
Stood by the lonely flame.

4 And many a word that warlike
lord
Did speak to my lady there ;

THE EVE OF SAINT JOHN

But tbe rain fell fast and loud blew
the blast,
And 1 heard not what they were.

4 The third night there the sky was
fair,

And the mountain-blast was still,
As again I watched the secret pair

On the lonesome Beacon Hill. 60

'And I heard her name the mid-
night hour,
And name this holy eve ;
And say, " Come this night to thy
lady's bower ;
Ask no bold baron's leave.

1 " He lifts his spear with the bold
Buccleuch ;
His lady is all alone ;
The door she '11 undo to her knight
so true
On the eve of good Saint John."

4 " I cannot come ; I must not come ;

I dare not come to thee ; 70

On the eve of Saint John I must
wander alone :

In thy bower I may not be."

' " Now, out on thee, fainthearted
knight !
Thou shouldst not say me nay ;
For the eve is sweet, and when
lovers meet
Is worth the whole summer's
day.

' " And I '11 chain the blood-hound,
and the warder shall not
sound,
And rushes shall be strewed on
the stair ;
So, by the black rood-stone and by
holy Saint John,
I conjure thee, my love, to be
there ! " 80

*" Though the blood -hound be
mute and the rush beneath
my foot,
And the warder his bugle should
not blow,

Yet there sleepeth a priest in the
chamber to the east,
And my footstep he would
know."

1 " O, fear not the priest who sleep-
eth to the east,
For to Dryburgh the way he has
ta'en ;
And there to say mass, till three
days do pass,
For the soul of a knight that is
slayne."

' He turned him around and grimly
he frowned ;
Then he laughed right scorn-
fully — 90
" He who says the mass-rite for
the soul of that knight
May as well say mass for me :

1 "At the lone midnight hour when
bad spirits have power
In thy chamber will I be." —
With that he wras gone and my
lady left alone,
And no more did I see.'

Then changed, I trow, was that
bold baron's brow
From the dark to the blood-red
high;
' Now, tell me the mien of the
knight thou hast seen,
For, by Mary, he shall die ! ' 100

' His arms shone full bright in the
beacon's red light ;
His plume it was scarlet and
blue ;
On his shield was a hound in a
silver leash bound,
And his crest was a branch of
the yew.'

1 Thou liest, thou liest, thou little
foot-page,
Loud dost thou lie to me !
For that knight is cold and low
laid in the mould,
All under the Eildon-tree.'

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

' Yet hear but my word, my noble
lord !
For I heard her name his
name; no

And that lady bright, she called
the knight
Sir Richard of Coldinghame.'

The bold baron's brow then
changed, I trow,
From high blood-red to pale —
4 The grave is deep and dark —
and the corpse is stiff and
stark —
So I may not trust thy tale.

* Where fair Tweed flows round

holy Melrose,

And Eildon slopes to the plain,
Full three nights ago by some se-
cret foe

That gay gallant was slain. 120

' The varying light deceived thy
sight,
And the wild winds drowned the
name;
For the Dryburgh bells ring and
the white monks do sing
For Sir Richard of Colding-
hame!'

He passed the court-gate and he
oped the tower-gate,
And he mounted the narrow
stair
To the bartizan-seat where, with
maids that on her wait,
He found his lady fair.

That lady sat in mournful mood ;

Looked over hill and vale ; 130
Over Tweed's fair flood and Mer-
toun's wood,

And all down Teviotdale.

• Now hail, now hail, thou lady

bright !'
4 Now hail, thou baron true !

What news, what news, from An-
cram fight ?
What news from the bold Buc-
cleuch?'

'The Ancram moor is red with
gore,
For many a Southern fell ;
And Buccleuch has charged us
evermore
To watch our beacons well.' 140

The lady blushed red, but nothing
she said :
Nor added the baron a word :
Then she stepped down the stair
to her chamber fair,
And so did her moody lord.

In sleep the lady mourned, and the
baron tossed and turned,
And oft to himself he said, —
' The worms around him creep, and
his bloody grave is deep —
It cannot give up the dead ! '

It was near the ringing of matin-
bell,
The night was well-nigh done, 150
When a heavy sleep on that baron
fell,
On the eve of good Saint John.

The lady looked through the
chamber fair
By the light of a dying flame ;
And she was aware of a knight
stood there —
Sir Richard of Coldinghame !

' Alas ! away, away ! ' she cried,
' For the holy Virgin's sake ! '

' Lady, I know who sleeps by thy
side;
But, lady, he will not awake. 160

' By Eildon - tree for long nights
three
In bloody grave have I lain ;

THE GRAY BROTHER

The mass and the death-prayer
are said for me,
But, lady, they are said in vain.

'By the baron's brand, near
Tweed's fair strand,
Most foully slain I fell ;
And my restless sprite on the bea-
con's height
For a space is doomed to dwell.

1 At our trysting - place, for a cer-
tain space,
I must wander to and fro ; 170
But I had not had power to come
to thy bower
Hadst thou not conjured me so.'

Love mastered fear — her brow
she crossed ;
4 How, Richard, hast thou sped ?
And art thou saved or art thou
lost?'
The vision shook his head !

4 Who spilleth life shall forfeit life ;

So bid thy lord believe :
That lawless love is guilt above,

This awful sign receive.'

[80

He laid his left palm on an oaken
beam,

His right upon her hand ;
The lady shrunk and fainting sunk,

For it scorched like a fiery brand.

The sable score of fingers four
Remains on that board im-
pressed ;

And f orevermore that lady wore
A covering on her wrist.

There is a nun in Dryburgh bower
Ne'er looks upon the sun ; 190

There is a monk in Melrose tower
He speaketh word to none.

That nun who ne'er beholds the
day,
That monk who speaks to
none —

That nun was Smaylho'me's lady
gay,
That monk the bold baron.

THE GRAY BROTHER

The Pope he was saying the high,
high mass
All on Saint Peter's day,
With the power to him given by
the saints in heaven
To wash men's sins away.

The Pope he was saying the
blessed mass,
And the people kneeled around,
And from each man's soul his sins
did pass,
As he kissed the holy ground.

And all among the crowded throng

Was still, both limb and

tongue, 10

While through vaulted roof and

aisles aloof

The holy accents rung.

At the holiest word he quivered
for fear,
And faltered in the sound —
And when he would the chalice
rear
He dropped it to the ground.

4 The breath of one of evil deed
Pollutes our sacred day ;

He has no portion in our creed,
No part in what I say. 20

4 A being whom no blessed word
To ghostly peace can bring,

A wretch at whose approach ab-
horred
Recoils each holy thing.

4 Up, up, unhappy ! haste, arise !

My adjuration fear !
I charge thee not to stop my
voice,

Nor longer tarry here ! '

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

Amid them all a pilgrim kneeled
In gown of sackcloth gray ; 30

Far journeying from his native
field,
He first saw Rome that day.

For forty days and nights so drear
I ween he had not spoke,

And, save with bread and water
clear,
His fast he ne'er had broke.

Amid the penitential flock,
Seemed none more bent to pray ;

But when the Holy Father spoke
He rose and went his way. 40

Again unto his native land
His weary course he drew,

To Lothian's fair and fertile
strand,
And Pentland's mountains blue.

His unblest feet his native seat
Mid Eske's fair woods regain ;

Through woods more fair no
stream more sweet
Rolls to the eastern main.

And lords to meet the pilgrim
came,
And vassals bent the knee ; 50
For all mid Scotland's chiefs of
fame
Was none more famed than he.

And boldly for his country still

In battle he had stood,
Ay, even when on the banks of Till

Her noblest poured their blood.

Sweet are the paths, O passing

sweet !

By Eske's fair streams that run,

O'er airy steep through copsewood

deep,

Impervious to the sun. 60

There the rapt poet's step may
rove,
And yield the muse the day ;

There Beauty, led by timid Love,
May shun the telltale ray ;

From that fair dome where suit is
paid

By blast of bugle free,
To Auchendinny's hazel glade

And haunted Woodhouselee.

Who knows not Melville's beechy
grove
And Roslin's rocky glen, 70

Dalkeith, which all the virtues
love,
And classic Hawthornden ?

Yet never a path from day to day
The pilgrim's footsteps range,

Save but the solitary way
To Burndale's ruined grange.

A woful place was that, I ween,

As sorrow could desire ;
For nodding to the fall was each
crumbling wall,
And the roof was scathed with
fire. 80

It fell upon a summer's eve,
While on Carnethy's headi

The last faint gleams of the sun's
low beams
Had streaked the gray with red,

And the convent bell did vespers
tell

Newbattle's oaks among,
And mingled with the solemn knell

Our Ladye's evening song;

The heavy knell, the choir's faint
swell,

Came slowly down the wind, 90
And on the pilgrim's ear they fell,

As his wonted path he did find.

Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he
was,

Nor ever raised his eye,
Until he came to that dreary place

Which did all in ruins lie.

THE FIRE-KING

He gazed on the walls, so scathed
with fire,
With many a bitter groan —
And there was aware of a Gray
Friar
Resting him on a stone. 100

1 Now, Christ thee save ! ' said the
Gray Brother ;
'Some pilgrim thou seemest to
be.'
But in sore amaze did Lord Al-
bert gaze,
Nor answer again made he.

' 0, come ye from east or come ye
from west,
Or bring reliques from over the
sea;
Or come ye from the shrine of
Saint James the divine,
Or Saint John of Beverley ? '

'I come not from the shrine of
Saint James the divine,
Nor bring reliques from over
the sea: no

I bring but a curse from our father,
the Pope,
Which forever will cling to me.'

1 Now, wof ul pilgrim, say not so !

But kneel thee down to me,
And shrive thee so clean of thy
deadly sin

That absolved thou mayst be.'

'And who art thou, thou Gray
Brother,
That I should shrive to thee,
When He to whom are given the
keys of earth and heaven
Has no power to pardon me?' 120

1 0, 1 am sent from a distant clime.

Five thousand miles away,
And all to absolve a foul, foul
crime,

Done here "twixt night and day.'

The pilgrim kneeled him on the
sand,
And thus began his saye —
When on his neck an ice-cold
hand
Did that Gray Brother laye.

THE FIRE-KING

The blessings of the evil Genii, which
are curses, were upon him. — Eastern
Tale.

Bold knights and fair dames, to

my harp give an ear,
Of love and of war and of wonder

to hear ;
And you haply may sigh in the

midst of your glee
At the tale of Count Albert and

fair Rosalie.

0, see you that castle, so strong
and so high?

And see you that lady, the tear in
her eye ?

And see you that palmer from Pal-
estine's land,

The shell on his hat and the staff
in his hand? —

' Now, palmer, gray palmer, O, tell
unto me,

What news bring you home from
the Holy Countrie ? 10

And how goes the warfare by Gal-
ilee's strand?

And how fare our nobles, the
flower of the land ? '

' 0, well goes the warfare by Gali-
lee's wave.

For Gilead and Nablous and Ra-
man we have ;

And well fare our nobles by Mount
Lebanon,

For the heathen have lost and the
Christians have won.'

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

A fair chain of gold mid her ring-
lets there hung ;

O'er the palmer's gray locks the
fair chain has she flung :

1 0 palmer, gray palmer, this chain
be thy fee

For the news thou hast brought
from the Holy Countrie. 20

And, palmer, good palmer, by Gal-
ilee's wave,

O, saw ye Count Albert, the gentle
and brave ?

When the Crescent went back and
the Red-cross rushed on,

0, saw ye him foremost on Mount
Lebanon ? »

' 0 lady, fair lady, the tree green it

grows ;
0 lady, fair lady, the stream pure

it flows ;
Your castle stands strong and

your hopes soar on high :
But, lady, fair lady, all blossoms

to die.

The green boughs they wither,
the thunderbolt falls,

It leaves of your castle but levin-
scorched walls ; 30

The pure stream runs muddy ; the
gay hope is gone ;

Count Albert is prisoner on Mount
Lebanon.'

0, she's ta'en a horse should be

fleet at her speed ;
And she 's ta'en a sword should be

sharp at her need ;
And she has ta'en shipping for

Palestine's land,
To ransom Count Albert from

Soldanrie's hand.

Small thought had Count Albert

on fair Rosalie,
Small thought on his faith or his

knighthood had he :

A heathenish damsel his light

heart had won,
The Soldan's fair daughter of

Mount Lebanon. 4o

* 0 Christian, brave Christian, my

love wouldst thou be,
Three things must thou do ere I

hearken to thee :
Our laws and our worship on thee

shalt thou take ;
And this thou shalt first do for

Zulema's sake.

'And next, in the cavern where
burns evermore

The mystical flame which the Curd-
mans adore,

Alone and in silence three nights
shalt thou wake ;

And this thou shalt next do for
Zulema's sake.

' And last, thou shalt aid us with

counsel and hand,
To drive the Frank robber from

Palestine's land ; 50

For my lord and my love then

Count Albert I '11 take,
When all this is accomplished for

Zulema's sake.'

He has thrown by his helmet and

cross-handled sword,
Renouncing his knighthood, deny.

ing his Lord ;
He has ta'en the green caftan, and

turban put on,
For the love of the maiden of fair

Lebanon.

And in the dread cavern, deep deep

under ground,
Which fifty steel gates and steel

portals surround,
He has watched until daybreak,

but sight saw he none,
Save the flame burning bright 011

its altar of stone. 60

THE FIRE-KIXG

Amazed was the Princess, the

Soldan amazed,
Sore murmured the priests as on

Albert they gazed ;
They searched all his garments,

and under his weeds
They found and took from him his

rosary beads.

Again in the cavern, deep deep

under ground,
He watched the lone night, while

the winds whistled round ;
Far off was their murmur, it came

not more nigh,
The flame burned unmoved and

naught else did he spy.

Loud murmured the priests and

amazed was the king,
While many dark spells of their

witchcraft they sing ; 70

They searched Albert's body, and,

lo ! on his breast
Was the sign of the Cross by his

father impressed.

The priests they erase it with care

and with pain,
And the recreant returned to the

cavern again ;
But as he descended a whisper

there fell :
It was his good angel, who bade

him farewell !

High bristled his hair, his heart

fluttered and beat,
And he turned him five steps, half

resolved to retreat ;
But his heart it was hardened, his

purpose was gone,
When he thought of the maiden of

fair Lebanon. 80

Scarce passed he the archway, the
threshold scarce trode,

When the winds from the four
points of heaven were abroad,

They made each steel portal to

rattle and ring,
And borne on the blast came the

dread Fire-King.

Full sore rocked the cavern when-
e'er he drew nigh,

The fire on the altar blazed bicker-
ing and high ;

In volcanic explosions the moun-
tains proclaim

The dreadful approach of the
Monarch of Flame.

Unmeasured in height, undistin-
guished in form,

His breath it was lightning, his
voice it was storm ; 90

I ween the stout heart of Count
Albert was tame,

When he saw in his terrors the
Monarch of Flame.

In his hand a broad falchion blue-
glimmered through smoke,

And Mount Lebanon shook as the
monarch he spoke :

1 With this brand shalt thou con-
quer, thus long and no more,

Till thou bend to the Cross and the
Virgin adore.'

The cloud-shrouded arm gives the

weapon ; and see !
The recreant receives the charmed

gift on his knee :
The thunders growl distant and

faint gleam the fires,
As, borne on the whirlwind, the

phantom retires. 100

Count Albert has armed him the

Paynim among,
Though his heart it was false, yet

his arm it was strong ;
And the Red-cross waxed faint and

the Crescent came on,
From the day he commanded on

Mount Lebanon.

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's

wave,
The sands of Samaar drank the

blood of the brave ;
Till the Knights of the Temple and

Knights of Saint John,
With Salem's King Baldwin,

against him came on.

The war-cymbals clattered, the

trumpets replied,
The lances were couched, and they

closed on each side ; 1 10

And horseman and horses Count

Albert o'erthrew,
Till he pierced the thick tumult

King Baldwin unto.

Against the charmed blade which

Count Albert did wield,
The fence had been vain of the

king's Ked-cross shield ;
But a page thrust him forward the

monarch before,
And cleft the proud turban the

renegade wore.

So fell was the dint that Count

Albert stooped low
Before the crossed shield to his

steel saddlebow ;
And scarce had he bent to the

Ked-cross his head, —
1 Bonne Grace, Notre Dame ! ' he

unwittingly said. 120

Sore sighed the charmed sword,

for its virtue was o'er,
It sprung from his grasp and was

never seen more ;
But true men have said that the

lightning's red wing
Did waft back the brand to the

dread Fire-King.

He clenched his set teeth and his

gauntleted hand ;
He stretched with one buffet that

page on the strand ;

As back from the stripliug the
broken casque rolled,

You might see the blue eyes and
the ringlets of gold.

Short time had Count Albert in

horror to stare
On those death-swimming eyeballs

and blood-clotted hair ; 130
For down came the Templars, like

Cedron in flood,
And dyed their long lances in

Saracen blood.

The Saracens, Curdmans, and

Ishmaelites yield
To the scallop, the saltier, and

crossleted shield ;
And the eagles were gorged with

the infidel dead
From Bethsaida's fountains to

Naphthali's head.

The battle is over on Bethsaida's

plain.—
0,who is yon Paynim lies stretched

mid the slain?
And who is yon page lying cold at

his knee?—
0, who but Count Albert and fair

Rosalie? 140

The lady was buried in Salem's
blest bound,

The count he was left to the vul-
ture and hound :

Her soul to high mercy Our Lady
did bring ;

His went on the blast to the dread
Fire-King.

Yet many a minstrel in harping

can tell
How the Red-cross it conquered,

the Crescent it fell :
And lords and gay ladies have

sighed mid their glee
At the tale of Count Albert and

fair Rosalie.

THE SHEPHERD'S TALE

BOTHWELL CASTLE

When fruitful Clydesdale's apple-
bowers
Are mellowing in the noon ;
When sighs round Pembroke's
ruined towers
The sultry breath of June ;

When Clyde, despite his sheltering
wood,

Must leave his channel dry,
And vainly o'er the limpid flood

The angler guides his fly;

If chance by Bothwell's lovely
braes
A wanderer thou hast been,
Or hid thee from the summer's
blaze
In Blantyre's bowers of green,

Full where the copsewood opens
wild
Thy pilgrim step hath staid,
Where Bothwell's towers in ruin
piled
O'erlook the verdant glade ;

And many a tale of love and fear
Hath mingled with the scene —

Of Bothwell's banks that bloomed
so dear
And Bothwell's bonny Jean.

O, if with rugged minstrel lays

Unsated be thy ear,
And thou of deeds of other days

Another tale wilt hear, —

Then all beneath the spreading
beech,
Flung careless on the lea,
The Gothic muse the tale shall
teach
Of Bothwell's sisters three.

Wight Wallace stood on Deck-
mont head,
He blew his bugle round,

Till the wild bull in Cadyow wood
Has started at the sound.

Saint George's cross, o'er Bothwell
hung,

Was waving far and wide,
And from the lofty turret flung

Its crimson blaze on Clyde ;

And rising at the bugle blast
That marked the Scottish foe,

Old England's yeomen mustered
fast,
And bent the Norman bow.

Tall in the midst Sir Aylmer rose,
Proud Pembroke's Earl was
he-
While—

THE SHEPHERD'S TALE

And ne'er but once, my son, he
says,

Was yon sad cavern trod,
In persecution's iron days

When the land was left by God.

From Bewlie bog with slaughter
red
A wanderer hither drew,
And oft he stopt and turned his
head,
As by fits the night wind blew ;

For trampling round by Cheviot

edge

Were heard the troopers keen, 10

And frequent from the Whitelaw

ridge

The death-shot flashed between.

The moonbeams through the
misty shower
On yon dark cavern fell :
Through the cloudy night the
snow gleamed white,
Which sunbeam ne'er could
quell.

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

'Yon cavern dark is rough and
rude,
And cold its jaws of snow ;
But more rough and rude are the
men of blood
That hunt my life below ! 20

1 Yon spell-bound den, as the aged
tell,
Was hewn by demon's hands ;
But I had lourd melle with the
fiends of hell
Than with Clavers and his band.'

He heard the deep-mouthed blood-
hound bark,

He heard the horses neigh,
He plunged him in the cavern dark,

And downward sped his way.

Now faintly down the winding path

Came the cry of the faulting

hound, 30

And the muttered oath of balked

wrath

Was lost in hollow sound.

He threw him on the flinted floor,
And held his breath for fear ;

He rose and bitter cursed his foes,
As the sounds died on his ear.

' O, bare thine arm, thou battling

Lord,

For Scotland's wandering band ;

Dash from the oppressor's grasp

the sword,

And sweep him from the land ! 40

\Forget not thou thy people's
groans
From dark Dunnotter's towTer,
Mixed with the sea-fowl's shrilly
moans
And ocean's bursting roar !

4 0, in fell Clavers' hour of pride,
Even in his mightiest day,

As bold he strides through con-
quest's tide,
O, stretch him on the clay !

1 His widow and his little ones,
O, may their tower of trust 50

Remove its strong foundation
stones,
And crush them in the dust ! '

' Sweet prayers to me,' a voice re-
plied,

1 Thrice welcome, guest of mine ! '
And glimmering on the cavern side

A light was seen to shine.

An aged man in amice brown
Stood by the wanderer's side,

By powerful charm a dead man's
arm
The torch's light supplied. 60

From each stiff finger stretched
upright
Arose a ghastly flame,
That wTaved not in the blast of
night
Which through the cavern came.

0, deadly blue was that taper's
hue
That flamed the cavern o'er,
But more deadly blue was the
ghastly hue
Of his eyes who the taper bore.

He laid on his head a hand like
lead,
As heavy, pale, and cold— 70
1 Yengeance be thine, thou guest
of mine,
If thy heart be firm and bold.

' But if faint thy heart, and caitiff
fear
Thy recreant sinews know,
The mountain erne thy heart shall
tear,
Thy nerves the hooded crow.'

The wanderer raised him undis-
mayed :

4 My soul, by dangers steeled,
Is stubborn as my Border blade,

Which never knew to yield. 80

THE SHEPHERD'S TALE

4 And if thy power can speed the

And after short while by female

hour

guile

Of vengeance on my foes,

Sir Michael Scott was slain.

Theirs be the fate from bridge and

gate

' But me and my brethren in this

To feed the hooded crows.'

cell

His mighty charms retain, —

The Brownie looked him in the

And he that can quell the power-

face,

ful spell

And his color fled with speed —

Shall o'er broad Scotland reign.'

1 1 fear me,' quoth he, ' uneath it

will be

He led him through an iron door

To match thy word and deed.

And up a winding stair,

And in wild amaze did the wan-

'In ancient days when English

derer gaze

bands

On the sight which opened

Sore ravaged Scotland fair, 90

there. 120

The sword and shield of Scottish

land

Through the gloomy night flashed

Was valiant Halbert Kerr.

ruddy light,

A thousand torches glow ;

'A warlock loved the warrior

The cave rose high, like the

well,

vaulted sky,

Sir Michael Scott by name,

O'er stalls in double row.

And he sought for his sake a spell

to make,

In every stall of that endless hall

Should the Southern foemen

Stood a steed in barding bright;

tame.

At the foot of each steed, all armed

save the head,

4 " Look thou," he said, " from Cess-

Lay stretched a stalwart knight.

ford head

As the July sun sinks low,

In each mailed hand was a naked

And when glimmering white on

brand ;

Cheviot's height

As they lay on the black bull's

Thou shalt spy a wreath of

hide, 130

snow, 100

Each visage stern did upwards turn

The spell is complete which shall

With eyeballs fixed and wide.

bring to thy feet

The haughty Saxon foe."

A launcegay strong, full twelve

ells long,

1 For many a year wrought the

By every warrior hung ;

wizard here

At each pommel there for battle

In Cheviot's bosom low,

yare

Till the spell was complete and in

A Jedwood axe was slung.

July's heat

Appeared December's snow ;

The casque hung near each cava-

But Cessford's Halbert never came

lier ;

The wondrous cause to know.

The plumes waved mournfully

At every tread which the wanderer

1 For years before in Bowden aisle

made

The warrior's bones had lain, 1 10

Through the hall of gramarye. 140

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

The ruddy beam of the torches'
gleam,

That glared the warriors on,
Reflected light from armor bright,

In noontide splendor shone.

And onward seen in lustre sheen,
Still lengthening on the sight,

Through the boundless hall stood
steeds in stall,
And by each lay a sable knight.

Still as the dead lay each horse-
man dread,
And moved nor limb nor
tongue; 150

Each steed stood stiff as an earth-
fast cliff,
Nor hoof nor bridle rung.

No sounds through all the spacious
hall
The deadly still divide,
Save where echoes aloof from the
vaulted roof
To the wanderer's step replied.

At length before his wondering
eyes,

On an iron column borne,
Of antique shape and giant size

Appeared a sword and horn. 160

1 Now choose thee here,' quoth his
leader,
* Thy venturous fortune try ;
Thy woe and weal, thy boot and
bale,
In yon brand and bugle lie.'

To the fatal brand he mounted his
hand,
But his soul did quiver and
quail ;
The life-blood did start to his
shuddering heart,
And left him wan and pale.

The brand he forsook, and the
horn he took
To 'say a gentle sound; 170

But so wild a blast from the bugle
brast
That the Cheviot rocked around.

From Forth to Tees, from seas to
seas,
The awful bugle rung ;
On Carlisle wall and Berwick
withal
To arms the warders sprung.

With clank and clang the cavern

rang,

The steeds did stamp and neigh ;

And loud was the yell as each

warrior fell

Sterte up with hoop and cry. 180

' Woe, woe,' they cried, ' thou cai-
tiff coward,
That ever thou wert born !
Why drew ye not the knightly
sword
Before ye blew the horn ? »

The morning on the mountain
shone
And on the bloody ground,
Hurled from the cave with shiv-
ered bone,
The mangled wretch was found.

And still beneath the cavern dread
Among the glidders gray, 190

A shapeless stone with lichens
spread
Marks where the wanderer lay.

Go sit old Cheviot's crest below,
And pensive mark the lingering
snow
In all his scaurs abide,
And slow dissolving from the hill
In many a sightless, soundless
rill,
Feed sparkling Bowmont's tide.

FREDERICK AND ALICE

Fair shines the stream by bank

and lea,
As wimpling to the eastern sea

She seeks TilFs sullen bed,
Indenting deep the fatal plain
Where Scotland's noblest, brave
in vain,
Around their monarch bled.

And westward hills on hills you

see,
Even as old Ocean's mightiest sea
Heaves high her waves of foam,
Dark and snow-ridged from Cuts-

feld's wold
To the proud foot of Cheviot
rolled,
Earth's mountain billows come.

FREDERICK AND ALICE

Frederick leaves the land of
France,
Homeward hastes his steps to
measure,
Careless casts the parting glance
On the scene of former pleasure.

Joying in his prancing steed,
Keen to prove his untried blade,

Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead
Over mountain, moor, and glade.

Helpless, ruined, left forlorn,

Lovely Alice wept alone, 10

Mourned o'er love's fond contract
torn,
Hope and peace and honor
flown.

Mark her breast's convulsive
throbs !

See, the tear of anguish flows ! —
Mingling soon with bursting sobs,

Loud the laugh of frenzy rose.

Wild she cursed and wild she
prayed ;
Seven long days and nights are
o'er;

Death in pity brought his aid, 19
As the village bell struck four.

Far from her and far from France,
Faithless Frederick onward
rides ;
Marking blithe the morning's
glance
Mantling o'er the mountains'
sides.

Heard ye not the boding sound,
As the tongue of yonder tower

Slowly to the hills around
Told the fourth, the fated hour ?

Starts the steed and snuffs the
air,
Yet no cause of dread appears ;
Bristles high the rider's hair, 3 r
Struck with strange mysterious
fears.

Desperate, as his terrors rise,
In the steed the spur he hides ;

From himself in vain he flies ;
Anxious, restless, on he rides.

Seven long days and seven long

nights,

Wild he wandered, woe the

while !

Ceaseless care and causeless fright

Urge his footsteps many a mile.

Dark the seventh sad night de-
scends; 41
Rivers swell and rain -streams
pour,
While the deafening thunder lends
All the terrors of its roar.

Weary, wet, and spent with toil,
Where his head shall Frederick
hide?

Where but in yon ruined aisle,
By the lightning's flash descried.

To the portal, dank and low,
Fast his steed the wanderer
bound : j 50

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

Down a ruined staircase slow
Next his darkling way he wound.

Long drear vaults before him
lie!
Glimmering lights are seen to
glide ! —
' Blessed Mary, hear my cry !
Deign a sinner's steps to guide ! '

Often lost their quivering beam,
Still the lights move slow be-
fore,

Till they rest their ghastly gleam
Right against an iron door. 60

Thundering voices from within,
Mixed with peals of laughter,
rose;
As they fell, a solemn strain
Lent its wild and wondrous
close !

Midst the din he seemed to hear
Voice of friends by death re-
moved;—
Well he knew that solemn air,
'T was the lay that Alice
loved. —

Hark ! for now a solemn knell
Four times on the still night
broke ; 70

Four times at its deadened swell
Echoes from the ruins spoke.

As the lengthened clangors die,
Slowly opes the iron door !

Straight a banquet met his eye,
But a funeral's form it wore !

Coffins for the seats extend ;
All with black the board was
spread ;
Girt by parent, brother, friend,
Long since numbered with the
dead ! 80

Alice, in her grave-clothes bound,
Ghastly smiling, points a seat ;

All arose with thundering sound ;
All the expected stranger greet.

High their meagre arms they
wave,
Wild their notes of welcome
swell; —
' Welcome, traitor, to the grave !
Perjured, bid the light fare-
well ! '

CADYOW CASTLE

ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT
HONORABLE LADY ANNE HAM-
ILTON

When princely Hamilton's abode
Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic tow-
ers,
The song went round, the goblet
flowed,
And revel sped the laughing
hours.

Then, thrilling to the harp's gay
sound,
So sweetly rung each vaulted
wall,
And echoed light the dancer's
bound,
As mirth and music cheered the
hall.

But Cadyow's towers in ruins laid,
And vaults by ivy mantled o'er,

Thrill to the music of the shade, 1 1
Or echo Evan's hoarser roar.

Yet still of Cadyow's faded fame
You bid me tell a minstrel tale,

And tune my harp of Border frame
On the wild banks of Evandale.

For thou, from scenes of courtly

pride,

From pleasure's lighter scenes,

canst turn,

To draw oblivion's pall aside 19

And mark the long-forgotten urn.

CADYOW CASTLE

Then, noble maid ! at thy command

Again the crimibled halls shall

rise;

Lo ! as on Evan's banks we stand,

The past returns — the present

flies.

Where with the rock's wood-cov-
ered side
Were blended late the ruins
green,
Rise turrets in fantastic pride
And feudal banners flaunt be-
tween :

Where the rude torrent's brawling
course
Was shagged with thorn and
tangling sloe, 30

The ashler buttress braves its
force
And ramparts frown in battled
row.

'T is night — the shade of keep and
spire
Obscurely dance on Evan's
stream ;
And on the wave the warder's fire
Is checkering the moonlight
beam.

Fades slow their light; the east is
gray;
The weary warder leaves his
tower ;
Steeds snort, uncoupled stag-
hounds bay,
And merry hunters quit the
bower. 40

The drawbridge falls — they hurry
out —
Clatters each plank and swinging
chain,
As, dashing o'er, the jovial rout
Urge the shy steed and slack the
rein.

First of his troop, the chief rode on ;
His shouting merry-men throng
behind ;

The steed of princely Hamilton
Was fleeter than the mountain
wind.

From the thick copse the roebucks
bound,
The startled red-deer scuds the
plain, 50

For the hoarse bugle's warrior-
sound
Has roused their mountain
haunts again.

Through the huge oaks of Evan-
dale,
Whose limbs a thousand years
have worn,
What sullen roar comes down the
gale
And drowns the hunter's pealing
horn ?

Mightiest of all the beasts of chase
That roam in woody Caledon,

Crashing the forest in his race,
The Mountain Bull comes thun-
dering on. 60

Fierce on the hunter's quivered
band
He rolls his eyes of swarthy
glow,
Spurns with black hoof and horn
the sand,
And tosses high his mane of
snow.

Aimed well the chieftain's lance
has flown ;
Struggling in blood the savage
lies;
His roar is sunk in hollow groan —
Sound, merry huntsmen! sound
the pryse I

'Tis noon — against the knotted

oak 69

The hunters rest the idle spear ;

Curls through the trees the slender

smoke,

Where yeomen dight the wood-

land cheer.

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

Proudly the chieftain marked his

clan,

On greenwood lap all careless

thrown,

Yet missed his eye the boldest man

That bore the name of Hamilton.

1 Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his
place,
Still wont our weal and woe to
share ?
Why comes he not our sport to
grace ?
Why shares he not our hunter's
fare?' 80

Stern Claud replied with darkening
face —
Gray Paisley's haughty lord was
he —

* At merry feast or buxom chase

No more the warrior wilt thou see.

'Few suns have set since Wood-
houselee
Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright gob-
lets foam,
When to his hearths in social glee
The war-worn soldier turned him
home.

'There, wan from her maternal
throes,
His Margaret, beautiful and
mild, 90

Sate in her bower, a pallid rose,
And peaceful nursed her new-
born child.

* 0 change accursed ! past are those

days;
False Murray's ruthless spoilers

came,
And, for the hearth's domestic

blaze,
Ascends destruction's volumed

flame.

4 What sheeted phantom wanders

wild
Where mountain Eske through

woodland flows,

Her arms enfold a shadowy child —
O ! is it she, the pallid rose? 100

' The wildered traveller sees her
glide,
And hears her feeble voice with
awe —
" Revenge," she cries, "on Murray's
pride !
And woe for injured Bothwell-
haugh ! " »

He ceased — and cries of rage and
grief
Burst mingling from the kindred
band,
And half arose the kindling chief,
And half unsheathed his Arran
brand.

But who o'er bush, o'er stream and
rock,
Rides headlong with resistless
speed, no

Whose bloody poniard's frantic
stroke
Drives to the leap his jaded
steed ;

Whose cheek is pale, whose eye-
balls glare,
As one some visioned sight that
saw,
Whose hands are bloody, loose his
hair ? —
'Tishe! 'tis he! 't is Bothwell-
haugh.

From gory selle and reeling steed

Sprung the fierce horseman with

a bound,

And, reeking from the recent deed,

He dashed his carbine on the

ground. 120

Sternly he spoke— 4,T is sweet to
hear
In good greenwood the bugle
blown,
But sweeter to Revenge's ear
To drink a tyrant's dying groan.

CADYOW CASTLE

1 Your slaughtered quarry proudly
trode
At dawning morn o'er dale and
down,
But prouder base-born Murray
rode
Through old Linlithgow's crowd-
ed town.

* From the wild Border's humbled

side,

In haughty triumph marched

he, 130

"While Knox relaxed his bigot pride

And smiled the traitorous pomp

to see.

' But can stern Power, with all his
vaunt,
Or Pomp, with all her courtly
glare,
The settled heart of Vengeance
daunt,
Or change the purpose of De-
spair ?

'With hackbut bent, my secret
stand,
Dark as the purposed deed, I
chose,
And marked where mingling in his
band
Trooped Scottish pipes and
English bows. 140

1 Dark Morton, girt with many a
spear,
Murder's foul minion, led the
van;
And clashed their broadswords in
the rear
The wild Macfarlanes' plaided
clan.

'Glencairn and stout Parkhead
were nigh,
Obsequious at their Regent's
rein,
And haggard Lindesay's iron eye,
That saw fair Mary weep in
vain.

'Mid pennoned spears, a steely
grove,
Proud Murray's plumage floated
high; 150

Scarce could his trampling charger
move,
So close the minions crowded
nigh.

' From the raised vizor's shade his
eye,
Dark-rolling, glanced the ranks
along,
And his steel truncheon, waved on
high,
Seemed marshalling . the iron
throng.

' But yet his saddened brow con-
fessed
A passing shade of doubt and
awe;
Some fiend was whispering in his
breast,
" Beware of injured Bothwell-
haugh ! " 160

' The death-shot parts ! the charger
springs ;
Wild rises tumult's startling
roar !
And Murray's plumy helmet
rings —
Rings on the ground to rise no
more.

' What joy the raptured youth can
feel,
To hear her love the loved one
tell—
Or he who broaches on his steel
The wolf by whom his infant
fell!

' But dearer to my injured eye
To see in dust proud Murray
roll ; 170

And mine was ten times trebled
joy
To hear him groan his felon
soul.

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

1 My Margaret's spectre glided
near,
With pride her bleeding victim
saw,
And shrieked in his death-deaf-
ened ear,
" Remember injured Bothwell-
haugh ! "

1 Then speed thee, noble Chatle-
rault !
Spread to the wind thy bannered
tree!
Each warrior bend his Clydesdale
bow! —
Murray is fallen and Scotland
free ! ' 180

Vaults every warrior to his steed;
Loud bugles join their wild ac-
claim—
'Murray is fallen and Scotland
freed !
Couch, Arran, couch thy spear
of flame ! '

But see ! the minstrel vision fails —
The glimmering spears are seen
no more ;

The shouts of war die on the gales,
Or sink in Evan's lonely roar.

For the loud bugle pealing high,
The blackbird whistles down the
vale, 190

And sunk in ivied ruins lie
The bannered towers of Evan-
dale.

For chiefs intent on bloody deed,
And Vengeance shouting o'er
the slain,
Lo! high-born Beauty rules the
steed,
Or graceful guides the silken
rein.

And long may Peace and Pleasure
own
The maids who list the minstrel's
tale:

Nor e'er a ruder guest be known
On the fair banks of Evandale !

THE REIVER'S WEDDING

O, will ye hear a mirthful bourd?

Or will ye hear of courtesie ?
Or will ye hear how a gallant lord

Was wedded to a gay ladye ?

' Ca' out the kye,' quo' the village
herd,
As he stood on the knowe,
1 Ca' this ane's nine and that ane's
ten,
And bauld Lord William's cow.'

4 Ah ! by my sooth,' quoth William
then,
1 And stands it that way now,
When knave and churl have nine
and ten,
That the lord has but his cow ?

' I swear by the light of the Mi-
chaelmas moon,
And the might of Mary high,
And by the edge of my braidsword
brown,
They shall soon say Harden's
kye.'

He took a bugle frae his side,
With names carved o'er and
o'er —

Full many a chief of meikle pride
That Border bugle bore —

He blew a note baith sharp and
hie
Till rock and water rang
around —
Threescore of moss-troopers and
three
Have mounted at that bugle
sound.

The Michaelmas moon had entered
then,
And ere she wan the full

THE REIVER'S WEDDING

Ye might see by her light in Har-
den glen
A bow o' kye and a bassened
bull.

And loud and loud in Harden
tower
The quaigh gaed round wi'
meikle glee ;
For the English beef was brought
in bower
And the English ale flowed mer-
rilie.

And mony a guest from Teviot-
side
And Yarrow's Braes was there ;
Was never a lord in Scotland
wide
That made more dainty fare,

They ate, they laughed, they sang
and quaffed,
Till naught on board was seen,
When knight and squire were
boune to dine,
But a spur of silver sheen.

Lord William has ta'en his berry-
brown steed —
A sore shent man was he ;
'Wait ye, my guests, a little
speed —
Weel feasted ye shall be.'

He rode him down by Falsehope
burn

His cousin dear to see,
With him to take priding turn —

Wat-draw-the-Sword was he.

And when he came to Falsehope
glen,
Beneath the trysting-tree,
On the smooth green was carved
plain,
1 To Lochwood bound are we.'

1 0, if they be gane to dark Loch-
wood
To drive the Warden's gear,

Betwixt our names, I ween, there 's
feud;
I '11 go and have my share :

' For little reck I for Johnstone's
feud,
The Warden though he be.'
So Lord William is away to dark
Lochwood
With riders barely three.

The Warden's daughters in Loch-
wood sate,

Were all both fair and gay,
All save the Lady Margaret,

And she was wan and wae.

The sister Jean had a full fair
skin,
And Grace was bauld and braw ;
But the leal-fast heart her breast
within
It weel was worth them a'.

Her father's pranked her sisters
twa
With meikle joy and pride ;
But Margaret maun seek Dun-
drennan's wa' —
She ne'er can be a bride.

On spear and casque by gallants
gent

Her sisters' scarfs were borne,
But never at tilt or tournament

Were Margaret's colors worn.

Her sisters rode to Thirlstane
bower,
But she was left at name
To wander round the gloomy
tower,
And sigh young Harden's name.

1 Of all the knights, the knight most
fair,
From Yarrow to the Tyne,'
Soft sighed the maid, ■ is Harden's
heir,
But ne'er can he be mine :

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

1 Of all the maids, the foulest maid
From Teviot to the Dee,

Ah ! ' sighing sad, that lady said,
'Can ne'er young Harden's be.'

She looked up the briery glen,
And up the mossy brae,

And she saw a score of her fa-
ther's men
Yclad in the Johnstone gray.

0, fast and fast they downwards
sped

The moss and briers among,
And in the midst the troopers led

A shackled knight along.

CHRISTIE'S WILL

Traquair has ridden up Chapel-
hope,
And sae has he down by the
Gray Mare's Tail;
He never stinted the light gallop,
Until he speerecl for Christie's
Will.

Now Christie's Will peeped frae
the tower,
And out at the shot-hole keeked
he;
4 And ever unlucky,' quo' he, ' is
the hour,
That the Warden comes to speer
for me ! '

1 Good Christie's Will, now, have
nae fear !
Nae harm, good Will, shall hap
to thee :
I saved thy life at the Jeddart
air,
At the Jeddart air frae the jus-
tice tree.

'Bethink how ye sware, by the
salt and the bread,
By the lightning, the wind, and
the rain,

That if ever of Christie's Will I
had need,
He would pay me my service
again.'

'Gramercy, my lord,' quo' Chris-
tie's Will,
1 Gramercy, my lord, for your
grace to me !
When I turn my cheek, and claw
my neck,
I think of Traquair and the Jed-
dart tree.'

And he has opened the fair tower
yate,
To Traquair and a' his companie;
The spule o' the deer on the board
he has set,
The fattest that ran on the Hut-
ton Lee.

'Now, wherefore sit ye sad, my
lord ?
And wherefore sit ye mourn-
f ullie ?
And why eat ye not of the venison
I shot,
At the dead of night on Hutton
Lee?'

' 0 weel may I stint of feast and
sport,
And in my mind be vexed sair !
A vote of the cankered Session
Court,
Of land and living will make me
bare.

' But if auld Difrie to heaven were
flown,
Or if auld Durie to hell were
gane,
Or ... if he could be but ten days
stoun . . .
My bonny braid lands would still
be my aim'

' O, mony a time, my lord,' he said,
' I 've stown the horse frae the
sleeping loon ;

CHRISTIE'S WILL

But for you I'll steal a beast as
braid,
For I'll steal Lord Durie frae
Edinburgh toun.

' O, raony a time, my lord,' he said,
' I 've stown a kiss frae a sleep-
ing wench ;
But for you I '11 do as kittle a deed,
For I'll steal an auld lurdane
aff the bench.'

And Christie's Will is to Edin-
burgh gane ;
At the Borough Muir then en-
tered he ;
And as he passed the gallow-
stane,
He crossed his brow and he bent
his knee.-

He lighted at Lord Durie's door,
And there he knocked most
manf ullie ;
And up and spake Lord Durie sae
stour,
'What tidings, thou stalward
groom, tome?'

1 The fairest lady in Teviotdale
Has sent, maist reverent sir, for
thee ;
She pleas at the Session for her
land, a' haill,
And fain she wad plead her
cause to thee.'

1 But how can I to that lady ride,

With saving of my dignitie ? '
1 O a curch and mantle ye may
wear,
And in my cloak ye sail muffled
be.'

Wi' curch on head, and cloak
ower face,
He mounted the judge on a pal-
frey f yne ;
He rode away, a right round pace,
And Christie's Will held the bri-
dle reyn.

The Lothian Edge they were not
o'er,
When they heard bugles bauldly
ring,
And, hunting over MiddletonMoor,
They met, I ween, our noble
King.

When Willie looked upon our
King,
I wot a frighted man was he !
But ever auld Durie was startled
mair,
For tyning of his dignitie.

The King he crossed himself, iwis,
When as the pair came riding
bye —
'An uglier crone, and a sturdier
loon,
I think, were never seen with
eye ! '

Willie has hied to the tower of
Graeme,
He took auld Durie on his
back,
He shot him down to the dungeon
deep,
Which garred his auld banes gie
mony a crack.

For nineteen days, and nineteen
nights,
Of sun, or moon, or midnight
stern,
Auld Durie never saw a blink,
The lodging was sae dark and
dern.

He thought the warlocks o' the
rosy cross,
Had f anged him in their nets sae
fast;
Or that the gipsies' glamoured gang
Had laired his learning at the
last.

' Hey ! Batty, lad ! far yaud ! far
yaud ! '

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

These were the morning sounds

heard he ;
And ever * Alack ! ' auld Durie

cried,
* The deil is hounding his tykes

on me ! ' —

And whiles a voice on Baudrons
cried,
With sound uncouth, and sharp,
and hie ;
' I have tar - barrelled mony a
witch,
But now, I think, they '11 clear
scores wi' me ! *

The King has caused a hill be
wrote,
And he has set it on the Tron, —
'He that will bring Lord Durie
back,
Shall have five hundred merks
and one.'

Traquair has written a privie
letter,
And he has sealed it wi' his
seal,—
1 Ye may let the auld brock out o'
the poke ;
The land 's my ain, and a' 's gane
weel.' —

0 Will has [mounted his bonny

black,
And to the tower of Graeme did

trudge,
And once again, on his sturdy

back,
Has he hente up the weary

judge.

He brought him to the council
stairs,
And there full loudly shouted
he,

1 Gie me my guerdon, my sove-

reign liege,
And take ye back your auld
Durie ! '

THOMAS THE RHYMER

Ancient.

True Thomas lay on Huntlie
bank;
A ferlie he spied wi' his ee ;
And there he saw a ladye bright,
Come riding down by the Eildon
Tree.

Her skirt was o' the grass-green
silk,

Her mantle o' the velvet f yne ;
At ilka tett of her horse's mane,

Hung fifty siller bells and nine.

True Thomas, he pulled aff his cap,
And louted low down to his
knee,
'All hail, thou mighty Queen of
Heaven !
For thy peer on earth I never
did see.'

' 0 no, 0 no, Thomas,' she said,
' That name does not belang to
me;
I am but the Queen of fair Elfland,
That am hither come to visit
thee.

'Harp and carp, Thomas,' she
said;

' Harp and carp along wi' me ;
And if ye dare to kiss my lips,

Sure of your bodie I will be.'

' Betide me weal, betide me woe,
That weird shall never daunton
me.' —

Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,
All underneath the Eildon Tree.

' Now, ye maun go wi' me,' she
said;
' True Thomas, ye maun go wi'
me;
And ye maun serve me seven
years,
Thro' weal or woe as may chance
to be.'

THOMAS THE RHYMER

She mounted on her milk-white
steed;
She 's ta'en true Thomas up he-
hind:
And aye, whene'er her bridle rung,
The steed flew swifter than the
wind.

0 they rade on, and farther on ;
The steed gaed swifter than the

wind ;
Until they reached a desert wide,
And living land was left be-
hind.

1 Light down, light down, now,

true Thomas,
And lean your head upon my

knee;
Abide and rest a little space,
And I will shew you ferlies

three.

1 0 see ye not yon narrow road,
So thick beset with thorns and
briers ?
That is the path of righteousness,
Though after it ] but few en-
quires.

1 And see ye not that braid braid
road,
That lies across that lily leven ?
That is the path of wickedness,
Though some call it the road to
heaven.

1 And see not ye that bonny road,
That winds about the fernie
brae ?
That is the road to fair Elfland,
"Where thou and I this night
maun gae.

4 But, Thomas, ye maun hold your
tongue,
Whatever ye may hear or see ;
For, if you speak word in Elflyn
land,
Ye '11 ne'er get back to your ain
countrie.'

0 they rade on, and farther on,
And they waded through rivers

aboon the knee,
And they saw neither sun nor
moon,
But they heard the roaring of the
sea.

It was mirk mirk night, and there
was nae stern light,
And they waded through red
blude to the knee ;
For a' the blude that's shed on
earth
Kins through the springs 0' that
countrie.

Syne they came on to a garden
green,
And she pu'd an apple frae a
tree —
'Take this for thy wages, true
Thomas ;
It will give thee the tongue that
can never lie.'

'My tongue is mine ain,' true
Thomas said :
'A gudely gift ye wad gie to
me!

1 neither dought to buy nor sell,
At fair or tryst where I may

be.

4 1 dought neither speak to prince
or peer,
Nor ask of grace from fair
ladye.'
' Now hold thy peace ! ' the lady
said,
' For as I say, so must it be.'

He has gotten a coat of the even
cloth,
And a pair of shoes of velvet
green ;
And till seven years were gane
and past,
True Thomas on earth was never
seen.

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

PART SECOND

Altered from ancient prophecies.

When seven years were come and
gane,
The sun blinked fair on pool and
stream ;
And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank,
Like one awakened from a
dream.

He heard the trampling of a steed,
He saw the flash of armor flee,

And he beheld a gallant knight
Come riding down by the Eildon-
tree.

He was a stalwart knight, and
strong ;
Of giant make he 'peared to
be:
He stirred his horse, as he were
wode,
Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion
free.

Says — 'Well met, well met, true
Thomas !
Some uncouth ferlies show to
me.'
Says — 'Christ thee save, Corspat-
rick brave
Thrice welcume, good Dunbar,
tome!

1 Light down, light down, Corspat-
rick brave !
And I will show thee curses
three,
Shall gar fair Scotland greet and
grane,
And change the green to the
black livery.

1 A storm shall roar this very hour,

From Ross's Hills to Solway

sea.'

1 Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar !

For the sun shines sweet on

fauld and lea.'

He put his hand on the Earlie's
head;
He showed him a rock beside the
sea,
Where a king lay stiff beneath his
steed,
And steel - dight nobles wiped
their ee.

1 The neist curse lights on Branx-
ton hills :
By Flodden's high and heathery
side,
Shall wave a banner red as blude,
And chieftains throng wi' meikle
pride.

4 A Scottish King shall come full
keen,
The ruddy lion beareth he ;
A feathered arrow sharp, I ween,
Shall make him wink and warre
to see.

' When he is bloody, and all to
bledde,
Thus to his men he still shall
say —
"For God's sake, turn ye back
again,
And give yon southern folk a
fray!
Why should I lose the right is
mine?
My doom is not to die this day."

' Yet turn ye to the eastern hand,
And woe and wonder ye sail
see;
How forty thousand spearmen
stand,
Where yon rank river meets the
sea.

'There shall the lion lose the gylte,
And the libbards bear it clean
away;
At Pinkyn Clench there shall be
spilt
Much gentil bluid that day.'

THOMAS THE RHYMER

4 Enough, enough of curse and
ban;
Some blessings show thou now
to me,
Or, by the faith o' my bodie,' Cors-
Patrick said,
4 Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw
me! '

4 The first of blessings I shall thee
show,
Is by a burn, that 's called of
bread ;
Where Saxon men shall tine the
bow,
And find their arrows lack the
head.

4 Beside that brigg, out ower that
burn,
Where the water bickereth
bright and sheen
Shall many a falling courser
spurn,
And knights shall die in battle
keen.

' Beside a headless cross of stone,
The libbards there shall lose the
gree;
The raven shall come, the erne
shall go,
And drink the Saxon bluid sae
free.
The cross of stone they shall not
know,
So thick the corses there shall
be.'

1 But tell me now,' said brave Dun-
bar
4 True Thomas, tell now unto
me,
What man shall rule the isle Bri-
tain,
Even from the north to the south-
ern sea ? '

'A French Queen shall bear the
son,
Shall rule all Britain to the sea ;

He of the Bruce 's blood shall
come,
As near as in the ninth degree.

'The waters worship shall his
race ;
Likewise the waves of the far-
thest sea ;
For they shall ride over ocean
wide,
With hempen bridles, and horse
of tree.'

PART THIKD

Modern.

When seven years more were
come and gone,
Was war through Scotland
spread,
And Euberslaw showed high Dun-
yon
His beacon blazing red.

Then all by bonny Coldingknow,
Pitched palliouns took their
room,
And crested helms, and spears
a-rowe,
Glanced gaily through the
broom,

The Leader, rolling to the Tweed,

Resounds the ensenzie ;
They roused the deer from Cad-
denhead,

To distant Torwoodlee.

The feast was spread in Ercil-
doune.
In Learmont's high and ancient
hall :
And there were knights of great
renown,
And ladies, laced in pall.

Nor lacked they, while they sat at
dine,
The music nor the tale,

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

Nor goblets of the blood-red wine,

Till lovely Isolde's lily hand

Nor mantling qnaighs of ale.

Had probed the rankling wound.

True Thomas rose, with harp in

With gentle hand and soothing

hand,

tongue

When as the feast was done :

She bore the leech's part ;

(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land,

And, while she o'er his sick-bed

The elfin harp he won.)

hung,

He paid her with his heart.

Hushed were the throng, both limb

and tongue,

0 fatal was the gift, I ween !

And harpers for envy pale ;

For, doomed in evil tide,

And armed lords leaned on their

The maid must be rude Cornwall's

swords,

queen,

And hearkened to the tale.

His cowardly uncle's bride.

In numbers high, the witching

Their loves, their woes, the gifted

tale

bard,

The prophet poured along ;

In fairy tissue wove ;

No after bard might e'er avail

Where lords, and knights, and la-

Those numbers to prolong.

dies bright,

In gay confusion strove.

Yet fragments of the lofty strain

Float down the tide of years,

The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale,

As, buoyant on the stormy main,

High reared its glittering head ;

A parted wreck appears.

And Avalon's enchanted vale

In all its wonders spread.

He sung King Arthur's Table

Bound :

Brangwain was there, and Segra-

The Warrior of the Lake ;

more,

How courteous Gawaine met the

And fiend-born Merlin's grama-

wound,

rye;

And bled for ladies' sake.

Of that famed wizard's mighty lore,

0 who could sing but he ?

But chief, in gentle Tristrem's

praise,

Through many amaze the winning

The notes melodious swell ;

song

Was none excelled in Arthur's

In changeful passion led,

days,

Till bent at length the listening

The knight of Lionelle.

throng

O'er Tristrem's dying bed.

For Marke, his cowardly uncle's

right,

His ancient wounds their scars ex-

A venomed wound he bore ;

pand,

When fierce Morholde he slew in

With agony his heart is wrung :

fight,

0 where is Isolde's lilye hand,

Upon the Irish shore.

And where her soothing tongue ?

No art the poison might with-

She comes ! she comes ! — like flash

stand ;

of flame

No medicine could be found,

Can lovers' footsteps fly t

THOMAS THE RHYMER •

She comes ! she corues ! —she only
came
To see her Tristrem die.

She saw him die ; her latest sigh
Joined in a kiss his parting
breath ;
The gentlest pair, that Britain
bare,
United are in death.

There paused the harp: its lin-
gering sound

Died slowly on the ear ;
The silent guests still bent around,

For still they seemed to hear.

Then woe broke forth in murmurs
weak,
Nor ladies heaved alone the
sigh;
But, half ashamed, the rugged
cheek
Did many a gauntlet dry.

On Leader's stream, and Lear-
mont's tower,

The mists of evening close ;
In camp, in castle, or in bower,

Each warrior sought repose.

Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent,
Dreamed o'er the wof ul tale ;

When footsteps light, across the
bent,
The warrior's ear assail.

He starts, he wakes ; — ' What
Richard, ho !
Arise, my page, arise !
What venturous wight, at dead of
night,
Dare step where Douglas lies ! '

Then forth they rushed : by Lead-
er's tide,
A selcouth sight they see —
A hart and hind pace side by
side,
As white as snow on Fairna-
lie.

Beneath the moon, with gesture
proud,
They stately move and slow ;
Nor scare they at the gathering
crowd,
Who marvel as they go.

To Learmont's tower a message
sped,

As fast as page might run ;
And Thomas started from his bed,

And soon his clothes did on.

First he woxe pale, and then woxe
red;
Never a word he spake but
three ; —
'My sand is run; my thread is
spun ;
This sign regardeth me.'

The elfin harp his neck around,
In minstrel guise he hung ;

And on the wind, in doleful sound,
Its dying accents rung.

Then forth he went; yet turned
him oft

To view his ancient hall :
On the grey tower, in lustre soft,

The autumn moonbeams fall ;

And Leader's waves, like silver
sheen,
Danced shimmering in the ray ;
In deepening mass, at distance
seen,
Broad Soltra's mountains lay.

'Farewell, my father's ancient
tower !
A long farewell,' said he :
4 The scene of pleasure, pomp, or
power,
Thou never more shalt be.

' To Learmont's name no foot of
earth

Shall here again belong,
And, on thy hospitable hearth,

The hare shall leave her young.

EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS

4 Adieu ! adieu ! ■ again he cried,
All as he turned him roun' —

4 Farewell to Leader's silver tide !
Farewell to Ercildoune ! '

The hart and hind approached the
place,
As lingering yet he stood ;
And there, before Lord Douglas'
face,
With them he crossed the flood.

Lord Douglas leaped on his berry-
brown steed,
And spurred him the Leader
o'er ;
But, though he rode with lightning
speed,
He never saw them more.

Some said to hill, and some to
glen,
Their wondrous course had
been ;
But ne'er in haunts of living men
Again was Thomas seen.

THE BARD'S INCANTATION

WRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT
OF INVASION IN THE AUTUMN
OF 1804.

The forest of Glenmore is drear,
It is all of black pine and the
dark oak-tree ;

And the midnight wind to the
mountain deer
Is whistling the forest lullaby :

The moon looks through the drift-
ing storm,

But the troubled lake reflects not
her form,

For the waves roll whitening to
the land,

And dash against the shelvy strand.

There is a voice among the trees
That mingles with the groaning
oak—

That mingles with the stormy

breeze,
And the lake- waves dashing

against the rock ; —
There is a voice within the wood,
The voice of the bard in fitful

mood ;
His song was louder than the

blast,
As the bard of Glenmore through

the forest past.

'Wake ye from your sleep of

death,
Minstrels and bards of other

days!
For the midnight wind is on the

heath,
And the midnight meteors

dimly blaze :
The Spectre with his Bloody

Hand
Is wandering through the wild

woodland ;
The owl and the raven are mute

for dread,
And the time is meet tc awake

the dead !

4 Souls of the mighty, wake and
say
To what high strain your
harps were strung,

When Lochlin ploughed her bil-
lowy way
And on your shores her Norse-
men flung ?

Her Norsemen trained to spoil
and blood,

Skilled to prepare the raven's
food,

All by your harpings doomed to
die

On bloody Largs and Loncarty.

4 Mute are ye all ? No murmurs
strange
Upon the midnight breeze sail

by,
Nor through the pines with
whistling change

HELLVELLYN

Mimic the harp's wild har-
mony!

Mute are ye now? — Ye ne'er
were mute

When Murder with his bloody
foot,

And Rapine with his iron hand,

Were hovering near yon moun-
tain strand.

4 O, yet awake the strain to tell,
By every deed in song enrolled,

By every chief who fought or fell,
For Albion's weal in battle
bold: —

From Coilgach, first who rolled
his car

Through the deep ranks of Ro-
man war,

To him of veteran memory dear

Who victor died on Aboukir.

' By all their swords, by all their

scars,
By all their names, a mighty

spell !
By all their wounds, by all their

wars,
Arise, the mighty strain to tell !
For fiercer than fierce Hengist's

strain,
More impious than the heathen

Dane,
More grasping than all-grasping

Rome,
Gaul's ravening legions hither

come ! '

The wind is hushed and still the

lake —

Strange murmurs fill my tinkling

ears,

Bristles my hair, my sinews quake,

At the dread voice of other

years —
'When targets clashed and bu-
gles rung,
And blades round warriors'

heads were flung,
The foremost of the band were
we
And hymned the joys of Liberty ! '

HELLVELLYN

I climbed the dark brow of the

mighty Hellvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath

me gleamed misty and wide ;
All was still save by fits, when the

eagle was yelling,
And starting around me the

echoes replied.
On the right, Striden-edge round

the Red-tarn was bending,
And Catchedicam its left verge

was defending,
One huge nameless rock in the

front was ascending,
When I marked the sad spot

where the wanderer had died.

Dark green was that spot mid the

brown mountain heather,
Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay

stretched in decay,
Like the corpse of an outcast

abandoned to weather
Till the mountain-winds wasted

the tenantless clay.
Nor yet quite deserted, though

lonely extended,
For, faithful in death, his mute

favorite attended,
The much-loved remains of her

master defended,
And chased the hill-fox and the

raven away.

How long didst thou think that his
silence was slumber ?
When the wind waved his gar-
ment, how oft didst thou
start?

How many long days and long
weeks didst thou number,
Ere he faded before thee, the
friend of thy heart?

And O, was it meet that — no
requiem read o'er him,

No mother to weep and no friend
to deplore him,

And thou, little guardian, alone
stretched before him —
Unhonored the Pilgrim from life
should depart?

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

When a prince to the fate of the
peasant has yielded,
The tapestry waves dark round
the dim-lighted hall ;

With scutcheons of silver the coffin
is shielded,
And pages stand mute by the
canopied pall :

Through the courts at deep mid-
night the torches are gleam-
ing;

In the proudly arched chapel the
banners are beaming ;

Far adown the long aisle sacred
music is streaming,
Lamenting a chief of the people
should fall.

But meeter for thee, gentle lover

of nature,
To lay down thy head like the

meek mountain lamb,
When wildered he drops from some

cliff huge in stature,
And draws his last sob by the

side of his dam.
And more stately thy couch by

this desert lake lying,
Thy obsequies sung by the gray

plover flying,
With one faithful friend but to

witness thy dying
In the arms of Hellvellyn and

Catchedicam.

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

INTRODUCTION

The way was long, the wind was

cold,
The Minstrel was infirm and old ;
His withered cheek and tresses

gray
Seemed to have known a better

day;
The harp, his sole remaining joy,
Was carried by an orphan boy.
The last of all the bards was he,
Who sung of Border chivalry ;
For, well-a-day! their date was

fled,
His tuneful brethren all were

dead; 10

And he, neglected and oppressed,
Wished to be with them and at

rest.
No more on prancing palfrey

borne
He carolled, light as lark at morn ;
No longer courted and caressed,
High placed in hall, a welcome

guest,
He poured, to lord and lady gay,
The unpremeditated lay :

Old times were changed, old man-

ners gone ;
A stranger filled the Stuarts'

throne ; 20

The bigots of the iron time
Had called his harmless art a

crime.
A wandering harper, scorned and

poor,
He begged his bread from door to

door,
And tuned, to please a peasant's

ear,
The harp a king had loved to hear.

He passed where Newark's stately

tower
Looks out from Yarrow's birchen

bower :
The Minstrel gazed with wishful

eye —
No humbler resting-place was

nigh. 30

With hesitating step at last
The embattled portal arch he

passed,
Whose ponderous grate and massy

bar

INTRODUCTION

Had oft rolled back the tide of

war,
But never closed the iron door
Against the desolate and poor.
The Duchess marked his weary

pace,
His timid mien, and reverend face,
And bade her page the menials

tell
That they should tend the old man

well : 40

For she had known adversity,
Though born in such a high de-
gree;
In pride of power, in beauty's

bloom,
Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody

tomb!

When kindness had his wants sup-
plied,
And the old man was gratified,
Began to rise his minstrel pride ;
And he began to talk anon
Of good Earl Francis, dead and

gone,
And of Earl Walter, rest him

God! 50

A braver ne'er to battle rode ;
And how full many a tale he

knew
Of the old warriors of Buccleuch :
And, would the noble Duchess

deign
To listen to an old man's strain,
Though stiff his hand, his voice

though weak,
He thought even yet, the sooth to

speak,
That, if she loved the harp to hear,
He could make music to her ear.

The humble boon was soon ob-
tained ; 60

The aged Minstrel audience
gained.

But when he reached the room of
state

Where she with all her ladies sate,

Perchance he wished his boon de-
nied:

For, when to tune his harp he

tried,
His trembling hand had lost the

ease
Which marks security to please ;
And scenes, long past, of joy and

pain
Came wildering o'er his aged

brain — 69

He tried to tune his harp in vain.
The pitying Duchess praised its

chime,
And gave him heart, and gave him

time,
Till every string's according glee
Was blended into harmony.
And then, he said, he would full

fain
He could recall an ancient strain
He never thought to sing again.
It was not framed for village

churls,
But for high dames and mighty

earls ;
He had played it to King Charles

the Good 80

When he kept court in Holyrood ;
And much he wished, yet feared,

to try
The long-forgotten melody.
Amid the strings his fingers

strayed,
And an uncertain warbling made,
And oft he shook his hoary head.
But when he caught the measure

wild,
The old man raised his face and

smiled ;
And lightened up his faded eye
With all a poet's ecstasy ! 90

In varying cadence, soft or strong,
He swept the sounding chords

along :
The present scene, the future

lot,
His toils, his wants, were all for-
got;
Cold diffidence and age's frost
In the full tide of song were lost ;
Each blank, in faithless memory

void,

5°

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

The poet's glowing thought sup-
plied ;

And, while his harp responsive
rung,

'T was thus the Latest Min-
strel sung.

CANTO FIRST

The feast was over in Branksome

tower,
And the Ladye had gone to her

secret bower,
Her bower that was guarded by

word and by spell,
Deadly to hear, and deadly to

tell —
Jesu Maria, shield us well !
No living wight, save the Ladye

alone,
Had dared to cross the threshold

stone.

The tables were drawn, it was
idlesse all ;
Knight and page and household
squire
Loitered through the lofty hall, 10
Or crowded round the ample
fire:
The stag-hounds, weary with the
chase,
Lay stretched upon the rushy
floor,
And urged in dreams the forest
race,
From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-
moor.

Nine-and-twenty knights of fame
Hung their shields in Brank-
some Hall ;
Nine-and-twenty squires of name
Brought them their steeds to
bower from stall ; 19

Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall
Waited duteous on them all :

They were all knights of mettle

true,
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch.

Ten of them were sheathed in

steel,
With belted sword and spur on

heel;
They quitted not their harness

bright,
Neither by day nor yet by night :
They lay down to rest,
With corselet laced.
Pillowed on buckler cold and
hard ; 30

They carved at the meal
With gloves of steel,
And they drank the red wine
through the helmet barred.

Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad
men,

Waited the beck of the warders
ten;

Thirty steeds, both fleet and wight,

Stood saddled in stable day and
night,

Barded with frontlet of steel, I
trow,

And with Jedwood-axe at saddle-
bow;

A hundred more fed free in
stall : — 40

Such was the custom of Brank-
some Hall.

Why do these steeds stand ready
dight?

Why watch these warriors armed
by night?

They watch to hear the blood-
hound baying ;

They watch to hear the war-horn
braying ;

To see Saint George's red cross
streaming,

To see the midnight beacon gleam-
ing;

CANTO FIRST

They watch against Southern force
and guile,
Lest Scroop or Howard or Per-
cy's powers
Threaten Branksome's lordly
towers, 50

From Warkworth or Naworth or
merry Carlisle.

VII

Such is the custom of Branksome

Hall.
Many a valiant knight is here :
But he, the chieftain of them all,
His sword hangs rusting on the

wall
Beside his broken spear.
Bards long shall tell
How Lord Walter fell !
When startled burghers fled afar
The furies of the Border war, 60
When the streets of high Dunedin
Saw lances gleam and falchions

redden,
And heard the slogan's deadly

yell,-
Then the Chief of Branksome fell.

VIII

Can piety the discord heal,
Or stanch the death-feud's en-
mity?
Can Christian lore, can patriot
zeal,
Can love of blessed charity ?
No ! vainly to each holy shrine 69
In mutual pilgrimage they drew,
Implored in vain the grace divine
For chiefs their own red falchions
slew.
While Cessford owns the rule of
Carr,
While Ettrick boasts the line of
Scott,
The slaughtered chiefs, the mortal

jar,
The havoc of the feudal war,
Shall never, never be forgot !

In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's bier
The warlike foresters had bent,

And many a flower and many a

tear 80

Old Teviot's maids and matrons

lent:

But o'er her warrior's bloody bier

The Ladye dropped nor flower nor

tear !
Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the
slain,
Had locked the source of softer
woe,
And burning pride and high disdain
Forbade the rising tear to flow ;
Until, amid his sorrowing clan,
Her son lisped from the nurse's
knee,
1 And if I live" to be a man, 90

My father's death revenged shall
be!'
Then fast the mother's tears did

seek
To dew the infant's kindling cheek.

All loose her negligent attire,

All loose her golden hair,
Hung Margaret o'er her slaugh-
tered sire

And wept in wild despair.
But not alone the bitter tear

Had filial grief supplied, 99

For hopeless love and anxious fear

Had lent their mingled tide ;
Nor in her mother's altered eye
Dared she to look for sympathy.
Her lover 'gainst her father's clan

With Carr in arms had stood,
When Mathouse-burn to Melrose
ran

All purple with their blood ;
And well she knew her mother

dread,
Before Lord Cranstoun she should
wed, 109

Would see her on her dying bed.

Of noble race the Ladye came ;
Her father was a clerk of fame
Of Bethune's line of Picardie :
He learned the art that none may
name

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

In Padua, far beyond the sea.
Men said he changed his mortal
frame
By feat of magic mystery ;
For when in studious mood he
paced
Saint Andrew's cloistered hall,
His form no darkening shadow
traced 120

Upon the sunny wall !

XII

And of his skill, as bards avow,

He taught that Ladye fair,
Till to her bidding she could bow

The viewless forms of air.
And now she sits in secret bower,
In old Lord David's western

tower,
And listens to a heavy sound
That moans the mossy turrets

round.
Is it the roar of Teviot's tide, 130
That chafes against the scaur's

red side ?
Is it the wind, that swings the

oaks?
Is it the echo from the rocks ?
What may it be, the heavy sound,
That moans old Branksome's tur-
rets round ?

XIII

At the sullen, moaning sound

The ban-dogs bay and howl,
And from the turrets round

Loud whoops the startled owl.
In the hall, both squire and knight

Swore that a storm was near, 14 1
And looked forth to view the
night ;

But the night was still and clear !

XIV

From the sound of Teviot's tide,
Chafing with the mountain's side,
From the groan of the wind-swung

oak,
From the sullen echo of the rock,
From the voice of the coming

storm,

The Ladye knew it well !
It was the Spirit of the Flood that

spoke, 150

And he called on the Spirit of

the Fell.

RIVER SPIRIT

' Sleep 'st thou, brother ? '

MOUNTAIN SPIRIT

• Brother, nay —
On my hills the moonbeams play.
From Craik-cross to Skelfhill-pen,
By every rill, in every glen,
Merry elves their morris pacing,

To aerial minstrelsy,

Emerald rings on brown heath

tracing,

Trip it deft and merrily. 159

Up, and mark their nimble feet !

Up, and list their music sweet ! '

XVI
RIVER SPIRIT

' Tears of an imprisoned maiden
Mix with my polluted stream ;

Margaret of Branksome, sorrow-
laden,
Mourns beneath the moon's pale
beam.

Tell me, thou who view'st the stars,

When shall cease these feudal
jars?

What shall be the maiden's fate ?

Who shall be the maiden's mate ? '

XVII
MOUNTAIN SPIRIT

'Arthur's slow wain his course
doth roll 170

In utter darkness round the pole ;

The Northern Bear lowers black
and grim,

Orion's studded belt is dim ;

Twinkling faint, and distant far,

Shimmers through mist each
planet star ;

CANTO FIRST

111 may I read their high decree :
But no kind influence deign they

shower
On Teviot's tide and Branksome's
tower
Till pride be quelled and love be
free.'

XVIII

The unearthly voices ceased, 180

And the heavy sound was still ;
It died on the river's breast,

It died on the side of the hill.
But round Lord David's tower

The sound still floated near;
For it rung in the Ladye's bower,

And it rung in the Ladye's ear.
She raised her stately head,

And her heart throbbed high
with pride :
1 Your mountains shall bend 190
And your streams ascend,

Ere Margaret be our foeman's
bride ! '

XIX

The Ladye sought the lofty hall,

Where many a bold retainer lay,
And with jocund din among them
all
Her son pursued his infant play.
A fancied moss-trooper, the boy
The truncheon of a spear be-
strode,
And round the hall right merrily

In mimic foray rode. 200

Even bearded knights, in arms
grown old,
Share in his frolic gambols bore,
Albeit their hearts of rugged mould
Were stubborn as the steel they
wore.
For the gray warriors prophesied
How the brave boy in future
war
Should tame the Unicorn's pride,
Exalt the Crescents and the Star.

The Ladye forgot her purpose high
One moment and no more, 210

One moment gazed with a mother's

eye
As she paused at the arched

door;
Then from amid the armed train
She called to her William of

Deloraine.

XXI

A stark moss-trooping Scott was he
As e'er couched Border lance by

knee :
Through Solway Sands, through

Tarras Moss,
Blindfold he knew the paths to

cross ;
By wily turns, by desperate bounds,
Had baffled Percy's best blood-
hounds ; 220
In Eske or Liddel fords were none
But he would ride them, one by

one;
Alike to him was time or tide,
December's snow or July's pride;
Alike to him was tide or time,
Moonless midnight or matin prime :
Steady of heart and stout of hand
As ever drove prey from Cumber-

land;
Five times outlawed had he been
By England's king and Scotland's

queen. 230

XXII

1 Sir William of Deloraine, good at

need,
Mount thee on the wightest steed ;
Spare not to spur nor stint to ride
Until thou come to fair Tweedside ;
And in Melrose's holy pile
Seek thou the Monk of Saint Mary's

aisle.
Greet the father well from me ;

Say that the fated hour is come,
And to-night he shall watch with

thee, 239

To win the treasure of the tomb :

For this will be Saint Michael's

night,
And though stars be dim the moon

is bright,

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

And the cross of bloody red
Will point to the grave of the
mighty dead.

XXIII

'What he gives thee, see thou

keep;
Stay not thou for food or sleep :
Be it scroll or be it book,
Into it, knight, thou must not look ;
If thou readest, thou art lorn ! 249
Better hadst thou ne'er been born! '

XXIV

* O swiftly can speed my dapple-
gray steed,
Which drinks of the Teviot clear;
Ere break of day,' the warrior gan
say,
* Again will I be here :
And safer by none may thy errand
be done
Than, noble dame, by me ;
Letter nor line know I never one,
Were 't my neck-verse at Hairi-
bee.'

xxv

Soon in his saddle sate he fast,

And soon the steep descent he
passed, 260

Soon crossed the sounding barbi-
can,

And soon the Teviot side he won.

Eastward the wooded path he rode,

Green hazels o'er his basnet nod ;

He passed the Peel of Goldiland,

And crossed old Borthwick's roar-
ing strand ;

Dimly he viewed the Moat-hill's
mound,

Where Druid shades still flitted
round :

In Hawick twinkled many a light ;

Behind him soon they set in night ;

And soon he spurred his courser
keen 271

Beneath the tower of Hazeldean.

xxvi

The clattering hoofs the watchmen
mark:

'Stand, ho! thou courier of the

dark.'
* For Branksome, ho ! > the knight

rejoined,
And left the friendly tower behind.
He turned him now from Teviot-

side,
And, guided by the tinkling rill,
Northward the dark ascent did

ride,
And gained the moor at Horse-

liehill ; 280

Broad on the left before him lay
For many a mile the Roman way.

xxvii
A moment now he slacked his

speed,
A moment breathed his panting

steed,
Drew saddle-girth and corslet-
band,
And loosened in the sheath his

brand.
On Minto-crags the moonbeams

glint,
Where Barnhill hewed his bed of

flint,
Who flung his outlawed limbs to

rest
Where falcons hang their giddy

nest 290

Mid cliffs from whence his eagle

eye
For many a league his prey could

spy;
Cliffs doubling, on their echoes

borne,
The terrors of the robber's horn ;
Cliffs which for many a later year
The warbling Doric reed shall hear,
When some sad swain shall teach

the grove
Ambition is no cure for love.

xxviii
Unchallenged, thence passed Delo-
raine 299

To ancient Riddel's fair domain,
Where Aill, from mountains
freed,

CANTO FIRST

Down from the lakes did raving

come;
Each wave was crested with tawny

foam,
Like the mane of a chestnut

steed.
In vain ! no torrent, deep or broad,
Might bar the bold moss-trooper's

road.

XXIX

At the first plunge the horse sunk
low,

And the water broke o'er the sad-
dle-bow :

Above the foaming tide, I ween,

Scarce half the charger's neck was
seen; 310

For he was barded from counter
to tail,

And the rider was armed complete
in mail ;

Never heavier man and horse

Stemmed a midnight torrent's
force.

The warrior's very plume, I say,

Was daggled by the dashing
spray ;

Yet, through good heart and Our
Ladye's grace,

At length he gained the landing-
place.

XXX

Now Bowden Moor the march-man

won,
And sternly shook his plumed

head, 320

As glanced his eye o'er Halidon ;
For on his soul the slaughter

red
Of that unhallowed morn arose,
When first the Scott and Carr

were foes ;
When royal James beheld the

fray,
Prize to the victor of the day ;
When Home and Douglas in the

van
Bore down Buccleuch's retiring

clan,

Till gallant Cessford's heart-blood

dear
Keeked on dark Elliot's Border

spear. 330

XXXI

In bitter mood he spurred fast,
And soon the hated heath was

past;
And far beneath, in lustre wan,
Old Melros' rose and fair Tweed

ran:
Like some tall rock with lichens

gray,
Seemed, dimly huge, the dark Ab-

baye.
When Hawick he passed had cur-

few rung,
Now midnight lauds were in Mel-
rose sung.
The sound upon the fitful gale
In solemn wise did rise and fail, 340
Like that wild harp whose magic

tone
Is wakened by the winds alone.'
But when Melrose he reached

't was silence all ;
He meetly stabled his steed in

stall,
And sought the convent's lonely

wall.

Here paused the harp ; and with

its swell
The Master's fire and courage

fell :
Dejectedly and low he bowed,
And, gazing timid on the crowd,
He seemed to seek in every eye 350
If they approved his minstrelsy ;
And, diffident of present praise,
Somewhat he spoke of former

days,
And how old age and wandering

long
Had done his hand and harp some

wrong.
The Duchess, and her daughters

fair,
And every gentle lady there,

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

Each after each, in due degree,

Gave praises to his melody ;

His hand was true, his voice was

clear, 360

And much they longed the rest to

hear.
Encouraged thus, the aged man
After meet rest again began.

CANTO SECOND

If thou wouldst view fair Melrose

aright,
Go visit it by the pale moonlight ;
For the gay beams of lightsome

day
Gild but to flout the ruins gray.
When the broken arches are black

in night,
And each shafted oriel glimmers

white ;
When the cold light's uncertain

shower
Streams on the ruined central

tower ;
When buttress and buttress, alter-
nately,
Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; 10
When silver edges the imagery,
And the scrolls that teach thee to

live and die ;
When distant Tweed is heard to

rave,
And the owlet to hoot o'er the

dead man's grave,
Then go — but go alone the while —
Then view Saint David's ruined

pile;
And, home returning, soothly

swear
Was never scene so sad and fair !

Short halt did Deloraine make

there ;
Little recked he of the scene so

fair : 20

With dagger's hilt on the wicket

strong

He struck full loud, and struck

full long.
The porter hurried to the gate :
1 Who knocks so loud, and knocks

so late ? '
1 From Branksome I,' the warrior

cried ;
And straight the wicket opened

wide:
For Branksome's chiefs had in

battle stood
To fence the rights of fair Mel-
rose;
And lands and livings, many a

rood,
Had gifted the shrine for their

souls' repose. 30

Bold Deloraine his errand said ;

The porter bent his humble head ;

With torch in hand, and feet un-
shod,

And noiseless step, the path he
trod:

The arched cloister, far and wide,

Rang to the warrior's clanking
stride,

Till, stooping low his lofty crest,

He entered the cell of the ancient
priest,

And lifted his barred aventayle

To hail the Monk of Saint Mary's
aisle. 40

' The Ladye of Branksome greets
thee by me,
Says that the fated hour is
come,
And that to-night I shall watch
with thee,
To win the treasure of the tomb.'
From sackcloth couch the monk
arose,
With toil his stiffened limbs he
reared ;
A hundred years had flung their
snows
On his thin locks and floating
beard.

CANTO SECOND

And strangely on the knight looked
he,
And his blue eyes gleamed wild
and wide : 50

1 And darest thou, warrior, seek to
see
What heaven and hell alike
would hide ?
My breast in belt of iron pent,
With shirt of hair and scourge of
thorn,
For threescore years, in penance
spent,
My knees those flinty stones
have worn ;
Yet all too little to atone
For knowing what should ne'er be

known.

Wouldst thou thy every future year

In ceaseless prayer and penance

drie, 60

Yet wait thy latter end with fear —

Then, daring warrior, follow

me!'

1 Penance, father, will I none ;

Prayer know I hardly one ;

For mass or prayer can I rarely

tarry,
Save to patter an Ave Mary,
When I ride on a Border foray.
Other prayer can I none ;
So speed me my errand, and let me

be gone.'

VII

Again on the knight looked the

churchman old, 70

And again he sighed heavily ;
For he had himself been a warrior

bold,
And fought in Spain and Italy.
And he thought on the days that

were long since by,
When his limbs were strong and

his courage was high :
Now, slow and faint, he led the

way
Where,cloistered round,the garden

lay;

The pillared arches were over their

head,
And beneath their feet were the

bones of the dead.

VIII

Spreading herbs and flowerets

bright 80

Glistened with the dew of night ;
Nor herb nor floweret glistened

there
But was carved in the cloister.

arches as fair.
The monk gazed long on the lovely

moon,
Then into the night he looked

forth ;
And red and bright the streamers

light
Were dancing in the glowing

north.
So had he seen, in fair Castile,
The youth in glittering squad-
rons start,
Sudden the flying jennet wheel, 90

And hurl the unexpected dart.
He knew, by the streamers that

shot so bright,
That spirits were riding the north-

ern light.

By a steel-clenched postern door
They entered now the chancel

tall;
The darkened roof rose high

aloof
On pillars lofty and light and

small :
The keystone that locked each

ribbed aisle
Was a fleur-de-lys or a quatre-

feuille ;
The corbels were carved grotesque

and grim : 100

And the pillars, with clustered

shafts so trim,
With base and with capital flour-
ished around,
Seemed bundles of lances which

garlands had bound.

5»

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

And fought beneath the Cross of

Full many a scutcheon and banner

God:

riven

Now, strange to my eyes thine

Shook to the cold night-wind of

arms appear,

heaven,

And their iron clang sounds

Around the screened altar's

strange to my ear.

pale;

And there the dying lamps did burn

XIII

Before thy low and lonely urn,

1 In these far climes it Iwas my

0 gallant Chief of Otterbume !

lot

And thine, dark Knight of Lid-

To meet the wondrous Michael

desdale ! no

Scott ;

0 fading honors of the dead !

A wizard of such dreaded fame

0 high ambition lowly laid !

That when, in Salamanca's cave,

Him listed his magic wand to

wave, 141

The moon on the east oriel shone

The bells would ring in Notre

Through slender shafts of shapely

Dame!

stone,

Some of his skill he taught to

By foliage d tracery combined ;

me;

Thou wouldst have thought some

And, warrior, I could say to thee

fairy's hand

The words that cleft Eildon Hills

'Twixt poplars straight the osier

in three,

wand

And bridled the Tweed with a

In many a freakish knot had

curb of stone :

twined,

But to speak them were a deadly

Then framed a spell when the work

sin,

was done,

And for having but thought them

And changed the willow wreaths

my heart within

to stone. 120

A treble penance must be done.

The silver light, so pale and faint,

Showed many a prophet and many

XIV

a saint,

'When Michael lay on his dying

Whose image on the glass was

bed, 150

dyed;

His conscience was awakened ;

Full in the midst, his cross of red

He bethought him of his sinful

Triumphant Michael brandished,

deed,

And trampled the Apostate's pride.

And he gave me a sign to come

The moonbeam kissed the holy

with speed :

pane,

I was in Spain when the morning

And threw on the pavement a

rose,

bloody stain.

But I stood by his bed ere evening

close.

XII

The words may not again be

They sate them down on a marble

said

stone — 129

That he spoke to me, on death-bed

A Scottish monarch slept below ;

laid;

Thus spoke the monk in solemn

They would rend this Abbaye's

tone :

massy nave,

* I was not always a man of woe ;

And pile it in heaps above his

For Paynim countries I have trod,

grave. 159

CANTO SECOND

* I swore to bury his Mighty Book,
That never mortal might therein

look;
And never to tell where it was hid,
Save at his Chief of Branksome's

need;
And when that need was past and

o'er,
Again the volume to restore.
I buried him on Saint Michael's

night,
When the bell tolled one and the

moon was bright,
And I dug his chamber among the

dead,
When the floor of the chancel was

stained red,
That his patron's cross might over

him wave, 170

And scare the fiends from the

wizard's grave.

XVI

1 It was a night of woe and dread
When Michael in the tomb I laid ;
Strange sounds along the chancel

passed,
The banners waved* without a

blast' —
Still spoke the monk, when the

bell tolled one ! —
I tell you, that a braver man
Than William of Deloraine, good

at need,
Against a foe ne'er spurred a steed ;
Yet somewhat was he chilled with

dread, 180

And his hair did bristle upon his

head.

XVII

• Lo, warrior ! now, the cross of red
Points to the grave of the mighty

dead:
Within it burns a wondrous light,
To chase the spirits that love the

night ;
That lamp shall burn unquench-

ably,
Until the eternal doom shall be.'

Slow moved the monk to the broad

flagstone
Which the bloody cross was traced

upon:
He pointed to a secret nook; 190
An iron bar the warrior took;
And the monk made a sign with

his withered hand,
The grave's huge portal to expand.

XVIII

With beating heart to the task he
went,

His sinewy frame o'er the grave-
stone bent,

With bar of iron heaved amain

Till the toil-drops fell from his
brows like rain.

It was by dint of passing strength

That he moved the massy stone at
length. 199

I would you had been there to see

How the light broke forth so glori-
ously,

Streamed upward to the chancel
roof,

And through the galleries far
aloof !

Xo earthly flame blazed e'er so
bright ;

It shone like heaven's own blessed
light,
And, issuing from the tomb,

Showred the monk's cowl and vis-
age pale,

Danced on the dark-browed war-
rior's mail, 208
And kissed his waving plume.

XIX

Before their eyes the wizard lay,
As if he had not been dead a day.
His hoary beard in silver rolled,
He seemed some seventy winters

old;
A palmer's amice wrapped him

round,
With a wrought Spanish baldric

bound,
Like a pilgrim from beyond the

sea:

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

His left hand held his Book of

He thought, as he took it, the

Might,

dead man frowned ;

A silver cross was in his. right ;

But the glare of the sepulchral

The lamp was placed beside his

light

knee. 219

Perchance had dazzled the war-

High and majestic was his look,

rior's sight.

At which the fellest fiends had

shook,

XXII

And all unruffled was his face :

When the huge stone sunk o'er

They trusted his soul had gotten

the tomb,

grace.

The night returned in double

gloom,

For the moon had gone down

Often had "William of Deloraine

and the stars were few ; 250

Rode through the battle's bloody

And as the knight and priest

plain,

withdrew,

And trampled down the warriors

With wavering steps and dizzy

slain,

brain,

And neither known remorse nor

They hardly might the postern

awe,

gain.

Yet now remorse and awe he

'T is said, as through the aisles

owned ;

they passed,

His breath came thick, his head

They heard strange noises on

swam round,

the blast ;

When this strange scene of death

And through the cloister - gal-

he saw. 230

leries small,

Bewildered and unnerved he stood,

Which at mid-height thread the

And the priest prayed fervently

chancel wall,

and loud :

Loud sobs, and laughter louder,

With eyes averted prayed he ;

ran,

He might not endure the sight to

And voices unlike the voice of

see

man,

Of the man he had loved so bro-

As if the fiends kept holiday 260

therly.

Because these spells were

brought to day.

XXI

I cannot tell how the truth may

And when the priest his death-

be;

prayer had prayed,

I say the tale as 't was said to me.

Thus unto Deloraine he said :

4 Now, speed thee what thou hast

XXIII

to do,

' Now, hie thee hence,' the father

Or, warrior, we may dearly rue ;

said,

For those thou mayst not look

'And when we are on death-bed

upon 240

laid,

Are gathering fast round the yawn-

0 may our dear Ladye and sweet

ing stone ! '

Saint John

Then Deloraine in terror took

Forgive our souls for the deed we

From the cold hand the Mighty

have done ! '

Book,

The monk returned him to his cell,

With iron clasped and with iron

And many a prayer and penance

bound :

sped ;

CANTO SECOND

When the convent met at the noon-
tide bell, 270
The Monk of Saint Mary's aisle
was dead »

Before the cross was the body
laid,

With hands clasped fast, as if still
he prayed.

XXIV

The knight breathed free in the

morning wind,
And strove his hardihood to find :
He was glad when he passed the

tombstones gray
Which girdle round the fair Ab-

baye ;
For the mystic book, to his bosom

pressed,
Felt like a load upon his breast,
And his joints, with nerves of iron

twined, 280

Shook like the aspen^eaves in

wind.
Full fain was he when the dawn of

day
Began to brighten Cheviot gray;
He joyed to see the cheerful light,
And he said Ave Mary as well as

he might.

XXV

The sun had brightened Cheviot
gray,
The sun had brightened Carter's
side;
And soon beneath the rising day
Smiled Branksome towers and
Teviot's tide.
The wild birds told their warbling
tale, 290

And wakened every flower that
blows ;
And peeped forth the violet pale,
And spread her breast the moun-
tain rose.
And lovelier than the rose so
red,
Yet paler than the violet pale,
She early left her sleepless bed,
The fairest maid of Teviotdale.

xxvi

Why does fair Margaret so early
awake,
And don her kirtle so hastilie ;
And the silken knots, which in
hurry she would make, 300
Why tremble her slender fingers
to tie ?
Why does she stop and look often
around,
As she glides down the secret
stan ;
And why does she pat the shaggy
bloodhound,
As he rouses him up from his
lair ;
And, though she passes the pos-
tern alone,
Why is not the watchman's bugle
blown ?

XXVII

The ladye steps in doubt and

dread.
Lest her watchful mother hear her

tread ;
The ladye caresses the rough

bloodhound 310

Lest his voice should waken the

castle round ;
The watchman's bugle is not

blown,
For he was her foster-father's son ;
And she glides through the green-

wood at dawn of light
To meet Baron Henry, her own

true knight.

XXVIII

The knight and ladye fair are met,
And under the hawthorn's boughs

are set.
A fairer pair were never seen
To meet beneath the hawthorn

green.
He was stately and young and

tall, 320'

Dreaded in battle and loved in

hall;
And she, when love, scarce told,

scarce hid,

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

Lent to her cheek a livelier red,
When the half sigh her swelling

breast
Against the silken ribbon pressed,
When her blue eyes their secret

told,
Though shaded by her locks of

gold —
Where would you find the peerless

fair
With Margaret of Branksome

might compare !

XXIX

And now, fair dames, methinks I

see 330

You listen to my minstrelsy ;
Your waving locks ye backward

throw,
And sidelong bend your necks of

snow.
Ye ween to hear a melting tale
Of two true lovers in a dale ;
And how the knight, with tender

fire,
To paint his faithful passion

strove,
Swore he might at her feet expire,
But never, never cease to love ;
And how she blushed, and how

she sighed, 340

And, half consenting, half de-
nied,
And said that she would die a

maid ; —
Yet, might the bloody feud be

stayed,
Henry of Cranstoun, and only

he,
Margaret of Branksome' s choice

should be.

XXX

Alas ! fair dames, your hopes are
vain!

My harp has lost the enchanting
strain ;
Its lightness would my age re-
prove :

My hairs are gray, my limbs are
old,

My heart is dead, my veins are

cold: 350

I may not, must not, sing of love.

XXXI

Beneath an oak mossed o'er by eld
The Baron's dwarf his courser

held,
And held his crested helm and

spear :
That dwarf was scarce an earthly

man,
If the tales were true that of him

ran
Through all the Border far and

near.
'Twas said, when the Baron

a-hunting rode
Through Eeedsdale's glens, but

rarely trod,
He heard a voice cry, ' Lost ! lost !

lost ! ' 360

And, like tennis-ball by racket

tossed,
A leap of thirty feet and three
Made from the gorse this elfin

shape,
Distorted like some dwarfish ape,
And lighted at LordCranstoun's

knee.
Lord Cranstoun was some whit

dismayed ;
'T is said that five good miles he

rade,
To rid him of his company ;
But where he rode 'one mile, the

dwarf ran four,
And the dwarf was first at the

castle door. 370

XXXII

Use lessens marvel, it is said :
This elfish dwarf with the Baron

staid ;
Little he ate, and less he spoke,
Nor mingled with the menial flock ;
And oft apart his arms he tossed,
And often muttered, ' Lost ! lost !

lost ! '
He was waspish, arch, and lither-

lie,

CANTO SECOND

But well Lord Cranstoun served
he:

And he of his service was full fain ;

For once he had been ta'en or
slain, 380

An it had not been for his minis-
try.

All between Home and Hermitage

Talked of Lord Cranstoun' s Gob-
lin Page.

XXXIII

For the Baron went on pilgrimage,
And took with him this elfish

page,
To Mary's Chapel of the Lowes ;
For there, beside Our Ladye's

lake,
An offering he had sworn to make,

And he would pay his vows.
But the Ladye of Branksome gath-
ered a band 390
Of the best that would ride at her

command ;
The trysting-place was Newark

Lee.
Wat of Harden came thither

amain,
And thither came John of Thirle-

stane,
And thither came William of De-

loraine ;
They were three hundred spears

and three.
Through Douglas-burn, up Yarrow

stream,
Their horses prance, their lances

gleam.
They came to Saint Mary's lake

ere day,
But the chapel was void and the

Baron away, 400

They burned the chapel for very

rage.
And cursed Lord Cranstoun's Gob-
lin Page.

XXXIV

And now, in Branksome' s good

greenwood,
As under the aged oak he stood,

The Baron's courser pricks his
ears,

As if a distant noise he hears.

The dwarf waves his long lean
arm on high,

And signs to the lovers to part and
fly;

No time was then to vow or sigh.

Fair Margaret through the hazel-
grove 410

Flew like the startled cushat-dove :

The dwarf the stirrup held and
rein;

Vaulted the knight on his steed
amain,

And, pondering deep that morn-
ing's scene,

Rode eastward through the haw-
thorns green.

While thus he poured the length-
ened tale,

The Minstrel's voice began to fail.

Full slyly smiled the observant
Page,

And'gave the withered hand of age

A goblet, crowned with mighty
wine, 420

The blood of Velez' scorched vine.

He raised the silver cup on high,

And, while the big drop filled his
eye,

Prayed God to bless the Duchess
long,

And all who cheered a son of song.

The attending maidens smiled to
see

How long, how deep, how zeal-
ously,

The precious juice the Minstrel
quaffed ;

And he, emboldened by the
draught,

Looked gayly back to them and
laughed. 430

The cordial nectar of the bowl

Swelled his old veins and cheered
his soul ;

A lighter, livelier prelude ran,

Ere thus his tale again began.

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

CANTO THIRD

And said I that my limbs were old,
And said I that my blood was

cold,
And that my kindly fire was fled,
And my poor withered heart was

dead,
And that I might not sing of

love?—
How could I to the dearest theme
That ever warmed a minstrel's

dream,
So foul, so false a recreant

prove ?
How could I name love's very

name,
Nor wake my heart to notes of

flame ? , 10

In peace, Love tunes the shep-
herd's reed ;

In war, he mounts the warrior's
steed ;

In halls, in gay attire is seen ;

In hamlets, dances on the green.

Love rules the court, the camp,
the grove,

And men below, and saints above ;

For love is heaven, and heaven is
love.

in
So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I

ween,
While, pondering deep the tender

scene,
He rode through Branksome's

hawthorn green. 20

But the page shouted wild and

shrill,
And scarce his helmet could he

don,
When downward from the shady

hill
A stately knight came pricking

on.
That warrior's steed, so dapple-
gray,

Was dark with sweat and splashed

with clay,

His armor red with many a

stain :

He seemed in such a weary plight,

As if he had ridden the livelong

night ; 29

For it was William of Deloraine.

But no whit weary did he seem,

When, dancing in the sunny beam,

He marked the crane on the Bar-
on's crest ;

For his ready spear was in his
rest.

Few were the words, and stern
and high,
That marked the foemen's feud-
al hate ;

For question fierce and proud re-
ply
Gave signal soon of dire debate.

Their very coursers seemed to
know

That each was other's mortal
foe, 40

And snorted fire when wheeled
around

To give each knight his vantage-
ground.

In rapid round the Baron bent ;
He sighed a sigh and prayed a

prayer ;
The prayer was to his patron

saint,
The sigh was to his ladye fair.
Stout Deloraine nor sighed nor

prayed,
Nor saint nor ladye called to

aid;
But he stooped his head, and

couched his spear,
And spurred his steed to full ca-
reer. 50
The meeting of these champions

proud
Seemed like the bursting thunder-

cloud.

CANTO THIRD

Stern was the dint the Borderer

lent!
The stately Baron backwards

bent,
Bent backwards to his horse's tail,
And his plumes went scattering

on the gale ;
The tough ash spear, so stout and

true,
Into a thousand flinders flew.
But Cranstoun's lance, of more

avail,
Pierced through, like silk, the

Borderer's mail ; 60

Through shield and jack and acton

passed,
Deep in his bosom broke at last.
Still sate the warrior saddle-fast,
Till, stumbling in the mortal shock,
Down went the steed, the girthing

broke,
Hurled on a heap lay man and

horse.
The Baron onward passed his

course,
Nor knew — so giddy rolled his

brain —
His foe lay stretched upon the

plain.

VII

But when he reined his courser
round, 70

And saw his f oeman on the ground
Lie senseless as the bloody clay,
He bade his page to stanch the
wound,
And there beside the warrior
stay,
And tend him in his doubtful state,
And lead him to Branksome castle-
gate :
His noble mind was inly moved
For the kinsman of the maid he

loved.
1 This shalt thou do without delay :
No longer here myself may stay ;
Unless the swifter I speed away,
Short shrift will be at my dying
day.' 82

VIII

Away in speed Lord Cranstoun

rode;
The Goblin Page behind abode ;
His lord's command he ne'er with-

stood,
Though small his pleasure to do

good.
As the corselet off he took,
The dwarf espied the Mighty

Book!
Much he marvelled a knight of

pride
Like a book=bosomed priest should

ride ; 9°

He thought not to search or stanch

the wound
Until the secret he had found.

The iron band, the iron clasp,
Resisted long the elfin grasp ;
For when the first he had undone,
It closed as he the next begun.
Those iron clasps, that iron band,
Would not yield to unchristened

hand
Till he smeared the cover o'er 99
With the Borderer's curdled gore ;
A moment then the volume spread,
And one short spell therein he

read.
It had much of glamour might,
Could make a ladye seem a knight,
The cobwebs on a dungeon wall
Seem tapestry in lordly hall,
A nutshell seem a gilded barge,
A sheeling seem a palace large,
And youth seem age, and age

seem youth —
All was delusion, nought was

truth*. no

He had not read another spell,
When on his cheek a buffet fell,
So fierce, it stretched him on the

plain
Beside the wounded Deloraine.
From the ground he rose dismayed,
And shook his huge and matted

head;

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

One word he muttered and no more,
4 Man of age, thou smitest sore ! '
No more the elfin page durst try
Into the wondrous book to pry ;
The clasps, though smeared with
Christian gore, 121

Shut faster than they were be-
fore.
He hid it underneath his cloak. —
Now, if you ask who gave the

stroke,
I cannot tell, so mot I thrive ;
It was not given by man alive.

Unwillingly himself he addressed
To do his master's high behest :
He lifted up the living corse, 129
And laid it on the weary horse ;
He led him into Branksome Hall
Before the beards of the warders

all,
And each did after swear and say
There only passed a wain of hay.
He took him to Lord David's

tower,
Even to the Ladye's secret bow-
er;
And, but that stronger spells were

spread,
And the door might not be opened,
He had laid him on her very bed.
Whate'er he did of gramarye 140
Was always done maliciously;
He flung the warrior on the ground,
And the blood welled freshly from
the wound.

XII

As he repassed the outer court,
He spied the fair young child at

sport :
He thought to train him to the

wood;
For, at a word, be it understood,
He was always for ill, and never

for good.
Seemed to the boy some comrade

gay
Led him forth to the woods to

play; 150

On the drawbridge the warders

stout
Saw a terrier and lurcher passing

out.

XIII

He led the boy o'er bank and fell,
Until they came to a woodland

brook ;
The running stream dissolved the

spell,
And his own elfish shape he took.
Could he have had his pleasure

vilde,
He had crippled the joints of the

noble child,
Or, with his fingers long and lean,
Had strangled him in fiendish

spleen : 160

But his awful mother he had in

dread,
And also his power was limited ;
So he but scowled on the startled

child,
And darted through the forest

wild;
The woodland brook he bounding

crossed,
And laughed, and shouted, * Lost !

lost ! lost ! '

XIV

Full sore amazed at the wondrous
change,
And frightened, as a child might
be,
At the wild yell and visage strange,
And the dark words of gram-
arye, 170
The child, amidst the forest bower,
Stood rooted like a lily flower ;
And when at length, with trem-
bling pace,
He sought to find where Brank-
some lay,
He feared to see that grisly face
Glare from some thicket on his
way.
Thus, starting oft, he journeyed

on,
And deeper in the wood is gone, —

CANTO THIRD

For aye the more he sought his

way,
The farther still he went astray,
Until he heard the mountains

round 181

Ring to the baying of a hound.

And hark! and hark! the deep-
mouthed bark
Comes nigher still and nigher ;

Bursts on the path a dark blood-
hound,

His tawny muzzle tracked the
ground,
And his red eye shot fire.

Soon as the wildered child saw
he,

He flew at him right furiouslie,

I ween you would have seen with
joy 190

The bearing of the gallant boy,

When, worthy of his noble sire,

His wet cheek glowed 'twixt fear
and ire!

He faced the bloodhound man-
fully,

And held his little bat on high ;

So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid,

At cautious distance hoarsely
bayed,
But still in act to spring ;

When dashed an archer through
the glade,

And when he saw the hound was
stayed, 200

He drew his tough bowstring ;

But a rough voice cried, ' Shoot
not, hoy !

Ho! shoot not, Edward, —'tis a
boy!'

XVI

The speaker issued from the

wood,
And checked his fellow's surly
mood,
And quelled the bandog's ire :
He was an English yeoman good
And born in Lancashire.

Well could he hit a fallow-deer

Five hundred feet him fro ; 210
With hand more true and eye more
clear
No archer bended bow.
His coal-black hair, shorn round
and close,
Set off his sun-burned face ;
Old England's sign, Saint George's
cross.
His barret-cap did grace j
His bugle-horn hung by his side.
All in a wolf-skin baldric tied;
And his short falchion, sharp and

clear,
Had pierced the throat of many a
deer. 220

xvi r

His kirtle, made of forest green.

Reached scantly to his knee :
And, at his belt, of arrows keen

A furbished sheaf bore he;
His buckler scarce in breadth a
span,
Xo longer fence had he ;
He never counted him a man,

Would strike below the knee ;
His slackened bow was in his

hand,
And the leash that was his blood-
hound's band. 230

XVIII

He would not do the fair child-
harm,

But held him with his powerful
arm,

That he might neither fight nor
flee;

For when the red cross spied
he,

The boy strove long and violent-
ly.

' Now, by Saint George,' the archer
cries,

1 Edward, methinks we have a
prize !

This boy's fair face and courage
free

Show he is come of high degree.'

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

xrx

1 Yes ! I am come of high de-
gree, 240
For I am the heir of bold Buc-
cleuch ;

And, if thou dost not set me free,
False Southron, thou shalt
dearly rue !

For Walter of Harden shall come
with speed,

And William of Deloraine, good at
need,

And every Scott from Esk to
Tweed ;

And, if thou dost not let me go,

Despite thy arrows and thy bow,

I '11 have thee hanged to feed the
crow ! '

' Gramercy for thy good-will, fair

boy ! 250

My mind was never set so high ;
But if thou art chief of such a

clan,
And art the son of such a man,
And ever comest to thy command,
Our wardens had need to keep

good order :
My bow of yew to a hazel wand,
Thou 'It make them work upon

the Border !
Meantime, be pleased to come with

me,
For good Lord Dacre shalt thou

see;
I think our work is well begun, 260
When we have taken thy father's

son.

XXI

Although the child was led away,

In Branksome still he seemed to
stay,

For so the Dwarf his part did play ;

And, in the shape of that young
boy,

He wrought the castle much an-
noy.

The comrades of the young Buc-
cleuch

He pinched and beat and over-
threw ;
Nay, some of them he well-nigh

slew.

He tore Dame Maudlin's silken

tire, 270

And, as Sym Hall stood by the fire,

He lighted the match of his bancle-

lier,
And wofully scorched the hack-

buteer.
It may be hardly thought or said,
The mischief that the urchin made,
Till many of the castle guessed
That the young baron was pos-
sessed !

XXII

Well I ween tue charm he held

The noble Ladye had soon dis-
pelled,

But she was deeply busied then 280

To tend the wounded Deloraine.

Much she wondered to find him lie
On the stone threshold stretched
along :

She thought some spirit of the sky
Had done the bold moss-trooper
wrong,

Because, despite her precept
dread,

Perchance he in the book had
read ;

But the broken lance in his bo-
som stood,

And it was earthly steel and wood.

XXIII

She drew the splinter from the
wound, 290

And with a charm she stanched
the blood.
She bade the gash be cleansed and
bound :
Xo longer by his couch she
stood ;
But she has ta'en the broken lance
And washed it from the clotted

gore,
And salved the splinter o'er and
o'er.

CANTO THIRD

William of Deloraine, in trance,
Whene'er she turned it round and

round,
Twisted as if she galled his wound.
Then to her maidens she did

say, 300

That he should be whole man and

sound
Within the course of a night and

day.
Full long she toiled, for she did rue
Mishap to friend so stout and true.

XXIV

So passed the day — the evening

fell,
'T was near the time of curfew

bell;
The air was mild, the wind was

calm,
The stream was smooth, the dew

was balm ;
E'en the rude watchman on the

tower
Enjoyed and blessed the lovely

hour. 310

Far more fair Margaret loved and

blessed
The hour of silence and of rest.
On the high turret sitting lone,
She waked at times the lute's soft

tone,
Touched a wild note, and all be-
tween
Thought of the bower of haw-
thorns green.
Her golden hair streamed free

from band,
Her fair cheek rested on her hand,
Her blue eyes sought the west

afar,
For lovers love the western

star. 320

XXV

Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen,
That rises slowly to her ken,
And, spreading broad its waver-
ing light,
Shakes its loose tresses on the
night ?

Is yon'red glare the western star? —
O, 't is the beacon-blaze of war !
Scarce could she draw her tight-
ened breath,
i For well she knew the fire of
death !

XXVI

The warder viewed it blazing

strong,
And blew his war-note loud and

long, 330

Till at the high and haughty sound,
Rock, wood, and river rung around.
The blast alarmed the festal hall,
And startled forth the warriors all ;
Far downward in the castle-yard
Full many a torch and cresset

glared ;
And helms and plumes, confusedly

tossed,
Were in the blaze half seen, half

lost;
And spears in wild disorder shook,
Like reeds beside a frozen

brook. 340

XXVII

The seneschal, wiiose silver hair
Was reddened by the torches'

glare,
Stood in the midst, with gesture

proud,
And issued forth his mandates

loud:
■ On Penchryst glows a bale of fire,
And three are kindling on Priest-

haughswire ;
Ride out, ride out,
The foe to scout !
Mount, mount for Branksome,

every man !
Thou, Todrig, wTarn the Johnstone

clan, 350

That ever are true and stout.
Ye need not send to Liddesdale,
For wrhen they see the blazing bale
Elliots and Armstrongs never

fail. —
Hide, Alton, ride, for death and

life,

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

And warn the warden of the

strife ! —
Young Gilbert, let our beacon

blaze,
Our kin and clan and friends to

raise ! '

XXVIII

Fair Margaret from the turret

head
Heard far below the coursers'
tread, 360

While loud the harness rung,
As to their seats with clamor
dread
The ready horsemen sprung :
And trampling hoofs, and iron

coats,
And leaders' voices, mingled notes,
And out ! and out !
In hasty rout,
The horsemen galloped forth ;
Dispersing to the south to scout,

And east, and west, and north, 370
To view their coming enemies,
And warn their vassals and allies.

XXIX

The ready page with hurried hand

Awaked the need-fire's slumbering
brand,
And ruddy blushed the heaven ;

For a sheet of flame from the tur-
ret high

Waved like a blood-flag on the sky,
All flaring and uneven.

And soon a score of fires, I ween,

From height and hill and cliff were
seen, 380

Each with warlike tidings fraught ;

Each from each the signal caught ;

Each after each they glanced to
sight,

As stars arise upon the night.

They gleamed on many a dusky
tarn,

Haunted by the lonely earn ;

On many a cairn's gray pyramid,

Where urns of mighty chiefs lie
hid;

Till high Dunedin the blazes saw

From Soltra and Dumpender Law,
And Lothian heard the Regent's

order 391

That all should bowne them for

the Border.

XXX

The livelong night in Branksome

rang
The ceaseless sound of steel ;
The castle -bell with backward

clang
Sent forth the larum peal.
Was frequent heard the heavy jar,
Where massy stone and iron bar
Were piled on echoing keep and

tower,
To whelm the foe with deadly

shower ; 400

Was frequent heard the changing

guard,
And watchword from the sleepless

ward;
While, wearied by the endless din,
Bloodhound and ban -dog yelled

within.

XXXI

The noble dame, amid the broil,

Shared the gray seneschal's high
toil,

And spoke of danger with a smile,

Cheered the young knights, and
council sage

Held with the chiefs of riper age.

No tidings of the foe were brought,

Nor of his numbers knew they
aught, 411

Nor what in time of truce he
sought.
Some said that there were thou-
sands ten ;

And others weened that it was
nought
But Leven Clans or Tynedale
men,

Who came to gather in black-
mail ;

And Liddesdale, with small avail,
Might drive them lightly back
agen.

CANTO FOURTH

So passed the anxious night away,
And welcome was the peep of day.

Ceased the high sound — the

listening throng 421

Applaud the Master of the Song ;
And marvel much, in helpless age,
So hard should he his pilgrimage.
Had he no friend — no daughter

dear,
His wandering toil to share and

cheer ?
No son to be his father's stay,
And guide him on the rugged way ?
'Ay, once he had— but he was

dead ! ' —
Upon the harp he stooped his

head, 430

And busied himself the strings

withal,
To hide the tear that fain would

fall.
In solemn measure, soft and slow,
Arose a father's notes of woe.

CANTO FOUETH

Sweet Teviot ! on thy silver tide

The glaring bale-fires blaze no

more ;

No longer steel-clad warriors ride

Along thy wild and willowed

shore :

Where'er thou wind'st by dale or

hill,
All, all is peaceful, all is still,
As if thy waves, since time was
born,
Since first they rolled upon the

Tweed,
Had only heard the shepherd's
reed, 9

Nor startled at the bugle-horn.

Unlike the tide of human time,
Which, though it change in
ceaseless flow,

Retains each grief, retains each
crime,
Its earliest course was doomed
to know,

And, darker as it downward bears,

Is stained with past and present
tears.
Low as that tide has ebbed with
me,

It still reflects to memory's eye

The hour my brave, my only boy
Fell by the side of great Dun-
dee. 20

Why, when the volleying musket
played

Against the bloody Highland
blade,

Why was not I beside him laid? —

Enough — he died the death of
fame;

Enough — he died with conquer-
ing Graeme.

Now over Border dale and fell
Full wide and far was terror

spread ;
For pathless marsh and mountain

cell
The peasant left his lowly shed.
The frightened flocks and herds

were pent 30

Beneath the peel's rude battle-

ment ;
And maids and matrons dropped

the tear,
While ready warriors seized the

spear.
From Branksome's towers the

watchman's eye
Dun wreaths of distant smoke can

spy,
Which, curling in the rising sun.
Showed Southern ravage was be-
gun.

Now loud the heedful gate-ward
cried :
'Prepare ye all for blows and
blood !

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

Watt Tinlinn, from the Liddel-

Seemed newly dyed with gore ;

side, 40

His shafts and bow, of wondrous

Comes wading through the flood.

strength, 7o

Full oft the Tynedale snatchers

His hardy partner bore.

knock

At his lone gate and prove the

lock;

Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn

It was but last Saint Barnabright

show

They sieged him a whole summer

The tidings of the English foe :

night,

4 Belted Will Howard is marching

But fled at morning; well they

here,

knew,

And hot Lord Dacre, with many a

In vain he never twanged the

spear,

yew.

And all the German hackbut-men

Right sharp has been the evening

Who have long lain at Askerten.

shower

They crossed the Liddel at curfew

That drove him from his Liddel

hour,

tower ;

And burned my little lonely

And, by my faith,' the gate-ward

tower —

said, 50

The fiend receive their souls

1 1 think 't will prove a Warden-

therefor ! 80

Raid.'

It had not been burnt this year

and more.

Barnyard and dwelling, blazing

While thus he spoke, the bold yeo-

bright,

man

Served to guide me on my flight,

Entered the echoing barbican.

But I was chased the livelong

He led a small and shaggy nag,

night.

That through a bog, from hag to

Black John of Akeshaw and Fer-

hag,

gus Graeme

Could bound like any Billhope

Fast upon my traces came,

stag.

Until I turned at Priesthaugh

It bore his wife and children

Scrogg,

twain ;

And shot their horses in the bog,

A half-clothed serf was all their

Slew Fergus with my lance out-

train:

right—

His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-

I had him long at high despite ; 90

browed,

He drove my cows last Fastern's

Of silver brooch and bracelet

night.'

proud, 60

Laughed to her friends among the

VII

crowd.

Now weary scouts from Liddes-

He was of stature passing tall,

dale,

But sparely formed and lean

Fast hurrying in, confirmed the

withal :

tale;

A battered morion on his brow ;

As far as they could judge by ken,

A leathern jack, as fence enow,

Three hours would bring to

On his broad shoulders loosely

Teviot's strand

hung;

Three thousand armed English-

A Border axe behind was slung ;

men.

His spear, six Scottish ells in

Meanwhile, full many a warlike

length,

band,

CANTO FOURTH

From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick

shade,
Came in, their chief's defence to

aid.
There was saddling and mounting

in haste, ioo

There was pricking o'er moor

and lea ;
He that was last at the trysting-

place
Was but lightly held of his gay

ladye.

VIII

From fair Saint Mary's silver wave,
From dreary Gamescleuch's

dusky height,
His ready lances Thirlestane

brave
Arrayed beneath a banner

bright.
The treasured, fleur - de - luce he

claims
To wreathe his shield, since royal

James,
Encamped by Fala's mossy

wave, no

The proud distinction grateful

gave
For faith mid feudal jars ;
What time, save Thirlestane alone,
Of Scotland's stubborn barons

none
Would march to southern wars ;
And hence, in fair remembrance

worn,
Yon sheaf of spears his crest has

borne ;
Hence his high motto shines re-
vealed,
' Ready, aye ready,' for the field.

An aged knight, to danger
steeled, 120

With many a moss-trooper, came
on;
And, azure in a golden field,
The stars and crescent graced his
shield,
Without the bend of Murdieston.

Wide lay his lands round Oak-
wood Tower,

And wide round haunted Castle-
Ower ;

High over Borthwick's mountain
flood

His wood - embosomed mansion
stood ;

In the dark glen, so deep below,

The herds of plundered England

lOW, 130

His bold retainers' daily food,
And bought with danger, blows,

and blood.
Marauding chief ! his sole delight
The moonlight raid, the morning

fight;
Not even the Flower of Yarrow's

charms
In youth might tame his rage for

arms;
And still in age he spurned at

rest,
And still his brows the helmet

pressed,
Albeit the blanched locks below
Were white as Dinlay's spotless

snow. 140

Five stately warriors drew the

sword
Before their father's band ;
A braver knight than Harden's

lord
Ne'er belted on a brand.

Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band,
Came trooping down the Tod-
shawhill ;

By the sword they won their land,
And by the sword they hold it
still.

Hearken, Ladye, to the tale

How thy sires won fair Esk-
dale. 150

Earl Morton was lord of that val-
ley fair,

The Beattisons were his vassals
there.

The earl was gentle and mild of
mood.

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

The vassals were warlike and

fierce and rude ;
High of heart and haughty of

word,
Little they recked of a tame liege-
lord.
The earl into fair Eskdale came,
Homage and seigniory to claim :
Of Gilbert the Galliard a heriot he

sought,
Saying, ' Give thy best steed, as a

vassal ought.' 160

' Dear to me is my bonny white

steed,
Oft has he helped me at pinch of

need;
Lord and earl though thou be, I

trow,
I can rein Bucksfoot better than

thou.'
Word on word gave fuel to fire,
Till so high blazed the Beattison's

ire,
But that the earl the flight had

ta'en.
The vassals there their lord had

slain.
Sore he plied both whip and

spur,
As he urged his steed through

Eskdale muir ; 170

And it fell down a weary weight,
Just on the threshold of Brank-

some gate.

The earl was a wrathful man to

see,
Full fain avenged would he be.
In haste to Branksome's lord he

spoke,
Saying, * Take these traitors to

thy yoke ;
For a cast of hawks, and a purse

of gold,
All Eskdale I '11 sell thee, to have

and hold :
Beshrew thy heart, of the Beatti-

sons' clan
If thou leave st on Eske a landed

man ! 180

But spare Woodkerrick's lands

alone,
For he lent me his horse to escape

upon.'
A glad man then was Branksome

bold,
Down he flung him the purse of

gold;
To Eskdale soon he spurred

amain,
And with him five hundred riders

has ta'en.
He left his merrymen in the midst

of the hill,
And bade them hold them close

and still ;
And alone he wended to the plain,
To meet with the Galliard and all

his train. 190

To Gilbert the Galliard thus he

said:
' Know thou me for thy liege-lord

and head ;
Deal not with me as with Morton

tame,
For Scotts play best at the rough-
est game.
Give me in peace my heriot due,
Thy bonny white steed, or thou

shalt rue.
If my horn I three times wind,
Eskdale shall long have the sound

in mind.'

XII

Loudly the Beattison laughed in

scorn ;
' Little care we for thy winded

horn. 200

Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's

lot
To yield his steed to a haughty

Scott.
Wend thou to Branksome back on

foot,
With rusty spur and miry boot.'
He blew his bugle so loud and

hoarse
That the dun deer started at far

Craikcross ;
He blew again so loud and clear,

CANTO FOURTH

Through the gray mountain-mist

there did lances appear ;
And the third blast rang with such

a din
That the echoes answered from

Pentounlinn, 210

And all his riders came lightly

in.
Then had you seen a gallant shock,
When saddles were emptied and

lances broke !
For each scornful word the Gal-

liard had said
A Beattison on the field was laid.
His own good sword the chieftain

drew,
And he bore the Galliard through

and through ;
Where the Beattisons' blood mixed

with the rill,
The Galliard' s Haugh men call it

still.
The Scotts have scattered the

Beattison clan, 220

In Eskdale they left but one

landed man.
The valley of Eske, from the

mouth to the source,
Was lost and won for that bonny

white horse.

XIII

Whitslade the Hawk, and Head- i

shaw came,
And warriors more than I may

name ;
From Yarrow-cleugh to Hind- |

haugh-swair,
From Woodhouselie to Chester-
glen,
Trooped man and horse, and bow

and spear ;
Their gathering word was Bel-

lenden.
And better hearts o'er Border

sod 230

To siege or rescue never rode.
The Ladye marked the aids come

in,
And high her heart of pride

arose :

She bade her youthful son attend,
That he might know his father's

friend,
And learn to face his foes :
' The boy is ripe to look on war ;

I saw him draw a cross-bow stiff,
And his true arrow struck afar
The raven's nest upon the

cliff ; 240

The red cross on a Southern

breast
Is broader than the raven's nest :
Thou, Whitslade, shalt teach him

his weapon to wield,
And o'er him hold his father's

shield.'

XIV

Well may you think the wily page
Cared not to face the Ladye sage.
He counterfeited childish fear,
And shrieked, and shed full many

a tear,
And moaned, and plained in man-
ner wild.
The attendants to the Ladye

told, 250

Some fairy, sure, had changed the

child,
That wont to be so free and bold.
Then wrathful was the noble

dame ;
She blushed blood-red for very

shame :
; Hence ! ere the clan his faintness

view ;
Hence with the weakling to Buc-

cleuch ! —
Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his

guide
To Kangleburn's lonely side. —
Sure, some fell fiend has cursed

our line,
That coward should e'er be son of

mine ! ' 260

A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had,
To guide the counterfeited lad.
Soon as the palfrey felt the weight
Of that ill-omened elfish freight,

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

He bolted, sprung, and reared

amain,
Nor heeded bit nor curb nor rein.
It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil
To drive him but a Scottish mile ;
But as a shallow brook they

crossed,
The elf, amid the running

stream, 270

His figure changed, like form in

dream,
And fled, and shouted, ' Lost !

lost! lost!'
Full fast the urchin ran and

laughed,
But faster still a cloth-yard shaft
Whistled from startled Tinlinn's

yew,
And pierced his shoulder through

and through.
Although the imp might not be

slain,
And though the wound soon healed

again,
Yet, as he ran, he yelled for pain ;
And Watt of Tinlinn, much

aghast, 280

Rode back to Branksome fiery

fast.

XVI

Soon on the hill's steep verge he

stood,
That looks o'er Branksome' s

towers and wood ;
And martial murmurs from below
Proclaimed the approaching

Southern foe.
Through the dark wood, in min-
gled tone,
Were Border pipes and bugles

blown;
The coursers' neighing he could

ken,
A measured tread of marching

men;
While broke at times the solemn

hum, 290

The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum;
And banners tall, of crimson sheen,
Above the copse appear ;

And, glistening through the haw-
thorns green,
Shine helm and shield and spear.

XVII

Light forayers first, to view the

ground,
Spurred their fleet coursers loosely

round ;
Behind, in close array, and fast,

The Kendal archers, all in green,

Obedient to the bugle blast, 300

Advancing from the wood were

seen.
To back and guard the archer

band,
Lord Dacre's billmen were at

hand :
A hardy race, on Irtbing bred,
With kirtles white and crosses

red,
Arrayed beneath the banner tall
That streamed o'er Acre's con-
quered wall ;
And minstrels, as they marched

in order,
Played, ' Noble Lord Dacre, he

dwells on the Border.'

XVIII

Behind the English bill and bow 3 10

The mercenaries, firm and slow,
Moved on to fight in dark array.

By Conrad led of Wolfenstein,

Who brought the band from dis-
tant Rhine,
And sold their blood for foreign
pay.

The camp their home, their law the
sword,

They knew no country, owned no
lord:

They were not armed like Eng-
land's sons,

But bore the levin-darting guns ;

Buff coats, all frounced and broi-
dered o'er, 320

And morsing- horns and scarfs
they wore ;

Each better knee was bared, to aid

The warriors in the escalade;

CANTO FOURTH

All as they marched, in rugged

tongue
Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung.

XIX

But louder still the clamor grew,

And louder still the minstrels blew,

When, from beneath the green-
wood tree,

Rode forth Lord Howard's chiv-
alry ;

His men-at-arms, with glaive and
spear, 330

Brought up the battle's glittering
rear.

There many a youthful knight,
full keen

To gain his spurs, in arms was
seen,

With favor in his crest or glove,

Memorial of his ladye-love.

So rode they forth in fair array,

Till full their lengthened lines dis-
play;

Then called a halt, and made a
stand,

And cried, ' Saint George for
merry England ! »

Now every English eye intent 340
On Branksome's armed towers

was bent ;
So near they were that they might

know
The straining harsh of each cross-
bow;
On battlement and bartizan
Gleamed axe and spear and parti-
san ;
Falcon and culver on each tower
Stood prompt their deadly hail to

shower ;
And flashing armor frequent broke
From eddying whirls of sable

smoke,

Where upon tower and turret

head 350

The seething pitch and molten lead

Reeked like a witch's caldron

red.

While yet they gaze, the bridges

fall,
The wicket opes, and from the

wall
Rides forth the hoary seneschal.

XXI

Armed he rode, all save the head,
His white beard o'er his breast-
plate spread ;
Unbroke by age, erect his seat,
He ruled his eager courser's

gait,
Forced him with chastened fire
to prance, 360

And, high curvetting, slow ad-
vance :
In sign of truce, his better hand
Displayed a peeled willow wand ;
His squire, attending in the rear,
Bore high a gauntlet on a spear.
When they espied him riding

out,
Lord Howard and Lord Dacre

stout
Sped to the front of their array,
To hear what this old knight
should say.

XXII

'Ye English warden lords, of
you 370

Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch,

WThy, 'gainst the truce of Border
tide,

In hostile guise ye dare to ride,

With Kendal bow and Gilsland
brand,

And all yon mercenary band,

Upon the bounds of fair Scotland ?

My Ladye reads you swith re-
turn ;

And, if but one poor straw you
burn,

Or do our towers so much molest

As scare one swallow from her
nest, 380

Saint Mary! but we'll light a
brand

Shall warm your hearths in Gum
berland.' —

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

XXIII

A wrathful man was Dacre's lord,
But calmer Howard took tbe

word :
1 May 't please thy dame, Sir Sen-

eschal,
To seek the castle's outward wall,
Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show
Both why we came and when we

go.'
The message sped, the noble dame
To the wall's outward circle

came ; 390

Each chief around leaned on his

spear,
To see the pursuivant appear.
All in Lord Howard's livery

dressed,
The lion argent decked his breast ;
He led a boy of blooming hue —
O sight to meet a mother's view !
It was the heir of great Buccleuch.
Obeisance meet the herald made,
And thus his master's will he

said :

XXIV

'It irks, high dame, my noble

lords, 400

'Gainst ladye fair to draw their

swords ;
But yet they may not tamely see,
All through the Western War-

denry,
Your law - contemning kinsmen

ride,
And burn and spoil the Border-
side;
And ill beseems your rank and

birth
To make your towers a flemens-

firth.
We claim from thee William of

Deloraine,
That he may suffer march-treason

pain.
It was but last Saint Cuthbert's

even 410

He pricked to Stapleton on Leven,
Harried the lands of Richard Mus-

grave,

And slew his brother by dint of

glaive.
Then, since a lone and widowed

dame
These restless riders may not

tame,
Either receive within thy towers
Two hundred of my master's

powers,
Or straight they sound their war-

rison,
And storm and spoil thy garrison ;
And this fair boy, to London

led, 420

Shall good King Edward's page

be bred.'

XXV

He ceased — and loud the boy did

cry,
And stretched his little arms on

high,
Implored for aid each well-known

face,
And strove to seek the dame's em-
brace.
A moment changed that Ladye's

cheer,
Gushed to her eye the unbidden

tear ;
She gazed upon the leaders round,
And dark and sad each warrior

frowned ;
Then deep within her sobbing

breast 430

She locked the struggling sigh to

rest,
Unaltered and collected stood,
And thus replied in dauntless

mood:

XXVI

' Say to your lords of high emprise
Who war on women and on

boys,
That either William of Deloraine
Will cleanse him by oath of march-
treason stain,
Or else he will the combat take
'Gainst Musgrave for his honor's
sake,

CANTO FOURTH

No knight in Cumberland so

good 44°

But William may count with him

kin and blood.
Knighthood he took of Douglas'

sword,
When English blood swelled An-

cram ford ;
And but Lord Dacre's steed was

wight,
And bare him ably in the flight,
Himself had seen him dubbed a

knight.
For the young heir of Branksome's

line,
God be his aid, and God be mine !
Through me no friend shall meet

his doom;
Here, while I live, no foe finds

room. 450

Then, if thy lords their purpose

urge,
Take our defiance loud and high ;
Our slogan is their lyke-wake

dirge,
Our moat the grave where they

shall lie.'

XXVII

Proud she looked round, applause

to claim —
Then lightened Thirlestane's eye
of flame ;
His bugle Wat of Harden blew ;
Pensils and pennons wide were

flung,
To heaven the Border slogan rung,
1 Saint Mary for the young Buc-
cleuch ! ' 460

The English war-cry answered
wide,
And forward bent each Southern
spear;
Each Kendal archer made a stride,
And drew the bowstring to his
ear ;
Each minstrel's war-note loud was

blown ; —
But, ere a gray-goose shaft had
flown,
A horseman galloped from the
rear.

XXVIII

1 Ah ! noble lords ! ■ he breathless

said,
'What treason has your march

betrayed ?
What make you here from aid so

far, 470

Before you walls, around you war?
Your foemen triumph in the

thought
That in the toils the lion 's caught.
Already on dark Ruberslaw
The Douglas holds his wTeapon-

schaw ;
The lances, waving in his train,
Clothe the dun heath like autumn

grain ;
And on the Liddel's northern

strand,
To bar retreat to Cumberland,
Lord Maxwell ranks his merrymen

good 480

Beneath the eagle and the rood ;
And Jedwood, Eske, and Teviot-

dale,
Have to proud Angus come ;
And all the Merse and Lauderdale
Have risen with haughty Home.
An exile from Northumberland,
In Liddesdale I've wandered

long,
But still my heart was with merry

England,
And cannot brook my country's

wrong ;
And hard I've spurred all night,

to show 490

The mustering of the coming foe.'

XXIX

• And let them come ! ' fierce Dacre

cried ;
1 For soon yon crest, my father's

pride,
That swept the shores of Judah's

sea,
And waved in gales of Galilee,
From Branksome's highest towers

displayed,
Shall mock the rescue's lingering

aid! —
Level each harquebuss on row ;

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

Draw, merry archers, draw the

bow ; 499

Up, billmen, to the walls, and cry,
Dacre for England, win or die ! ' —

XXX

1 Yet hear,' quoth Howard, * calmly

hear,
Nor deem my words the words of

fear:
For who, in field or foray slack,
Saw the Blanche Lion e'er fall

back?
But thus to risk our Border flower
In strife against a kingdom's

power,
Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thou-
sands three,
Certes, were desperate policy.
Nay, take the terms the Ladye

made 510

Ere conscious of the advancing

aid:
Let Musgrave meet fierce Delo-

raine
In single fight, and if he gain,
He gains for us ; but if he 's crossed,
'T is but a single warrior lost :
The rest, retreating as they came,
Avoid defeat and death and shame.'

XXXI

111 could the haughty Dacre brook
His brother warden's sage rebuke ;
And yet his forward step he stayed,
And slow and sullenly obeyed. 521
But ne'er again the Border side
Did these two lords in friendship

ride;
And this slight discontent, men

say,
Cost blood upon another day.

XXXII

The pursuivant-at-arms again
Before the castle took his stand ;

His trumpet called with parleying
strain
The leaders of the Scottish band ;

And he defied, in Musgrave's right,

Stout Deloraine to single fight. 531

A gauntlet at their feet he laid,

And thus the terms of fight he
said:

1 If in the lists good Musgrave's
sword
Vanquish the Knight of Delo-
raine,

Your youthful chieftain, Brank-
some's lord,
Shall hostage for his clan re-
main;

If Deloraine foil good Musgrave,

The boy his liberty shall have.
Howe'er it falls, the English
band, S4o

Unharming Scots, by Scots un-
harmed,

In peaceful march, like men un-
armed,
Shall straight retreat to Cumber-
land.'

XXXIII

Unconscious of the near relief,
The proffer pleased each Scottish
chief,
Though much the Ladye sage
gainsaid ;
For though their hearts were brave

and true,
From Jedwood's recent sack they
knew
How tardy was the Regent's aid :
And you may guess the noble
dame 550

Durst not the secret prescience
own,
Sprung from the art she might not
name,
By which the coming help was
known.
Closed was the compact, and agreed
That lists should be enclosed with
speed
Beneath the castle on a lawn :
They fixed the morrow for the

strife,
On foot, with Scottish axe and
knife,
At the fourth hour from peep of
dawn ;

CANTO FOURTH

When Deloraine, from sickness
freed, 560

Or else a champion in his stead,

Should for himself and chieftain
stand

Against stout Musgrave, hand to
hand.

xxxiv
I know right well that in their lay
Full many minstrels sing and say
Such combat should be made on
horse
On foaming steed, in full career,
With brand to aid, whenas the
spear
Should shiver in the course : 569
But he, the jovial harper, taught
Me, yet a youth, how it was fought,

In guise which now I say ;
He knew each ordinance and clause
Of Black Lord Archibald's battle-
laws,
In the old Douglas' day.
He brooked not, he, that scoffing

tongue
Should tax his minstrelsy with
wrong,
Or call his song untrue :
For this, when they the goblet

plied,

And such rude taunt had chafed

his pride, 580

The Bard of Eeull he slew.

On Teviot's side in fight they stood,

And tuneful hands were stained

with blood,
Where still the thorn's white

branches wave,
Memorial o'er his rival's grave.

XXXV

Why should I tell the rigid doom
That dragged my master to his

tomb;
How Ousenam's maidens tore

their hair,
Wept till their eyes were dead and

dim,
And wrung their hands for love of

him 590

Who died at Jedwood Air ?
He died ! — his scholars, one by one,
To the cold silent grave are gone ;
And I, alas ! survive alone,
To muse o'er rivalries of yore,
And grieve that I shall hear no

more
The strains, with envy heard be-
fore ;
For, with my minstrel brethren

fled,
My jealousy of song is dead.

He paused: the listening dames

again 600

Applaud the hoary Minstrel's

strain.
With many a word of kindly

cheer, —
In pity half, and half sincere, —
Marvelled the Duchess how so well
His legendary song could tell
Of ancient deeds, so long forgot ;
Of feuds, whose memory was not;
Of forests, now laid waste and

bare;
Of towers, which harbor now the

hare;
Of manners, long since changed

and gone; 610

Of chiefs, who under their gray

stone
So long had slept that fickle Fame
Had blotted from her rolls their

name,
And twined round some new min-
ion's head
The fading wreath for which they

. bled:
In sooth, 'twas strange this old

man's verse
Could call them from their marble

hearse.

The harper smiled, well pleased;

for ne'er
Was flattery lost on poet's ear.
A simple race! they waste their

toil 620

For the vain tribute of a smile ;

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

E'en when in age their flame ex-
pires,

Her dulcet breath can fan its
fires:

Their drooping fancy wakes at
praise,

And strives to trim the short-lived
blaze.

Smiled then, well pleased, the aged
man,
And thus his tale continued ran.

CANTO FIFTH

Call it not vain : — they do not err,
Who say that when the poet dies

Mute Nature mourns her worship-
per
And celebrates his obsequies ;

Who say tall cliff and cavern lone

For the departed bard make moan ;

That mountains weep in crystal
rill;

That flowers in tears of balm distil ;

Through his loved groves that
breezes sigh,

And oaks in deeper groan reply, 10

And rivers teach their rushing
wave

To murmur dirges round his grave.

Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn
Those things inanimate can mourn,
But that the stream, the wood, the

gale,
Is vocal with the plaintive wail
Of those who, else forgotten long,
Lived in the poet's faithful song,
And, with the poet's parting breath,
Whose memory feels a second
death. 20

The maid's pale shade, who wails

her lot,
That love, true love, should be for-
got,
From rose and hawthorn shakes
the tear

Upon the gentle minstrel's bier :
The phantom knight, his glory

fled,
Mourns o'er the field he heaped

with dead,
Mounts the wild blast that sweeps

amain
And shrieks along the battle-plain ;
The chief, whose antique crownlet

long 29

Still sparkled in the feudal song,
Now, from the mountain's misty

throne,
Sees, in the thanedom once his

own,
His ashes undistinguished lie,
His place, his power, his memory

die;
His groans the lonely caverns fill,
His tears of rage impel the rill ;
All mourn the minstrel's harp un-
strung,
Their name unknown, their praise

unsung.

Scarcely the hot assault was

stayed,
The terms of truce were scarcely

made, 40

When they could spy, from Brank-

some's towers,
The advancing march of martial

powers.
Thick clouds of dust afar ap-
peared,
And trampling steeds were faintly

heard ;
Bright spears above the columns

dun
Glanced momentary to the sun ;
And feudal banners fair displayed
The bands that moved to Brank-

some's aid.

Vails not to tell each hardy clan,
From the fair Middle Marches
came ; 50

The Bloody Heart blazed in the

van,

CANTO FIFTH

Announcing Douglas, dreaded
name!
Vails not to tell what steeds did

spurn,
Where the Seven Spears of Wed-
derburne
Their men in battle-order set,
And Swinton laid the lance in rest
That tamed of yore the sparkling
crest
Of Clarence's Plantagenet.
Nor list I say what hundreds

more,
From the rich Merse and Lammer
more, 60

And Tweed's fair borders, to the

war,
Beneath the crest of Old Dunbar
And Hepburn's mingled banners,
come
Down the steep mountain glitter-
ing far,
And shouting still, ' A Home ! a
Home ! '

Now squire and knight, from

Branksome sent,
On many a courteous message

went:
To every chief and lord they paid
Meet thanks for prompt and power-
ful aid,
And told them how a truce was

made, 70

And how a day of flght was ta'en
'Twixt Musgrave and stout Delo-

raine ;
And how the Ladye prayed them

dear
That all would stay the fight to see,
And deign, in love and courtesy,
To taste of Branksome cheer.
Nor, while they bade to feast each

Scot,
Were England's noble lords forgot.
Himself, the hoary seneschal,
Rode forth, in seemly terms to

call 80

Those gallant foes to Branksome

Hall.

Accepted Howard, than whom

knight
Was never dubbed, more bold in

fight,
Nor, when from war and armor

free,
More famed for stately courtesy ;
But angry Dacre rather chose
In his pavilion to repose.

Now, noble dame, perchance you
ask
How these two hostile armies
met,
Deeming it were no easy task go
To keep the truce which here
was set ;
Where martial spirits, all on fire,
Breathed only blood and mortal

ire.
By mutual inroads, mutual blows,
By habit, and by nation, foes,

They met on Teviot's strand;
They met and sate them mingled

down,
Without a threat, without a frown,
As brothers meet in foreign land :
The hands, the spear that lately
grasped, 100

Still in the mailed gauntlet
clasped,
Were interchanged in greeting
dear ;
Visors were raised and faces

shown,
And many a friend, to friend made
known,
Partook of social cheer.
Some drove the jolly bowl about ;
With dice and draughts some
chased the day ;
And some, with many a merry

shout,
In riot, revelry, and rout,
Pursued the football play. 1 10

VII

Yet, be it known, had bugles
blown
Or sign of war been seen,

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

Those bands, so fair together

ranged,
Those hands, so frankly inter-
changed,
Had dyed with gore the green :
The merry shout by Teviot-side
Had sunk in war-cries wild and
wide,
And in the groan of death ;
And whingers, now in friendship

bare,
The social meal to part and
share, 120

Had found a bloody sheath.
'Twixt truce and war, such sudden

change
Was not infrequent, nor held
strange,
In the old Border-day ;
But yet on Branksome's towers

and town,
In peaceful merriment, sunk down
The sun's declining ray.

VIII

The blithesome signs of wassail

gay
Decayed not with the dying day ;
Soon through the latticed windows

tall 130

Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall,
Divided square by shafts of stone,
Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone ;
Nor less the gilded rafters rang
With merry harp and beakers'

clang ;
And frequent, on the darkening

plain,
Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle

ran,
As bands, their stragglers to re-
gain,
Give the shrill watchword of

their clan ;
And revellers, o'er their bowls,

proclaim 140

Douglas' or Dacre's conquering

name.

Less frequent heard, and fainter
still,

At length the various clamors
died,
And you might hear from Brank-
some hill
No sound but Teviot's rushing
tide ;
Save when the changing sentinel
The challenge of his watch could

tell ;
And save where, through the dark

profound,

The clanging axe and hammer's

sound

Rung from the nether lawn ; 150

For many a busy hand toiled there,

Strong pales to shape and beams

to square,
The lists' dread barriers to prepare
Against the morrow's dawn.

Margaret from hall did soon re-
treat,
Despite the dame's reproving
eye;
Nor marked she, as she left her
seat,
Full many a stifled sigh :
For many a noble warrior strove
To win the Flower of Teviot's
love, 160

And many a bold ally.
With throbbing head and anxious

heart,
All in her lonely bower apart,

In broken sleep she lay.
By times, from silken couch she

rose ;
While yet the bannered hosts re-
pose,
She viewed the dawning day :
Of all the hundreds sunk to rest,
First woke the loveliest and the
best.

She gazed upon the inner court, 170
Which in the tower's tall sha-
dow lay,
Where coursers' clang and stamp
and snort
Had rung the livelong yesterday :

CANTO FIFTH

Now still as death ; till stalking
slow, —
The jingling spurs announced
his tread, —
A stately warrior passed below ;
But when he raised his plumed
head —
Blessed Mary ! can it be ? —
Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers,
He walks through Branksome's
hostile towers, 180

With fearless step and free.
She dared not sign, she dared not

speak —
O, if one page's slumbers break,
His blood the price must pay !
Not all the pearls Queen Mary

wears,
Not Margaret's yet more precious
tears,
Shall buy his life a day.

XII

Yet was his hazard small ; for well
You may bethink you of the spell
Of that sly urchin page : 190

This to his lord he did impart,
And made him seem, by glamour
art,
A knight from Hermitage.
Unchallenged, thus, the warder's

post,
The court, unchallenged, thus he
crossed,
For all the vassalage ;
But O, what magic's quaint dis-
guise
Could blind fair Margaret's azure
eyes!
She started from her seat ;
While with surprise and fear she
strove, 200

And both could scarcely master
love —
Lord Henry 's at her feet.

XIII

Oft have I mused what purpose

bad
That foul malicious urchin had
To bring this meeting round,

For happy love 's a heavenly

sight,
And by a vile malignant sprite

In such no joy is found ;
And oft I 've deemed, perchance

he thought
Their erring passion might have

wrought 210

Sorrow and sin and shame,
And death to Cranstoun's gallant

Knight,
And to the gentle Ladye bright

Disgrace and loss of fame.
But earthly spirit could not tell
The heart of them that loved so

well.
True love 's the gift which God

has given
To man alone beneath the hea-
ven:
It is not fantasy's hot fire,
Whose wishes, soon as granted,

fly; 220

It liveth not in fierce desire,
With dead desire it doth not

die;
It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart, and mind to

mind,
In body and in soul can bind. —
Now leave we Margaret and her

knight,
To tell you of the approaching

fight.

XIV

Their warning blasts the bugles

blew,
The pipe's shrill port aroused

each clan; 230

In haste the deadly strife to view,

The trooping warriors eager

ran:
Thick round the lists their lances

stood,
Like blasted pines in Ettrick

wood ;
To Branksome many a look they

threw,
The combatants' approach to view,

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

And bandied many a word of

boast
About the knight each favored

most.

Meantime full anxious was the

dame ;
For now arose disputed claim 240
Of who should fight for Deloraine,
'Twixt Harden and 'twixt Thirle-

stane.
They gan to reckon kin and rent,
And frowning brow on brow was

bent;
But yet not long the strife — for,

lo!
Himself, the Knight of Deloraine,
Strong, as it seemed, and free from

pain,
In armor sheathed from top to

toe,
Appeared and craved the combat

due.
The dame her charm successful

knew, 250

And the fierce chiefs their claims

withdrew.

XVI

When for the lists they sought the
plain,

The stately Ladye's silken rein
Did noble Howard hold ;

Unarmed by her side he walked,

And much in courteous phrase
they talked
Of feats of arms of old.

Costly his garb — his Flemish ruff

Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of
buff,
With satin slashed and lined ; 260

Tawny his boot, and gold his spur,

His cloak was all of Poland fur,
His hose with silver twined ;

His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen
felt,

Hung in a broad and studded belt ;

Hence, in rude phrase, the Bor-
derers still

Called noble Howard Belted Will.

XVII

Behind Lord Howard and the

dame
Fair Margaret on her palfrey

came,
Whose footcloth swept the

ground ; 270

WThite was her wimple and her

veil,
And her loose locks a chapletpale

Of whitest roses bound ;
The lordly Angus, by her side,
In courtesy to cheer her tried ;
Without his aid, her hand in vain
Had strove to guide her broidered

rein.
He deemed she shuddered at the

sight
Of warriors met for mortal fight ;
But cause of terror, all un-

guessed, 280

Was fluttering in her gentle breast,
When, in their chairs of crimson

placed,
The dame and she the barriers

graced.

XVIII

Prize of the field, the young Buc-

cleuch
An English knight led forth to

view ;
Scarce rued the boy his present

plight,
So much he longed to see the fight.
Within the lists in knightly pride
High Home and haughty Dacre

ride;
Their leading staffs of steel they

wield, 290

As marshals of the mortal field,
WTiile to each knight their care

assigned
Like vantage of the sun and wind.
Then heralds hoarse did loud pro-
claim,
In King and Queen and Warden's

name,
That none, while lasts the strife,
Should dare, by look or sign or

word,

CANTO FIFTH

Aid to a champion to afford,

On peril of his life ;
And not a breath the silence

broke 300

Till thus the alternate heralds

spoke : —

XIX

ENGLISH HERALD

' Here standeth Richard of Mus-
grave,
Good knight and true, and freely
born,
Amends from Deloraine to crave,
For foul despiteous scathe and I
scorn.
He sayeth that "William of Delo- !
raine
Is traitor false by Border laws ;
This with his sword he will main-
tain,
So help him God and his good
cause ! '

SCOTTISH HERALD

'Here standeth William of Delo- :
raine, 310 |

Good knight and true, of noble
strain,

Who sayeth that foul treason's
stain,

Since he bore arms, ne'er soiled
his coat ;
And that, so help him God above !
He will on Musgrave's body-
prove

He lies most foully in his throat.'

LORD DACRE

' Forward, brave champions, to the

fight!
Sound trumpets ! '

LORD HOME

1 God defend the right ! ' —

Then, Teviot, how thine echoes
rang,

When bugle-sound and trumpet-
clang 320

Let loose the martial foes,
And in mid-list, with shield poised

high,
And measured step and wary eye,

The combatants did close !

XXI

111 would it suit your gentle ear, »

Ye lovely listeners, to hear

How to the axe the helms did

sound,
And blood poured down from

many a wound;
For desperate was the strife and

long,
And either warrior fierce and

strong. 330

But, were each dame a listening

knight,
I well could tell how warriors

fight;
For I have seen war's lightning

flashing,
Seen the claymore with bayonet

clashing,
Seen through red blood the war-
horse dashing,
And scorned, amid the reeling

strife,
To yield a step for death or life.

XXII

'Tis done, 'tis done! that fatal

blow
Has stretched him on the bloody

plain ;
He strives to rise — brave Mus-

grave, no! 340

Thence never shalt thou rise

again !
He chokes in blood — some

friendly hand
Undo the visor's barred band,
Unfix the gorget's iron clasp,
And give him room for life to

gasp! —
O, bootless aid ! — haste, holy

friar,
Haste, ere the sinner shall expire !
Of all his guilt let him be shriven.
And smooth his path from earth

to heaven !

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

XXIII

In haste the holy friar sped 5—350
His naked foot was dyed with red,

As through the lists he ran ;
Unmindful of the shouts on high
That hailed the conqueror's vic-
tory,
1 He raised the dying man ;
Loose waved his silver beard and

hair,
As o'er him he kneeled down in

prayer ;
And still the crucifix on high
He holds before his darkening eye ;
And still he bends an anxious

ear, 360

His faltering penitence to hear ;
Still props him from the bloody

sod,
Still, even when soul and body

part,
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart,

And bids him trust in God !
Unheard he prays; — the death-

pang 's o'er !
Richard of Musgrave breathes no

more.

XXIV

As if exhausted in the fight,

Or musing o'er the piteous sight,

The silent victor stands ; 370
His beaver did he not unclasp,
Marked not the shouts, felt not the
grasp

Of gratulating hands.
When lo ! strange cries of wild sur-
prise,
Mingled with seeming terror, rise

Among the Scottish bands ;
And all, amid the thronged array,
In panic haste gave open way
To a half-naked ghastly man,
Who downward from the castle
ran : 380

He crossed the barriers at a bound,
And wild and haggard looked
around,

As dizzy and in pain ;
And all upon the armed ground

Knew William of Deloraine !

Each ladye sprung from seat with
speed ;

Vaulted each marshal from his
steed ;
4 And who art thou,' they cried,

4 Who hast this battle fought and
won?'

His plumed helm was soon un-
done— 390
' Cranstoun of Teviot-side !

For this fair prize I 've fought and
won,1 —

And to the Ladye led her son.

XXV

Full oft the rescued boy she kissed,
And often pressed him to her

breast,
For, under all her dauntless show,
Her heart had throbbed at every

blow;
Yet not Lord Cranstoun deigned

she greet,
Though low he kneeled at her

feet.
Me lists not tell what words were

made, 4oo

What Douglas, Home, and Howard

said —
For Howard was a generous

foe —
And how the clan united prayed
The Ladye would the feud fore-
go,
And deign to bless the nuptial

hour
Of Cranstoun's lord and Teviot's

Flower.

XXVI

She looked to river, looked to hill,
Thought on the Spirit's pro-
phecy,

Then broke her silence stern and
still :
1 Not you, but Fate, has van-
quished me; 410

Their influence kindly stars may
shower

On Teviot's tide and Branksome's
tower,

CANTO FIFTH

For pride is quelled and love is
free.'
She took fair Margaret by the

hand,
Who, breathless, trembling, scarce
might stand ;
That hand to Cranstoun's lord
gave she :
4 As I am true to thee and thine,
Do thou be true to me and mine !
This clasp of love our bond shall
be,
For this is your betrothing day,
And all these noble lords shall
stay, 42 1

To grace it with their company.'

XXVII

All as they left the listed plain,
Much of the story she did gain :
How Cranstoun fought with De-

loraine,
And of his page, and of the book
Which from the wounded knight

he took ;
And how he sought her castle

high,
That morn, by help of gramarye ;
How, in Sir William's armor dight,
Stolen by his page, while slept the

knight, 431

He took on him the single fight
But half his tale he left unsaid,
And lingered till he joined the

maid. —
Cared not the Lad ye to betray
Her mystic arts in view of day ;
But well she thought, ere midnight

came,
Of that strange page the pride to

tame,
From his foul hands the book to

save,
And send it back to Michael's

440
tender

grave. —

Needs not to tell each
word

'Twixt Margaret and twixt, Cran-
stoun's lord ;

Nor how she told of former woes,

And how her bosom fell and rose

While he and Musgrave bandied

blows. —
Needs not these lovers' joys to

tell;
One day, fair maids, you '11 know

them well.

XXVIII

William of Deloraine some chance
Had wakened from his deathlike

trance,
And taught that in the listed

plain 450

Another, in his arms and shield,
Against fierce Musgrave axe did

wield,
Under the name of Deloraine.
Hence, to the field unarmed he

ran,
And hence his presence scared the

clan,
Who held him for some fleeting

wraith,
And not a man of blood and

breath.
Not much this new ally he loved,
Yet, when he saw what hap had

proved, 459

He greeted him right heartilie :
He would not waken old debate,
For he was void of rancorous hate,
Though rude and scant of cour-
tesy ;
In raids he spilt but seldom blood,
Unless when men-at-arms with-
stood,
Or, as was meet, for deadly feud.
He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart

blow,
Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe.
And so 't was seen of him e'en

now,
When on dead Musgrave he

looked down : 470

Grief darkened on his rugged

brow,
Though half disguised with a

frown ;
And thus, while sorrow bent his

head,
His f oeman's epitaph he made :

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

XXIX

*Now, Richard Musgrave, liest
thou here,
I ween, my deadly enemy ;
For, if I slew thy brother dear,
Thou slew'st a sister's son to
me;
And when I lay in dungeon dark
Of Na worth Castle long months
three, 480

Till ransomed for a thousand
mark,
Dark Musgrave, it was long of
thee.
And, Musgrave, could our fight he
tried,
And thou wert now alive, as I,
No mortal man should us divide,
Till one, or both of us, did die :
Yet rest thee God! for well I

know
1 ne'er shall find a nobler foe.
In all the northern countries here,
Whose word is Snaffle, spur, and
spear, 490

Thou wert the best to follow gear.
'T was pleasure, as we looked be-
hind,
To see how thou the chase couldst

wind,
Cheer the dark bloodhound on his

way,
And with the bugle rouse the

fray!
I 'd give the lands of Deloraine,
Dark Musgrave were alive again.'

XXX

So mourned he till Lord Dacre's
band

Were bowning back to Cumber-
land.

They raised brave Musgrave from
the field 500

And laid him on his bloody shield;

On levelled lances, four and four,

By turns, the noble burden bore.

Before, at times, upon the gale

Was heard the Minstrel's plain-
tive wail ;

Behind, four priests in sable stole

Sung requiem for the warrior's

soul;
Around, the horsemen slowly

rode;
With trailing pikes the spearmen

trode ;
And thus the gallant knight they

bore 510

Through Liddesdale to Leven's

shore,
Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty

nave,
And laid him in his father's grave.

The harp's wild notes, though

hushed the song,
The mimic march of death pro-
long;
Now seems it far, and now a-near,
Now meets, and now eludes the

ear,
Now seems some mountain side to

sweep,
Now faintly dies in valley deep,
Seems now as if the Minstrel's

wail, 520

Now the sad requiem, loads the

gale;
Last, o'er the warrior's closing

grave,
Rung the full choir in choral

stave.

After due pause, they bade him

tell
Why he, who touched the harp so

well,
Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil,
Wander a poor and thankless soil,
When the more generous Southern

Land
Would well requite his skilful

hand.

The aged harper, howsoe'er 530
His only friend, his harp, was

dear,
Liked not to hear it ranked so

high
Above his flowing poesy :

CANTO SIXTH

Less liked he still that scornful

jeer
Misprized the land he loved so

dear;
High was the sound as thus again
The hard resumed his minstrel

strain.

CANTO SIXTH

Breathes there the man, with

soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land?
^Yhose heart hath ne'er within

him burned
As home his footsteps he hath

turned
From wandering on a foreign

strand ?
If such there breathe, go, mark

him well ;
For him no minstrel raptures

swell ;
High though his titles, proud his

name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can

claim,— 10

Despite those titles, power, and

pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he

sprung,
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.

O Caledonia, stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child !
Land of brown heath and shaggy

wood,
Land of the mountain and the

flood, 20

Land of my sires! what mortal

hand
Can e'er untie the filial band
That knits me to thy rugged

strand I

Still, as I view each well-known

scene,
Think what is now and what hath

been,
Seems as to me, of all bereft,
Sole friends thy woods and streams

were left ;
And thus I love them better still,
Even in extremity of ill.
By Yarrow's stream still let me

stray, 30

Though none should guide my

feeble way ■
Still feel the breeze down Ettrick

break,
Although it chill my withered

cheek ;
Still lay my head by Teviot-stone,
Though there, forgotten and alone,
The bard may draw his parting

groan.

Not

scorned like me, to Brank-
some Hall

The minstrels came at festive call ;
Trooping they carne from near and

far,
The jovial priests of mirth and

war ; 40

Alike for feast and fight prepared,
Battle and banquet both they

shared.
Of late, before each martial clan
They blew their death-note in the

van,
But now for every merry mate
Rose the portcullis' iron grate ;
They sound the pipe, they strike

the string,
They dance, they revel, and they

sing,
Till the rude turrets shake and

ring. 49

Me lists not at this tide declare
The splendor of the spousal
rite,
How mustered in the chapel fair
Both maid and matron, squire
and knight;

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

Me lists not tell of owcties rare,
Of mantles green, and braided

hair,
And kirtles furred with miniver ;
What plumage waved the altar

round,
How spurs and ringing chainlets

sound :
And hard it were for bard to speak
The changeful hue of Margaret's

cheek, 60

That lovely hue which comes and

flies,
As awe and shame alternate rise !

Some bards have sung, the Ladye
high

Chapel or altar came not nigh,

Nor durst the rites of spousal
grace,

So much she feared each holy
place.

False slanders these : — I trust
right well,

She wrought not by forbidden
spell,

For mighty words and signs have
power

O'er sprites in planetary hour ; 70

Yet scarce I praise their ventu-
rous part

Who tamper with such dangerous
art.

But this for faithful truth I say, —
The Ladye by the altar stood,

Of sable velvet her array,
And on her head a crimson
hood,

With pearls embroidered and en-
twined,

Guarded with gold, with ermine
lined ;

A merlin sat upon her wrist,

Held by a leash of silken twist. 80

The spousal rites were ended

soon;
'T was now the merry hour of

noon,

And in the lofty arched hall
Was spread the gorgeous festival.
Steward and squire, with heedful

haste,
Marshalled the rank of every

guest ;
Pages, with ready blade, were

there,
The mighty meal to carve and

share :
O'er capon, heron -shew, and

crane,
And princely peacock's gilded

train, 90

And o'er the boar-head, garnished

brave,
And cygnet from Saint Mary's

wave,
O'er ptarmigan and venison,
The priest had spoke his benison.
Then rose the riot and the din,
Above, beneath, without, within !
For, from the lofty balcony,
Rung trumpet, shalm, and psal-
tery :
Their clanging bowls old warriors

quaffed,
Loudly they spoke and loudly

laughed; 100

Whispered young knights, in tone

more mild,
To ladies fair, and ladies smiled.
The hooded hawks, high perched

on beam,
The clamor joined with whistling

scream,
And flapped their wings and shook

their bells,
In concert with the stag-hounds'

yells.
Round go the flasks of ruddy wine,
From Bordeaux, Orleans, or the

Rhine ;
Their tasks the busy sewers ply,
And all is mirth and revelry, no

VII

The Goblin Page, omitting still
No opportunity of ill,
Strove now, while blood ran hot
and high,

CANTO SIXTH

To rouse debate and jealousy ;
Till Conrad, Lord of Wolfenstein,
By nature fierce, and warm with

wine,
And now in humor highly crossed
About some steeds his band had

lost,
High words to words succeeding

still,
Smote with his gauntlet stout

Hunthill, 1 20

A hot and hardy Rutherford,
Whom men called Dickon Draw-

the-Sword.
He took it on the page's saye,
Hunthill had driven these steeds

away.
Then Howard, Home, and Douglas

rose,
The kindling discord to compose ;
Stern Rutherford right little said,
But bit his glove and shook his

head.
A fortnight thence, in Inglewood,
Stout Conrad, cold, and drenched

in blood, 130

His bosom gored with many a

wound,
Was by a woodman's lyme-dog

found :
Unknown the manner of his death,
Gone was his brand, both sword

and sheath ;
But ever from that time, 't was

said,
That Dickon wore a Cologne blade.

VIII

The dwarf, who feared his master's

eye
Might his foul treachery espie,
Now sought the castle buttery,
Where many a yeoman, bold and

free, 140

Revelled as merrily and well
As those that sat in lordly selle.
Watt Tinlinn there did frankly

raise
The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-

Braes ;
And he, as by his breeding bound,

To Howard's merry men sent it
round.

To quit them, on the English side,
1 Red Roland Forster loudly cried,

' A deep carouse to yon fair bride ! '

At every pledge, from vat and pail,

Foamed forth in floods the nut-
brown ale, 151

While shout the riders every one ;

Such day of mirth ne'er cheered
their clan,

Since old Buccleuch the name did
gain,

When in the cleuch the buck was
ta'en.

The wily page, with vengeful

thought
Remembered him of Tinlinn's

yew,
And swore it should be dearly

bought
That ever he the arrow drew.
First, he the yeoman did molest
With bitter gibe and taunting

jest; 161

Told how he fled at Solway strife,
And how Hob Armstrong cheered

his wife ;
Then, shunning still his powerful

arm,
At unawares he wrought him

harm ;
From trencher stole his choicest

cheer,
Dashed from his lips his can of

beer;
Then, to his knee sly creeping

on,
With bodkin pierced him to the

bone :
The venomed wound and festering

joint 170

Long after rued that bodkin's

point.
The startled yeoman swore and

spurned,
And board and flagons overturned.
Riot and clamor wild began ;
Back to the hall the urchin ran,

THE LAV OF THE LAST MINSTREL

Took in a darkling nook his post,
And grinned, and muttered, ' Lost !
lost ! lost ! '

By this, the dame, lest farther

fray
Should mar the concord of the

day,
Had bid the minstrels tune their

lay. i So

And first stepped forth old Albert

Graeme,
The minstrel of that ancient name :
Was none who struck the harp so

well
Within the Land Debatable ;
Well friended too, his hardy kin,
Whoever lost, were sure to win ;
They sought the beeves that made

their broth
In Scotland and in England both.
In homely guise, as nature bade,
His simple song the Borderer said,

XI
ALBERT GKJiME

It was an English ladye bright, 191

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle

wall)

And she would marry a Scottish

knight,

For Love will still be lord of all.

Blithely they saw the rising sun,
When he shone fair on Carlisle
wall;
But they were sad ere day was
done,
Though Love was still the lord
of all.

Her sire gave brooch and jewel
fine,
Where the sun shines fair on
Carlisle wall ; 200

Her brother gave but a flask of
wine,
For ire that Love was lord of
all.

For she had lands both meadow
and lea,
Where the sun shines fair on
Carlisle wall ;
And he swore her death, ere he
would see
A Scottish knight the lord of all !

XII

That wine she had not tasted well,

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle

wall)

When dead, in her true love's arms,

she fell, 209

For Love was still the lord of all.

He pierced her brother to the
heart,
Where the sun shines fair on
Carlisle wall ; —
So perish all would true love part,
That Love may still be lord of
all!

And then he took the cross divine,
Where the sun shines fair on
Carlisle wall,

And died for her sake in Palestine,
So Love was still the lord of all.

Now all ye lovers, that faithful

prove,

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle

wall) 220

Pray for their souls who died for

love,

For Love shall still be lord of
all!

XIII

As ended Albert's simple lay,
Arose a bard of loftier port,
For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay
Renowned in haughty Henry's
court :
There rung thy harp, unrivalled

long,
Fitztraver of the silver song !
The gentle Surrey loved his lyre —
Who has not heard of Surrey's
fame ? 230

CANTO SIXTH

His was the hero's soul of fire,
And his the bard's immortal
name,
And his was love, exalted high
By all the glow of chivalry.

XIV

They sought together climes afar,
And oft, within some olive grove,
When even came with twinkling
star,
They sung of Surrey's absent
love.
His step the Italian peasant stayed,
And deemed that spirits from on
high, 240

Round where some hermit saint
was laid,
Were breathing heavenly mel-
ody;
So sweet did harp and voice com-
bine
To praise the name of Geraldine.

Fitztraver, O, what tongue may say
The pangs thy faithful bosom
knew,

When Surrey of the deathless lay
Ungrateful Tudor' s sentence
slew?

Regardless of the tyrant's frown,

His harp called wrath and ven-
geance down. 250

He left, for Naworth's iron towers,

Windsor's green glades and courtly
bowers,

And, faithful to his patron's name,

With Howard still Fitztraver
came;

Lord William's foremost favorite
he,

And chief of all his minstrelsy.

XVI
FITZTRAVER

'Twas All-souls' eve, and Sur-
rey's heart beat high ;
He heard the midnight bell
with anxious start,

Which told the mystic hour, ap-
proaching nigh,
When wise Cornelius promised
by his art 260

To show to him the ladye of
his heart,
Albeit betwixt them roared the
ocean grim ;
Yet so the sage had hight to
play his part,
That he should see her form in
life and limb,
And mark if still she loved and
still she thought of him.

XVII

Dark was the vaulted room of
gramarye,
To which the wizard led the
gallant knight,
Save that before a mirror, huge
and high,
A hallowed taper shed a glim-
mering light
On mystic implements of magic
might, 270

On cross, and character, and
talisman,
And almagest, and altar, no-
thing bright ;
For fitful was the lustre, pale
and wan,
As watch-light by the bed of some
departing man.

XVIII .

But soon, within that mirror-
huge and high,
Was seen a self-emitted light
to gleam ;
And forms upon its breast the
earl gan spy,
Cloudy and indistinct as fever-
ish dream ;
Till, slow arranging and de-
fined, they seem
To form a lordly and a lofty
room, 280

Part lighted by a lamp with
silver beam,

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

Placed by a couch of Agra's
silken loom,
And part by moonshine pale, and
part was hid in gloom.

XIX

Fair all the pageant— but how
passing fair
The slender form which lay on
couch of Ind !
O'er her white bosom strayed
her hazel hair,
Pale her dear cheek, as if for

love she pined ;
All in her night-robe loose she
lay reclined,
And pensive read from tablet
eburnine
Some strain that seemed her
inmost soul to find : 290

That favored strain was Surrey's
raptured line,
That fair and lovely form the
Lady Geraldine.

Slow rolled the clouds upon the
lovely form,
And swept the goodly vision
all away —
So royal envy rolled the murky
storm
O'er my beloved Master's glori-
ous day.
Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant !
Heaven repay
On thee, and on thy children's
latest line,
The wild caprice of thy de-
spotic sway,
The gory bridal bed, the plun-
dered shrine, 300
The murdered Surrey's blood, the
tears of Geraldine !

XXI

Both Scots and Southern'chief s pro-
long

Applauses of Fitztraver's song ;

These hated Henry's name as
death,

And

those still held the ancient
faith.

Then from his seat with lofty air

Rose Harold, bard of brave Saint
Clair, —

Saint Clair, who, feasting high at
Home,

Had with that lord to battle come.

Harold was born where restless
seas o jq

Howl round the storm-swept Or-
cades ;

Where erst Saint Clairs held
princely sway

O'er isle and islet, strait and
bay;-

Still nods their palace to its fall,

Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirk-
wall ! —

Thence oft he marked fierce Pent-
land rave,

As if grim Odin rode her wave,

And watched the whilst, with vis-
age pale

And throbbing heart, the strug-
gling sail ;
For all of wonderful and wild 320
Had rapture for the lonely child.

XXII

And much of wild and wonderful
In these rude isles might Fancy

cull;
For thither came in times afar
Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war,
The Norsemen, trained to spoil

and blood,
Skilled to prepare the raven's

food,
Kings of the main their leaders

brave,
Their barks the dragons of the

wave ;
And there, in many a stormy vale,
The Scald had told his wondrous

tale, 331

And many a Runic column high
Had witnessed grim idolatry.
And thus had Harold in his youth
Learned many a Saga's rhyme un-
couth, —

CANTO SIXTH

Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous

curled,
Whose monstrous circle girds the

world ;
Of those dread Maids whose hide-
ous yell
Maddens the battle's bloody

swell ;
Of chiefs who, guided through the

gloom 340

By the pale death-lights of the

tomb,
Ransacked the graves of warriors

old,
Their falchions wrenched from

corpses' hold,
Waked the deaf tomb with war's

alarms,
And bade the dead arise to arms !
With war and woncler all on flame,
To Roslin's bowers young Harold

came,
Where, by sweet glen and green-
wood tree,
He learned a milder minstrelsy ;
Yet something of the Northern

spell 350

Mixed with the softer numbers

well.

XXIII
HAROLD

O, listen, listen, ladies gay !

No haughty feat of arms I tell ;
Soft is the note, and sad the lay,

That mourns the lovely Rosa-
belle.

* Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant
crew !
And, gentle ladye, deign to stay !
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,
Nor tempt the stormy firth to-
day.

' The blackening wave is edged
with white ; 360

To inch and rock the sea-mews
fly;

The fishers have heard the Water
Sprite,
Whose screams forbode that
wreck is nigh.

1 Last night the gifted Seer did
view
A wet shroud swathed round
ladye gay;
Then stay thee, fair, in Ravens-
heuch :
Why cross the gloomy firth to-
day? '

' 'T is not because Lord Lindesay's
heir
To-night at Roslin leads the
ball,
But that my ladye - mother
there 370

Sits lonely in her castle-hall.

' 'T is not because the ring they
ride,
And Lindesay at the ring rides
well,
But that my sire the wine will
chide,
If 't is not filled by Rosabelle.'

O'er Roslin all that dreary night
A wondrous blaze was seen to
gleam ;
'T was broader than the watch-fire
light,
And redder than the bright
moonbeam.

It glared on Roslin's castled
rock, 380

It ruddied all the copsewood
glen;
'T was seen from Dreyden's groves
of oak,
And seen from caverned Haw-
thornden.

Seemed all on fire that chapel
proud
Where Roslin's chiefs uncotfined
lie,

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

Each baron, for a sable shroud,
Sheathed in his iron panoply.

Seemed all on fire within, around,
Deep sacristy and altar's pale ;
Shone every pillar foliage-
bound, 390
And glimmered all the dead
men's mail.

Blazed battlement and pinnet high,
Blazed every rose-carved but-
tress fair —
So still they blaze when fate is
nigh
The lordly line of high Saint
Clair.

There are twenty of Roslin's bar-
ons bold
Lie buried within that proud
chapelle ;
Each one the holy vault doth
hold —
But the sea holds lovely Rosa-
belle !

And each Saint Clair was buried
there, 400

With candle, with book, and
with knell ;
But the sea-caves rung and the
wild winds sung
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle.

XXIV

So sweet was Harold's piteous
lay,
Scarce marked the guests the
darkened hall,
Though, long before the sinking-
day,
A wondrous shade involved
them all.
It was not eddying mist or fog,
Drained by the sun from fen or
bog;
Of no eclipse had sages told ; 410
And yet, as it came on apace,
Each one could scarce his neigh-
bor's face,

Could scarce his own stretched

hand behold.
A secret horror checked the

feast,
And chilled the soul of every

guest ;
Even the high dame stood half

aghast,
She knew some evil on the blast ;
The elfish page fell to the ground,
And, shuddering, muttered,

' Found ! found ! found ! '

XXV

Then sudden through the darkened
air 420

A flash of lightning came :

So broad, so bright, so red the
glare,
The castle seemed on flame.

Glanced every rafter of the hall,

Glanced every shield upon the
wall ;

Each trophied beam, each sculp-
tured stone,

Were instant seen and instant
gone;

Full through the guests' bedazzled
band

Resistless flashed the levin-brand,

And filled the hall with smoulder-
ing smoke, 430

As on the elfish page it broke.

It broke with thunder long and
loud,

Dismayed the brave, appalled the
proud,—
From sea to sea the larum rung ;

On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle
withal,
To arms the startled warders
sprung.

When ended was the dreadful roar,

The elfish dwarf was seen no
more!

xxvi
Some heard a voice in Branksome

Hall,
Some saw a sight, not seen by

all ; 440

CAXTO SIXTH

That dreadful voice was heard by

some
Cry, with loud summons,' Gylbi>\

COME ! '

And on the spot where burst the

brand,
Just where the page had flung him

down.
Some saw an arm, and some a

hand,
And some the waving of a gown.
The guests in silence prayed and

shook,
And terror dimmed each loftylook.
But none of all the astonished train
Was so dismayed as Deloraine : 450
His blood did freeze, his brain did

burn,
;T was feared his mind would ne'er

return ;
For he was speechless, ghastly,

wan,
^Like him of whom the story ran,
<JWho spoke the spectre-hound in
•5 Man.

, At length by fits he darkly told,
With broken hint and shuddering ;

cold,
That he had seen right certainly j
A shape with amice wrapped

around,
With a wrought Spanish baldric

bound, 460

Like pilgrim from beyond the

sea,;
And knew — but how it mattered

not —
It was the wizard, Michael Scott.

XXYII

The anxious crowd, with horror

pale,
All trembling heard the wondrous

tale :
Xo sound was made, no word was

spoke,
Till noble Angus silence broke ;
And he a solemn sacred plight
Did to Saint Bride of Douglas

make, 469

That he a pilgrimage would take

To Melrose Abbey, for the sake

Of Michael's restless sprite.
Then each, to ease his troubled

breast,
To some blest saint his prayers

addressed :
Some to Saint Modan made their

vows,
Some to Saint Mary of the Lowes,
Some to the Holy Rood of Lisle,
Some to Our Lady of the Isle ;
Each did his patron witness make
That he such pilgrimage would

take, 480

And monks should sing and bells

should toll,
All for the weal of Michael's soul.
While vows were ta'en and prayers

were prayed,
'Tis said the noble dame, dis-
mayed,
Renounced for aye dark magic's

aid.

XXTIII

Xought of the bridal will I tell,
Which after in short space befell;
Xor how brave sons and daughters

fair
Blessed Teviot's Flower and Crans-

toun's heir :
After such dreadful scene 't were

vain 490

To wake the note of mirth again.
More meet it were to mark the

clay
Of penitence and prayer divine.
When pilgrim-chiefs, in sad array,
Sought Melrose' holy shrine.

XXIX

With naked foot, and sackcloth

vest,
And arms enfolded on his breast,

Did every pilgrim go ;
The standers-by might hear un-

eath
Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn

breath. 500

Through all the lengthened row :
No lordly look nor martial stride,

100

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

Gone was their glory, sunk their

pride,
Forgotten their renown ;
Silent and slow, like ghosts, they

glide
To the high altar's hallowed side,
And there they knelt them down.
Above the suppliant chieftains

wave
The banners of departed brave ;
Beneath the lettered stones were

laid 510

The ashes of their fathers dead ;
From many a garnished niche

around
Stern saints and tortured martyrs

frowned.

XXX

And slow up the dim aisle afar,
With sable cowl and scapular,
And snow-white stoles, in order

due,
The holy fathers, two and two,

In long procession came ;
Taper and host and book they bare,
And holy banner, flourished fair

With the Redeemer's name. 521
Above the prostrate pilgrim band
The mitred abbot stretched his
hand,

And blessed them as they
kneeled ;
With holy cross he signed them all,
And prayed they might be sage in
hall

And fortunate in field.
Then mass was sung, and prayers

were said,
And solemn requiem for the dead ;
And bells tolled out their mighty
peal 530

For the departed spirit's weal ;
And ever in the office close
The hymn of intercession rose ;
And far the echoing aisles prolong
The awful burden of the song,

Dies ir2e, dies ilea,

soeyet s^eclum in faviela,
While the pealing organ rung.

Were it meet with sacred strain

To close my lay, so light and
vain, 540

Thus the holy fathers sung :

HYMN FOR THE DEAD

That day of wrath, that dreadful

day,
When heaven and earth shall pass

away,
What power shall be the sinner's

stay?
How shall he meet that dreadful

day?

When, shrivelling like a parched

scroll,
The flaming heavens together roll,
When louder yet, and yet more

dread,
Swells the high trump that wakes

the dead ! 549

O, on that day, that wrathful day,
When man to judgment wakes

from clay,
Be Thou the trembling sinner's

stay,
Though heaven and earth shall

pass away !

Hushed is the harp — the Min-
strel gone.

And did he wander forth alone ?

Alone, in indigence and age,

To linger out his pilgrimage ?

No : close beneath proud Newark's
tower

Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower,

A simple hut; but there was seen

The little garden hedged with
green, 561

The cheerful hearth, and lattice
clean.

There sheltered wanderers, by the
blaze,

Oft heard the tale of other days ;

For much he loved to ope his door,

And give the aid he begged be-
fore.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST

:oi

So passed the winter's day; but

still,
When summer smiled on sweet

Bowhill,
And July's eve, with balmy breath.
Waved the blue-bells on Newark

heath, 570

When throstles sung in Harehead-

shaw,
And corn was green on Carter-

haugh,
And flourished, broad, Blackan-

dro's oak,

The aged harper's soul awoke !
Then would he sing achievements

high
And circumstance of chivalry,
Till the rapt traveller would

stay,
Forgetful of the closing day ;
And noble youths, the strain to

hear, 579

Forsook the hunting of the deer ;
And Yarrow, as he rolled along,
Bore burden to the Minstrel's

song.

MARMION
A TALE OF FLODDEN FIELD

Alas ! that Scottish maid should sing

The combat where her lover fell !
That Scottish Bard should wake the string,

The triumph of our foes to tell !

Leyden's Ode on Visiting Flodden.

TO THE

RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY, LORD MONTAGUE,

&c.5 &c, &c,

THIS ROMANCE IS INSCRIBED BY
THE AUTHOR

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO
FIRST

TO WILLIAM STEWART ROSE,
ESQ.

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest

November's sky is chill and

drear,
November's leaf is red and sear:
Late, gazing down the steepy linn
That hems our little garden in,

Low in its dark and narrow glen,

You scarce the rivulet might ken,

So thick the tangled greenwood
grew,

So feeble trilled the streamlet
through ;

Now, murmuring hoarse, and fre-
quent seen

Through bush and brier, no longer
green, 10

An angry brook, it sweeps the
glade,

102

MARMION

Brawls Over rock and wild cas-
cade,

And, foaming brown with double
speed,

Hurries its waters to the Tweed.

No longer autumn's glowing red

Upon our Forest hills is shed ;

No more, beneath the evening
beam,

Fair Tweed reflects their purple
gleam.

Away hath passed the heather-
bell

That bloomed so rich on Need-
path-fell; 20

Sallow his brow, and russet bare

Are now the sister-heights of Yair.

The sheep, before the pinching
heaven,

To sheltered dale and down are
driven,

Where yet some faded herbage
pines,

And yet a watery sunbeam shines ;

In meek despondency they eye

The withered sward and wintry
sky,

And far beneath their summer
hill

Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill.

The shepherd shifts his mantle's
fold, 31

And wraps him closer from the
cold:

His dogs no merry circles wheel,

But shivering follow at his heel ;

A cowering glance they often cast,

As deeper moans the gathering-
blast

My imps, though hardy, bold,
and wild.
As best befits the mountain child,
Feel the sad influence of the hour,
And wail the daisy's vanished
flower, 40

Their summer gambols tell, and

mourn,
And anxious ask, — Will spring re-
turn,

And birds and lambs again be gay,
And blossoms clothe the hawthorn
spray?

Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's

flower
Again shall paint your summer

bower ;
Again the hawthorn shall supply
The garlands you delight to tie ;
The lambs upon the lea shall

bound, 49

The wild birds carol to the round;
And while you frolic light as they,
Too short shall seem the summer

day.

To mute and to material things
New life revolving summer brings ;
The genial call dead Nature hears,
And in her glory reappears.
But oh ! my country's wintry state
What second spring shall reno-
vate?
What powerful call shall bid arise
The buried warlike and the wise,
The mind that thought for Britain's
weal, 61

The hand that grasped the victor

steel ?
The vernal sun new life bestows
Even on the meanest flower that

blows ;
But vainly, vainly may he shine
Where Glory weeps o'er Nel-
son's shrine,
And vainly pierce the solemn

gloom
That shrouds, O Pitt, thy hal-
lowed tomb !

Deep graved in every British
heart,

Oh, never let those names de-
part ! 70

Say to your sons, — Lo, here his
grave

Who victor died on Gadite wave!

To him, as to the burning levin,

Short, bright, resistless course was
given j

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST

*°3

Where'er his country's foes were

found,
Was heard the fated thunder's

sound,
Till burst the bolt on yonder shore,
Rolled, blazed, destroyed, — and

was no more.

Nor mourn ye less his perished
worth

Who bade the conqueror go forth,

And launched that thunderbolt of
war 81

On Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar;

Who, born to guide such high em-
prise,

For Britain's weal was early wise ;

Alas ! to whom the Almighty gave,

For Britain's sins, an early grave !

His worth who, in his mightiest
hour,

A bauble held the pride of power,

Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf,

And served his Albion for her-
self ; 90

Who, when the frantic crowd
amain

Strained at subjection's bursting
rein,

O'er their wild mood full conquest
gained,

The pride, he would not crush, re-
strained,

Showed their fierce zeal a worthier
cause,

And brought the freeman's arm to
aid the freeman's laws.

Hadst thou but lived, though
stripped of power,

A watchman on the lonely tower,

Thy thrilling trump had roused
the land,

When fraud or danger were at
hand ; 100

By thee, as by the beacon-light,

Our pilots had kept course aright ;

As some proud column, though
alone,

Thy strength had propped the tot-
tering throne.

Now is the stately column broke,
The beacon-light is quenched in

smoke,
The trumpet's silver sound is

still,
The warder silent on the hill !

Oh, think, how to his latest day,
When Death, just hovering, claim-

ed his prey, no

With Palinure's unaltered mood,
Firm at his dangerous post he

stood,
Each call for needful rest repelled,
With dying hand the rudder held,
Till, in his fall, with fateful sway,
The steerage of the realm gave

way !
Then, while on Britain's thousand

plains
One unpolluted church remains,
Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent

around
The bloody tocsin's maddening

sound, 120

But still, upon the hallowed day,
Convoke the swains to praise and

pray;
While faith and civil peace are

dear,
Grace this cold marble with a tear,
He who preserved them, Pitt, lies

here.

Nor yet suppress the generous
sigh

Because his rival slumbers nigh,

Nor be thy requiescat dumb

Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb ;

For talents mourn, untimely lost,

When best employed and wanted
most ; 13 1

Mourn genius high, and lore pro-
found,

And wit that loved to play, not
wound ;

And all the reasoning powers di-
vine,

To penetrate, resolve, combine ;

And feelings keen, and fancy's
glow,

104

MARMION

They sleep with him who sleeps

below:
And, if thou mourn' st they could

not save
From error him who owns this

grave,
Be every harsher thought sup-

pressed, 140

And sacred be the last long rest.
Here, where the end of earthly

things
Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and

kings ;
Where stiff the hand, and still the

tongue,
Of those who fought, and spoke,

and sung ;
Here, where the fretted aisles pro-
long
The distant notes of holy song,
As if some angel spoke again,
'All peace on earth, good-will to

men;'
If ever from an English heart, 150
Oh, here let prejudice depart,
And, partial feeling cast aside,
Record that Fox a Briton died !
When Europe crouched to France's

yoke,
And Austria bent, and Prussia

broke,
And the firm Russian's purpose

brave
Was bartered by a timorous slave,
Even then dishonor's peace he

spurned,
The sullied olive-branch returned,
Stood for his country's glory

fast, 160

And nailed her colors to the mast !
Heaven, to reward his firmness,

gave
A portion in this honored grave,
And ne'er held marble in its trust
Of two such wondrous men the

dust.

With more than mortal powers
endowed,
How high they soared above the
crowd !

Theirs was no common party race,
Jostling by dark intrigue for

place ;
Like fabled Gods, their mighty

war 170

Shook realms and nations in its

jar;
Beneath each banner proud to

stand,
Looked up the noblest of the land,
Till through the British world

were known
The names of Pitt and Fox alone.
Spells of such force no wizard

grave
E'er framed in dark Thessalian

cave,
Though his could drain the ocean

dry,
And force the planets from the

sky.
These spells are spent, and, spent

with these, 180

The wine of life is on the lees,
Genius and taste and talent gone,
Forever tombed beneath the stone
Where — taming thought to human

pride ! —
The mighty chiefs sleep side by

side.
Drop upon Fox's grave the tear,
'T will trickle to his rival's bier;
O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem

sound,
And Fox's shall the notes re-
bound.
The solemn echo seems to

cry, — 190

' Here let their discord with them

die.
Speak not for those a separate

doom
Whom Fate made brothers in the

tomb ;
But search the land, of living

men,
Where wilt thou find their like

again ? '

Rest, ardent spirits, till the cries
Of dying nature bid you rise !

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST

105

Not even your Britain's groans can
pierce

The leaden silence of your hearse ;

Then, oh, how impotent and
vain 200

This grateful tributary strain !

Though not unmarked from north-
ern clime,

Ye heard the Border Minstrel's
rhyme :

His Gothic harp has o'er you rung ;

The Bard you deigned to praise,
your deathless names has
sung.

Stay yet, illusion, stay a while,
My wildered fancy still beguile !
From this high theme how can I

part,
Ere half unloaded is my heart !
For all the tears e'er sorrow

drew, 210

And all the raptures fancy knew,
And all the keener rush of blood
That throbs through bard in bard-
like mood,
Were here a tribute mean and low,
Though all their mingled streams

could flow —
Woe, wonder, and sensation high,
In one spring-tide of ecstasy ! —
It will not be — it may not last —
The vision of enchantment 's past :
Like frostwork in the morning

ray, 220

The fancy fabric melts away ;
Each Gothic arch, memorial-stone,
And long, dim, lofty aisle, are

gone;
And, lingering last, deception dear,
The choir's high sounds die on my

ear.
Now slow return the lonely down,
The silent pastures bleak and

brown,
The farm begirt with copsewood

wild,
The gambols of each frolic child,
Mixing their shrill cries with the

tone 230

Of Tweed's dark waters rushing on.

Prompt on unequal tasks to run,
Thus Nature disciplines her son :
Meeter, she says, for me to stray,
And waste the solitary day
In plucking from yon fen the

reed,
And watch it floating down the

Tweed,
Or idly list the shrilling lay
With which the milkmaid cheers

her way.
Marking its cadence rise and

fail, 240

As from the field, beneath her

pail,
She trips it down the uneven

dale ;
Meeter for me, by yonder cairn,
The ancient shepherd's tale to

learn,
Though oft he stop in rustic fear,
Lest his old legends tire the ear
Of one who, in his simple mind,
May boast of book-learned taste

refined.

But thou, my friend, canst fitly

tell —
For few have read romance so

well — 250

How still the legendary lay
O'er poet's bosom holds its sway ;
How on the ancient minstrel strain
Time lays his palsied hand in

vain;
And how our hearts at doughty

deeds,
By warriors wrought in steely

weeds,
Still throb for fear and pity's sake ;
As when the Champion of the

Lake
Enters Morgana's fated house,
Or in the Chapel Perilous, 260
Despising spells and demons' force,
Holds converse with the unburied

corse ;
Or when, Dame Ganore's grace to

move —
Alas, that lawless was their

love! —

io6

MARMION

He sought proud Tarquin in his

den,
And freed full sixty knights ; or

when,
A sinful man and unconfessed,
He took the Sangreal's holy quest,
And slumbering saw the vision

high
He might not view with waking

eye. 270

The mightiest chiefs of British

song
Scorned not such legends to pro-

long.
They gleam through Spenser's elfin

dream,
And mix in Milton's heavenly

theme ;
And Dryden, in immortal strain,
Had raised the Table Bound again,
But that a ribald king and court
Bade him toil on, to make them

sport ;
Demanded for their niggard pay,
Fit for their souls, a looser lay, 280
Licentious satire, song, and play ;
The world defrauded of the high

design,
Profaned the God-given strength,

and marred the lofty line.

Warmed by such names, well

may we then,
Though dwindled sons of little

men,
Essay to break a feeble lance
In the fair fields of old romance ;
Or seek the moated castle's cell,
Where long through talisman and

spell,
While tyrants ruled and damsels

wept, 290

Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept.
There sound the harpings of the

North,
Till he awake and sally forth,
On venturous quest to prick again,
In all his arms, with all his train,
Shield, lance, and brand, and

plume, and scarf,

Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and

dwarf,
And wizard with his wand of

might,
And errant maid on palfrey white.
Around the Genius weave their

spells, 300

Pure Love, who scarce his passion

tells ;
Mystery, half veiled and half re-
vealed ;
And Honor, with his spotless

shield ;
Attention, with fixed eye; and

Fear,
That loves the tale she shrinks to

hear;
And gentle Courtesy ; and Faith,
Unchanged by sufferings, time, or

death ;
And Valor, lion-mettled lord,
Leaning upon his own good sword.

Well has thy fair achievement

shown 310

A worthy meed may thus be

won:
Ytene's oaks — beneath whose

shade
Their theme the merry minstrels

made,
Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold,
And that Bed King, who, while of

old
Through Boldrewood the chase he

led,
By his loved huntsman's arrow

bled —
Ytene's oaks have heard again
Renewed such legendary strain ;
For thou hast sung, how he of

Gaul, 320

That Amadis so famed in hall,
For Oriana, foiled in fight
The Necromancer's felon might ;
And well in modern verse hast

wove
Partenopex's mystic love :
Hear, then, attentive to my lay,
A knightly tale of Albion's elder

day.

CANTO FIRST

107

CANTO FIRST

THE CASTLE

Day set on Norham's castled

steep,
And Tweed's fair river, broad and
deep,
And Cheviot's mountains lone ;
The battled towers, the donjon

keep,
The loophole grates where cap-
tives weep,
The flanking walls that round it
sweep,
In yellow lustre shone.
The warriors on the turrets high,
Moving athwart the evening sky,

Seemed forms of giant height ;xo
Their armor, as it caught the rays.
Flashed back again the western
blaze,
In lines of dazzling light.

11
Saint George's banner, broad and

gay,
Now faded, as the fading ray

Less bright, and less, was flung ;
The evening gale had scarce the

power
To wave it on the donjon tower,

So heavily it hung.
The scouts had parted on their
search, 20

The castle gates were barred;
Above the gloomy portal arch,
Timing his footsteps to a march,

The warder kept his guard,
Low humming, as he paced along,
Some ancient Border gathering
song.

A distant trampling sound he
hears ;

He looks abroad, and soon ap-
pears,

O'er Horncliff-hill, a plump of
spears

Beneath a pennon gay ; 30

A horseman, darting from the

crowd
Like lightning from a summer

cloud,
Spurs on his mettled courser
proud,
Before the dark array.
Beneath the sable palisade
That closed the castle barricade,

His bugle-horn he blew ;
The warder hasted from the wall.
And warned the captain in the
hall,
For well the blast he knew ; 4o
And joyfully that knight did call
To sewer, squire, and seneschal.

' Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoi-
sie,
Bring pasties of the doe,
And quickly make the entrance

free,
And bid my heralds ready be,
And every minstrel sound his
glee,
And all our trumpets blow ;
And, from the platform, spare ye

not
To fire a noble salvo-shot ; 50

Lord Marmion waits below ! '
Then to the castle's lower ward

Sped forty yeomen tall,
The iron-studded gates unbarred.
Raised the portcullis' ponderous

guard,
The lofty palisade unsparred,
And let the drawbridge fall.

I Along the bridge Lord Marmion

rode,
Proudly his red -roan charger

trode, 59

! His helm hung at the saddle

bow ;
j Well by his visage you might

know
He was a stalworth knight and

keen,

io8

MARMION

And had in many a battle been ;
The scar on his brown cheek re-
vealed
A token true of Bosworth field ;
His eyebrow dark and eye of

fire
Showed spirit proud and prompt

to ire,
Yet lines of thought upon his

cheek
Did deep design and counsel speak.
His forehead, by his casque worn

bare, 70

His thick moustache and curly

hair,
Coal-black, and grizzled here and

there,
But more through toil than age,
His square - turned joints and

strength of limb,
Showed him no carpet knight so

trim,
But in close fight a champion

grim,
In camps a leader sage.

Well was he armed from head to

heel,
In mail and plate of Milan steel ;
But his strong helm, of mighty
cost, 80

Was all with burnished gold em-
bossed.
Amid the plumage of the crest
A falcon hovered on her nest,
With wings outspread and for-
ward breast
E'en such a falcon, on his shield,
Soared sable in an azure field :
The golden legend bore aright,
'Who checks at me. to death is

dight'
Blue was the charger's broidered

rein ;
Blue ribbons decked his arching
mane ; 90

The knightly housing's ample

fold
Was velvet blue and trapped with
gold.

VII

Behind him rode two gallant

squires,
Of noble name and knightly sires :
They burned the gilded spurs to

claim,
For well could each a war-horse

tame,
Could draw the bow, the sword

could sway,
And lightly bear the ring away;
Nor less with courteous precepts

stored,
Could dance in hall, and carve at

board, 100

And frame love -ditties passing

rare,
And sing them to a lady fair.

VIII

Four men-at-arms came at their

backs,
With halbert, bill, and battle-axe ;
They bore Lord Marmion's lance

so strong,
And led his sumpter-mules along,
And ambling palfrey, when at

need
Him listed ease his battle-steed.
The last and trustiest of the four
On high his forky pennon bore ;
Like swallow's tail in shape and

hue, in

Fluttered the streamer glossy

blue,
Where, blazoned sable, as before,
The towering falcon seemed to

soar.
Last, twenty yeomen, two and

two,
In hosen black ano: jerkins blue,
With falcons broidered on each

breast,
Attended on their lord's behest.
Each, chosen for an archer good,
Knew hunting-craft by lake or

wood; 120

Each one a six-foot bow could

bend,
And far a cloth-yard shaft could

send;

CANTO FIRST

109

Each held a boar-spear tough and

strong,
And at their belts their quivers

rung.
Their dusty palfreys and array
Showed they had marched a weary

way. i

'T is meet that I should tell you

now.
How fairly armed, and ordered
how,
The soldiers of the guard, 129
With musket, pike, and morion,
To welcome noble Marmion,

Stood in the castle-yard ;
Minstrels and trumpeters were

there,
The gunner held his linstock
yare,
For welcome-shot prepared :
Entered the train, and such a

clang
As then through all his turrets
rang
Old Xorham never heard.

The guards their morrice-pikes
advanced, 139

The trumpets flourished brave,
The cannon from the ramparts
glanced,
And thundering welcome gave.
A blithe salute, in martial sort,

The minstrels well might sound,
For, as Lord Marmion crossed the
court,
He scattered angels round.
' Welcome to Xorham, Marmion !

Stout heart and open hand !
Well dost thou brook thy gallant
roan, 149

Thou flower of English land ! '

Two pursuivants, whom tabards

deck,
With silver scutcheon round th'

neck,

Stood on the steps of stone,
By which you reach the donjon

gate,
And there, with herald pomp and
state,
They hailed Lord Marmion :
They hailed him Lord of Fonte-

naye,
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye,
Of Tamworth tower and town ;
And he, their courtesy to requite,
Gave them a chain of twelve
marks' weight, 161

All as he lighted down.
' Now, largesse, largesse, Lord
Marmion,
Knight of the crest of gold !
A blazoned shield, in battle won,
Ne'er guarded heart so bold.'

XII

They marshalled him to the castle-
hall,
Where the guests stood all aside,
And loudly flourished the trumpet-
call,
And the heralds loudly cried, —
' Room, lordlings, room for Lord
Marmion, 171

With the crest and helm of gold !
Full well we know the trophies
won
In the lists at Cottiswold :
There, vainly Ralph de Wilton
strove
'Gainst Marmion's force to
stand ;
To him he lost his lady-love,

And to the king his land.
Ourselves beheld the listed field,

A sight both sad and fair ;
We saw Lord Marmion piPv
shield,
And saw his sadrP
We saw7 the v1'"'

He wear^
And on *■

110

MARMION

For him who conquered in the
right,
Marmion of Fontenaye ! ' 190

XIII

Then stepped, to meet that noble
lord,
Sir Hugh the Heron bold,
Baron of Twisell and of Ford,

And Captain of the Hold ;
He led Lord Marmion to the deas,
Baised o'er the pavement high,
And placed him in the upper
place —
They feasted full and high :
The whiles a Northern harper
rude 199

Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud,
1 How the fierce Thirwalls, and
Ridley s all,
Stout Willimondswick,
And Hardridiug Dick,
And Hughie of Hawdon, and
Will o' the Wall,
Have set on Sir Albany Feather-

stonhaugh,
And taken his life at the Dead-

raan's-shaw.'
Scantly Lord Marmion's ear could
brook
The harper's barbarous lay,
Yet much he praised the pains he
took, 209

And well those pains did pay ;
For lady's suit and minstrel's

strain
By knight should ne'er be heard
in vain.

XIV

Vow, good Lord Marmion,' Heron
says,
*our fair courtesy,

-•" Kide some little space
ower with me.
^o your arms

--horse

Or feat of arms befell. 220

The Scots can rein a mettled
steed,
And love to couch a spear ; —
Saint George ! a stirring life they
lead
That have such neighbors near !
Then stay with us a little space,

Our Northern wars to learn ;
I pray you for your lady's grace ! '
Lord Marmion's brow grew
stern.

The captain marked his altered
look, 229

And gave the squire the sign ;
A mighty wassail-bowl he took,

And crowned it high with wine.
' Now pledge me here, Lord Mar-
mion ;
But first I pray thee fair.
Where hast thou left that page of

thine
That used to serve thy cup of
wine,
Whose beauty was so rare ?
When last in Eaby-towers we met,

The boy I closely eyed,
And often marked his cheeks were
wet 240

With tears he fain would hide.
His was no rugged horse-boy's

hand,
To burnish shield or sharpen
brand,
Or saddle battle-steed,
But meeter seemed for lady fair,
To fan her cheek, or curl her

hair,
Or through embroidery, rich and
rare,
The slender silk to lead ;
His skin was fair, his ringlets
gold,
His bosom — when he sighed, 250
The russet doublet's rugged fold

Could scarce repel its pride !
Say, hast thou given that lovely
youth
To serve in lady's bower ?

CANTO FIRST

Or was the gentle page, in sooth,
A gentle paramour ? '

XYI

Lord Marmion ill could brook such
jest;
He rolled his kindling eye,

With pain his rising wrath sup-
pressed,
Yet made a calm reply : 260

1 That boy thou thought so goodly
fair,

He might not brook the Northern
air.

More of his fate if thou wouldst
learn,

I left him sick in Lindisfarne.

Enough of him. — But, Heron, say,

Why does thy lovely lady gay

Disdain to grace the hall to-day ?

Or has that dame, so fair and sage,

Gone on some pious pilgrim-
age ? ' —

He spoke in covert scorn, for
fame 270

Whispered light tales of Heron's
dame.

XVII

Unmarked, at least unrecked, the
taunt,
Careless the knight replied :
4 No bird whose feathers gayly
flaunt
Delights in cage to bide ;
Norham is grim and grated close,
Hemmed in by battlement and
fosse,
And many a darksome tower,
And better loves my lady bright
To sit in liberty and light 280

In fair Queen Margaret's bower.
We hold our greyhound in our
hand,
Our falcon on our glove,
But where shall we find leash or
band
For dame that loves to rove?
Let the wild falcon soar her swing,
She '11 stoop when she has tired
her wing.' —

XVIII

' Nay, if with Royal James's bride
The lovely Lady Heron bide,
Behold me here a messenger, 290
Your tender greetings prompt to

bear;
For, to the Scottish court ad-
dressed,
I journey at our king's behest,
And pray you, of your grace, pro-
vide
For me and mine a trusty guide.
I have not ridden in Scotland since
James backed the cause of that

mock prince,
Warbeck, that Flemish counter-
feit,
I Who on the gibbet paid the cheat.
! Then did I march with Surrey's
power, 300

I What time we razed old Aytoun
tower.'

XIX

4 For such-like need, my lord, I
trow,

Norham can find you guides enow ;

For here be some have pricked as
far

On Scottish ground as to Dun-
bar,

Have drunk the monks of Saint
Bothan's ale,

And driven the beeves of Lauder-
dale,

Harried the wives of Greenlasv's
goods,

And given them light to set their
hoods.' —

' Now, in good sooth,' Lord Mar-
mion cried, 310
' Were I in warlike wise to ride,
A better guard I would not lack
Than your stout forayers at my

back;
But as in form of peace I go,
A friendly messenger, to know,
Why, through all Scotland, near
and far,

112

MARMION

Their king is mustering troops

for war,
The sight of plundering Border

spears
Might justify suspicious fears,
And deadly feud or thirst of

spoil 320

Break out in some unseemly broil.
A herald were my fitting guide ;
Or friar, sworn in peace to bide ;
Or pardoner, or travelling priest,
Or strolling pilgrim, at the least'

XXI

The captain mused a little space,
And passed his hand across his

face. —
* Fain would I find the guide you

want,
But ill may spare a pursuivant,
The only men that safe can

ride 330

Mine errands on the Scottish side :
And though a bishop built this

fort,
Few holy brethren here resort ;
Even our good chaplain, as I

ween,
Since our last siege we have not

seen.
The mass he might not sing or say
Upon one stinted meal a-day ;
So, safe he sat in Durham aisle,
And prayed for our success the

while,
Our Norham vicar, woe betide, 340
Is all too well in case to ride ;
The priest of Shoreswood— he

could rein
The wildest war-horse in your

train.
But then no spearman in the hall
Will sooner swear, or stab, or

brawl,
Friar John of Tillmouth were the

man;
A blithesome brother at the can,
A welcome guest in hall and

bower,
He knows each 'castle, town, and

tower.

In which the wine and ale is

good, 3So

'Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood.
But that good man, as ill befalls,
Hath seldom left our castle walls,
Since, on the vigil of Saint Bede,
In evil hour he crossed the Tweed,
To teach Dame Alison her creed.
Old Bughtrig found him with his

wife,
And John, an enemy to strife,
Sans frock and hood, fled for his

life.
The jealous churl hath deeply

swore 360

That, if again he venture o'er,
He shall shrieve penitent no

more.
Little he loves such risks, I know,
Yet in your guard perchance will

go.'

XXII

Young Selby, at the fair hall-
board,
Carved to his uncle and that lord,
And reverently took up the word :
'Kind uncle, woe were we each

one,
If harm should hap to brother

John.
He is a man of mirthful speech, 370
Can many a game and gambol

teach ;
Full well at tables can he play,
And sweep at bowls the stake

away.
None can a lustier carol bawl,
The needfullest among us all,
When time hangs heavy in the

hall,
And snow comes thick at Christ-
mas tide,
And we can neither hunt nor ride
A foray on the Scottish side.
The vowed revenge of Bughtrig
rude 380

May end in worse than loss of

hood.
Let Friar John in safety still
In chimney-corner snore his fill,

CANTO FIRST

Roast hissing crabs, or flagons

swill ;
Last night, to Norham there came

one
Will better guide Lord Mar-

mion.' —
* Nephew,' quoth Heron, ' by my

fay,
Well hast thou spoke ; say forth

thy say.' —

XXIII

' Here is a holy Palmer come,
From Salem first, and last from

Rome ; 390

One that hath kissed the blessed

tomb,
And visited each holy shrine
In Araby and Palestine ;
On hills of Armenie hath been,
Where Noah's ark may yet be

seen;
By that Red Sea, too, hath he

trod,
Which parted at the Prophet's

rod;
In Sinai's wilderness he saw
The Mount where Israel heard the

law,
Mid thunder - dint, and flashing

levin, 400

And shadows, mists, and darkness,

given.
He shows Saint James's cockle-
shell,
Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell ;
And of that Grot where Olives

nod,
Where, darling of each heart and

eye,
From all the youth of Sicily,
Saint Rosalie retired to God.

xxrv

4 To stout Saint George of Norwich

merry,
Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury,
Cuthbert of Durham and Saint

Bede, 410

For his sins' pardon hath he

prayed.

He knows the passes of the North,
And seeks far shrines beyond the

Forth;
Little he eats, and long will wake,
And drinks but of the stream or

lake.
This were a guide o'er moor and

dale;
But when our John hath quaffed

his ale,
As little as the wind that blows,
And warms itself against his nose,
Kens he, or cares, which way he

goes.' — 420

XXV

' Gramercy ! ■ quoth Lord Mar-

mion,
' Full loath were I that Friar John,
That venerable man, for me
Were placed in fear or jeopardy :
If this same Palmer will me lead

From hence to Holy-Rood,
Like his good saint, I '11 pay his

meed,
Instead of cockle-shell or bead,

Writh angels fair and good.
I love such holy ramblers ; still 430
They know to charm a weary hill

With song, romance, or lay :
Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest,
Some lying legend, at the least,

They bring to cheer the way.' —

XXVI

' Ah ! noble sir,' young Selby said,

And finger on his lip he laid,

1 This man'knows much, perchance

e'en more
Than he could learn by holy lore.
Still to himself he 's muttering, 44o
And shrinks as at some unseen

thing.
Last night we listened at his cell ;
Strange sounds we heard, and,

sooth to tell,
He murmured on till morn, how-

e'er
No living mortal could be near.
Sometimes I thought I heard it

plain,

MARMION

As other voices spoke again.
I cannot tell — I like it not —
Friar John hath told us it is wrote,
No conscience clear and void of

wrong 450

Can rest awake and pray so long.
Himself still sleeps before his

beads
Have marked ten aves and two

creeds.' —

XXVII

1 Let pass,' quoth Marmion ; * by

my fay,
This man shall guide me on my

way,
Although the great arch-fiend and

he
Had sworn themselves of com-
pany.
So please you. gentle youth, to call
This Palmer to the castle-hall.'
The summoned Palmer came in

place ,• 460

His sable cowl o'erhung his face ;
In his black mantle was he clad,
With Peter's keys, in cloth of red,
On his broad shoulders wrought ;
The scallop shell his cap did deck ;
The crucifix around his neck
Was from Loretto brought ;
His sandals were with travel tore,
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he

wore ;
The faded palm -branch in his

hand 47°

Showed pilgrim from the Holy

Land.

XXVIII

Whenas the Palmer came in hall,
Nor lord nor knight was there

more tall,
Or had a statelier step withal,

Or looked more high and keen ;
For no saluting did he wait,
But strode across the hall of

state,
And fronted Marmion where he
sate,
As he his peer had been.

But his gaunt frame was worn with

toil ; 480

His cheek was sunk, alas the

while !
And when he struggled at a smile

His eye looked haggard wild :
Poor wretch, the mother that him

bare,
If she had been in presence there,
In his wan face and sunburnt hair

She had not known her child.
Danger, long travel, want, or woe,
Soon change the form that best we

know —
For deadly fear can time out-

gO, 490

And blanch at once the hair;

Hard toil can roughen form and
face,

And want can quench the eye's
bright grace,

Nor does old age a wrinkle trace
More deeply than despair.

Happy whom none of these be-
fall,

But this poor Palmer knew them
all.

XXIX

Lord Marmion then his boon did

ask;
The Palmer took on him the task,
So he would march with morning

tide, 500

To Scottish court to be his guide.
' But I have solemn vows to pay,
And may not linger by the way,
To fair Saint Andrew's bound.
Within the ocean-cave to pray,
Where good Saint Rule his holy

lay,
From midnight to the dawn of

day,
Sung to the billows' sound ;
Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed

well,
Whose spring can frenzied dreams

dispel, 510

And the crazed brain restore.
Saint Mary grant that cave or

spring

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND

Could back to peace my bosom
bring,
Or bid it throb no more !

XXX

And now the midnight draught of

sleep,
Where wine and spices richly

steep,
In massive bowl of silver deep,

The page presents on knee.
Lord Marmion drank a fair good

rest,
The captain pledged his noble

guest, 520

The cup went through among the

rest,
Who drained it merrily ;
Alone the Palmer passed it by,
Though Selby pressed him cour-
teously.
This was a sign the feast was

o'er;
It hushed the merry wassail roar,
The minstrels ceased to sound.
Soon in the castle nought was

heard
But the slow footstep of the guard
Pacing his sober round. 530

XXXI

With early dawn Lord Marmion

rose :
And first the chapel doors unclose ;
Then, after morning rites were

done —
A hasty mass from Friar John —
And knight and squire had broke

their fast
On rich substantial repast,
Lord Marmion's bugles blew to

horse.
Then came the stirrup-cup in

course :
Between the baron and his host,
x/o point of courtesy was lost; 540
High thanks were by Lord Mar-
mion paid,
Solemn excuse the captain made.
Till, filing from the gate, had

passed

That noble train, their lord the

last.
Then loudly rung the trumpet call ;
Thundered the cannon from the

wall,
And shook the Scottish shore ;
Around the castle eddied slow
Volumes of smoke as white as

snow
And hid its turrets hoar, 550
Till they rolled forth upon the air,
And met the river breezes there,
Which gave again the prospect

fair.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO
SECOND

TO THE REV. JOHX ZNIARRIOT, A.M.

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest

The scenes are desert now and

bare,
Where flourished once a forest

fair,
When these waste glens with copse

were lined,
And peopled with the hart and

hind.
Yon thorn — perchance whose

prickly spears
Have fenced him for three hun-
dred years,
While fell around his green com-
peers-
Yon lonely thorn, would he could

tell
The changes of his parent dell,
Since he, so gray and stubborn

now, 10

Waved in each breeze a sapling

bough !
Would he could tell how deep the

shade
A thousand mingled branches

made;
How broad the shadows of the oak,
How clung the rowan to the rock,
And through the foliage showed

his head,

MARMION

With narrow leaves and berries

red;
What pines on every mountain

sprung, 1 8

O'er every dell what birches hung,
In every breeze what aspens shook,
What alders shaded every brook !

'Here, in my shade,' methinks

he 'd say,
' The mighty stag at noontide lay ;
The wolf I 've seen, a fiercer

game, —
The neighboring dingle bears his

name, —
With lurching step around me

prowl,
And stop, against the moon to

howl;
The mountain-boar, on battle set,
His tusks upon my stem would

whet;
While doe, and roe, and red-deer

good, 30

Have bounded by through gay

greenwood.
Then oft from Newark's riven

tower
Sallied a Scottish monarch's

power :
A thousand vassals mustered

round,
With horse, and hawk, and horn,

and hound ;
And I might see the youth intent
Guard every pass with crossbow

bent;
And through the brake the rangers

stalk,
And falconers hold the ready

hawk; 39

And foresters, in greenwood trim,
Lead in the leash the gazehounds

grim,
Attentive, as the bratchet's bay
From the dark covert drove the

prey,
To slip them as he broke away.
The startled quarry bounds amain,
As fast the gallant greyhounds

strain ;

Whistles the arrow from the bow,
Answers the harquebuss below ;
While all the rocking hills reply
To hoof-clang, hound, and hunters'
cry, 50

And bugles ringing lightsomely.'

Of such proud huntings many

tales
Yet linger in our lonely dales,
Up pathless Ettrick and on Yar-
row,
Where erst the outlaw drew his

arrow.
But not more blithe that sylvan

court,
Than we have been at humbler

sport ;
Though small our pomp and mean

our game,
Our mirth, dear Marriot, was the

same.
Remember' st thou my greyhounds

true ? 60

O'er holt or hill there never .flew,
From slip or leash there never

sprang,
More fleet of foot or sure of fang.
Nor dull, between each merry

chase,
Passed by the intermitted space ;
For we had fair resource in store,
In Classic and in Gothic lore ;
We marked each memorable scene,
And held poetic talk between ;
Nor hill, nor brook, we paced

along, 70

But had its legend or its song.
All silent now — for now are still
Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill !
No longer from thy mountains dun
The yeoman hears the well-known

gun,
And while his honest heart glows

warm
At thought of his paternal farm,
Round to his mates a brimmer fills,
And drinks, ' The Chieftain of the

Hills ! '
No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bow-
ers, 80

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND

ii7

Trip o'er the walks or tend the

flowers,
Fair as the elves whom Janet saw
By moonlight dance on Carter-

haugh ;
No youthful Baron 's left to grace
The Forest-Sheriffs lonely chace,
And ape, in manly step and tone,
The majesty of Oberon:
And she is gone whose lovely face
Is but her least and lowest grace ;
Though if to Sylphid Queen 't were

given 90

To show our earth the charms of

heaven,
She could not glide along the air
With form more light or face more

fair.
No more the widow's deafened ear
Grows quick that lady's step to

hear:
At noontide she expects her not,
Nor busies her to trim the cot ;
Pensive she turns her humming

wheel,
Or pensive cooks her orphans'

meal,
Yet blesses, ere she deals their

bread, 100

The gentle hand by which they 're

fed.

From Yair — which hills so

closely bind,
Scarce can the Tweed his passage

find,
Though much he fret, and chafe,

and toil,
Till all his eddying currents boil —
Her long-descended lord is gone,
And left us by the stream alone.
And much I miss those sportive

boys,
Companions of my mountain joys,
Just at the age 'twixt boy and

youth, no

When thought is speech, and

speech is truth.
Close to my side with what delight
They pressed to hear of Wallace

wight,

When, pointing to his airy mound,
I called his ramparts holy ground !
Kindled their brows to hear me

speak ;
And I have smiled, to feel my

cheek,
Despite the difference of our years,
Return again the glow of theirs.
Ah, happy boys ! such feelings

pure, 120

They will not, cannot long endure ;
Condemned to stem the world's

rude tide,
You may not linger by the side ■
For Fate shall thrust you from the

shore
And Passion ply the sail and oar.
Yet cherish the remembrance still
Of the lone mountain and the

rill;
For trust, dear boys, the time will

come,
When fiercer transport shall be

dumb,
And you will think right fre-
quently, 130
But, well I hope, without a sigh,
On the free hours that we have

spent
Together on the brown hill's bent.

When, musing on companions
gone,
We doubly feel ourselves alone,
Something, my friend, we yet may

gain;
There is a pleasure in this pain :
It soothes the love of lonely rest,
Deep in each gentler heart im-
pressed.
'T is silent amid worldly toils, 140
And stifled soon by mental broils;
But, in a bosom thus prepared,
Its still small voice is often heard,
Whispering a mingled sentiment
'Twixt resignation and content.
Oft in my mind such thoughts

awake
By lone Saint Mary's silent lake :
Thou know'st it well, — nor fen nor
sedge

MARMION

Pollute the pure lake's crystal

edge;
Abrupt and sheer, the mountains

sink 150

At once upon the level brink,
And just a trace of silver sand
Marks where the water meets the

land.
Far in the mirror, bright and blue,
Each hill's huge outline you may

view;
Shaggy with heath, but lonely

bare,
Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake is

there,
Save where of land yon slender

line
Bears thwart the lake the scattered

pine.
Yet even this nakedness has

power, 160

And aids the feeling of the hour :
Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you

spy,
Where living thing concealed

might lie ;
Nor point retiring hides a dell
Where swain or woodman lone

might dwell ;
There's nothing left to fancy's

guess,
You see that all is loneliness :
And silence aids — though the

steep hills 168

Send to the lake a thousand rills ;
In summer tide so soft they weep,
The sound but lulls the ear asleep ;
Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too

rude,
So stilly is the solitude.

Nought living meets the eye or

ear,
But well I ween the dead are

near;
For though, in feudal strife, a foe
Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low,
Yet still, beneath the hallowed

soil,
The peasant rests him from his

toil, 179

And dying bids his bones be laid
Where erst his simple fathers
prayed.

If age had tamed the passions'

strife,
And fate had cut my ties to life,
Here have I thought 't were sweet

to dwell,
And rear again the chaplain's cell,
Like that same peaceful hermitage,
Where Milton longed to spend his

age.
'T were sweet to mark the setting

day
On Bourhope's lonely top decay,
And, as it faint and feeble died 190
On the broad lake and mountain's

side,
To say, 'Thus pleasures fade away ;
Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay,
And leave us dark, forlorn, and

gray;
Then gaze on Dryhope's ruined

tower,
And think on Yarrow's faded

Flower ;
And wben that mountain-sound I

heard,
Which bids us be for storm pre-
pared,
The distant rustling of his wings,
As up his force the Tempest brings,
'T were sweet, ere yet his terrors

rave, 201

To sit upon the Wizard's grave,
That Wizard Priest's whose bones

are thrust
From company of holy dust ;
On which no sunbeam ever

shines —
So superstition's creed divines —
Thence view the lake with sullen

roar
Heave her broad billows to the

shore ;
And mark the wild-swans mount

the gale,
Spread wide through mist their

snowy sail, 210

And ever stoop again, to lave

CANTO SECOND

119

Their bosoms on the surging wave ;
Then, when against the driving

hail
No longer might my plaid avail,
Back to my lonely home retire,
And light my lamp and trim my

fire;
There ponder o'er some mystic lay,
Till the wild tale had all its sway,
And, in the bittern's distant shriek,
I heard unearthly voices speak,
And thought the Wizard Priest

was come 221

To claim again his ancient home !
And bade my busy fancy range,
To frame him fitting shape and

strange,
Till from the task my brow I

cleared,
And smiled to think that I had

feared.

But chief 't were sweet to think

such life — •
Though but escape from fortune's

strife —
Something most matchless good

and wise,
A great and grateful sacrifice, 230
And deem each hour to musing

given
A step upon the road to heaven.

Yet him whose heart is ill at

ease
Such peaceful solitudes displease ;
He loves to drown his bosom's jar
Amid the elemental war :
And my black Palmer's choice had

been
Some ruder and more savage scene,
Like that which frowns round dark

Lochskene.
There eagles scream from isle to

shore ; 240

Down all the rocks the torrents

roar;
O'er the black waves incessant

driven,
Dark mists infect the summer

heaven ;

Through the rude barriers of the

lake,
Away its hurrying waters break,
Faster and whiter dash and curl,
Till down yon dark abyss they

hurl.
Rises the fog-smoke white as snow,
Thunders the viewless stream be-
low, 249
Diving, as if condemned to lave
Some demon's subterranean cave,
Who, prisoned by enchanter's

spell,
Shakes the dark rock with groan

and yell.
And well that Palmer's form and

mien
Had suited with the stormy scene,
Just on the edge, straining his ken
To view the bottom of the den,
Where, deep deep down, and far

within,
Toils with the rocks the roaring

linn ;
Then, issuing forth one foamy

wave, 260

And wheeling round the Giant's

Grave,
White as the snowy charger's tail,
Drives down the pass of Moffat-

dale.

Marriot, thy harp, on Isis strung,
To many a Border theme has

rung:
Then list to me, and thou shalt

know
Of this mysterious Man of Woe.

CANTO SECOND

THE CONTENT

The breeze which swept away the
smoke
Eound Norham Castle rolled,
When all the loud artillery spoke
With lightning-flash and thunder-
stroke,

120

MARMION

As Marmion left the hold, —
It curled not Tweed alone, that

breeze,
For, far upon Northumbrian seas,

It freshly blew and strong,
Where, from high Whitby's clois-
tered pile,
Bound to Saint Cuthbert's Holy
Isle, 10

It bore a bark along.
Upon the gale she stooped her

side,
And bounded o'er the swelling
tide,
As she were dancing home ;
The merry seamen laughed to see
Their gallant ship so lustily

Furrow the green sea-foam.
Much joyed they in their honored

freight ;
For on the deck, in chair of state,
The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed,
With five fair nuns, the galley
graced. 21

'Twas sweet to see these holy

maids,
Like birds escaped to greenwood

shades,
Their first flight from the cage,
How timid, and how curious too,
For all to them was strange and

new,
And all the common sights they

view
Their wonderment engage.
One eyed the shrouds and swelling

sail,
With many a benedicite ; 30

One at the rippling surge grew

pale,
And would for terror pray,
Then shrieked because the sea-dog

nigh
His round black head and spark-
ling eye
Reared o'er the foaming spray ;
And one would still adjust her

veil,
Disordered by the summer gale,

Perchance lest some more worldly

eye
Her dedicated charms might spy,
Perchance because such action

graced 40

Her fair-turned arm and slender

waist.
Light was each simple bosom

there,
Save two, who ill might pleasure

share,—
The Abbess and the Novice Clare.

The Abbess was of noble blood,
But early took the veil and hood,
Ere upon life she cast a look,
Or knew the world that she for-
sook.
Fair too she was, and kind had

been
As she was fair, but ne'er had

seen 50

For her a timid lover sigh,
Nor knew the influence of her

eye.
Love to her ear was but a name,
Combined with vanity and shame ;
Her hopes, her fears, her joys,

were all
Bounded within the cloister wall ;
The deadliest sin her mind could

reach
Was of monastic rule the breach ;
And her ambition's highest aim
To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. 60
For this she gave her ample dower
To raise the convent's eastern

tower ;
For this, with carving rare and

quaint,
She decked the chapel of the saint,
And gave the relic-shrine of cost,
With ivory and gems embossed.
The poor her convent's bounty

blest,
The pilgrim in its halls found rest.

Black was her garb, her rigid rule
Reformed on Benedictine school ;

CANTO SECOND

121

Her cheek was pale, her form was

spare ; 7 1

Vigils and penitence austere
Had early quenched the light of

youth :
But gentle was the dame, in sooth ;
Though, vain of her religious

sway,
She loved to see her maids obey,
Yet nothing stern was she in cell,
And the nuns loved their Abbess

well.
Sad was this voyage to the dame ;
Summoned to Lindisfarue, she

came, 80

There, with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot

old
And Tynemouth's Prioress, to

hold
A chapter of Saint Benedict,
For inquisition stern and strict
On two apostates from the faith,
And, if need were, to doom to

death.

Naught say I here of Sister Clare,
Save this, that she was young and

fair;
As yet a novice unprofessed,
Lovely and gentle, but distressed.
She was betrothed to one now

dead, 91

Or worse, who had dishonored

fled.
Her kinsmen bade her give her

hand
To one who loved her for her land ;
Herself, almost heart - broken

now,
Was bent to take the vestal vow,
And shroud within Saint Hilda's

gloom
Her blasted hopes and withered

bloom.

She sate upon the galley's prow,
And seemed to mark the waves

below ; 100

Nay, seemed, so fired her look and

eye,

To count them as they glided by.

She saw them not— 't was seem-
ing all —

Far other scene her thoughts re-
call, —

A sun-scorched desert, waste and
bare,

Nor waves nor breezes murmured
there ;

There saw she where some care-
less hand

O'er a dead corpse had heaped
the sand,

To hide it till the jackals come 109

To tear it from the scanty tomb. —

See what a woful look was given,

As she raised up her eyes to
heaven !

VII

Lovely, and gentle, and dis-
tressed —
These charms might tame the

fiercest breast :
Harpers have sung and poets told
That he, in fury uncontrolled,
The shaggy monarch of the wood,
Before a virgin, fair and good,
Hath pacified his savage mood. 119
But passions in the human frame
Oft put the lion's rage to shame ;
And jealousy, by dark intrigue,
With sordid avarice in league,
Had practised with their bowl and

knife
Against the mourner's harmless

life.
This crime was charged 'gainst

those who lay
Prisoned in Cuthbert's islet gray.

VIII

And now the vessel skirts the
strand

Of mountainous Northumberland ;

Towns, towers, and halls succes-
sive rise, 130

And catch the nuns' delighted
eyes.

Monk - Wearmouth soon behind
them lay,

122

MARMION

And Tynemouth's priory and bay ;
They marked amid her trees the

hall
Of lofty Seaton-Delaval ;
They saw the Blythe and Wans-

beck floods
Rush to the sea through sounding

woods;
They passed the tower of Widder-

ington,
Mother of many a valiant son ;
At Coquet-isle their beads they

tell 140

To the good saint who owned the

cell;
Then did the Alne attention claim,
And Warkworth, proud of Percy's

name;
And next they crossed themselves

to hear
The whitening breakers sound so

near,
Where, boiling through the rocks,

they roar
On Dunstanborough's caverned

shore ;
Thy tower, proud Bamborough,

marked they there,
King Ida's castle, huge and

square,
From its tall rock look grimly

down, 150

And on the swelling ocean frown ;
Then from the coast they bore

away,
And reached the Holy Island's bay.

The tide did now its flood-mark

gain,
And girdled in the Saint's domain ;
For, with the flow and ebb, its

style
Varies from continent to isle :
Dry shod, o'er sands, twice every

day
The pilgrims to the shrine find

way;
Twice every day the waves efface
Of staves and sandalled feet the

trace. 161

As to the port the galley flew,
Higher and higher rose to view
The castle with its battled walls,
The ancient monastery's halls,
A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile.
Placed on the margin of the isle.

In Saxon strength that abbey

frowned,
With massive arches broad and

round,
That rose alternate, row and

row, 170

On ponderous columns, short

and low,
Built ere the art was known,
By pointed aisle and shafted

stalk
The arcades of an alleyed walk
To emulate in stone.
On the deep walls the heathen

Dane
Had poured his impious rage in

vain ;
And needful was such strength to

these,
Exposed to the tempestuous seas,
Scourged by the winds' eternal

sway, 180

Open to rovers fierce as they,
Which could twelve hundred

years withstand
Winds, waves, and northern pi-
rates' hand.
Not but that portions of the pile,
Rebuilded in a later style,
Showed where the spoiler's hand

had been ;
Not but the wasting sea-breeze

keen
Had worn the pillar's carving

quaint,
And mouldered in his niche the

saint,
And rounded with consuming

power 190

The pointed angles of each tower ;
Yet still entire the abbey stood,
Like veteran, worn, but unsub-

dued.

CANTO SECOND

123

Soon as they neared his turrets

strong,
The maidens raised Saint Hilda's

song,
And with the sea-wave and the !

wind
Their voices, sweetly shrill, com- 1

bined,
And made harmonious close ;
Then, answering from the sandy \

shore,
Half-drowned amid the breakers'

roar, 200

According chorus rose :
Down to the haven of the Isle
The monks and nuns in order file
From Cuthbert's cloisters grim ;
Banner, and cross, and relics there,
To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they

bare ;
And, as they caught the sounds on

air,
They echoed back the hymn.
The islanders in joyous mood
Rushed emulously through the

flood 210

To hale the bark to land ;
Conspicuous by her veil and hood,
Signing the cross, the Abbess

stood,
And blessed them with her hand.

XII

Suppose we now the welcome said,

Suppose the convent banquet
made :
All through the holy dome,

Through cloister, aisle, and gal-
lery,

Wherever vestal maid might pry,

Nor risk to meet unhallowed eye.
The stranger sisters roam ; 221

Till fell the evening damp with
dew,

And the sharp sea-breeze coldly
blew,

For there even summer night is
chill.

Then, having strayed and gazed
their fill,

They closed around the fire ;
And all, in turn, essayed to paint
The rival merits of their saint,

A theme that ne'er can tire
A holy maid, for be it known 230
That their saint's honor is their
own.

XIII

Then Whitby's nuns exulting told

How to their house three barons
bold
Must menial service do,

While horns blow out a note of
shame,

And monks cry, ■ Fie upon your
name!

In wrath, for loss of sylvan game,
Saint Hilda's priest ye slew/ —

' This, on Ascension-day, each year

While laboring on our harbor-
pier, 240

Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy
hear.' —

They told how in their convent-
cell

A Saxon princess once did dwell,
The lovely Edelfled ;

And how, of thousand snakes, each
one

Was changed into a coil of stone
When holy Hilda prayed ;

Themselves, within their holy
bound,

Their stony folds had often found.

They told how sea-fowls' pinions
fail, 250

As over Whitby's towers they sail,

And, sinking down, with flutter-
ings faint,

They do their homage to the saint.

XIV

Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters

fail
To vie with these in holy tale ;
His body's resting-place, of old,
How oft their patron changed,

they told ;
How, when the rude Dane burned

their pile,

124

MARMION

The monks fled forth from Holy

Isle;
O'er Northern mountain, marsh,
and moor, 260

From sea to sea, from shore to

shore,
Seven years Saint Cuthbert's
corpse they bore.
They rested them in fair Mel-
rose ;
But though, alive, he loved it
well,
Not there his relics might re-
pose ;
For, wondrous tale to tell !
In his stone coffin forth he rides,
A ponderous bark for river tides,
Yet light as gossamer it glides
Downward to Tilmouth cell.
Nor long was his abiding there,
For southward did the saint re-
pair ;
Ohester-le-Street and Ripon saw
His holy corpse ere Wardilaw

Hailed him with joy and fear ;
And, after many wanderings past,
He chose his lordly seat at last
Where his cathedral, huge and
vast,
Looks down upon the Wear.
There, deep in Durham's Gothic
shade, 280

His relics are in secret laid ;

But none may know the place,
Save of his holiest servants three,
Deep sworn to solemn secrecy,
Who share that wondrous grace.

xv
Who may his miracles declare ?
Even Scotland's dauntless king
and heir —
Although with them they led
Galwegians, wild as ocean's gale,
And Loden's knights, all sheathed
in mail, 290

And the bold men of Teviotdale —

Before his standard fled.
'T was he, to vindicate his reign,
Edged Alfred's falchion on the
Dane,

And turned the Conqueror back
again,

When, with his Norman bowyer
band,

He came to waste Northumber-
land.

XVI

But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would
learn

If on a rock, by Lindisfarne,

Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to
frame 300

The sea-born beads that bear his
name :

Such tales had Whitby's fishers
told,

And said they might his shape be-
hold,
And hear his anvil sound ;

A deadened clang, — a huge dim
form,

Seen but, and heard, when gather-
ing storm
And night were closing round.

But this, as tale of idle fame,

The nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim.

XVII

While round the fire such legends

go, 310

Far different was the scene of

woe
Where, in a secret aisle beneath,
Council was held of life and death.
It was more dark and lone, that

vault,
Than the worst dungeon cell ;
Old Colwulf built it, for his fault

In penitence to dwell,
When he for cowl and beads laid

down
The Saxon battle-axe and crown.
This den, which, chilling every
sense 320

Of feeling, hearing, sight,
Was called the Vault of Penitence,

Excluding air and light,
Was by the prelate Sexhelm made
A place of burial for such dead
As, having died in mortal sin,

CANTO SECOND

125

Might not be laid the church
within.

'T was now a place of punish-
ment;

Whence if so loud a shriek were
sent
As reached the upper air, 330

The hearers blessed themselves,
and said

The spirits of the sinful dead
Bemoaned their torments there.

XVIII

But though, in the monastic pile,
Did of this penitential aisle
Some vague tradition go,
Few only, save the Abbot, knew
Where the place lay, and still more

few
Were those who had from him the

clew
To that dread vault to go. 340
Victim and executioner
Were blindfold when transported

there.
In low dark rounds the arches

hung,
From the rude rock the side-walls

sprung ;
The gravestones, rudely sculp-
tured o'er,
Half sunk in earth, by time half

wore,
Were all the pavement of the

floor ;
The mildew-drops fell one by one,
With tinkling plash, upon the

stone.
A cresset, in an iron chain, 350
Which served to light this drear

domain.
With damp and darkness seemed

to strive,
As if it scarce might keep alive ;
And yet it dimly served to show
The awful conclave met below.

XIX

There, met to doom in secrecy,
Were placed the heads of convents
three,

All servants of Saint Benedict,
The statutes of whose order strict
On iron table lay; 360

In long black dress, on seats of

stone,
Behind were these three judges

shown
By the pale cresset's ray.
The Abbess of Saint Hilda's there
Sat for a space with visage bare,
Until, to hide her bosom's swell,
And tear-drops that for pity fell,

She closely drew her veil ;
Yon shrouded figure, as I guess,
By her proud mien and flowing

dress, 370

Is Tynemouth's haughty Prior-
ess,
And she with awe looks pale ;
And he, that ancient man, whose

sight
Has long been quenched by age's

night,
Upon whose wrinkled brow alone
Nor ruth nor mercy's trace is

shown,
Whose look is hard and stern, —
Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style,
For sanctity called through the

isle
The Saint of Lindisfarne. 380

Before them stood a guilty pair ;
But, though an equal fate they

share,
Yet one alone deserves our care.
Her sex a page's dress belied ;
The cloak and doublet, loosely

tied,
Obscured her charms, but could
not hide.
Her cap down o'er her face she
drew;
And, on her doublet breast,
She tried to hide the badge of
blue, 389

Lord Marmion's falcon crest.
But, at the prioress' command,
A monk undid the silken band
That tied her tresses fair.

126

MARMION

And raised the bonnet from her

head,
And down her slender form they

spread
In ringlets rich and rare.
Constance de Beverley they know,
Sister professed of Fontevraud,
Whom the Church numbered with

the dead, 399

For broken vows and convent fled.

XXI

When thus her face was given to

view, —
Although so pallid was her hue,
It did a ghastly contrast bear
To those bright ringlets glistering

fair, —
Her look composed, and steady

eye,
Bespoke a matchless constancy ;
And there she stood so calm and

pale
That, but her breathing did not

fail,
And motion slight of eye and head,
And of her bosom, warranted 410
That neither sense nor pulse she

lacks,
You might have thought a form of

wax,
Wrought to the very life, was

there ;
So still she was, so pale, so fair.

XXII

Her comrade was a sordid soul,
Such as does murder for a meed ;

Who, but of fear, knows no con-
trol,

Because his conscience, seared
and foul,
Feels not the import of his deed ;

One whose brute-feeling ne'er as-
pires 420

Beyond his own more brute de-
sires.

Such tools the Tempter ever needs

To do the savagest of deeds ;

For them no visioned terrors
daunt,

Their nights no fancied spectres

haunt ;
One fear with them, of all most

base,
The fear of death, alone finds

place.
This wretch was clad in frock and

cowl,
And shamed not loud to moan and

howl,
His body on the floor to dash, 430
And crouch, like hound beneath

the lash ;
While his mute partner, standing

near,
Waited her doom without a tear.

XXIII

Yet well the luckless wretch
might shriek,

Well might her paleness terror
speak !

For there were seen in that dark
wall

Two niches, narrow, deep, and
tall ; —

Who enters at such grisly door

Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more.

Iu each a slender meal was laid, 440

Of roots, of water, and of bread;

By each, in Benedictine dress,

Two haggard monks stood motion-
less, .

Who, holding high a blazing torch,

Showed the grim entrance of the
porch ;

Eeflecting back the smoky beam,

The dark- red walls and arches
gleam.

Hewn stones and cement were dis-
played,

And building tools in order laid.

XXIV

These executioners were chose 450
As men who were with mankind

foes,
And, with despite and envy fired,
Into the cloister had retired,
Or who, in desperate doubt of
grace,

CANTO SECOND

127

Strove by deep penance to efface
Of some foul crime the stain ;
For, as the vassals of her will,
Such men the Church selected

still

As either joyed in doing ill, 459

Or thought more grace to gain

If in her cause they wrestled dowu

Feelings their nature strove to

own.
By strange device were they

brought there,
They knew not how, and knew
not where.

XXV

And now that blind old Abbot
rose,
To speak the Chapter's doom
On those the wall was to enclose

Alive within the tomb,
But stopped because that woful

maid,
Gathering her powers, to speak
essayed ; 470

Twice she essayed, and twice in

vain,
Her accents might no utterance

gain;
Nought but imperfect murmurs

slip
From her convulsed and quiver-
ing lip :
'Twixt each attempt all was so

still,
You seemed to hear a distant
rill —
'T was ocean's swells and
falls ;
For though this vault of sin and

fear
Was to the sounding surge so

near,
A tempest there you scarce
could hear, 480

So massive were the walls.

XXVI

At length, an effort sent apart
The blood that curdled to her
heart,

And light came to her eye,
And color dawned upon her cheek,
A hectic and a fluttered streak,
Like that left on the Cheviot
peak
By Autumn's stormy sky ;
And when her silence broke at

length,
Still as she spoke she gathered
strength, 490

And armed herself to bear.
It was a fearful sight to see
Such high resolve and constancy
In form so soft and fair.

XXVII

1 1 speak not to implore your grace,
Well know I for one minute's

space
Successless might I sue :
Nor do I speak your prayers to

gain ;
For if a death of lingering pain
To cleanse my sins be penance

vain, 500

Vain are your masses too. —
I listened to a traitor's tale,
I left the convent and the veil ;
For three long years I bowed my

pride,
A horse-boy in his train to ride ;
And well my folly's meed he gave,
Who forfeited, to be his slave,
All here, and all beyond the grave.
He saw young Clara's face more

fair,
He knew her of broad lands the

heir, 510

Forgot his vows, his faith for-
swore,
And Constance was beloved no

more.
'T is an old tale, and often told ;
But did my fate and wish

agree,
Ne'er had been read, in story

old,
Of maiden true betrayed for

gold,
That loved, or was avenged,

like me !

128

MARMION

XXVIII

* The king approved his favorite's

aim;
In vain a rival barred his claim,
Whose fate with Clare's was
plight, 520

For he attaints that rival's fame
With treason's charge — and on
they came
In mortal lists to fight.
Their oaths are said,
Their prayers are prayed,
Their lances in the rest are
laid,
They meet in mortal shock ;
And hark ! the throng, with thun-
dering cry,
Shout " Marmion, Marmion ! to
the sky, 529

De Wilton to the block ! "
Say, ye who preach Heaven shall

decide
When in the lists two champions
ride,
Say, was Heaven's justice here ?
When, loyal in his love and faith,
Wilton found overthrow or death

Beneath a traitor's spear ?
How false the charge, how true he

fell,
This guilty packet best can tell.'
Then drew a packet from her

breast,
Paused, gathered voice, and spoke
the rest. 540

XXIX

• Still was false Marmion' s bridal

stayed ;
To Whitby's convent fled the

maid,
The hated match to shun.
"Ho! shifts she thus?" King

Henry cried,
" Sir Marmion, she shall be thy

bride,
If she were sworn a nun."
One way remained — the king's

command
Sent Marmion to the Scottish

land;

I lingered here, and rescue planned
For Clara and for me: 550

This caitiff monk for gold did
swear

He would to Whitby's shrine re-
pair,

And by his drugs my rival fair
A saint in heaven should be ;

But ill the dastard kept his oath,

Whose cowardice hath undone us
both.

XXX

1 And now my tongue the secret

tells,
Not that remorse my bosom swells,
But to assure my soul that none
Shall ever wed with Marmion. 560
Had fortune my last hope be-
trayed,
This packet, to the king conveyed,
Had given him to the headsman's

stroke,
Although my heart that instant

broke. —
Now, men of death, work forth

your will,
For I can suffer, and be still ;
And come he slow, or come he

fast,
It is but Death who comes at

last.

XXXI

4 Yet dread me from my living

tomb,
Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome !
If Marmion' s late remorse should

wake, 571

Full soon such vengeance will he

take
That you shall wish the fiery Dane
Had rather been your guest again.
Behind, a darker hour ascends !
The altars quake, the crosier

bends,
The ire of a despotic king
Rides forth upon destruction's

wing ;
Then shall these vaults, so strong

and deep,

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD

129

Burst open to the sea - winds'

sweep ; 580

Some traveller then shall find my

bones
Whitening amid disjointed stones,
And, ignorant of priests' cruelty.
Marvel such relics here should be.'

XXXII

Fixed was her look and stern her

air:
Back from her shoulders streamed

her hair ;
The locks that wont her brow to

shade
Stared up erectly from her head ;
Her figure seemed to rise more

high;
Her voice despair's wild energy
Had given a tone of prophecy. 591
Appalled the astonished conclave

sate;
With stupid eyes, the men of fate
Gazed on the light inspired form,
And listened for the avenging

storm ;
The judges felt the victim's dread ;
No hand was moved, no word was
said,
Till thus the abbot's doom was
given,
Raising his sightless balls to hea-
ven:
1 Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; 600
Sinful brother, part in peace ! '
From that dire dungeon, place of

doom,
Of execution too, and tomb,

Paced forth the judges three ;
Sorrow it were and shame to tell
The butcher-work that there be-
fell,
When they had glided from the
cell
Of sin and misery.

XXXIII

An hundred winding steps convey
That conclave to the upper day ;
But ere they breathed the fresher
air 6n

They heard the shriekings of de-
spair,
And many a stifled groan.
With speed their upward way they

take, —
Such speed as age and fear can

make, —
And crossed themselves for ter-
ror's sake,
As hurrying, tottering on,
Even in the vesper's heavenly tone
They seemed to hear a dying

groan,
And bade the passing knell to toll
For welfare of a parting soul. 62 1
Slow o'er the midnight wave it

swung,
Northumbrian rocks in answer

rung ;
To Warkworth cell the echoes

rolled,
His beads the wakeful hermit

told ;
The Bamborough peasant raised

his head,
But slept ere half a prayer he said;
So far was heard the mighty knell,
The stag sprung up on Cheviot

Fell,
Spread his broad nostril to the

wind, 630

Listed before, aside, behind,
Then couched him down beside

the hind,
And quaked among the mountain

fern,
To hear that sound so dull and

stern.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO
THIRD

TO WILLIAM ERSKIXE, ESQ.

Ashestielj Ettrick Forest
Like April morning clouds, that

pass
With varying shadow o'er the

grass,
And imitate on field and furrow

l3°

MARMION

Life's checkered scene of joy and

sorrow ;
Like streamlet of the mountain

north,
Now in a torrent racing forth,
Now winding slow its silver train,
And almost slumbering on the

plain ;
Like breezes of the autumn day,
Whose voice inconstant dies away,
And ever swells again as fast 1 1
When the ear deems its murmur

past;
Thus various, my romantic theme
Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning

dream.
Yet pleased, our eye pursues the

trace
Of Light and Shade's inconstant

race;
Pleased, views the rivulet afar,
Weaving its maze irregular ;
And pleased, we listen as the

breeze
Heaves its wild sigh through Au-
tumn trees : 20
Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or

gale,
Flow on, flow unconfined, my tale '!

Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell
I love the license all too well,
In sounds now lowly, and now

strong,
To raise the desultory song?
Oft, when mid such capricious

chime
Some transient fit of loftier rhyme
To thy kind judgment seemed ex-
cuse
For many an error of the muse, 30
Oft hast thou said, ' If, still mis-
spent,
Thine hours to poetry are lent,
Go, and to tame thy wandering

course,
Quaff from the fountain at the

source ;
Approach those masters o'er

whose tomb
Immortal laurels ever bloom :

Instructive of the feebler bard,

Still from the grave their voice is
heard ;

From them, and from the paths
they showed,

Choose honored guide and prac-
tised road ; 40

Nor ramble on through brake and
maze,

With harpers rude of barbarous
days.

4 Or deem'st thou not our later

time
Yields topic meet for classic

rhyme ?
Hast thou no elegiac verse
For Brunswick's venerable

hearse ?
What ! not a line, a tear, a sigh,
When valor bleeds for liberty? —
Oh, hero of that glorious time,
When, with unrivalled light sub-
lime,— 50
Though martial Austria, and

though all
The might of Russia, and the

Gaul,
Though banded Europe stood her

foes —
The star of Brandenburg arose !
Thou couldst not live to see her

beam
Forever quenched in Jena's

stream.
Lamented chief! — it was not

given
To thee to change the doom of

Heaven,
And crush that dragon in its birth,
Predestined scourge of guilty

earth. 60

Lamented chief ! — not thine the

power
To save in that presumptuous hour
When Prussia hurried to the field,
And snatched the spear, but left

the shield !
Valor and skill 't was thine to try,
And, tried in vain, 't was thine to

die.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD

131

111 had it seemed thy silver hair
The last, the bitterest pang to

share,
For princedoms reft, and scutch-
eons riven,
And birthrights to usurpers given ;
Thy land's, thy children's wrongs
to feel, 71

And witness woes thou couldst

not heal !
On thee relenting Heaven bestows
For honored life an honored close ;
And when revolves, in time's sure

change,
The hour of Germany's revenge,
When, breathing fury for her sake,
Some new Arminius shall awake,
Her champion, ere he strike, shall

come
To whet his sword on Bruns-
wick's tomb, 80

4 Or of the Red-Cross hero teach,
Dauntless in dungeon as on breach.
Alike to him the sea, the shore,
The brand, the bridle, or the oar :
Alike to him the war that calls
Its votaries to the shattered walls
Which the gfim Turk, besmeared

with blood,
Against the Invincible made good;
Or that wrhose thundering voice

could wake
The silence of the polar lake, go
When stubborn Russ and mettled

Swede
On the warped wave their death-
game played ;
Or that where Vengeance and

Affright
Howled round the father of the

fight,
Who snatched on Alexandria's

sand
The conqueror's wreath with dying

hand.

' Or, if to touch such chord be
thine,
Restore the ancient tragic line,
And emulate the notes that rung

From the wild harp which silent
hung 100

By silver Avon's holy shore

Till twice an hundred years rolled
o'er;

When she, the bold Enchantress,
came,

With fearless hand and heart on
flame,

From the pale willow snatched
the treasure,

And swept it with a kindred mea-
sure,

Till Avon's swans, while rung the
grove

With Montfort's hate and Basil's
love,

Awakening at the inspired strain,

Deemed their own Shakespeare
lived again.' no

Thy friendship thus thy judg-
ment wronging

With praises not to me belong-
ing,

In task more meet for mightiest
powers

Wouldst thou engage my thrift-
less hours.

But say, my Erskine, hast thou
weighed

That secret power by all obeyed,

Which wrarps not less the passive
mind,

Its source concealed or undefined ;

Whether an impulse, that has
birth no

Soon as the infant wakes on earth,

One with our feelings and our
powers,

And rather part of us than ours ;

Or whether fitlier termed the
sway

Of habit, formed in early day ?

Howe'er derived, its force con-
fessed

Rules with despotic sway the
breast,

And drags us on by viewless chain,

While taste and reason plead in
vain,

132

MARMION

Look east, and ask the Belgian
why,

Beneath Batavia's sultry sky, 130

He seeks not eager to inhale

The freshness of the mountain
gale,

Content to rear his whitened wall

Beside the dank and dull canal ?

He '11 say, from youth he loved to
see

The white sail gliding by the tree.

Or see yon weather-beaten hind,

Whose sluggish herds before him
wind,

Whose tattered plaid and rugged
cheek

His northern clime and kindred
speak ; 140

Through England's laughing
meads he goes,

And England's wealth around him
flows;

Ask if it would content him well,

At ease in those gay plains to
dwell,

Where hedge-rows spread a ver-
dant screen,

And spires and forests intervene,

And the neat cottage peeps be-
tween?

No! not for these will he ex-
change

His dark Lochaber's boundless
range,

Not for fair Devon's meads for-
sake 150

Ben Nevis gray and Garry's lake.

Thus while I ape the measure
wild

Of tales that charmed me yet a
child,

Rude though they be, still with
the chime

Return the thoughts of early time ;

And feelings, roused in life's first
day,

Glow in the line and prompt the
lay.

Then rise those crags, that moun-
tain tower,

Which charmed my fancy's waken-
ing hour.
Though no broad river swept

along, 160

To claim, perchance, heroic song,
Though sighed no groves in sum-
mer gale,
To prompt of love a softer tale,
Though scarce a puny streamlet's

speed
Claimed homage from a shepherd's

reed,
Yet was poetic impulse given
By the green hill and clear blue

heaven.
It was a barren scene and wild,
Where naked cliffs were rudely

piled,
But ever and anon between 170
Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green ;
And well the lonely infant knew
Recesses where the wall-flower

grew,
And honeysuckle loved to crawl
Up the low crag and ruined wall.
I deemed such nooks the sweetest

shade
The sun in all its round surveyed ;
And still I thought that shattered

tower
The mightiest work of human

power,
And marvelled as the aged hind 180
With some strange tale bewitched

my mind
Of forayers, who with headlong

force
Down from that strength had

spurred their horse,
Their southern rapine to renew
Far in the distant Cheviots blue,
And, home returning, filled the

hall
With revel, wassail - rout, and

brawl.
Methought that still with trump

and clang
The gateway's broken arches

rang ;
Methought grim features, seamed

with scars, 190

CANTO THIRD

133

Glared through the window's rusty

bars,
And ever, by the winter hearth,
Old tales I heard of woe or mirth,
Of lovers' sleights, of ladies'

charms,
Of witches' spells, of warriors'

arms;
Of patriot battles, won of old
By Wallace wight and Bruce the

bold;
Of later fields of feud and fight,
When, pouring from their High- !

land height,
The Scottish clans in headlong

sway 200

Had swept the scarlet ranks away.
While stretched at length upon

the floor,
Again I fought each combat o'er,
Pebbles and shells, in order laid,
The mimic ranks of war displayed ;
And onward still the Scottish

Lion bore,
And still the scattered Southron

fled before.

Still, with vain fondness, could

I trace
Anew each kind familiar face
That brightened at our evening

fire ! 210 j

From the thatched mansion's gray- |

haired sire,
Wise without learning, plain and

good,
And sprung of Scotland's gentler

blood ;
Whose eye in age, quick, clear,

and keen,
Showed what in youth its glance

had been ;
Whose doom discording neighbors

sought,
Content with equity unbought;
To him the venerable priest,
Our frequent and familiar guest,
Whose life and manners well could

paint 220

Alike the student and the saint,
Alas ! whose speech too oft I broke

With gambol rude and timeless
joke :

For I was wayward, bold, and
wild,

A self-willed imp, a grandame's
child,

But half a plague, and half a jest,

Was still endured, beloved, ca-
ressed.

From me, thus nurtured, dost
thou ask

The classic poet's well -conned
task?

Nay, Erskine, nay — on the wild
hill 230

Let tl)£ wild heath-bell flourish
still ;

Cherish the tulip, prune the vine,

But freely let the woodbine twine

And leave untrimmed the eglan-
tine :

Xay, my friend, nay — since oft
thy praise

Hath given fresh vigor to my lays,

Since oft thy judgment could re-
fine

My flattened thought or cumbrous
line,

Still kind, as is thy wont, attend,

And in the minstrel spare the
friend. 240

Though wild as cloud, as stream,
as gale,

Flow forth, flow unrestrained, my
tale!

CANTO THIRD

THE HOSTEL, OR IXN

The livelong day Lord Marmion

rode ;
The mountain path the Palmer

showed
By glen and streamlet winded

still,
Where stunted birches hid the

rill.

134

MARMION

They might not choose the low-
land road,
For the Merse forayers were

abroad,
Who, fired with hate and thirst of

prey,
Had scarcely failed to bar their

way.
Oft on the trampling band from

crown
Of some tall cliff the deer looked

down ; 10

On wing of jet from his repose
In the deep heath the blackcock

rose;
Sprung from the gorse the timid

roe,
Nor waited for the bending bow ;
And when the stony path began
By which the naked peak they

wan,
Up flew the snowy ptarmigan.
The noon had long been passed

before
They gained the height of Lam-

mermoor;
Thence winding down the northern

way, 20

Before them at the close of day
Old Gifford's towers and hamlet

lay.

No summons calls them to the

tower,
To spend the hospitable hour.
To Scotland's camp the lord was

gone ;
His cautious dame, in bower alone,
Dreaded her castle to unclose,
So late, to unknown friends or

foes.
On through the hamlet as they

paced,
Before a porch whose front was

graced 30

With bush and flagon trimly

placed,
Lord Marmion drew his rein :
The village inn seemed large,

though rude ;

Its cheerful fire and hearty food

Might well relieve his train.
Down from their seats the horse-
men sprung,
With jingling spurs the court-yard

rung ;
They bind their horses to the stall,
For forage, food, and firing call,
And various clamor fills the hall :
Weighing the labor with the

COSt, 41

Toils everywhere the bustling
host.

Soon, by the chimney's merry

blaze,
Through the rude hostel might you

gaze,
Might see where in dark nc^k

aloof
The rafters of the sooty roof

Bore wealth of winter cheer ;
Of sea -fowl dried, and solands

store,
And gammons of the tusky boar,

And savory haunch of deer. 50
The chimney arch projected wide ;
Above, around it, and beside,

Were tools for housewives' hand;
Nor wanted, in that martial day,
The implements of Scottish fray,
The buckler, lance, and brand.
Beneath its shade, the place of

state,
On oaken settle Marmion sate,
And viewed around the blazing

hearth
His followers mix in noisy mirth ;
Whom with brown ale, in jolly

tide, 61

From ancient vessels ranged aside
Full actively their host supplied.

Theirs was the glee of martial

breast,
And laughter theirs at little jest ;
And oft Lord Marmion deigned to

aid,
And mingle in the mirth they

made ;

CANTO THIRD

135

For though, with men of high de-
gree,
The proudest of the proud was he,
Yet, trained in camps, he knew the
art 70

To win the soldiers' hardy heart.
They love a captain to obey,
Boisterous as March, yet fresh as

May ;
With open hand and brow as free,
Lover of wine and minstrelsy ;
Ever the first to scale a tower,
As venturous in a lady's bower: —
Such buxom chief shall lead his

host
From India's fires to Zembla's
frost.

Resting upon his pilgrim staff, So

Right opposite the Palmer stood,

His thin dark visage seen but half,

Half hidden by his hood.
Still fixed on Marmion was his

look,
Which he, who ill such gaze could
brook,
Strove by a frown to quell ;
But not for that, though more

than once
Full met their stern encountering
glance,
The Palmer's visage fell.

By fits less frequent from the

crowd 90

Was heard the burst of laughter

loud ;
For still, as squire and archer

stared
On that dark face and matted

beard,
Their glee and game declined.
All gazed at length in silence

drear,
Unbroke save when in comrade's

ear
Some yeoman, wondering in his

fear,
Thus whispered forth his mind ;

1 Saint Mary ! saw'st thou e'er such

sight?
How pale his cheek, his eye how

bright, 100

Whene'er the firebrand's fickle

light
Glances beneath his cowl !
Full on our lord he sets his eye ;
For his best palfrey would not I
Endure that sullen scowl/

VII

But Marmion, as to chase the awe
Which thus had quelled their

hearts who saw
The ever-varying firelight show
That figure stern and face of woe,

Now called upon a squire : no
' Fitz-Eustace, know'st thou not

some lay,
To speed the lingering night away ?

We slumber by the fire.'

VIII

1 So please you,' thus the youth re-
joined,
' Our choicest minstrel 's left be-
hind.
Ill may we hope to please your ear,
Accustomed Constant's strains to

hear.
The harp full deftly can he strike,
And wake the lover's lute alike :
To dear Saint Valentine no
thrush 120

Sings livelier from a springtide

bush,
Xo nightingale her lovelorn tune
More sweetly warbles to the moon.
Woe to the cause, whate'er it be,
Detains from us his melody,
Lavished on rocks and billows

stern,
Or duller monks of Lindisfarne.
Now must I venture as I may,
To sing his favorite roundelay.*

A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had,
The air he chose was wild and sad ;
Such have I heard in Scottish land

136

MARMION

Rise from the busy harvest hand,
When falls before the mountaineer
On Lowland plains the ripened ear.
Now one shrill voice the notes pro-
long,
Now a wild chorus swells the

song :
Oft have I listened and stood still
As it came softened up the hill,
And deemed it the lament of men
Who languished for their native

glen, 141

And thought how sad would be

such sound
On Susquehanna's swampy

ground,
Kentucky's wood - encumbered

brake,
Or wild Ontario's boundless lake,
Where heart-sick exiles in the

strain
Recalled fair Scotland's hills

again !

SONG

Where shall the lover rest,

Whom the fates sever
From his true maiden's breast, 150

Parted forever?
Where, through groves deep and
high,

Sounds the far billow,
Where early violets die,

Under the willow.

CHORUS

Eleu loro, etc. Soft shall be his
pillow.

There, through the summer day,

Cool streams are laving ;
There, while the tempests sway,

Scarce are boughs waving ; 160
There thy rest shalt thou take,

Parted forever,
Never again to wake,

Never, O never !

CHORUS

Eleu loro, etc. Never, 0 never !

Where shall the traitor rest,

He the deceiver,
Who could win maiden's breast,

Ruin and leave her ?
In the lost battle, 170

Borne down by the flying,
Where mingles war's rattle

With groans of the dying.

CHORUS

Eleu loro, etc. There shall he be
lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap

O'er the false-hearted ;
His warm blood the wolf shall 7ap,

Ere life be parted.
Shame and dishonor sit

By his grave ever ; 180

Blessing shall hallow it,—

Never, O never !

CHORUS

Eleu loro, etc. Never, O never !

XII

It ceased, the melancholy sound,
And silence sunk on all around.
The air was sad ; but sadder still

It fell on Marmion's ear,
And plained as if disgrace and ill,

And shameful death, were near.
He drew his mantle past his face,

Between it and the band, 191
And rested with his head a space

Reclining on his hand.
His thoughts I scan not; but I

ween
That, could their import have been

seen,
The meanest groom in all the hall,
That e'er tied courser to a stall,
Would scarce have wished to be

their prey,
For Lutterward and Fontenaye.

XIII

High minds, of native pride and
force, 200

Most deeply feel thy pangs, Re-
morse !

CANTO THIRD

*37

Fear for their scourge mean vil-
lains have,
Thou art the torturer of the brave !
Yet fatal strength they boast to

steel
Their minds to bear the wounds

they feel,
Even while they writhe beneath

the smart
Of civil conflict in the heart.
For soon Lord Marmion raised his

head,
And smiling to Fitz-Eustace said :
1 Is it not strange that, as ye sung,
Seemed in mine ear a death-peal

rung, 211

Such as in nunneries they toll
For some departing sister's soul?

Say, what may this portend ? '
Then first the Palmer silence

broke,—
The livelong day he had not

spoke,—
4 The death of a dear friend.'

xrv

Marmion, whose steady heart and
eye

Ne'er changed in worst extrem-
ity,

Marmion, whose soul could scantly
brook 220

Even from his king a haughty
look,

Whose accent of command con-
trolled

In camps the boldest of the bold —

Thought, look, and utterance
failed him now,

Fallen was his glance and flushed
his brow;
For either in the tone,

Or something in the Palmer's look,

So full upon his conscience strook
That answer he found none.

Thus oft it haps that when with-
in 230

They shrink at sense of secret sin,
A feather daunts the brave ;

A fool's wild speech confounds the
wise,

And proudest princes vail their
eyes
Before their meanest slave.

Well might he falter ! — By his aid
Was'Constance Beverley betrayed.
Not that he augured of the doom
Which on the living closed the
tomb :

hear the desperate

240

turns, beseech, up-

But,

tired to

maid
Threaten by

braid,
And wroth because in wild despair
She practised on the life of Clare,
Its fugitive the Church he gave,
Though not a victim, but a slave,
And deemed restraint in convent

strange
Would hide her wrongs and her

revenge.
Himself, proud Henry's favorite

peer,
Held Romish thunders idle fear ;
Secure his pardon he might hold
For some slight mulct of penance-
gold. 251
Thus judging, he gave secret way
When the stern priests surprised

their prey.
His train but deemed the favorite

page
Was left behind to spare his age ;
Or other if they deemed, none

dared
To mutter what he thought and

heard :
Woe to the vassal who durst pry
Into Lord Marmion's privacy !

XVI

His conscience slept — he deemed
her well, 260

And safe secured in distant cell ;
But, wakened by her favorite lay,
And that strange Palmer's boding

say
That fell so ominous and drear
Full on the object of his fear,
To aid remorse's venomed throes,

138

MARMION

Dark tales of convent-vengeance
rose ;

And Constance, late betrayed and
scorned,

All lovely on his soul returned; .

Lovely as when at treacherous
call 270

She left her convent's peaceful
wall,

Crimsoned with shame, with ter-
ror mute,

Dreading alike escape, pursuit,

Till love, victorious o'er alarms,

Hid fears and blushes in his arms.

XVII

1 Alas l ' he thought, * how changed

that mien !
How changed these timid looks

have been,
Since years of guilt and of disguise
Have steeled her brow and armed

her eyes ! 279

No more of virgin terror speaks
The blood that mantles in her

cheeks ;
Fierce and unfeminine are there,
Frenzy for joy, for grief despair ;
And I the cause — for whom were

given
Her peace on earth, her hopes in

heaven ! —
Would,' thought he, as the picture

grows,
4 1 on its stalk had left the rose !
Oh, why should man's success re-
move
The very charms that wake his

love?— 289

Her convent's peaceful solitude
Is now a prison harsh and rude ;
And, pent within the narrow cell,
How will her spirit chafe and swell !
How brook the stern monastic

laws !
The penance how — and I the

cause ! —
Vigil and scourge — perchance

even worse ! '
And twice he rose to cry, 'To

horse 1 '

And twice his sovereign's mandate

came,
Like damp upon a kindling flame ;
And twice he thought, ' Gave I not

charge 300

She should be safe, though not at

large ?
They durst not, for their island,

shred
One golden ringlet from her head.'

XVIII

While thus in Marmion's bosom

strove
Repentance and reviving love,
Like whirlwinds whose contend-
ing sway
1 've seen Loch Vennachar obey,
Their host the Palmer's speech

had heard,
And talkative took up the word:
4 Ay, reverend pilgrim, you who

stray 310

From Scotland's simple land

away,
To visit realms afar,
Full often learned the art to

know
Of future weal or future woe,
By word, or sign, or star ;
Yet might a knight his fortune

hear,
If, knight-like, he despises fear,
Not far from hence; — if fathers

old
Aright our hamlet legend told.'
These broken words the menials

move,— 320

For marvels still the vulgar love,—
And, Marmion giving license cold,
His tale the host thus gladly

told: —

XIX

THE HOST'S TALE

' A clerk could tell what years

have flown
Since Alexander filled our throne, —
Third monarch of that warlike

name,—

CANTO THIRD

139

And eke the time when here he

came
To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord :
A braver never drew a sword;
A wiser never, at the hour 330
Of midnight, spoke the word of

power ;
The same whom ancient records

call
The founder of the Goblin-Hall.
I would, Sir Knight, your longer

stay
Gave you that cavern to survey.
Of lofty roof and ample size,
Beneath the castle deep it lies :
To hew the living rock profound,
The floor to pave, the arch to

round, 339 i

There never toiled a mortal arm,
It all was wrought by word and |

charm ;
And I have heard my grandsire

say
That the wild clamor and affray
Of those dread artisans of hell,
Who labored under Hugo's spell,
Sounded as loud as ocean's war
Among the caverns of Dunbar.

'The king Lord Gifford's castle

sought,
Deep laboring with uncertain

thought.
Even then he mustered all his

host, 35°

To meet upon the western coast;
For Norse and Danish galleys

plied
Their oars within the Firth of

Clyde.
There floated Haco's banner trim
Above Norweyan warriors grim,
Savage of heart and large of limb,
Threatening both continent and

isle,
Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and

Kyle.
Lord Gifford, deep beneath the

ground, 359

Heard Alexander's bugle sound,

And tarried not his garb to change
But, in his wizard habit strange,
Came forth, — a quaint and fearful

sight :
His mantle lined with fox-skins

white ;
His high and wrinkled forehead

bore
A pointed cap, such as of yore
Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi

wore;
His shoes were marked with cross

and spell,
Upon his breast a pentacle ; 369
His zone of virgin parchment thin,
Or, as some tell, of dead man's

skin,
Bore many a planetary sign,
Combust, and retrograde, and

trine ;
And in his hand he held prepared
A naked sword without a guard.

XXI

'Dire dealings with the fiendish

race
Had marked strange lines upon

his face ;
Vigil and fast had worn him grim,
His eyesight dazzled seemed and

dim,
As one unused to upper day ; 380
Even his own menials with dismay
Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly sire
In this unwonted wild attire;
Unwonted, for traditions run
He seldom thus beheld the sun.
" I know," he said, — his voice was

hoarse,
And broken seemed its hollow

force,—
'' I know the cause, although un-
told,
Why the king seeks his vassal's

hold:
Vainly from me my liege would

know 390

His kingdom's future weal or woe ;
But yet, if strong his arm and

heart,
His courage may do more than art.

140

MARMION

XXII

'" Of middle air the demons proud,
Who ride upon the racking cloud,
Can read in fixed or wandering

star
The issue of events afar,
But still their sullen aid withhold,
Save when by mightier force con-
trolled. 399
Such late I summoned to my hall ;
And though so potent was the call
That scarce the deepest nook of

hell
I deemed a refuge from the spell,
Yet, obstinate in silence still,
The haughty demon mocks my

skill.
But thou, — who little know'st thy

might
As born upon that blessed night
When yawning graves and dying

groan
Proclaimed hell's empire over-
thrown, — 409
With untaught valor shalt compel
Response denied to magic spell."
" Gramercy," quoth our monarch

free,
" Place him but front to front with

me,
And, by this good and honored

brand,
The gift of Cceur-de-Lion's hand,
Soothly I swear that, tide what

tide,
The demon shall a buffet bide."
His bearing bold the wizard

viewed,
And thus, well pleased, his speech

renewed :
44 There spoke the blood of Mal-
colm!—mark: 420
Forth pacing hence at midnight

dark,
The rampart seek whose circling

crown
Crests the ascent of yonder down :
A southern entrance shalt thou

find;
There halt, and there thy bugle
wind,

And trust thine elfin foe to see
In guise of thy worst enemy.
Couch then thy lance and spur thy

steed —
Upon him ! and Saint George to

speed !
If he go down, thou soon shalt

know 430

Whate'er these airy sprites can

show;
If thy heart fail thee in the strife,
I am no warrant for thy life."

XXIII

1 Soon as the midnight bell did

ring,
Alone and armed, forth rode the

king
To that old camp's deserted round.
Sir Knight, you well might mark

the mound
Left hand the town, — the Pictish

race
The trench, long since, in blood

did trace ;
The moor around is brown and

bare, 440

The space within is green and fair.
The spot our village children know,
For there the earliest wild-flowers

grow ;
But woe betide the wandering

wight
That treads its circle in the night !
The breadth across, a bowshot

clear,
Gives ample space for full career;
Opposed to the four points of hea-
ven,
By four deep gaps are entrance

given.
The southernmost our monarch

passed, 450

Halted, and blew a gallant blast ;
And on the north, within the ring,
Appeared the form of England's

king,
Who then, a thousand leagues afar,
In Palestine waged holy war :
Yet arms like England's did he

wield ;

CANTO THIRD

Alike the leopards in the shield,
Alike his Syrian courser's frame,
The rider's length of limb the same.
Long afterwards did Scotland

know 460

Fell Edward was her deadliest

foe.

XXIV

1 The vision made our monarch

start,
But soon he manned his noble

heart,
And in the first career they ran,
The Elfin Knight fell, horse and

man;
Yet did a splinter of his lance
Through Alexander's visor glance
And razed the skin — a puny

wound.
The king, light leaping to the

ground, 469

With naked blade his phantom

foe
Compelled the future war to show.
Of Largs he saw the glorious

plain,
Where still gigantic bones remain

Memorial of the Danish war ;
Himself he saw, amid the field,
On high his brandished war-axe

wield
And strike proud Haco from his

car,
While all around the shadowy

kings
Denmark's grim ravens cowered

their wings. 479

'T is said that in that awful night
Remoter visions met his sight,
Foreshowing future conquest far,
When our sons' sons wage North-
ern war;
A royal city, tower and spire,
Reddened the midnight sky with

fire,
And shouting crews her navy bore
Triumphant to the victor shore.
Such signs may learned clerks

explain,
They pass the wit of simple swain.

XXV

'The joyful king turned home

again, 490

Headed his host, and quelled the

Dane;
But yearly, when returned the

night
Of his strange combat with the
sprite,
His wound must bleed and
smart ;
Lord Gifford then would gibing

say,
" Bold as ye were, my liege, ye
pay
The penance of your start."
■ Long since, beneath Dunfermline's
nave,
King Alexander fills his grave.
Our Lady give him rest ! 500
: Yet still the knightly spear and
shield
The Elfin Wrarrior doth wield

Upon the brown hill's breast,
And many a knight hath proved

his chance
In the charmed ring to break a
lance,
But all have foully sped ;
Save two, as legends tell, and they
Were Wallace wight and Gilbert
Hay.—
Gentles, my tale is said.'

XXVI

The quaighs were deep, the liquor
strong, 510

And on the tale the yeoman-throng
Had made a comment sage and
long,
But Marmion gave a sign :
, And with their lord the squires
retire,
The rest around the hostel fire
Their drowsy limbs recline ;
For pillow, underneath each head,
j The quiver and the targe were laid,
! Deep slumbering on the hostel
floor,
Oppressed with toil and ale, they
snore; 520

142

MARMION

The dying flame, in fitful change,
Threw on the group its shadows
strange.

XXVII

Apart, and nestling in the hay
Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay ;
Scarce by the pale moonlight were

seen
The foldings of his mantle green :
Lightly he dreamt, as youth will

dream,
Of sport by thicket, or by stream,
Of hawk or hound, or ring or glove,
Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 530
A cautious tread his slumber

broke,
And, close beside him when he

woke,
In moonbeam half, and half in

gloom,
Stood a tall form with nodding

plume ;
But, ere his dagger Eustace drew,
His master Marmion's voice he

knew :

XXVIII

* 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 ;
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

arrayed,
While, whispering, thus the baron

said : —

XXIX

1 Didst never, good my youth, hear

tell
That on the hour wThen I was

born
! Saint George, who graced my sire's

chapelle,
I Down from his steed of marble

fell,
A weary wight forlorn ?
j The flattering chaplains all agree,
The champion left his steed to me.
I would, the omen's truth to

show, 560

That I could meet this elfin foe !
Blithe would I battle for the right
To ask one question at the

sprite. —
Vain thought! for elves, if elves

there be,
An empty race, by fount or sea
To dashing waters dance and sing,
Or round the green oak wheel

their ring.'
Thus speaking, he his steed be-
strode,
And from the hostel slowly rode.

XXX

Fitz - Eustace followed him
abroad, 570

And marked him pace the village
road,
And listened to his horse's
tramp,
Till, by the lessening sound,
He judged that of the Pictish
camp
Lord Marmion sought the
round.
Wonder it seemed, in the squire's

eyes,
That one, so wary held and

wise, —
Of whom 't was said, he scarce re-
ceived

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH

For gospel what the Church be-
lieved, —

Should, stirred by idle tale, 580
Ride forth in silence of the night,
As hoping half to meet a sprite,

Arrayed in plate and mail.
For little did Fitz-Eustace know
That passions in contending flow

Unfix the strongest mind ;
Wearied from doubt to doubt to

flee,
We welcome fond credulity,

Guide confident, though blind.

XXXI

Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared,
But patient waited till he heard
At distance, pricked to utmost

speed,
The foot-tramp of a flying steed

Come townward rushing on ;
First, dead, as if on turf it trode,
Then, clattering on the village

road, —
In other pace than forth he yode,

Returned Lord Marmion.
Down hastily he sprung from selle,
And in his haste wellnigh he

fell ; 600

To the squire's hand the rein he

threw,
And spoke no word as he with-
drew:
But yet the moonlight did betray
The falcon-crest was soiled with

clay;
And plainly might Fitz-Eustace

see,
By stains upon the charger's knee
And his left side, that on the moor
He had not kept his footing sure.
Long musing on these wondrous

signs,
At length to rest the squire re-
clines, 610
Broken and short ; for still be-
tween
Would dreams of terror intervene :
Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark
The first notes of the morning
lark.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO
FOURTH

TO JAMES SKENE, ESQ.

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest

An ancient Minstrel sagely said,
4 Where is the life which late we

led?'
That motley clown in Arden wood,
Whom humorous Jaques with

envy viewed,
Not even that clown could amplify
On this trite text so long as I.
Eleven years we now may tell
Since we have known each other

well,
Since, riding side by side, our hand
First drew the voluntary brand ; 10
And sure, through many a varied

scene,
Unkindness never came between.
Away these winged years have

flown,
To join the mass of ages gone ;
And though deep marked, like all

below,
With checkered shades of joy and

woe,
Though thou o'er realms and seas

hast ranged,
Marked cities lost and empires

changed,
While here at home my narrower

ken
Somewhat of manners saw and

men; 20

Though varying wishes, hopes,

and fears
Fevered the progress of these

years,
Yet now, days, weeks, and months

but seem
The recollection of a dream,
So still we glide down to the sea
Of fathomless eternity.

Even now it scarcely seems a
day
Since first I tuned this idle lay ;
A task so often thrown aside,

144

MARMION

When leisure graver eares de-
nied, 30
That now November's dreary gale,
Whose voice inspired my opening

tale,
That same November gale once

more
Whirls the dry leaves on Yarrow

shore.
Their vexed boughs streaming to

the sky,
Once more our naked birches sigh,
And Blackhouse heights and Et-

trick Pen
Have donned their wintry shrouds

again,
And mountain dark and flooded

mead
Bid us forsake the banks of

Tweed. 40

Earlier than wont along the sky,
Mixed with the rack, the snow

mists fly ;
The shepherd who, in summer

sun,
Had something of our envy won,
As thou with pencil, I with pen,
The features traced of hill and

glen, —
He who, outstretched the livelong

day,
At ease among the heath-flowers

lay,
Viewed the light clouds with va-
cant look,
Or slumbered o'er his tattered

book, 50

Or idly busied him to guide
His angle o'er the lessened tide, —
At midnight now the snowy plain
Finds sterner labor for the swain.

When red hath set the beamless

sun
Through heavy vapors dank and

dun,
When the tired ploughman, dry

and warm,
Hears, half asleep, the rising

storm
Hurling the hail and sleeted rain

Against the casement's tinkling
pane ; 60

The sounds that drive wild deer
and fox

To shelter in the brake and rocks

Are warnings which the shepherd
ask

To dismal and to dangerous task.

Oft he looks forth, ar»d hopes, in
vain,

The blast may sink in mellowing
rain ;

Till, dark above and white below,

Decided drives the flaky snow,

And forth the hardy swain must go.

Long, with dejected look and
whine, 70

To leave the hearth his dogs re-
pine ;

Whistling and cheering them to
aid,

Around his back he wreathes the
plaid:

His flock he gathers and he guides

To open downs and mountain-
sides,

Where fiercest though the tem-
pest blow,

Least deeply lies the drift below.

The blast that whistles o'er the
fells

Stiffens his locks to icicles ;

Oft he looks back while, stream-
ing far, 80

His cottage window seems a
star, —

Loses its feeble gleam, — and then

Turns patient to the blast again,

And, facing to the tempest's
sweep,

Drives through the gloom his lag-
ging sheep.

If fails his heart, if his limbs fail,

Benumbing death is in the gale ;

His paths, his landmarks, all un-
known,

Close to the hut, no more his own,

Close to the aid he sought in
vain, 90

The morn may find the stiffened
swain :

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH

The widow sees, at dawning pale,
His orphans raise their feeble

wail;
And, close beside him in the snow,
Poor Yarrow, partner of their

woe,
Couches upon his master's breast,
And licks his cheek to break his

rest.

Who envies now the shepherd's

lot,
His healthy fare, his rural cot,
His summer couch by greenwood

tree, 100

His rustic kirn's loud revelry,
His native hill -notes tuned on

high
To Marmion of the blithesome eye,
His crook, his scrip, his oaten

reed,
And all Arcadia's golden creed ?

Changes not so with us, my

Skene,
Of human life the varying scene ?
Our youthful summer oft we see
Dance by on wings of game and

glee,
While the dark storm reserves its

rage 1 10

Against the winter of our age ;
As he, the ancient chief of Troy,
His manhood spent in peace and

joy,
But Grecian fires and loud alarms
Called ancient Priam forth to

arms.
Then happy those, since each

must drain
His share of pleasure, share of

pain, —
Then happy those, beloved of

Heaven,
To whom the mingled cup is given ;
Whose lenient sorrows find re-
lief, 120
Whose joys are chastened by their

grief.
And such a lot, my Skene, was

thine,

When thou of late wert doomed to

twine —
Just when thy bridal hour was

by-
The cypress with the myrtle tie.
Just on thy bride her sire had

smiled,
And blessed the union of his child,
When love must change its joyous

cheer,
And wipe affection's filial tear.
Nor did the actions next his end
Speak more the father than the

friend: 131

Scarce had lamented Forbes paid
The tribute to his minstrel's

shade,
The tale of friendship scarce was

told,
Ere the narrator's heart was

cold —
Far may we search before we find
A heart so manly and so kind !
But not around his honored urn
Shall friends alone and kindred

mourn ;
The thousand eyes his care had

dried 140

Pour at his name a bitter tide,
And frequent falls the grateful

dew
For benefits the world ne'er knew.
If mortal charity dare claim
The Almighty's attributed name,
Inscribe above his mouldering

clay,
1 The widow's shield, the orphan's

stay.'
Nor, though it wake thy sorrow,

deem
My verse intrudes on this sad

theme,
For sacred was the pen that

wrote, 150

'Thy father's friend forget thou

not;'
And grateful title may I plead,
For many a kindly word and deed,
To bring my tribute to his

grave : —
'T is little — but 't is all I have.

146

MARMION

To thee, perchance, this ram-
bling strain

Recalls our summer walks again ;

When, doing nought, — and, to
speak true,

Not anxious to find aught to do, —

The wild unbounded hills we
ranged, 160

While oft our talk its topic
changed,

And, desultory as our way,

Ranged unconfined from grave to
gay.

Even when it flagged, as oft will
chance,

No effort made to break its trance,

We could right pleasantly pur-
sue

Our sports in social silence too ;

Thou gravely laboring to por-
tray

The blighted oak's fantastic spray,

I spelling o'er with much de-
light

The legend of that antique
knight, 171

Tirante by name, ycleped the
White.

At either' s feet a trusty squire,

Pandour and Camp, with eyes of
fire,

Jealous each other's motions
viewed,

And scarce suppressed their an-
cient feud.

The laverock whistled from the
cloud ;

The stream was lively, but not
loud ;

From the white thorn the May-
flower shed

Its dewy fragrance round our
head : 180

Not Ariel lived more merrily

Under the blossomed bough than
we.

And blithesome nights, too, have
been ours,
When Winter stript the Summer's
bowers.

Careless we heard, what now I
hear,

The wild blast sighing deep and
drear,

When fires were bright and lamps
beamed gay,

And ladies tuned t^e lovely lay,

And he was held a laggard soul

Who shunned to quaff the spar-
kling bowl. 190

Then he whose absence we de-
plore,

Who breathes the gales of Devon's
shore,

The longer missed, bewailed the
more,

And thou, and I, and dear-loved
Rae,

And one whose name I may not
say,—

For not mimosa's tender tree

Shrinks sooner from the touch
than he, —

In merry chorus well combined,

With laughter drowned the whis-
tling wind.

Mirth was within, and Care with-
out 200

Might gnaw her nails to hear our
shout.

Not but amid the buxom scene

Some grave discourse might inter-
vene —

Of the good horse that bore him
best,

His shoulder, hoof, and arching
crest ;

For, like mad Tom's, our chiefest
care

Was horse to ride and weapon
wear.

Such nights we 've had ; and,
though the game

Of manhood be more sober tame,

And though the field-day or the
drill 210

Seem less important now, yet
still

Such may we hope to share again.

The sprightly thought inspires my
strain !

CANTO FOURTH

147

And mark how, like a horseman
true,

Lord Marmion's march I thus re-
new.

CANTO FOURTH

THE CA3IP

Eustace, I said, did blithely mark
The first notes of the merry lark.
The lark sang shrill, the cock he

crew,
And loudly Marmion's bugles blew,
And with their light and lively call

Of the good steed he loves so

well ? '
Gaping for fear and ruth, they

saw
The charger panting on his straw ;
I Till one, who would seem wisest,

cried,
' What else but evil could betide,
With that cursed Palmer for our

guide ?
Better we had through mire and

bush 3°

Been lantern-led by Friar Rush.5

Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but
guessed,

Brought groom and yeoman to the j Xor wholly understood,

stall-
Whistling they came and free of
heart,

His comrades' clamorous plaints

suppressed ;

He knew Lord Marmion's mood.

But soon their mood was j Him, ere he issued forth, he

changed ; sought,

Complaint was heard on every ; And found deep plunged in gloomy

part
Of something disarranged. 10
Some clamored loud for armor

lost;
Some brawled and wrangled with

the host ;
1 By Becket's bones,' cried one, 'I

fear
That some false Scot has stolen

my spear ! '
Young Blount, Lord Marmion's

second squire,
Found his steed wet with sweat

and mire,
Although the rated horseboy

sware
Last night he dressed him sleek

and fair.
While chafed the impatient squire

like thunder,

thought,
And did his tale display
Simply, as if he knew of nought
' To cause such disarray. 40

Lord Marmion gave attention cold.
Nor marvelled at the wonders

told,—
Passed them as accidents of

course,
And bade his clarions sound to

horse.

Young Henry Blount, meanwhile,

the cost
Had reckoned with their Scottish

host;
And, as the charge he cast and

paid,
I ' 111 thou deserv'st thy hire,' he

Old Hubert shouts in fear and ; said;

wonder, 20 \ ' Dost see, thou knave, my horse's

'Help, gentle Blount! help, com- | plight?

rades all ! ! Fairies have ridden him all the

Bevis lies dying in his stall ; night, 50

To Marmion who the plight dare j And left him in a foam !

tell i I trust that soon a conjuring band,

148

MARMION

With English cross and blazing

brand,
Shall drive the devils from this

land
To their infernal home ;
For in this haunted den, I trow,
All night they trampled to and fro.'
The laughing host looked on the

hire :
1 Gramercy, gentle southern squire,
And if thou com'st among the

rest, 60

With Scottish broadsword to be

blest,
Sharp be the brand, and sure the

blow,
And short the pang to undergo.'
Here stayed their talk, for Mar-

mion
Gave now the signal to set on.
The Palmer showing forth the

way,
They journeyed all the morning-
day.

rv
The greensward way was smooth

and good,
Through Humbie's and through

Saltoun's wood ;
A forest glade, which, varying

still, 7°

Here gave a view of dale and hill,
There narrower closed till over-
head
A vaulted screen the branches

made.
'A pleasant path,' Fitz-Eustace

said;
• Such as where errant knights

might see
Adventures of high chivalry.
Might meet some damsel flying

fast,
With hair unbound and looks

aghast ;
And smooth and level course were

here, 79

In her defence to break a spear.
Here, too, are twilight nooks and

dells ;

And oft in such, the story tells,

The damsel kind, from danger
freed,

Did grateful pay her champion's
meed.'

He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's
mind,

Perchance to show his lore de-
signed ;
For Eustace much had pored

Upon a huge romantic tome,

In the hall-window of his home,

Imprinted at the antique dome 90
Of Caxton or de Worde.

Therefore he spoke, — but spoke
in vain,

For Marmion answered nought
again.

Now sudden, distant trumpets

shrill,
In notes prolonged by wood and
hill,
Were heard to echo far ;
Each ready archer grasped his

bow,
But by the flourish soon they
know
They breathed no point of war.
Yet cautious, as in foeman's
land, 100

Lord Marmion's order speeds the
band
Some opener ground to gain ;
And scarce a furlong had they

rode,
When thinner trees receding
showed
A little woodland plain.
Just in that advantageous glade
The halting troop a line had made,
As forth from the opposing shade
Issued a gallant train.

First came the trumpets, at whose
clang no

So late the forest echoes rang;

On prancing steeds they forward
pressed,

CANTO FOURTH

149

With scarlet mantle, azure vest ;

Each at his trump a banner wore,

Which Scotland's royal scutcheon
bore :

Heralds and pursuivants, by name

Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay,
came,

In painted tabards, proudly show-
ing

Gules, argent, or, and azure glow-
ing,
Attendant on a king-at-arms, 120

Whose hand the armorial trun-
cheon held

That feudal strife had often
quelled
When wildest its alarms.

VII

He was a man of middle age,

In aspect manly, grave, and sage,

As on king's errand come ;
But in the glances of his eye
A penetrating, keen, and sly

Expression found its home ;
The flash of that satiric rage 130
Which, bursting on the early

stage,
Branded the vices of the age,

And broke the keys of Rome.
On milk-white palfrey forth he

paced;
His cap of maintenance was graced

With the proud heron-plume.
From his steed's shoulder, loin,
and breast,

Silk housings swept the ground,

With Scotland's arms, device, and

crest, 139

Embroidered round and round.
The double tressure might you see,

First by Achaius borne,
The thistle and the fleur-de-lis,

And gallant unicorn.
So bright the king's armorial coat
That scarce the dazzled eye could

notet
Id living colors blazoned brave,
The Lion, which his title gave ;
A train, which well beseemed his |
state,

But all unarmed, around him

wait. 150

Still is thy name in high account,

And still thy verse has charms,

Sir David Lindesay of the Mount,

Lord Lion King-at-arms !

VIII

Down from his horse did Marmion

spring
Soon as he saw the Lion- King ;
For well the stately baron knew
To him such courtesy was due
Whom royal James himself had

crowned,
And on his temples placed the

round 160

Of Scotland's ancient diadem,
And wet his brow with hallowed

wine,
And on his finger given to shine

The emblematic gem.
Their mutual greetings duly made,
The Lion thus his message said : —
' Though Scotland's King hath

deeply swore
Ne'er to knit faith with Henry

more,
And strictly hath forbid resort
From England to his royal

court, 170

Yet, for he knows Lord Marmion's

name
And honors much his warlike

fame,
My liege hath deemed it shame

and lack
Of courtesy to turn him back ;
And by his order I, your guide,
Must lodging fit and fair provide
Till finds King James meet time

to see
The flower of English chivalry.'

Though inly chafed at this delay,
Lord Marmion bears it as he
may. 180

The Palmer, his mysterious guide,
Beholding thus his place supplied,
Sought to take leave in vain ;

150

MARMION

Strict was the Lion-King's com-
mand

That none who rode in Marmion's
band
Should sever from the train.

4 England has here enow of spies

In Lady Heron's witching eyes : '

To Marchmount thus apart he
said,

But fair pretext to Marmion
made. 190

The right-hand path they now de-
cline,

And trace against the stream the
Tyne.

At length up that wild dale they
wind,
Where Crichtoun Castle crowns
the bank ;
For there the Lion's care assigned
A lodgiug meet for Marmion's
rank.
That castle rises on the steep
Of the green vale of Tyne ;
And far beneath, where slow they

creep
From pool to eddy, dark and
deep, 200

Where alders moist and willows
weep,
You hear her streams repine.
The towers in different ages rose,
Their various architecture shows

The builders' various hands ;
A mighty mass, that could oppose,
When deadliest hatred fired its
foes,
The vengeful Douglas bands.

Crichtoun ! though now thy miry

court

But pens the lazy steer and

sheep, 210

Thy turrets rude and tottered

keep

Have been the minstrel's loved

resort
Oft have I traced, within thy fort,

Of mouldering shields the mys-
tic sense,
Scutcheons of honor or pretence,
Quartered in old armorial sort,

Remains of rude magnificence.
Nor wholly yet lu th time defaced
Thy lordly gallery fair, 219

Nor yet the stony cord unbraced
Whose twisted knots, with roses
laced,
Adorn thy ruined stair.
Still rises unimpaired below
The courtyard's graceful portico ;
Above its cornice, row and row
Of fair hewn facets richly show
Their pointed diamond form,
Though there but houseless cattle
go,
To shield them from the storm.
And, shuddering, still may we ex-
plore, 230
Where oft whilom were captives
pent,
The darkness of thy Massy More,
Or, from thy grass-grown battle-
ment,
May trace in undulating line
The sluggish mazes of the Tyne.

XII

Another aspect Crichtoun showed
As through its portal Marmion

rode ;
But yet 't was melancholy state
Received him at the outer gate,
For none were in the castle then
But women, boys, or aged men. 24 1
With eyes scarce dried, the sor-
rowing dame
To welcome noble Marmion came •
Her son, a stripling twelve years

old,
Proffered the baron's rein to hold ;
For each man that could draw a

sword
Had marched that morning with

their lord,
Earl Adam Hepburn, — he who

died
On Flodden by his sovereign's

side.

CANTO FOURTH

Long may his lady look in vain ! 250
She ne'er shall see his gallant

train
Come sweeping back through

Crichtoun-Dean.
'T was a brave race before the

name
Of hated Bothwell stained their

fame.

XIII

And here two days did Marmion

rest,
"With every right that honor

claims,
Attended as the king's own

guest ; —
Such the command of Royal

James,
Who marshalled then his land's

array, 259

Upon the Borough-moor that lay.
Perchance he would not foeman's

eye
Upon his gathering host should pry,
Till full prepared was every band
To march against the English

land.
Here while they dwelt, did Linde-

say's wit
Oft cheer the baron's moodier fit;
And, in his turn, he knew to prize
Lord Marmion' s powerful mind

and wise, —
Trained in the lore of Rome and

Greece,
And policies of war and peace. 270

xrv

It chanced, as fell the second night,
That on the battlements they
walked,
And by the slowly fading light

Of varying topics talked ;
And, unaware, the herald-bard
Said Marmion might his toil have
spared
In travelling so far,
For that a messenger from heaven
In vain to James had counsel
given

Against the English war ; 280
And, closer questioned, thus he

told
A tale which chronicles of old
In Scottish story have enrolled ; —

SIR DAVID LINDESAVS TALE

' Of all the palaces so fair,

Built for the royal dwelling
In Scotland, far beyond compare

Linlithgow is excelling ;
And in its park, in jovial June,
How sweet the merry linnet's tune.
How blithe the blackbird's

lay ! 290

The wild buck bells from ferny

brake,
The coot dives merry on the lake,
The saddest heart might pleasure

take
To see all nature gay.
But June is to our sovereign dear
The heaviest month in all the

year?
Too well his cause of grief you

know,
June saw his father's overthrow.
Woe to the traitors who could

bring 299

The princely boy against his king !
Still in his conscience burns the

sting.
In offices as strict as Lent
King James's June is ever spent.

XVI

' WThen last this ruthful month was
come.

And in Linlithgow's holy dome
The king, as wont, was pray-
ing;

While for his royal father's soul

The chanters sung, the bells did
toll,
The bishop mass was saying —

For now the year brought round
again 310

The day the luckless king was
slain —

152

MARMION

In Catherine's aisle the monarch
knelt,

With sackcloth shirt and iron belt,
And eyes with sorrow stream-
ing;

Around him in their stalls of state

The Thistle's Knight-Companions
sate,
Their banners o'er them beam-
ing.

I too was there, and, sooth to tell,

Bedeafened with the jangling
knell,

Was watching where the sun-
beams fell, 320
Through the stained casement
gleaming;

But while I marked what next be-
fell
It seemed as I were dreaming.

Stepped from the crowd a ghostly
wight,

In azure gown, with cincture
white ;

His forehead bald, his head was
bare,

Down hung at length his yellow
hair. —

Now, mock me not when, good my
lord,

I pledge to you my knightly word

That when I saw his placid
grace, 330

His simple majesty of face,

His solemn bearing, and his pace
So stately gliding on, —

Seemed to me ne'er did limner
paint

So just an image of the saint

Who propped the Virgin in her
faint,
The loved Apostle John !

XVII

'He stepped before the monarch's

chair,
And stood with rustic plainness

there,
And little reverence made ; 340
Nor head, nor body, bowed, nor

bent,

But on the desk his arm he leant,

And words like these he said,
In a low voice, — but never tone
So thrilled through vein, and nerve,

and bone : —
"My mother sen4- me from afar,
Sir King, to warn thee not to
war,—
Woe waits on thine array ;
If war thou wilt, of woman fair,
Her witching wiles and wanton
snare, 350

James Stuart, doubly warned, be-
ware :
God keep thee as he may ! "
The wondering monarch seemed
to seek
For answer, and found none ;
And when he raised his head to
speak,
The monitor was gone.
The marshal and myself had

cast
To stop him as he outward passed ;
But, lighter than the whirlwind's
blast,
He vanished from our eyes, 360
Like sunbeam on the billow cast,
That glances but, and dies.'

XVIII

While Lindesay told his marvel

strange
The twilight was so pale,
He marked not Marmion's color

change
While listening to the tale ;
But, after a suspended pause,
The baron spoke : ' Of Nature's

laws
So strong I held the force,
That never superhuman cause 370

Could e'er control their course,
And, three days since, had judged

your aim
Was but to make your guest your

game;
But I have seen, since past the

Tweed,
What much has changed my scep-
tic creed,

CANTO FOURTH

153

And made me credit aught.' — He

stayed,
And seemed to wish his words un-
said,
But, by that strong emotion

pressed
Which prompts us to unload our

breast
Even when discovery 's pain, 380
To Lindesay did at length unfold
The tale his village host had told,

At Gifford, to his train.
Nought of the Palmer says he

there,
And nought of Constance or of

Clare ;
The thoughts which broke his sleep

he seems
To mention but as feverish

dreams.

XIX

4 In vain,' said he, ' to rest I spread
My burning limbs, and couched

my head ;
Fantastic thoughts returned, 390
And, by their wild dominion led,

My heart within me burned.
So sore was the delirious goad,
I took my steed and forth I rode,
And, as the moon shone bright and

cold,
Soon reached the camp upon the

wold.
The southern entrance I passed

through,
And halted, and my bugle blew.
Methought an answer met my

ear,—
Yet was the blast so low and

drear, 400

So hollow, and so faintly blown,
It might be echo of my own.

' Thus judging, for a little space
I listened ere I left the place,

But scarce could trust my eyes,
Nor yet can think they serve me

true,
When sudden in the ring I view,

In form distinct of shape and
hue,
A mounted champion rise. —
I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a
day, 410

In single fight and mixed affray,
j And ever, I myself may say,
Have borne me as a knight ;
But when this unexpected foe
Seemed starting from the gulf be-

low,—
I care not though the truth I
show, —
I trembled with affright ;
And as I placed in rest my spear,
My hand so shook for very fear,
I scarce could couch it right. 420

XXI

' Why need my tongue the issue

tell?
We ran our course, — my charger

fell; —
What could he 'gainst the shock
of hell ?
I rolled upon the plain.
High o'er my head with threaten-
ing hand
The spectre shook his naked
brand, —
Yet did the worst remain :
My dazzled eyes I upward cast,—
Not opening hell itself could blast
Their sight like what I saw ! 430
Full on his face the moonbeam

strook ! —
A face could never be mistook !
I knew the stern vindictive look,

And held my breath for awe.
I saw the face of one who, fled
j To foreign climes, has long been
dead, —
I well believe the last ;
For ne'er from visor raised did

stare
A human warrior with a glare

So grimly and so ghast. 440

Thrice o'er my head he shook the

blade ;
But when to good Saint George I
prayed, —

*54

MARMION

The first time e'er I asked his
aid,—
He plunged it in the sheath,
And, on his courser mountain light,
He seemed to vanish from my

sight :
The moonbeam drooped, and deep-
est night
Sunk down upon the heath. —
'T were long to tell what cause I
have
To know his face that met me
there, 450

Called by his hatred from the
grave
To cumber upper air ;
Dead or alive, good cause had he
To be my mortal enemy.'

XXII

Marvelled Sir David of the Mount ;
Then, learned in story, gan re-

count
Such chance had happed of old,
When once, near Norham, there

did fight
A spectre fell of fiendish might,
In likeness of a Scottish knight, 460

With Brian Bulmer bold,
And trained him nigh to disallow
The aid of his baptismal vow.
1 And such a phantom, too, 't is

said,
With Highland broadsword, targe,

and plaid,
And fingers red with gore,
Is seen in Rothiemureus glade,
Or where the sable pine-trees

shade
Dark Tomantoul, and Auchnas-

laid,
Dromouchty, or Glenmore. 470
And yet, whate'er such legends

say
Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay,

On mountain, moor, or plain,
Spotless in faith, in bosom bold,
True son of chivalry should hold

These midnight terrors vain ;
For seldom have such spirits

power

To harm, save in the evil hour

When guilt we meditate within

Or harbor unrepented sin.' — 480

Lord Marmion turned him half
aside,

And twice to clear his voice he
tried,
Then pressed Sir David's hand, —

But nought, at length, in answer
said;

And here their further converse
stayed,
Each ordering that his band

Should bowne them with the ris-
ing day,

To Scotland's camp to take their
way,—

Such was the king's command.

XXIII

Early they took Dun-Edin's road,
And I could trace each step they

trode ; 491

Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor

stone,
Lies on the path to me unknown.
Much might it boast of storied

lore;
But, passing such digression o'er,
Suffice it that their route was

laid
Across the furzy hills of Braid.
They passed the glen and scanty

rill,
And climbed the opposing hank,

until
They gained the top of Blackford

Hill. 500

XXIV

Blackford ! on whose uncultured
breast,

Among the broom and thorn and
whin,
A truant-boy, I sought the nest,
Or listed, as I lay at rest,

While rose on breezes thin
The murmur of the city crowd,
And, from his steeple jangling loud.

Saint Giles's mingling din.
Now, from the summit to the plain,

CANTO FOURTH

iS5

Waves all the kill with yellow
grain; 510

And o'er the landscape as I
look,

Nought do I see unchanged re-
main,
Save the rude cliffs and chiming
brook.

To me they make a heavy moan

Of early friendships past and gone.

XXV

But different far the change has
been,
Since Marmion from the crown

Of Blackford saw that martial
scene
Upon the bent so brown :

Thousand pavilions, white as
snow, 520

Spread all the Borough-moor be-
low,
Upland, and dale, and down.

A thousand did I say ? I ween,

Thousands on thousands there
were seen,

That checkered all the heath be-
tween
The streamlet and the town,

In crossing ranks extending far,

Forming a camp irregular ;

Oft giving way where still there
stood

Some relics of the old oak
wood, 530

That darkly huge did intervene

And tamed the glaring white with
green :

In these extended lines there lay

A martial kingdom's vast array.

XXTI

For from Hebudes, dark with rain,
To eastern Lodon's fertile plain,
And from the southern Redswire

edge
To furthest Rosse's rocky ledge,
From west to east, from south to

north,
Scotland sent all her warriors

forth. 540

Marmion might hear the mingled

hum
Of myriads up the mountain

come, —
The horses' tramp and tinkling

clank,
Where chiefs reviewed their vassal

rank,
And charger's shrilling neigh, —
And see the shifting lines advance,
While frequent flashed from shield

and lance
The sun's reflected ray.

XXVII

Thin curling in the morning air,
The wrreaths of failing smoke de-
clare 550
To embers now the brands decayed,
Where the night-watch their fires

had made.
They saw, slow rolling on the

plain,
Full many a baggage-cart and wain,
And dire artillery's clumsy car,
By sluggish oxen tugged to war;
And there wTere Borthwick's Sis-
ters Seven,
And culverins which France had

given.
Ill-omened gift ! the guns remain
The conqueror's spoil on Flodden
plain. 560

XXVIII

Nor marked they less where in the

air
A thousand streamers flaunted

fair ;
Various in shape, device, and

hue,
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and

blue,
Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and

square,
Scroll, pennon, pencil, bandrol,

there
O'er the pavilions flew.
Highest and midmost, was de-

scried
The royal banner floating wide ;

IS6

MARMION

The staff, a pine-tree, strong and

straight, 570

Pitched deeply in a massive

stone,
Which still in memory is
shown,
Yet bent beneath the standard's
weight,
Whene'er the western wind

unrolled
With toil the huge and cum-
brous fold,
And gave to view the dazzling

field,
Where in proud Scotland's royal

shield
The ruddy lion ramped in gold.

XXIX

Lord Marmion viewed the land-
scape bright, 579
He viewed it with a chief's delight,
Until within him burned his

heart,
And lightning from his eye did
part,
As on the battle-day ;
Such glance did falcon never
dart
When stooping on his prey.
'Oh! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou

said,
Thy king from warfare to dissuade

Were but a vain essay ;
For, by Saint George, were that

host mine,
Not power infernal nor divine 590
Should once to peace my soul in-
cline,
Till I had dimmed their armor's
shine
In glorious battle-fray ! '
Answered the bard, of milder

mood:
4 Fair is the sight, — and yet 't were
good
That kings would think withal,
When peace and wealth their land

has blessed,
'T is better to sit still at rest
Than rise, perchance to fall.'

XXX

Still on the spot Lord Marmion
stayed, 600

For fairer scene he ne'er surveyed.

When sated with the martial show

That peopled all the plain below,

The wandering eye could o'er it go,

And mark the distant city glow
With gloomy splendor red ;

For on the smoke-wreaths, huge
and slow,

That round her sable turrets flow,
The morning beams were shed,

And tinged them with a lustre
proud, 610

Like that which streaks a thunder-
cloud.

Such dusky grandeur clothed the
height

Wliere the huge castle holds its
state,
And all the steep slope down,

Whose ridgy back heaves to the
sky,

Piled deep and massy, close and
high,
Mine own romantic town !

But northward far, with purer
blaze,

On Ochil mountains fell the rays,

And as each heathy top they
kissed, 620

It gleamed a purple amethyst.

Yonder the shores of Fife you
saw,

Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-
Law;
And, broad between them rolled,

The gallant Firth the eye might
note,
j Whose islands on its bosom float,
Like emeralds chased in gold.

Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely
pent ;

As if to give his rapture vent, 629

The spur he to his charger lent,
And raised his bridle hand,

And making demi-volt in air,

Cried, ' Where 's the coward that
would not dare
To fight for such a land t

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH

157

The Lindesay smiled his joy to

see,
Nor Marmion's frown repressed

his glee.

XXXI

Thus while they looked, a flourish

proud,
Where mingled trump, and clarion
loud,
And fife, and kettle-drum, 639
And sackbut deep, and psaltery,
And war-pipe with discordant cry,
And cymbal clattering to the sky,
Making wild music bold and high,

Did up the mountain come ;
The whilst the bells with distant

chime
Merrily tolled the hour of prime,
And thus the Lindesay spoke :
' Thus clamor still the war-notes

when
The king to mass his way has
ta'en, 649

Or to Saint Catherine's of Sienne,

Or Chapel of Saint Rocque.
To you they speak of martial fame,
But me remind of peaceful game,

When blither was their cheer,
Thrilling in Falkland-woods the

air,
In signal none his steed should

spare,
But strive which foremost might
repair
To the downfall of the deer.

XXXII

' Nor less,' he said, ' when looking
forth 659

I view yon Empress of the North
Sit on her hilly throne,

Her palace's imperial bowers,

Her castle, proof to hostile powers,

Her stately halls and holy tow-
ers—
Nor less,' he said, ' I moan

To think what woe mischance may
bring,

And how these merry bells may
ring

The death-dirge of our gallant
king,
Or with their larum call
The burghers forth to watch and
ward, 670

'Gainst Southern sack and fires to
guard
Dun-Edin's leaguered wall. —
But not for my presaging thought,
Dream conquest sure or cheaply
bought !
Lord Marmion, I say nay :
God is the guider of the field,
He breaks the champion's spear
and shield ;
But thou thyself shalt say,
When joins yon host in deadly

stowre,

That England's dames must weep

in bower, 680

Her monks the death-mass sing ;

For never saw'st thou such a power

Led on by such a king.'
And now, down winding to the

plain,
The barriers of the camp they
gain,
And there they made a stay. —
There stays the Minstrel, till he

fling
His band o'er every Border string,
And fit his harp the pomp to sing
Of Scotland's ancient court and
king, 69c

In the succeeding lay.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO
FIFTH

TO GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ.

Edinburgh
When dark December glooms the

day,
And takes our autumn joys away ,
When short and scant the sun-
beam throws
Upon the weary waste of snows
A cold and profitless regard,
Like patron on a needy bard ;

iS8

MARMION

When sylvan occupation 's done.
And o'er the chimney rests the

gun,
And hang in idle trophy near,
The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and

spear; 10

When wiry terrier, rough and

grim
And greyhound, with his length

of limb,
And pointer, now employed no

more,
Cumber our parlor's narrow floor ;
When in his stall the impatient

steed
Is long condemned to rest and

feed;
When from our snow - encircled

home
Scarce cares the hardiest step to

roam,
Since path is none, save that to

bring
The needful water from the spring ;
When wrinkled news-page, thrice

conned o'er, 21

Beguiles the dreary hour no more,
And darkling politician, crossed,
Inveighs against the lingering

post,
And answering housewife sore

complains
Of carriers' snow - impeded

wains; —
When such the country-cheer, I

come
Well pleased to seek our city

home;
For converse and for books to

change
The Forest's melancholy range, 30
And welcome with renewed de-
light
The busy day and social night.

Not here need my desponding

rhyme
Lament the ravages of time,
As erst by Newark's riven towers,
And Ettrick stripped of forest

bowers.

True, Caledonia's Queen is

changed
Since on her dusky summit ranged,
Within its steepy limits pent
By bulwark, line, and battlement,
And flanking towers, and laky

flood, 41

Guarded and garrisoned she

stood,
Denying entrance or resort
Save at each tall embattled port,
Above whose arch, suspended,

hung
Portcullis spiked with iron prong.
That long is gone,— but not so

long
Since, early closed and opening

late,
Jealous revolved the studded gate,
Whose task, from eve to morning

tide, 50

A wicket churlishly supplied.
Stern then and steel-girt was thy

brow,
Dun-Edin ! Oh, how altered now,
When safe amid thy mountain

court
Thou sitt'st, like empress at her

sport,
And liberal, unconfined, and free,
Flinging thy white arms to the

sea,
For thy dark cloud, with umbered

lower,
That hung o'er cliff and lake and

tower,
Thou gleam'st against the western

ray 60

Ten thousand lines of brighter

day!

Not she, the championess of old,
In Spenser's magic tale enrolled,
She for the charmed spear re-
nowned,
Which forced each knight to kiss

the ground, —
Not she more changed, when,

placed at rest,
What time she was Malbecco's
guest,

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH

159

She gave to flow her maiden vest ;

When, from the corselet's grasp
relieved,

Free to the sight her bosom
heaved : 7°

Sweet was her blue eye's modest
smile,

Erst hidden by the aventayle,

And down her shoulders graceful
rolled

Her locks profuse of paly gold.

They who whilom in midnight
fight

Had marvelled at her matchless
might,

No less her maiden charms ap-
proved,

But looking liked, and liking loved.

The sight could jealous pangs be-
guile,

And charm Malbecco's cares
awhile ; 80

And he, the wandering Squire of
Dames

Forgot his Columbella's claims,

And passion, erst unknown, could
gain

The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane ;

Nor durst light Paridell advance,

Bold as he was, a looser glance.

She charmed, at once, and tamed
the heart,

Incomparable Britomart !

So thou, fair City ! disarrayed
Of battled wall and rampart's aid,
As stately seem'st, but lovelier

far 91

Than in that panoply of war.
Nor deem that from thy fenceless

throne
Strength and security are flown ;
Still as of yore, Queen of the

North !
Still canst thou send thy children

forth.
Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call
Thy burghers rose to man thy

wall
Than now, in danger, shall be

thine,

Thy dauntless voluntary line ; 100
For fosse and turret proud to

stand,
Their breasts the bulwarks of the

land.
Thy thousands, trained to martial

toil,
Full red would stain their native

soil,
Ere from thy mural crown there

fell
The slightest knosp fcpinnacle.
And if it come, as coBe it may,
Dun-Edin ! that eventful day,
Renowned for hospitable deed,
That virtue much with Heaven

may plead, no

In patriarchal times whose care
Descending angels deigned to

share ;
That claim may wrestle blessings

down
On those who fight for the Good

Town,
Destined in every age to be
Refuge of injured royalty ;
Since first, when conquering York

arose,
To Henry meek she gave repose,
Till late, with wonder, grief, and

awe,
Great Bourbon's relics sad she

saw. 120

Truce to these thoughts ! — for,

as they rise,
How gladly I avert mine eyes,
Bodings, or true or false, to change
For Fiction's fair romantic range,
Or for tradition's dubious light,
That hovers -'twixt the day and

night :
Dazzling alternately and dim,
Her wavering lamp I 'd rather

trim,
Knights, squires, and lovely dames

to see,
Creation of my fantasy, 130

Than gaze abroad on reeky fen,
And make of mists invading

men.—

t6o

MARMION

Who loves not more the night of

June
Than dull December's gloomy

noon?
The moonlight than the fog of

frost?
And can we say which cheats the

most ?

But who shall teach my harp to

gain
A sound of the romantic strain
Whose Anglo-Norman tones whil-

ere
Could win the royal Henry's ear,
Famed Beauclerk called, for that

he loved 141

The minstrel and his lay approved ?
Who shall these lingering notes re-
deem,
Decaying on Oblivion's stream ;
Such notes as from the Breton

tongue
Marie translated, Blondel sung? —
Oh ! born Time's ravage to repair,
And make the dying Muse thy

care;
Who, when his scythe her hoary

foe
Was poising for the final blow, 150
The weapon from his hand could

wring,
And break his glass and shear his

wing,
And bid, reviving in his strain,
The gentle poet live again ;
Thou, who canst give to lightest

lay
An unpedantic moral gay,
Nor less the dullest theme bid flit
On wings of unexpected wit ;
In letters as in life approved, 159
Example honored and beloved, —
Dear Ellis ! to the bard impart
A lesson of thy magic art,
To win at once the head and

heart, —
At once to charm, instruct, and

mend,
My guide, my pattern, and my

friend !

Such minstrel lesson to bestow
Be long thy pleasing task, — but

oh!
No more by thy example teach
What few can practise, all can

preach, —
With even patience to endure 170
Lingering disease and painful cure,
And boast affliction's pangs sub-
dued
By mild and manly fortitude.
Enough, the lesson has been given ;
Forbid the repetition, Heaven !

Come listen, then ! for thou hast

known
And loved the Minstrel's varying

tone,
Who, like his Border sires of old,
Waked a wild measure rude and

bold,
Till Windsor's oaks and Ascot

plain 180

With wonder heard the Northern

strain.
Come listen ! bold in thy applause,
The bard shall scorn pedantic

laws;
And, as the ancient art could stain
Achievements on the storied pane,
Irregularly traced and planned,
But yet so glowing and so grand,
So shall he strive, in changeful

hue,
Field, feast, and combat to renew,
And loves, and arms, and harpers'

glee, 190

And all the pomp of chivalry.

CANTO FIFTH

THE COURT

The train has left the hills of

Braid ;
The barrier guard have open

made —
So Lindesay bade — the palisade
That closed the tented ground ;

CANTO FIFTH

161

Their men the warders backward

drew, .
And carried pikes as they rode

through
Into its ample bound.
Fast ran the Scottish warriors

there,
Upon the Southern band to stare,
And envy with their wonder rose,
To see such well-appointed foes ;
Such length of shafts, such mighty

bows,
So huge that many simply thought
But for a vaunt such weapons

wrought,
And little deemed their force to

feel
Through links of mail and plates

of steel
When, rattling uponFlodden vale,
The cloth-yard arrows flew like

hail.

Nor less did Marmion's skilful

view
Glance every line and squadron

through, 20

And much he marvelled one small

land
Could marshal forth such various

band;
For men-at-arms were here,
Heavily sheathed in mail and plate.
Like iron towers for strength and

weight,
On Flemish steeds of bone and

height,
With battle-axe and spear.
Young knights and squires, a

lighter train,
Practised their chargers on the

plain,
By'aid of leg, of hand, and rein, 30

Each warlike feat to show,
To pass, to wheel, the croupe to

gain,
And high curvet, that not in vain
The sword-sway might descend

amain
On foeman's casque below.

He saw the hardy burghers there
March armed on foot with faces
bare,
For visor they wore none.
Nor waving plume, nor crest of

knight ;
But burnished were their corse-
lets bright, 40
Their brigantines and gorgets
light
Like very silver shone.
; Long pikes they had for standing
fight,
Two-handed swords they wore,
And many wielded mace of weight,
And bucklers bright they bore.

On foot the yeoman too, but

dressed
In his steel-jack, a swarthy vest,

With iron quilted wTell ;
Each at his back — a slender
store — 50

His forty days' provision bore,

As feudal statutes tell.
His arms were halbert, axe, or

spear,
A crossbow there, a hagbut here,

A dagger-knife, and brand,
Sober he seemed and sad of cheer,
As loath to leave his cottage dear

And march to foreign strand,
Or musing who would guide his

steer
. To till the fallow land. 60

Yet deem not in his thoughtful

eye
Did aught of dastard terror lie ;

More dreadful far his ire
Than theirs who, scorning dan-
ger's name,
In eager mood to battle came,
Their valor like light straw on
flame,
A fierce but fading fire.

Borderer

Not so the

war,
He knew the battle's din afar,

bred to

1 62

MARMION

And joyed to hear it swell. 70
His peaceful day was slothful

ease;
Nor harp nor pipe his ear could
please
Like the loud slogan yell.
On active steed, with lance and

blade,
The light-armed pricker plied his
trade, —
Let nobles fight for fame ;
Let vassals follow where they

lead,
Burghers, to guard their townships,
bleed,
But war 's the Borderers' game.
Their gain, their glory, their de-
light, 80
To sleep the day, maraud the
night,
O'er mountain, moss, and moor ;
Joyful to fight they took their

way,
Scarce caring who might win the
day,
Their booty was secure.
These, as Lord Marmion's train

passed by,
Looked on at first with careless

eye,
Nor marvelled aught, well taught

to know
The form and force of English

bow,
But when they saw the lord ar-
rayed 90
In splendid arms and rich bro-
cade,
Each Borderer to his kinsman
said, —
4 Hist, Eingan ! seest thou there?
Canst guess which road they '11

homeward ride ?
Oh! could we but on Border

side,
By Eusedale glen, or Liddell's tide,

Beset a prize so fair !
That fangless Lion, too, their

guide,
Might chance to lose his glistering
hide :

Brown Maudlin of that doublet
pied 100

Could make a kirtle rare.'

Next, Marmion marked the Celtic

race,
Of different language, form, and
face,
A various race of man ;
Just then the chiefs their tribes

arrayed,
And wild and garish semblance

made
The checkered trews and belted

plaid,
And varying notes the war-pipes
brayed
To every varying clan.
Wild through their red or sable
hair no

Looked out their eyes with savage
stare
On Marmion as he passed ;
Their legs above the knee were

bare ;
Their frame was sinewy, short,
and spare,
And hardened to the blast ;
Of taller race, the chiefs they own
Were by the eagle's plumage

known.
The hunted red-deer's undressed

hide

Their hairy buskins well supplied ;

The graceful bonnet decked their

head; 120

Back from their shoulders hung

the plaid ;
A broadsword of unwieldy length,
A dagger proved for edge and
strength,
A studded targe they wore,
And quivers, bows, and shafts,—

but, oh !
Short was the shaft and weak the
bow
To that which England bore.
The Isles -men carried at their

backs
The ancient Danish battle-axe.

CANTO FIFTH

163

They raised a wild and wondering
cry, 130

As with his guide rode Marmion by.

Loud were their clamoring tongues,
as when

The clanging sea-fowl leave the
fen,

And, with their cries discordant
mixed,

Grumbled and yelled the pipes be-
twixt.

Thus through the Scottish camp
they passed,

And reached the city gate at last,

Where all around, a wakeful
guard,

Armed burghers kept their wratch
and ward.

Well had they cause of jealous
fear, 140

When lay encamped In field so
near

The Borderer and the Mountain-
eer.

As through the bustling streets
they go,

All was alive with martial show ;

At every turn with dinning clang

The armorer's anvil clashed and
rang,

Or toiled the swarthy smith to
wheel

The bar that arms the charger's
heel,

Or axe or falchion to the side

Of jarring grindstone was ap-
plied. 150

Page, groom, and squire, with
hurrying pace,

Through street and lane and mar-
ket-place,
Bore lance or casque or sword ;

While burghers, with important
face,
Described each new-come lord,

Discussed his lineage, told his
name,

His following, and his warlike
fame.

The Lion led to lodging meet,
Which high o'erlooked the crowd-
ed street ;
There must the baron rest 160
Till past the hour of vesper tide,
And then to Holy-Rood must
ride,—
Such was the king's behest.
Meanwhile the Lion's care as-
signs
A banquet rich and costly wines

To Marmion and his train ;
And when the appointed hour

succeeds,
The baron dons his peaceful

weeds,
And following Lindesay as he
leads,
The palace halls they gain. 170

VII

Old Holy-Rood rung merrily
That night with wassail, mirth, and

glee:
King James within her princely

bower
Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's

power,
Summoned to spend the parting

hour ;
For he had charged that his array
Should southward march by break

of day.
Well loved that splendid monarch

aye
The banquet and the song,
By day the tourney, and by

night 180

The merry dance, traced fast and

light,
The maskers quaint, the pageant

bright,
The revel loud and long.
This feast outshone his banquets

past;
It was his blithest — and his last.
The dazzling lamps from gallery

gay
Cast on the court a dancing ray ;
Here to the harp did minstrels

sing,

1 64

MARMION

There ladies touched a softer

string ;
With long-eared cap and motley

vest, 190

The licensed fool retailed his jest ;
His magic tricks the juggler plied;
At dice and draughts the gallants

vied ;
While some, in close recess apart,
Courted the ladies of their heart,

Nor courted them in vain ;
For often in the parting hour
Victorious Love asserts his power

O'er coldness and disdain ;
And flinty is her heart can view 200
To battle march a lover true —
Can hear, perchance, his last adieu,
Nor own her share of pain.

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 210

His broidered cap and plume.
For royal were his garb and mien :
His cloak of crimson velvet

piled,
Trimmed with the fur of marten
wild,
His vest of changeful satin sheen,

The dazzled eye beguiled ;
His gorgeous collar hung adown,
Wrought with the badge of Scot-
land's crown,
The thistle brave of old renown ;
His trusty blade, Toledo right, 220
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.

The monarch's form was middle
size,

For feat of strength or exercise
Shaped in proportion fair ; 230

And hazel was his eagle eye,

And auburn of the darkest dye
His short curled beard and hair.

Light was his footstep in the
dance,
And Arm his stirrup in the lists ;

And, oh! he had that merry
glance
That seldom lady's heart re-
sists.

Lightly from fair to fair he flew,

And loved to plead, lament, and
sue, —

Suit lightly won and short-lived
pain, 240

For monarchs seldom sigh in
vain.
I said he joyed in banquet
bower;

But, mid his mirth, 't was often
strange

How suddenly his cheer would
change,
His look o'ercast and lower,

If in a sudden turn he felt

The pressure of his iron belt,

That bound his breast in penance
pain,

In memory of his father slain.

Even so 't was strange how ever-
more, 250

Soon as the passing pang was
o'er,

Forward he rushed with double
glee

Into the stream of revelry.

Thus dim-seen object of affright

Startles the courser in his flight,

And half he halts, half springs
aside,

But feels the quickening spur ap-
plied,

And, straining on the tightened
rein,

Scours doubly swift o'er hill and
plain.

CANTO FIFTH

165

O'er James's heart, the courtiers

say, 260

Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held

sway ;
To Scotland's court she came
To be a hostage for her lord,
Who Cessford's gallant heart had

gored,
And with the king to make accord

Had sent his lovely dame.
Nor to that lady free alone
Did the gay king allegiance own ;

For the fair Queen of France
Sent him a turquoise ring and

glove, 270

And charged him, as her knight

and love,
For her to break a lance,
And strike three strokes with

Scottish brand,
And march three miles on South-
ron land,
And bid the banners of his band

In English breezes dance.
And thus for France's queen he

drest
His manly limbs in mailed vest,
And thus admitted English fair
His inmost councils still to

share, 280

And thus for both he madly

planned
The ruin of himself and land !

And yet, the sooth to tell,
Xor England's fair nor France's

queen
Were worth one pearl-drop, bright

and sheen,
From Margaret's eyes that fell, —
His own Queen Margaret, who in

Lithgow's bower
All lonely sat and wept the weary

hour.

The queen sits lone in Lithgow

pile,
And weeps the weary day 290
The war against her native soil,
Her monarch's risk in battle

broil, —

And in gay Holy-Rood the while
Dame Heron rises with a smile

Upon the harp to play.
Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er

The strings her fingers flew ;
And as she touched and tuned

them all,
Ever her bosom's rise and fall

Was plainer given to view ; 300
For, all for heat, was laid aside
Her wimple, and her hood untied.
And first she pitched her voice to

sing,
Then glanced her dark eye on the

king,
And then around the silent ring,
And laughed, and blushed, and oft

did say
Her pretty oath, by yea and nay,
She could not, would not, durst

not play !
At length, upon the harp, with

glee,
Mingled with arch simplicity, 3 10
A soft yet lively air she rung,
While thus the wily lady sung : —

XII

LOCHINVAR

LADY HEEOX'S SOXG

Oh ! young Lochinvar is come out
of the west,

Through all the wide Border his
steed was the best ;

And save his good broadsword he
weapons had none,

He rode all unarmed and he rode
all alone.

So faithful in love and so daunt-
less in war,

There never was knight like the
young Lochinvar.

He stayed not for brake and lie
stopped not for stone,

He swam the Eske river where
ford there was none ; 320

But ere he alighted at Netherby
gate

1 66

MARMION

The bride had consented, the gal-
lant came late :

For a laggard in love and a das-
tard in war

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave
Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby

Hall,
Among bridesmen, and kinsmen,

and brothers, and all :
Then spoke the bride's father, his

hand on his sword,—
For the poor craven bridegroom

said never a word, —

I Oh ! come ye in peace here, or

come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young
Lord Lochinvar ? ' — 330

I I long wooed your daughter, my

suit you denied ;
Love swells like the Solway, but

ebbs like its title —
And now am I come, with this lost

love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink

one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland

more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the

young Lochinvar.'

The bride kissed the goblet; the

knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he

threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she

looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear

in her eye. 340

He took her soft hand ere her

mother could bar,—
* Now tread we a measure ! ' said

young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely

her face,
That never a hall such a galliard

did grace ;

While her mother did fret, and her
father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dan-
gling his bonnet and plume ;

And the bride-maidens whispered,
' 'T were better by far

To have matched our fair cousin
with young Lochinvar.'

One touch to her hand and one
word in her ear, 349

When they reached the hall-door,
and the charger stood near;

So light to the croupe the fair lady
he swung,

So light to the saddle before her
he sprung!

1 She is won ! we are gone, over
bank, bush, and scaur;

They '11 have fleet steeds that fol-
low,' quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Grae-
mes of the Netherby clan ;

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Mus-
graves, they rode and they
ran:

There was racing and chasing on
Cannobie Lee,

But the lost bride of Netherby
ne'er did they see.

So daring in love and so dauntless
in war,

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like
young Lochinvar ? 360

XIII

The monarch o'er the siren hung,
And beat the measure as she

sung ;
And, pressing closer and more

near,
He whispered praises in her ear.
In loud applause the courtiers

vied,
And ladies winked and spoke

aside.
The witching dame to Marrnion

threw
A glance, where seemed to

reign

CANTO FIFTH

167

The pride that claims applauses
due, 369

And of her royal conquest too
A real or feigned disdain :

Familiar was the look, and told

Marmion and she were friends of
old.

The king observed their meeting
eyes

With something like displeased
surprise :

For monarchs ill can rivals brook,

Even in a word, or smile, or look.

Straight took he forth the parch-
ment broad

Which Marmion's high commis-
sion showed :

'Our Borders sacked by many a
raid, 380

Our peaceful liege-men robbed,' he
said,

' On day of truce our warden slain,

Stout Barton killed, his vessels
ta'en —

Unworthy were we here to reign,

Should these for vengeance cry in
vain;

Our full defiance, hate, and scorn,

Our herald has to Henry borne.'

XIV

He paused, and led where Douglas

stood
And with stern eye the pageant

viewed ; 389

I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore,
Who coronet of Angus bore,
And, when his blood and heart

were high,
Did the third James in camp defy,
And all his minions led to die
On Lauder's dreary flat. .
Princes and favorites long grew

tame,
And trembled at the homely name

Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat ;
The same who left the dusky vale
Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 400

Its dungeons and its towers,
Where Bothwell's turrets brave

the air,

And Bothwell bank is blooming
fair,
To fix his princely bowers.
Though now in age he had laid

down
His armor for the peaceful gown,

And for a staff his brand,
Yet often would flash forth the fire
That could in youth a monarch's
ire 409

And minion's pride withstand;
And even that day at council
board,
Unapt to soothe his sovereign's

mood,
Against the war had Angus
stood,
And chafed his royal lord.

His giant-form, like ruined tower,
Though fallen its muscles' brawny

vaunt,
Huge-boned, and tall, and grim.

and gaunt,
Seemed o'er the gaudy scene to

lower;
His locks and beard in silver grew.
His eyebrows kept their sable

hue.
Near Douglas when the monarch

stood, 421

His bitter speech he thus pursued :
4 Lord Marmion, since these letters

say
That in the North you needs must

stay
While slightest hopes of peace

remain,
Uncourteous speech it were and

stern
To say — Return to Lindisfarne,

Until my herald come again.
Then rest you in Tantallon hold ;
Your host shall be the Douglas

bold,— 430

A chief unlike his sires of old.
He wears their motto on his blade,
Their blazon o'er his towers dis-
played,
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose

1 68

MARMION

More than to face his country's

foes.
And, I bethink me, by Saint

Stephen,
But e'en this morn to me was

given
A prize, the first fruits of the war,
Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar,

A bevy of the maids of heaven.
Under your guard these holy

maids 441

Shall safe return to cloister shades,
And, while they at Tantallon stay,
Requiem for Cochran's soul may

say.'
And with the slaughtered favorite's

name
Across the monarch's brow there

came
A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame.

XVI

In answer nought could Angus

speak,
His proud heart swelled well-nigh

to break ;
He turned aside, and down his

cheek 450

A burning tear there stole.
His hand the monarch sudden took,
That sight his kind heart could

not brook :
* Now, by the Bruce's soul,
Angus, my hasty speech forgive !
For sure as doth his spirit live,
As he said of the Douglas old,
. I well may say of you, —
That never king did subject hold,
In speech more free, in war more

bold, 460

More tender and more true ;
Forgive me, Douglas, once

again.' —
And, while the king his hand did

strain,
The old man's tears fell down like

rain.
To seize the moment Marmion

tried,
And whispered to the king aside :
• Oh ! let such tears unwonted plead

For respite short from dubious

deed!
A child will weep a bramble's

smart, 469

A maid to see her sparrow part,
A stripling for a woman's heart ;
But woe awaits a country when
She sees the tears of bearded men.
Then, oh ! what omen, dark and

high,
When Douglas wets his manly

eye!'

XVII

Displeased was James that stran

ger viewed
And tampered with his changing

mood.
1 Laugh those that can, weep those

that may,'
Thus did the fiery monarch say,
' Southward I march by break of

day ; 480

And if within Tantallon strong
The good Lord Marmion tarries

long,
Perchance our meeting next may

fall
At Tamworth in his castle-hall.' —
The haughty Marmion felt the

taunt,
And answered grave the royal

vaunt :
'Much honored were my humble

home,
If in its halls King James should

come;
But Nottingham has archers good.
And Yorkshire men are stern of

mood, 490

Northumbrian prickers wild and

rude.
On Derby Hills the paths are steep,
In Ouse and Tyne the fords are

deep;
And many a banner will be torn.
And many a knight to earth be

borne,
And many a sheaf of arrows spent,
Ere Scotland's king shall cross the

Trent:

CANTO FIFTH

i6g

Yet pause, brave prince, while yet

you may ! ' —
The monarch lightly turned away,
And to his nobles loud did call,
1 Lords, to the dance, — a hall ! a

hall!' 501

Himself his cloak and sword flung

by,
And led Dame Heron gallantly ;
And minstrels, at the royal order,
Rung out ' Blue Bonnets o'er the

Border.'

XVIII

Leave we these revels now to tell
What to Saint Hilda's maids befell,
Whose galley, as they sailed again
To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en.
Now at Dun-Edin did they bide
Till James should of their fate de-
cide, 511
And soon by his command
Were gently summoned to prepare
To journey under Marmion's care,
As escort honored, safe, and fair,

Again to English land.
The abbess told her chaplet o'er.
Nor knew which Saint she should

implore ;
For, when she thought of Con-
stance, sore
She feared Lord Marmion's
mood. 520

And judge what Clara must have

felt!
The sword that hung in Marmion's
belt
Had drunk De Wilton's blood.
Unwittingly King James had
given,
As guard to Whitby's shades,
The man most dreaded under
heaven
By these defenceless maids ;
Yet what petition could avail,
Or who would listen to the tale
Of woman, prisoner, and nun, 530
Mid bustle of a war begun?
They deemed it hopeless to avoid
The convoy of their dangerous
guide.

XIX

Their lodging, so the king assigned,
To Marmion's, as their guardian,

joined ;
And thus it fell that, passing nigh,
The Palmer caught the abbess'

eye,
Who warned him by a scroll
She had a secret to reveal
That much concerned the Church's

weal 540

And health of sinner's soul;
And, with deep charge of secrecy,

She named a place to meet
Within an open balcony,
That hung from dizzy pitch and

high
Above the stately street,
To which, as common to each

home,
At night they might in secret come.

At night in secret there they came,
The Palmer and the holy dame.
The moon among the clouds rode
high, 551

And all the city hum was by.
Upon the street, where late be-
fore
Did din of war and warriors roar,
You might have heard a pebble
fall,
A beetle hum, a cricket sing,
An owlet flap his boding wing

On Giles's steeple tall.
The antique buildings, climbing

high,
Whose Gothic frontlets sought the
sky, 560

Were here wrapt deep in shade ;
There on their brows the moon-
beam broke,
Through the faint wrreaths of sil-
very smoke,
And on the casements played.
And other light was none to see,

Save torches gliding far,
Before some chieftain of degree
Who left the royal revelry
To bowne him for the war. —

170

MARMION

A solemn scene the abbess chose,
A solemn hour, her secret to dis-
close. 571

XXI

1 0 holy Palmer ! ' she began, —
* For sure he must be sainted man,
Whose blessed 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 580

Clara de Clare, of Gloster'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,— 590

And down he threw his glove.

The thing
Was tried, as wont, before the

king;
Where frankly did De Wilton own
That Swart in Guelders he had

known,
And that between them then there

went
Some scroll of courteous compli-
ment.
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. 602

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 unob-
served,

Perchance in prayer or faith he
swerved,

Else how could guiltless champion
quail,

Or how the blessed ordeal fail ?

XXII

' His squire, who now De Wilton

saw 6n

As recreant doomed to suffer law,

Repentant, owned in vain
That while he had the scrolls in

care
A stranger maiden, passing fair,
Had drenched him with a bever-
age rare ;
His words no faith could gain.
With Clare alone he credence won.
Who, rather than wed Marmion,
Did to Saint Hilda's shrine re-
pair, 620
To give our house her livings fair .
And die a vestal votaress there.
The impulse from the earth was

given,
But bent her to the paths of hea-
ven.
A purer heart, a lovelier maid,
Ne'er sheltered her in Whitby's

shade,
No, not since Saxon Edelfled ;
Only one trace of earthly stain,

That for her lover's loss
She cherishes a sorrow vain, 630

And murmurs at the cross. —
And then her heritage : — it goes

Along the banks of Tame ;
Deep fields of grain the reaper
mows,

CANTO FIFTH

171

In meadows rich the heifer lows,
The falconer and huntsman knows

Its woodlands for the game.
Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear,
And I, her humble votaress here,
Should do a deadly sin, 640

Her temple spoiled before mine

eyes,
If this false Marmion such a prize

By my consent should win;
Yet hath our boisterous monarch

sworn
That Clare shall from our house

be torn,
And grievous cause have I to

fear
Such mandate doth Lord Marmion

bear.

XXIII

' Now, prisoner, helpless, and be-
trayed
To evil power, I claim thine aid,
By every step that thou hast
trod 650

To holy shrine and grotto dim,
By every martyr's tortured limb,
By angel, saint, and seraphim,
And by the Church of God !
For mark : when Wilton was be-
trayed,
And with his squire forged letters

laid,
She was, alas ! that sinful maid

By whom the deed was done, —
Oh ! shame and horror to be said !
She was — a perjured nun ! 660
No clerk in all the land like her
Traced quaint and varying char-
acter.
Perchance you may a marvel
deem,
That Marmion's paramour —
For such vile thing she was —
should scheme
Her lover's nuptial hour;
But o'er him thus she hoped to !

gain,
As privy to his honor's stain,

Illimitable power.
For this she secretly retained 670

Each proof that might the plot
reveal,

Instructions with his hand and
seal;
And thus Saint Hilda deigned,

Through sinners' perfidy im-
pure,

Her house's glory to secure

And Clare's immortal weal.

XXIV

"T were long and needless here

to tell
How to my hand these papers fell ;

With me they must not stay.
Saint Hilda keep her abbess true !
Who knows what outrage he might

do 68 £

While journeying by the way ? —

0 blessed Saint, if e'er again

1 venturous leave thy calm do-

main,
To travel or by land or main,

Deep penance may I pay ! —
Now, saintly Palmer, mark my

prayer :
I give this packet to thy care,
For thee to stop they will not

dare ;
And oh ! with cautious speed
To Wolsey's hand the papers

bring, 691

That he may show them to the

king:
And for thy well-earned meed,
Thou holy man, at Whitby's

shrine
A weekly mass shall still be thine
While priests can sing and

read.—
What ail'st thou ?— Speak ! ' — For

as he took
The charge a strong emotion

shook
His frame, and ere reply
They heard a faint yet shrilly

tone, 70°

Like distant clarion feebly blown,

That on the breeze did die ;
And loud the abbess shrieked in

fear,

172

MARMION

'Saint Withold, save us ! — What
is here !
Look at yon City Cross !
See on its battled tower appear
Phantoms, that scutcheons seem
to rear
And blazoned banners toss ! ' —

XXV

Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillared stone,
Rose on a turret octagon ; — 710
But now is razed that monument,

Whence royal edict rang,
And voice of Scotland's law was
sent
In glorious trumpet-clang.
Oh ! be his tomb as lead to lead
Upon its dull destroyer's head ! —
A minstrel's malison is said. —
Then on its battlements they saw
A vision, passing Nature's law,

Strange, wild, and dimly seen ;
Figures that seemed to rise and
die, 721

Gibber and sign, advance and fly,
While nought confirmed could ear
or eye
Discern of sound or mien.
Yet darkly did it seem as there
Heralds and pursuivants prepare,
With trumpet sound and blazon
fair,
A summons to proclaim ;
But indistinct the pageant proud,
As fancy forms of midnight cloud
When flings the moon upon her
shroud 73 1

A wavering tinge of flame ;
It flits, expands, and shifts, till

loud,
From midmost of the spectre
crowd,
This awful summons came : —

xxvi
4 Prince, prelate, potentate, and
peer,
Whose names I now shall call,
Scottish or foreigner, give ear !
Subjects of him who sent me
here,

At his tribunal to appear 740

I summon one and all :
I cite you by each deadly sin
That e'er hath soiled your hearts

within ;
I cite you by each brutal lust
That e'er defiled your earthly

dust, —
By wrath, by pride, by fear,
By each o'ermastering passion's

tone,
By the dark grave and dying

groan !
When forty days are passed and

gone,
I cite you, at your monarch's

throne 7 50

To answer and appear.' —
Then thundered forth a roll of

names ; —
The first was thine, unhappy

James !
Then all thy nobles came ;
Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose,

Argyle,
Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox,

Lyle, —
Why should I tell their separate

style ?
Each chief of birth and fame,
Of Lowland, Highland, Border,

Isle,
Foredoomed to Flodden's carnage

pile, 760

Was cited there by name ;
And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye,
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye ;
De Wilton, erst of Aberley,
The self-same thundering voice

did say. —
But then another spoke :
' Thy fatal summons I deny
And thine infernal lord defy,
Appealing me to Him on high

Who burst the sinner's yoke.' 770
At that dread accent, with a

scream,
Parted the pageant like a dream,

The summoner was gone.
Prone on her face the abbess

fell,

CANTO FIFTH

173

And fast, and fast, her beads did

tell;
Her nuns came, startled by the

yell,
And found her there alone.
She marked not, at the scene

aghast,
What time or how the Palmer

passed.

XXVII

Shift we the scene. — The camp
doth move ; 780

Dun-Edin's streets are empty
now,

Save when, for weal of those they
love
To pray the prayer and vow the
vow,

The tottering child, the anxious
fair,

The gray-haired sire, with pious
care,

To chapels and to shrines repair. —

Where is the Palmer now? and
where

The abbess, Marmion, and
Clare? —

Bold Douglas ! to Tantallon fair
They journey in thy charge : 790

Lord Marmion rode on his right
hand,

The Palmer still was with the
band;

Angus, like Lindesay, did com-
mand
That none should roam at large.

But in that Palmer's altered mien

A wondrous change might now be
seen;
Freely he spoke of war,

Of marvels wrought by single hand

When lifted for a native land,

And still looked high, as if he
planned 800

Some desperate deed afar.

His courser would he feed and
stroke,

And, tucking up his sable frock,

Would first his mettle bold pro-
voke,

Then soothe or quell his pride.
Old Hubert said that never one
He saw, except Lord Marmion,

A steed so fairly ride.

XXVIII

Some half-hour's march behind

there came,
By Eustace governed fair, 810
A troop escorting Hilda's dame,

With all her nuns and Clare.
No audience had Lord Marmion

sought ;
Ever he feared to aggravate
Clara de Clare's suspicious hate ;
And safer 't was, he thought,
To wait till, from the nuns re-
moved,
The influence of kinsmen loved,
And suit by Henry's self ap-
proved,
Her slow consent had wrought. 820
His was no flickering flame, that

dies,
Unless when fanned by looks

and sighs
And lighted oft at lady's eyes ;
He longed to stretch his wide

command
O'er luckless Clara's ample land :
Besides, when Wilton with him

vied,
Although the pang of humbled

pride
The place of jealousy supplied,
Yet conquest, by that meanness

won
He almost loathed to think upon,
Led him, at times, to hate the

cause 83 r

Which made him burst through

honor's laws.
If e'er he loved, 't was her alone
Who died within that vault of

stone.

XXIX

And now, when close at hand they

saw
Xorth Berwick's town and lofty

Law,

174

MARMION

Fitz- Eustace bade them pause

awhile
Before a venerable pile

Whose turrets viewed afar 839
The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle,

The ocean's peace or war.
At tolling of a bell, forth came
The convent's venerable dame,
And prayed Saint Hilda's abbess

rest
With her, a loved and honored

guest,
Till Douglas should a bark pre-
pare
To waft her back to Whitby fair.
Glad was the abbess, you may

guess,
And thanked the Scottish prioress ;
And tedious were to tell, I ween,
The courteous speech that passed

between. 851

O'erjoyed the nuns their palfreys

leave ;
But when fair Clara did intend,
Like tbAm, from horseback to de-
scend,
Fitz-Eustace said : * I grieve,
Fair lady, grieve e'en from my

heart,
Such gentle company to part ; —

Think not discourtesy,
But lords' commands must be

obeyed,
And Marmion and the Douglas

said 860

That you must wend with me.
Lord Marmion hath a letter broad,
Which to the Scottish earl he

showed,
Commanding that beneath his care
Without delay you shall repair
To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-

Clare.'

XXX

The startled abbess loud ex-
claimed ;

But she at whom the blow was
aimed

Grew pale as death and cold as
lead,—

She deemed she heard her death-
doom read. 870
1 Cheer thee, my child ! ' the abbess

said,
1 They dare not tear thee from my

hand,
To ride alone with armed band.' —

4 Nay, holy mother, nay,'
Fitz - Eustace said, ' the lovely

Clare
Will be in Lady Angus' care,
In Scotland while we stay;
And when we move an easy ride
Will bring us to the English

side,
Female attendance to provide 880

Befitting Gloster's heir;
Nor thinks nor dreams my noble

lord,
By slightest look, or act, or word,

To harass Lady Clare.
Her faithful guardian he will be,
Nor sue for slightest courtesy
That e'en to stranger falls,
Till he shall place her safe and

free
Within her kinsman's halls.'
He spoke, and blushed with ear-
nest grace; 890
His faith was painted on his

face,
And Clare's worst fear relieved.
The Lady Abbess loud exclaimed
On Henry, and the Douglas

blamed,
Entreated, threatened, grieved,
To martyr, saint, and prophet

prayed,
Against Lord Marmion inveighed,
And called the prioress to aid,
To curse with candle, bell, and

book.
Her head the grave Cistertian

shook : 900

' The Douglas and the king,' she

said,
1 In their commands will be

obeyed ;
Grieve not, nor dream that harm

can fall
The maiden in Tantallon Hall.'

CANTO FIFTH

*75

XXXI

The abbess, seeing strife was

vain,
Assumed her wonted state
again, —
For much of state she had,—
Composed her veil, and raised her

head,
And 'Bid,' in solemn voice she
said,
1 Thy master, bold and bad, 91c
The records of his house turn
o'er,
And, when he shall there written

see
That one of his own ancestry
Drove the monks forth of Coven-
try,
Bid him his fate explore !
Prancing in pride of earthly

trust,
His charger hurled him to the

dust,
And, by a base plebeian thrust,
He died his band before.
God judge 'twixt Marmion and
me ; 920

He is a chief of high degree,
And I a poor recluse.
Yet oft in holy writ we see
Even such weak minister as me
May the oppressor bruise ;
For thus, inspired, did Judith
slay
The mighty in his sin,
And Jael thus, and Deborah ' —
Here hasty Blount broke in :
'' Fitz-Eustace, we must march our
band; 930

Saint Anton' fire thee ! wilt thou

stand
All day, with bonnet in thy hand,

To hear the lady preach?
By this good light ! if thus we

stay,
Lord Marmion for our fond delay

Will sharper sermon teach.
Come, don thy cap and mount thy

horse ;
The dame must patience take per-
force.'

XXXII

' Submit we then to force,' said

Clare,
1 But let this barbarous lord de-
spair 940

His purposed aim to win ;
Let him take living, land, and

life,
But to be Marmion's wedded wife

In me were deadly sin :
And if it be the king's decree
That I must find no sanctuary
In that inviolable dome
Where even a homicide might
come
And safely rest his head,
Though at its open portals stood
Thirsting to pour forth blood for
blood, 951

The kinsmen of the dead,
Yet one asylum is my own

Against the dreaded hour,—
A low, a silent, and a lone,

Wrhere kings have little power,
One victim is before me there.—
Mother, your blessing, and in

prayer
Remember your unhappy Clare ! '
Loud weeps the abbess, and be.

StOWS 960

Kind blessings many a one ;
Weeping and wailing loud arose,
Round patient Clare, the clamor-
ous woes
Of every simple nun.
His eyes the gentle Eustace dried,
And scarce rude Blount the sight
could bide.
Then took the squire her rein,
And gently led away her steed,
And by each courteous word and
deed
To cheer her strove in vain. 970

XXXIII

But scant three miles the band
had rode,
When o'er a height they passed,
And, sudden, close before them
showed
His towers Tantallon vast,

176

MARMION

Broad, massive, high, and stretch-
ing far,

And held impregnable in war.

On a projecting rock they rose,

And round three sides the ocean
flows,

The fourth did battled walls en-
close 979
And double mound and fosse.

By narrow drawbridge, outworks
strong,

Through studded gates, an en-
trance long,
To the main court they cross.

It was a wide and stately square ;

Around were lodgings fit and fair,
And towers of various form,

Which on the court projected far

And broke its lines quadrangular.

Here was square keep, there tur-
ret high, - 989

Or pinnacle that sought the sky,

Whence oft the warder could de-
scry
The gathering ocean-storm.

xxxiv

Here did they rest. — The princely

care
Of Douglas why should I declare,
Or say they met reception fair ?

Or why the tidings say,
Which varying to Tantallon came,
By hurrying posts or fleeter fame,

With every varying day ?
And, first, they heard King James
had won 1000

Etall, and Wark, and Ford ; and

then,
That Norham Castle strong was
ta'en.
At that sore marvelled Marmion,
And Douglas hoped his monarch's

hand
Would soon subdue Northumber-
land ;
But whispered news there came,
That while his host inactive lay,
And melted by degrees away,
King James was dallying off the
day

With Heron's wily dame. ioro
Such acts to chronicles I yield ;
Go seek them there and see :
Mine is a tale of Flodden Field,

And not a history. —
At length they heard the Scottish

host
On that high ridge had made their
post
Which frowns o'er Millfield
Plain ;
And that brave Surrey many a

band
Had gathered in the Southern

land,
And marched into Northumber-
land, 1020

And camp at Wooler ta'en.
Marmion, like charger in the stall,
That hears, without, the trumpet-
call,
Began to chafe and swear : —
4 A sorry thing to hide my head
In castle, like a fearful maid,
When such a field is near.
Needs must I see this battle-day ;
Death to my fame if such a fray
Were fought, and Marmion away !
The Douglas, too, I w7ot not
why, 103 1

Hath bated of his courtesy ;
No longer in his halls I '11 stay : '
Then bade his band they should

array
For march against the dawning
day.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO
SIXTH

TO RICHARD HEBER, ESQ.

Mertoim House, Christrtms
Heap on more wood ! — the wind

is chill ;
But let it whistle as it will,
We '11 keep our Christmas merry

still.
Each age has deemed the new-
born year

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH

177

The fittest time for festal cheer :
Even, heathen yet, the savage

Dane
At Iol more deep the mead did

drain,
High on the beach his galleys

drew,
And feasted all his pirate crew ;
Then in his low and pine-built

hall, 10

Where shields and axes decked

the wall,
They gorged upon the half-dressed

steer,
Caroused in seas of sable beer,
While round in brutal jest were

thrown
The half-gnawed rib and marrow-
bone,
Or listened all in grim delight
While scalds yelled out the joys of

fight.
Then forth in frenzy would they

hie,
While wildly loose their red locks

fly,
And dancing round the blazing

pile, 20

They make such barbarous mirth

the while
As best might to the mind recall
The boisterous joys of Octon's hall.

And well our Christian sires of

old
Loved when the year its course

had rolled,
And brought blithe Christmas

back again
With all his hospitable train.
Domestic and religious rite
Gave honor to the holy night ;
On Christmas eve the bells were

rung, 30

On Christmas eve the mass was

sung:
That only night in all the year
Saw the stoled priest the chalice

rear.
The damsel donned her kirtle

sheen ;

The hall was dressed with holly

green ;
Forth to the wood did merrymen

go,
To gather in the mistletoe.
Then opened wide the baron's

hall
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ;
Power laid his rod of rule aside, 40
And Ceremony doffed his pride.
The heir, with roses in his shoes,
That night might village partner •

choose ;
The lord, underogating, share
The vulgar game of 'post and

pair.'
All hailed, with uncontrolled de-
light
And general voice, the happy night
That to the cottage, as the crown,
Brought tidings of salvation down.

The fire, with well -dried logs

supplied, 50

Went roaring up the chimney

wide;
The huge hall-table's oaken face,
Scrubbed till it shone, the day to

grace,
Bore then upon its massive board
No mark to part the squire and

lord.
Then was brought in the lusty

brawn
By old blue-coated serving-man ;
Then the grim boar 's-head frowned

on high,
Crested with bays and rosemary.
Well can the green-garbed ranger

tell 60

How, when, and where, the mon-
ster fell,
What dogs before his death he

tore,
And all the baiting of the boar.
The wassail round, in good brown

bowls
Garnished with ribbons, blithely

trowls.
There the huge sirloin reeked;

hard by

178

MARMION

Plum-porridge stood and Christ-

mas pie ;
Nor failed old Scotland to pro-
duce
At such high tide her savory

goose. 69

Then came the merry maskers in,
And carols roared with blithesome

din;
If unmelodious was the song,
It was a hearty note and strong.
Who lists may in their mumming

see
Traces of ancient mystery ;
White shirts supplied the masquer-
ade,
And smutted cheeks the visors

made;
But oh! what maskers, richly

dight,
Can boast of bosoms half so light !
England was merry England when
Old Christmas brought his sports

again. 81

Twas Christmas broached the

mightiest ale,
'T was Christmas told the merriest

tale;
A Christmas gambol oft could

cheer
The poor man's heart through half

the year.

Still linger in our northern clime
Some remnants of the good old

time,
And still within our valleys here
We hold the kindred title dear,
Even when, perchance, its far-
fetched claim 90
To Southron ear sounds empty

name ;
For course of blood, our proverbs

deem,
Is warmer than the mountain-
stream.
And thus my Christmas still I hold
Where my great-graudsire came

of old,
With amber beard and flaxen hair
And reverend apostolic air.

The feast and holy-tide to share,
And mix sobriety with wine,
And honest mirth with thoughts
divine : 100

Small thought was his, in after

time
E'er to be hitched into a rhyme.
The simple sire could only boast
That he was loyal to his cost,
The banished race of kings re-
vered,
And lost his land, —but kept his
beard.

In these dear halls, where wel-
come kind

Is with fair liberty combined,

Where cordial friendship gives the
hand,

And flies constraint the magic
wand no

Of the fair dame that rules the
land,

Little we heed the tempest drear,

While music, mirth, and social
cheer

Speed on their wings the passing
year.

And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en
now,

When not a leaf is on the bough.

Tweed loves them well, and turns
again,

As loath to leave the sweet do-
main,

And holds his mirror to her face,

And clips her with a close em-
brace:— 120

Gladly as he we seek the dome,

And as reluctant turn us home.

How just that at this time of
glee

My thoughts should, Heber, turn
to thee !

For many a merry hour we 've
known,

And heard the chimes of mid-
night's tone,

Cease, then, my friend 1 a moment
cease,

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH

179

And leave these classic tomes in

peace !
Of Roman and of Grecian lore
Sure mortal brain can hold no

more. 130

♦These ancients, as Noll Bluff

might say,
1 Were pretty fellows in their day,'
But time and tide o'er all pre-
vail—
On Christmas eve a Christmas

tale —
Of wonder and of war — 4 Profane !
What! leave the lofty Latian

strain,
Her stately prose, her verse's

charms,
To hear the clash of rusty arms ;
In Fairy-land or Limbo lost,
To jostle conjurer and ghost, 140
Goblin and witch! ' — Nay, Heber

dear,
Before you touch my charter, hear ;
Though Leyden aids, alas! no

more,
My cause with many-languaged

lore,
This may I say : — in realms of

death
Ulysses meets Alcides' wraith,
iEneas upon Thracia's shore
The ghost of murdered Polydore ,
For omens, we in Livy cross
At every turn locutus Bos. 150
As grave and duly speaks that ox
As if he told the price of stocks,
Or held in Rome republican
The place of Common-councilman.

All nations have their omens
drear,
Their legends wild of woe and

fear.
To Cambria look— the peasant see
Bethink him of Glendowerdy
And shun 'the Spirit's Blasted

Tree.' —
The Highlander, whose red clay-
more 160
The battle turned on Maida's
shore,

Will on a Friday morn look pale,
If asked to tell a fairy tale :
He fears the vengeful Elfin King,
Who leaves that day his grassy

ring ;
Invisible to human ken,
He walks among the sons of men.

Didst e'er, dear Heber, pass

along
Beneath the towers of Franche*-

mont, 169

Which, like an eagle's nest in air,
Hang o'er the stream -and hamlet

fair?
Deep in their vaults, the peasants

say,
A mighty treasure buried lay,
Amassed through rapine and

through wrong
By the last Lord of FranchSniont.
The iron chest is bolted hard,
A huntsman sits its constant

guard ;
Around his neck his horn is hung,
His hanger in his belt is slung ;
Before his feet his bloodhounds

lie : 180

An 't were not for his gloomy eye,
Whose withering glance no heart

can brook,
As true a huntsman doth he look
As bugle e'er in brake did sound,
Or ever hallooed to a hound.
To chase the fiend and win the

prize
In that same dungeon ever tries
An aged necromantic priest ;
It is an hundred years at least
Since 'twixt them first the strife

begun, 190

And neither yet has lost nor won.

1 And oft the conjurer's words will

make
The stubborn demon groan and

quake ;
And oft the bands of iron break,
Or bursts one lock that still amain
Fast as 't is opened, shuts again.
That magic strife within the tomb
May last until the day of doom.

i8o

MARMION

Unless the adept shall learn to

tell
The very word that clenched the

spell 200

When Franch'mont locked the

treasure cell.
An hundred years are passed and

gone,
And scarce three letters has he

won.

Such general superstition may

Excuse for old Pitscottie say,

Whose gossip history has given

My song the messenger from
heaven

That warned, in Lithgow, Scot-
land's king,

Nor less the infernal summoning ;

May pass the Monk of Durham's
tale, 210

Whose demon fought in Gothic
mail ;

May pardon plead for Fordun
grave,

Who told of Gifford's Goblin-Cave.

But why such instances to you,

Who in an instant can renew

Your treasured hoards of various
lore,

And furnish twenty thousand
more?

Hoards, not like theirs whose vol-
umes rest

Like treasures in the Franch'mont
chest, 219

While gripple owners still refuse

To others what they cannot use ;

Give them the priest's whole cen-
tury,

They shall not spell you letters
three, —

Their pleasure in the books the
same

The magpie takes in pilfered
gem.

Thy volumes, open as thy heart,

Delight, amusement, science, art,

To every ear and eye impart ;

Yet who, of all who thus employ
them,

Can like the owner's self enjoy

them?— 230

But, hark! I hear the distant

drum !
The day of Flodden Field is

come,—
Adieu, dear Heber! life and

health,
And store of literary wealth.

CANTO SIXTH

THE BATTLE

While great events were on the

gale,
And each hour brought a varying

tale,
And the demeanor, changed and

cold,
Of Douglas fretted Marmion bold,
And, like the impatient steed of

war,
He snuffed the battle from afar,
And hopes were none that back

again
Herald should come from Terou-

enne,
Where England's king in leaguer

lay,
Before decisive battle-day, — 10
While these things were, the

mournful Clare
Did in the dame's devotions share :
For the good countess ceaseless

prayed
To Heaven and saints her sons to

aid,
And with short interval did pass
From prayer to book, from book

to mass,
And all in high baronial pride, —
A life both dull and dignified :
Yet, as Lord Marmion nothing

pressed
Upon her intervals of rest, 20

Dejected Clara well could bear
The formal state, the lengthened

prayer,

CANTO SIXTH

Though dearest to her wounded

heart
The hours that she might spend

apart.

ii
I said Tantallon's dizzy steep
Hung o'er the margin of the deep.
Many a rude tower and rampart

there
Repelled the insult of the air,
Which, when the tempest vexed

the sky,
Half breeze, half spray, came
whistling by. 30

Above the rest a turret square
Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear,
Of sculpture rude, a stony shield ;
The Bloody Heart was in the field,
And in the chief three mullets

stood,
The cognizance of Douglas blood.
The turret held a narrow stair,
Which, mounted, gave you access

where
A parapet's embattled row 39
Did seaward round the castle go.
Sometimes in dizzy steps descend-
ing,
Sometimes in narrow circuit bend-
ing,
Sometimes in .platform broad ex-
tending,
Its varying circle did combine
Bulwark, and bartizan, and line,
And bastion, tower, and vantage-
coign.
Above the booming ocean leant
The far-projecting battlement ;
The billows burst in ceaseless

flow
Upon the precipice below. 50

Where'er Tantallon faced the land,
Gate-works and walls were strong-
ly manned ;
No need upon the sea-girt side :
The steepy rock and frantic tide
Approach of human step denied,
And thus these lines and ramparts

rude
Were left in deepest solitude.

And, for they were so lonely, Clare
Would to these battlements re-
pair, 59
And muse upon her sorrows there,

And list the sea-bird's cry,
Or slow, like noontide ghost, would

glide
Along the dark -gray bulwarks'

side,
And ever on the heaving tide
Look down with weary eye.
Oft did the cliff and swelling

main
Recall the thoughts of Whitby's

fane, —
A home she ne'er might see again :

For she had laid adown,
So Douglas bade, the hood and

veil, 70

And frontlet of the cloister pale,

And Benedictine gown :
It were unseemly sight, he said,
A novice out of convent shade. —
Now her bright locks with sunny

glow
Again adorned her brow of snow ;
Her mantle rich, whose borders

round
A deep and fretted broidery

bound,
In golden foldings sought the

ground ;
Of holy ornament, alone 80

Remained a cross with ruby stone ;

And often did she look
On that which in her hand she

bore,
With velvet bound and broidered

o'er,
Her breviary book.
In such a place, so lone, so grim,
At dawning pale or twilight dim,

It fearful would have been
To meet a form so richly dressed,
With book in hand, and cross on

breast, 90

And such a woful mien.
Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his

bow,
To practise on the gull and crow,

182

MARMION

Saw her at distance gliding slow,

And did by Mary swear
Some lovelorn fay she might have

been,
Or in romance some spell-bound

queen,
For ne'er in work-day world was
seen
A form so witching fair. 99

Once walking thus at evening tide
It chanced a gliding sail she spied,
And sighing thought— ' The abbess

there
Perchance does to her home re-
pair;
Her peaceful rule, where Duty

free
Walks hand in hand with Charity,
Where oft Devotion's tranced glow
Can such a glimpse of heaven be-
stow
That the enraptured sisters see
High vision and deep mystery,—
The very form of Hilda fair, no
Hovering upon the sunny air
And smiling on her votaries'

prayer.
Oh ! wherefore to my duller eye
Did still the Saint her form deny ?
Was it that, seared by sinful scorn,
My heart could neither melt nor

burn?
Or lie my warm affections low
With him that taught them first to

glow?
Yet, gentle abbess, well I knew
To pay thy kindness grateful due,
And well could brook the mild
command 121

That ruled thy simple maiden

band.
How different now, condemned to

bide
My doom from this dark tyrant's

pride ! —
But Marmion has to learn ere long
That constant mind and hate of

wrong
Descended to a feeble girl

From Red de Clare, stout Gloster's

Earl:
Of such a stem a sapling weak,
He ne'er shall bend, although he

break. no

' But see ! — what makes this armor

here ? ' —
For in her path there lay
Targe, corselet, helm ; she viewed

them near. —
1 The breastplate pierced ! — Ay,

much 1 fear,
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foe-
man's spear,
That hath made fatal entrance

here,
As these dark blood-gouts say. —
Thus Wilton ! — Oh ! not corselet's

ward,
Not truth, as diamond pure and

hard, 139

Could be thy manly bosom's guard

On yon disastrous day ! ' —
She raised her eyes in mournful

mood,—
Wilton himself before her stood !
It might have seemed his passing

ghost,
For every youthful grace was lost,
And joy unwonted and surprise
Gave their strange wildness to his

eyes.—
Expect not, noble dames and lords,
That I can tell such scene in

words :
What skilful limner e'er would

choose 150

To paint the rainbow's varying

hues,
Unless to mortal it were given
To dip his brush in dyes of heaven ?
Far less can my weak line declare
Each changing passion's shade :
Brightening to rapture from de-
spair,
Sorrow, surprise, and pity there,
And joy with her angelic air,
And hope that paints the future

fan-, 159

CANTO SIXTH

'83

Their varying hues displayed ;
Each o'er its rival's ground extend-
ing,
Alternate conquering, shifting,

blending,
Till all fatigued the conflict yield,
And mighty love retains the field.
Shortly I tell what then he said,
By many a tender word delayed,
And modest blush, and bursting

sigh,
And question kind, and fond
reply : —

DE WILTON'S HISTORY

•Forget we that disastrous day
When senseless in the lists I lay.
Thence dragged, —but how I
cannot know, 171

For sense and recollection
fled,—
I found me on a pallet low
Within my ancient beadsman's
shed.
Austin,— remember'st thou, my
Clare,
How thou didst blush when the old

man,
When first our infant love began,
Said we would make a matchless
pair?—
Menials and friends and kinsmen
fled 179

From the degraded traitor's bed,—
He only held my burning head,
And tended me for many a day
While wounds and fever held their

sway.
But far more needful was his care
When sense returned to wake de-
spair ;
For I did tear the closing wound,
And dash me frantic on the
ground,
If e'er I heard the name of Clare.
At length, to calmer reason

brought,
Much by his kind attendance
wrought, 190

With him I left my native
strand,
And, in a palmer's weeds arrayed,
My hated name and form to shade,

I journeyed many a land,

No more a lord of rank and birth,

But mingled with the dregs of

earth.

Oft Austin for my reason feared,

When I would sit, and deeply

brood
On dark revenge and deeds .of
blood,
Or wild mad schemes upreared.
My friend at length fell sick, and
said 201

God would remove him soon ;
And while upon his dying bed

He begged of me a boon —
If e'er my deadliest enemy
Beneath my brand should con-

quered lie,
Even then my mercy should awake
And spare his life for Austin's
sake.

VII

' Still restless as a second Cain,
To Scotland next my route was
ta'en, 210

Full well the paths I knew.
Fame of my fate made various

sound,
That death in pilgrimage I found.
That I had perished of my
wound, —
Xone cared which tale was true ;
. And living eye could never guess
: De Wilton in his palmer's dress,
j For now that sable slough is shed.
And trimmed my shaggy beard and
head,
I I scarcely know me in the glass.
A chance most wondrous did pro-
vide 221
That I should be that baron's
guide —
I will not name his name ! —
Vengeance to God alone belongs :
But, when I think on all my
wrongs.

184

MARMION

My blood is liquid flame !
And ne'er the time shall I forget
When, in a Scottish hostel set,

Dark looks we did exchange :
What were his thoughts I cannot
tell, 230

But in my bosom mustered Hell

Its plans of dark revenge.

VIII

' A word of vulgar augury

That broke from me, I scarce knew

why,
Brought on a village tale,
Which wrought upon his moody

sprite,
And sent him armed forth by

night.
I borrowed steed and mail
And weapons from his sleeping

band;
And, passing from a postern

door, 240

We met and 'countered, hand to

hand, —
He fell on Gifford-moor.
For the death-stroke my brand I

drew, —
Oh ! then my helmed head he

knew,
The palmer's cowl was gone, —
Then had three inches of my blade
The heavy debt of vengeance

paid, —
My hand the thought of Austin

stayed ;
I left him there alone. —
0 good old man ! even from the

grave 250

Thy spirit could thy master save :
If I had slain my foeman, ne'er
Had Whitby's abbess in her fear
Given to my hand this packet dear,
Of power to clear my injured fame
And vindicate De Wilton's

name. —
Perchance you heard the abbess

tell
Of the strange pageantry of hell

That broke our secret speech —
It rose from the infernal shade, 260

Or featly was some juggle played,

A tale of peace to teach.
Appeal to Heaven I judged was

best
When my name came among the

rest.

4 Now here within Tantallon hold
To Douglas late my tale I told,
To whom my house was known of

old.
Won by my proofs, his falchion

bright
This eve anew shall dub me knight.
These were the arms that once did
turn 270

The tide of fight on Otterburne,
And Harry Hotspur forced to yield
When the Dead Douglas won the

field.
These Angus gave —his armorer's

care
Ere morn shall every breach re-
pair ;
For nought, he said, was in his

halls
But ancient armor on the walls,
And aged chargers in the stalls,
And women, priests, and gray-
haired men ;
The rest were all in Twisel glen. 280
And now I watch my armor here,
By law of arms, till midnight's

near ;
Then, once again a belted knight,
Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of
light.

* There soon again we meet, my
Clare !

This baron means to guide thee
there :

Douglas reveres his king's com-
mand,

Else would he take thee from his
band. 288

And there thy kinsman Surrey, too,

Will give De Wilton justice due.

Now meeter far for martial broil,

CANTO SIXTH

*«S

Firmer my limbs and strung by

toil,
Once more ' — ' O Wilton ! must we

then
Risk new-found happiness again,
Trust fate of arms once more ?
And is there not an humble glen

Where we, content and poor,
Might build a cottage in the shade,
A shepherd thou, and I to aid

Thy task on dale and moor? —
That reddening brow ! — too well I
know 301

Not even thy Clare can peace be-
stow
While falsehood stains thy
name:
Go then to fight ! Clare bids thee

go!
Clare can a warrior's feelings know

And weep a warrior's shame,
Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel,
Buckle the spurs upon thy heel
And belt thee with thy brand of
sfceel,
And send thee forth to fame ! ' 3 10

That night upon the rocks and bay

The midnight moonbeam slumber-
ing lay,

And poured its silver light and
pure

Through loophole and through
embrasure
Upon Tantallon tower and hall ;

But chief where arched windows
wide

Illuminate the chapel's pride
The sober glances fall.

Much was there need; though
seamed with scars,

Two veterans of the Douglas'
wars, 320

Though two gray priests were
there,

And each a blazing torch held
high,

You could not by their blaze de-
scry
The chapel's carving fair.

Amid that dim and smoky light,
Checkering the silvery moonshine

bright,
A bishop by the altar stood,
A noble lord of Douglas blood,
With mitre sheen and rochet

white.
Yet showed his meek and thought-
ful eye 330
But little pride of prelacy ;
More pleased that in a barbarous

age
He gave rude Scotland Virgil's

page
Than that beneath his rule he

held
The bishopric of fair Dunkeld.
Beside him ancient Angus stood,
Doffed his furred gown and sable

hood;
O'er his huge form and visage pale
He wore a cap and shirt of mail,
And leaned his large and wrinkled

hand 340

Upon the huge and sweeping

brand
Which wont of yore in battle fray
His foeman's limbs to shred away,
As wood-knife lops the sapling

spray.
He seemed as, from the tombs

around
Rising at judgment-day,
Some giant Douglas may be

found
In all his old array ; 348

So pale his face, so huge his limb,
So old his arms, his look so grim.

XII

Then at the altar Wilton kneels,
And Clare the spurs bound on his

heels ;
And think what next he must have

felt
At buckling of the falchion belt !
And judge how Clara changed

her hue
While fastening to her lover's side
A friend, which, though in danger

tried,

i86

MARMION

He once had found untrue !
Then Douglas struck him with his

blade :

1 Saint Michael and Saint Andrew

aid, 360

I dub thee knight.

Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir !

For king, for church, for lady fair,

See that thou fight*
And Bishop Gawain, as he rose,
Said : k Wilton ! grieve not for thy
woes,
Disgrace, and trouble ;
For He who honor best bestows

May give thee double.'
De Wilton sobbed, for sob he
must: 370

1 Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust

That Douglas is my brother ! '
'Nay, nay,' old Angus said, 'not

so;
To Surrey's camp thou now must
go,
Thy wrongs no longer smother.
I have two sons in yonder field ;
And, if thou meet'st them under

shield,
Upon them bravely — do thy worst,
And foul fall him that blenches
first ! '

XIII

Not far advanced was morning
day 380

When Marmion did his troop ar-
ray
To Surrey's camp to ride 5
He had safe-conduct for his band
Beneath the royal seal and hand,

And Douglas gave a guide.
The ancient earl with stately grace
Would Clara on her palfrey place,
And whispered in an undertone,
1 Let the hawk stoop, his prey is

flown.'

The train from out the castle

drew, 390

But Marmion stopped to bid adieu :

* Though something I might

plain,' he said,

' Of cold respect to stranger guest,

Sent hither by your king's behest,
While in Tantallon's towers I

stayed,
Part we in friendship from your

land,
And, noble earl, receive my

hand.' —
But Douglas round him drew his

cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he

spoke:—
'My manors, halls, and bowers

shall still 400

Be open at my sovereign's will
To each one whom he lists, bow-
e'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone —
The hand of Douglas is his own,
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion

clasp.'

XIV

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek

like fire 409

And shook his very frame for ire,

And — * This to me ! ' he said,
'An 't were not for thy hoary

beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not

spared
To cleave the Douglas' head !
And first I tell thee, haughty peer,
He who does England's message

here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy

mate;
And, Douglas, more I tell thee

here,
Even in thy pitch of pride, 420
Here in thy hold, thy vassals

near, —
Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your

sword, —
I tell thee, thou 'rt defied !
And if thou saidst I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,

CANTO SIXTH

187

Lowland or Highland, far or near, !

Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! '
On the earl's cheek the flush of

rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age :
Fierce he broke forth, — ' And dar- j

est thou then 431 ■

To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?
And hopest thou hence unscathed \

to go.? —
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell,

no!
Up drawbridge, grooms — what,

warder, ho !
Let the portcullis fall.' —
Lord Marmion turned, — well was

his need, —
And dashed the rowels in his

steed,
Like arrow through the archway

sprung, 440

The ponderous grate behind him

rung ;
To pass there was such scanty

room,
The bars descending razed his

plume.

The steed along the drawbridge

flies
Just as it trembled on the rise ;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level

brim :
And when Lord Marmion reached

his band,
He halts, and turns with clenched

hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,
And shook his gauntlet at the

towers. 451

• Horse ! horse ! • the Douglas

cried, * and chase'.'
But soon he reined his fury's pace :
4 A royal messenger he came,
Though most unworthy of the

name. —
A letter forged! Saint Jude to

speed !

Did ever knight so foul a deed ?
At first in heart it liked me ill
When the king praised his clerkly

skill.
Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of
mine, 460

Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a

line;
So swore I, and I swear it still,
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill. —
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood !
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas

blood,
I thought to slay him where he

stood.
'T is pity of him too,' he cried :
4 Bold can he speak and fairly ride,
I warrant him a warrior tried.'
With this his mandate he re-
calls, 470
And slowly seeks his castle halls.

XVI

The day in Marmion's journey
wore ;

Yet, ere his passion's gust was
o'er,

They crossed the heights of Stan-
rig-moor.

His troop more closely there he
scanned,

And missed the Palmer from the
band.

1 Palmer or not,' young Blount did
say,

1 He parted at the peep of day ;

Good sooth, it was in strange ar-
ray.'

1 In what array ? ' said Marmion
quick. 480

' My lord, I ill can spell the trick ;

But all night long with clink and
bang

Close to my couch did hammers
clang;

At dawn the falling drawbridge
rang,

And from a loophole while I peep.

Old Bell-the-Cat came from the
keep,

Wrapped in a gown of sables fair.

1 88

MARMION

As fearful of the morning air ;
Beneath, when that was blown

aside,
A rusty shirt of mail I spied. 49o
By Archibald won in bloody work
Against the Saracen and Turk :
Last night it hung not in the hall ;
I thought some marvel would be-
fall.
And next I saw them saddled lead
Old Cheviot forth, the earl's best

steed,
A matchless horse, though some-
thing old,
Prompt in his paces, cool and

bold.
I heard the Sheriff Sholto say
The earl did much the Master
pray 5°°

To use him on the battle-day,
But he preferred ' — 4 Nay, Henry,

cease !
Thou sworn horse-courser, hold

thy peace. —
Eustace, thou bear'st a brain — I

pray,
What did Blount see at break of
day?' —

XVII

* In brief, my lord, we both de-
scried —
For then I stood by Henry's side —
The Palmer mount and outwards

ride
Upon the earl's own favorite

steed.
All sheathed he was in armor

bright, 510

And much resembled that same

knight
Subdued by you in Cotswold fight ;
Lord Angus wished him

speed.' —
The instant that Fitz- Eustace

spoke,
A sudden light on Marmion

broke : —
4 Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost ! '
He muttered ; "Twas nor fay nor

ghost

I met upon the moonlight wold,
But living.man of earthly mould. —
O dotage blind and gross ! 520
Had I but fought as wont, one

thrust
Had laid De Wilton in the dust,

My path no more to cross. —
How stand we now ? — he told his

tale
To Douglas, and with some avail ;
'T was therefore gloomed his

rugged brow. —
Will Surrey dare to entertain
'Gainst Marmion charge disproved

and vain ?
Small risk of that, I trow.
Yet Clare's sharp questions must I

shun, 530

Must separate Constance from the

nun —
Oh ! what a tangled web we weave
When first we practise to deceive !
A Palmer too ! — no wonder why
I felt rebuked beneath his eye ;
I might have known there was

but one
Whose look could quell Lord Mar-
mion.'

XVIII

Stung with these thoughts, he

urged to speed
His troop, and reached at eve the

Tweed,
Where Lennel's convent closed

their march. 540

There now is left but one frail arch,

Yet mourn thou not its cells;
Our time a fair exchange has

made:
Hard by, in hospitable shade,
A reverend pilgrim dwells,
Well worth the whole Bernardine

brood
That e'er wore sandal, frock, or

hood. —
Yet did Saint Bernard's abbot

there
Give Marmion entertainment fair,
And lodging for his train and

Clare. 55°

CANTO SIXTH

189

Next morn the baron climbed the
tower,

To view afar the Scottish power,
Encamped on Flodden edge ;

The white pavilions made a show

Like remnants of the winter snow
Along the dusky ridge.

Long Marmion looked : — at length
his eye

Unusual movement might descry
Amid the shifting lines ;

The Scottish host drawn out ap-
pears, 560

For, flashing on the hedge of
spears,
The eastern sunbeam shines.

Their front now deepening, now
extending,

Their flank inclining, wheeling,
bending,

Now drawing back, and now de-
scending,

The skilful Marmion well could
know

They watched the motions of some
foe

Who traversed on the plain below.

XIX

Even so it was. From Flodden
ridge

The Scots beheld the English
host 570

Leave Barmore-wood, their even-
ing post.

And heedful watched them as
they crossed
The Till by Twisel Bridge.

High sight it is and haughty,
while

They dive into the deep defile ;

Beneath the caverned cliff they
fall,

Beneath the castle's airy wall.
By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-
tree,

Troop after troop are disappear-
ing;

Troop after troop their banners
rearing 580

Upon the eastern bank you see ;

Still pouring down the rocky den

Where flows the sullen Till,
And rising from the dim-wood

glen,
Standards on standards, men on

men,
In slow succession still,
And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch,
And pressing on, in ceaseless

march,
To gain the opposing hill.
That morn, to many a trumpet

clang, 590

Twisel ! thy rock's deep echo rang ;
And many a chief of birth and

rank,
Saint Helen ! at thy fountain drank.
Thy hawthorn glade, which now

we see
In spring-tide bloom so lavishly,
Had then from many an axe its

doom,
To give the marching columns

room.

And why stands Scotland idly now,
Dark Flodden ! on thy airy brow,
Since England gains the pass the

while, 600

And struggles through the deep

defile ?
WThat checks the fiery soul of

James ?
Why sits that champion of the

dames
Inactive on his steed,
And sees, between him and his

land,
Between him and Tweed's south-
ern strand,
His host Lord Surrey lead?
What vails the vain knight-er rant's

brand ? —
0 Douglas, for thy leading wand !
Fierce Randolph, for thy speed !
Oh ! for one hour of Wallace wight,
Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the

fight 612

And cry, ' Saint Andrew and our

right ! '

190

MARMION

Another sight had seen that mora,

From Fate's dark book a leaf been
torn,

And Flodden had been Bannock-
bourne ! —

The precious hour has passed in
vain,

And England's host has gained the
plain.

Wheeling their march and circling
still 619

Around the base of Flodden hill.

XXI

Ere yet the bands met Marmion's

eye,
Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and

high,
' Hark ! hark ! my lord, an English

drum !
And see ascending squadrons

come
Between Tweed's river and the

hill,
Foot, horse, and cannon ! Hap

what hap,
My basnet to a prentice cap,

Lord Surrey 's o'er the Till ! —
Yet more ! yet more ! — how fair

arrayed
They file from out the hawthorn

shade, 630

And sweep so gallant by !
With all their banners bravely

spread,
And all their armor flashing high,
Saint George might waken from

the dead,
To see fair England's standards

fly.'-
• Stint in thy prate,' quoth Blount,

'thou'dst best,
And listen to our lord's behest.' —
With kindling brow Lord Marmion

said,
' This instant be our band arrayed ;
The river must be quickly crossed,
That we may join Lord Surrey's

host. 641

If fight King James, —as well I

trust

That fight he will, and fight he

must, —
The Lady Clare behind our lines
Shall tarry while the battle joins.'

XXII

Himself he swift on horseback

threw,
Scarce to the abbot bade adieu,
Far less would listen to his prayer
To leave behind the helpless Clare.
Down to the Tweed his band he

drew, 650

And muttered as the flood they

view,
1 The pheasant in the falcon's claw,
He scarce will yield to please a

daw;
Lord Angus may the abbot awe,

So Clare shall bide with me.'
Then on that dangerous ford and

deep
Where to the Tweed Leafs eddies

creep
He ventured desperately :
And not a moment will he bide
Till squire or groom before him

ride ; 660

Headmost of all he stems the tide,

And stems it gallantly.
Eustace held Clare upon her horse,

Old Hubert led her rein,
Stoutly they braved the current's

course,
And, though far downward driven

perforce,
The southern bank they gain.
Behind them straggling came to

shore,
As best they might, the train :
Each o'er his head his yew-bow

bore, 670

A caution not in vain ;
Deep need that day that every

string,
By wet unharmed, should sharply

ring.
A moment then Lord Marmion

stayed,
And breathed his steed, his men

arrayed,

CANTO SIXTH

191

Then forward moved his band,
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard

won,
He halted by a cross of stone,
That on a hillock standing lone

Did all the field command. 680

XXIII

Hence might they see the full ar-
ray
Of either host for deadly fray j
Their marshalled lines stretched
east and west,
And fronted north and south,
And distant salutation passed

From the loud cannon mouth ;
Not in the close successive rattle
That breathes the voice of modern
battle,
But slow and far between.
The hillock gained, Lord Marmion
stayed : 690

'Here, by this cross,' he gently
said,
1 You well may view the scene.
Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare :
Oh! think of Marmion in thy

prayer ! —
Thou wilt not? — well, no less my

care
Shall, watchful, for thy weal pre-
pare. —
You, Blount and Eustace, are her
guard,
With ten picked archers of my
train ;
With England if the day go hard,
To Berwick speed amain. — 700
But if we conquer, cruel maid,
My spoils shall at your feet be
laid,
When here we meet again.'
He waited not for answer there,
And would not mark the maid's
despair,
Nor heed the discontented look
From either squire, but spurred

amain,
And, dashing through the battle-
plain,
His way to Surrey took.

xxrv

' The good Lord Marmion, by my
life! 710

Welcome to danger's hour! —
Short greeting serves in time of
strife. —
Thus have I ranged my power:
Myself will rule this central host,
Stout Stanley fronts their right,
My sons command the vaward
post,
With Brian Tunstall, stainless

knight;
Lord Dacre, with his horsemen

light,

Shall be in rearward of the fight,

And succor those that need it

most. 720

Now, gallant Marmion, well I

know,
Would gladly to the vanguard
go;
Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall

there,
With thee their charge will blithe-
ly share ;
There fight thine own retainers

too
Beneath De Burg, thy steward

true.'
4 Thanks, noble Surrey ! ' Marmion

said,
Nor further greeting there he paid,
But, parting like a thunderbolt,
First in the vanguard made a
halt, 730

Where such a shout there rose
Of ' Marmion ! Marmion ! ' that the

cry,
Up Flodden mountain shrilling
high,
Startled the Scottish foes.

XXV

Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested

still
With Lady Clare upon the hill,
On which — for far the day was

spent —
The western sunbeams now were

bent;

192

MARMION

The cry they heard, its meaning

knew,
Could plain their distant comrades

Sadly to Blount did Eustace say,
' Unworthy office here to stay !
No hope of gilded spurs to-day. —
But see ! look up ! on Flodden bent
The Scottish foe has fired his tent.'

And sudden, as he spoke,
From the sharp ridges of the hill,
All downward to the banks of Till,

Was wreathed in sable smoke.
Volumed and vast, and rolling far,
The cloud enveloped Scotland's

war 751

As down the hill they broke ;
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel

tone,
Announced their march ; their

tread alone,
At times one warning trumpet

blown,
At times a stifled hum,
Told England, from his mountain-

throne
King James did rushing come.
Scarce could they hear or see their

foes 759

Until at weapon-point they close. —
They close in clouds of smoke and

dust,
With sword-sway and with lance's

thrust ;
And such a yell was there,
Of sudden and portentous birth,
As if men fought upon the earth,

And fiends in upper air;
Oh! life and death were in the

shout,
Recoil and rally, charge and rout,

And triumph and despair.
Long looked the anxious squires ;

their eye 770

Could in the darkness nought de-
scry.

XXVI

At length the freshening western

blast
Aside the shroud of battle cast ;

And first the ridge of mingled

spears
Above the brightening cloud ap-
pears,
And in the smoke the pennons

flew,
As in the storm the white sea-
mew.
Then marked they, dashing broad

and far,
The broken billows of the war,
And plumed crests of chieftains

brave 780

Floating like foam upon the wave ;

But nought distinct they see :
Wide raged the battle on the

plain ;
Spears shook and falchions flashed

amain ;
Fell England's arrow-flight like

rain;
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose

again,
Wild and disorderly.
Amid the scene of tumult, high
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon

fly;
And stainless TunstalPs banner

white, 790

And Edmund Howard's lion bright,
Still bear them bravely in the fight,

Although against them come
Of gallant Gordons many a one,
And many a stubborn Badenoch-

man,
And many a rugged Border clan,
With Huntly and with Home.

XXVII

Far on the left, unseen the while,

Stanley broke Lennox and Ar-
gyle,

Though there the western moun-
taineer 800

Rushed with bare bosom on the
spear,

And flung the feeble targe aside,

And with both hands the broad,
sword plied.

'T was vain. — But Fortune, on the
right,

CANTO SIXTH

193

With fickle smile cheered Scot-
land's fight.
Then fell that spotless banner

white,
The Howard's lion fell ;
Yet still Lord Marinion's falcon

flew
With wavering flight, while fiercer

grew
Around the battle-yell. 810

The Border slogan rent the sky !
A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry :

Loud were the clanging blows ;
Advanced, — forced back, — now

low, now high,
The pennon sunk and rose ;
As bends the bark's-mast in the

gale,
When rent are rigging, shrouds,

and sail,
It wavered mid the foes.
No longer Blount the view could

bear:
1 By heaven and all its saints ! I

swear 820

I will not see it lost !
Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare
May bid your beads and patter

prayer, —
I gallop to the host.'
And to the fray he rode amain,
Followed by all the archer train.
The fiery youth, with desperate

charge,
Made for a space an opening

large,—
The rescued banner rose, — 829
But darkly closed the war around,
Like pine-tree rooted from the

ground
It sank among the foes.
Then Eustace mounted too, — yet

stayed,
As loath to leave the helpless

maid,
When, fast as shaft can fly,
Bloodshot his eyes, his nostrils

spread,
The loose rein dangling from his

head,
Housing and saddle bloody red,

Lord Marmion's steed rushed
by;
And Eustace, maddening at the
sight, 840

A look and sign to Clara cast
To mark he would return in
haste,
Then plunged into the fight.

XXYIII

Ask me not what the maiden feels,

Left in that dreadful hour alone :

Perchance her reason stoops or

reels ;

Perchance a courage, not her

own,
Braces her mind to desperate
tone. —
The scattered van of England
wheels ; —
She only said, as loud in air 850
The tumult roared, ' Is Wilton

there ? ' —
They fly, or, maddened by de-
spair,
Fight but to die, —'Is Wilton
there ? '
With that, straight up the hill
there rode
Two horsemen drenched with
gore,
And in their arms, a helpless load,

AVounded knight they bore.
His hand still strained the broken

brand ;
His arms were smeared with blood

and sand.
Dragged from among the horses'
feet, 860

With dinted shield and helmet

beat,
The falcon - crest and plumage

gone,
Can that be haughty Marmion ! . . .
Young Blount his armor did un-
lace,
And, gazing on his ghastly face,
Said, 'By Saint George, he's
gone !
That spear-wound has our master
sped,

194

MARMION

And see the deep cut on his head !

Good-night to Marmion.' —
4 Unnurtured Blount ! thy brawling

cease : 870

He opes his eyes,' said Eustace;

4 peace ! '

XXIX

When, doffed his casque, he felt

free air,
Around gan Marmion wildly stare :
'Where's Harry Blount? Fitz-

Eustace where ?
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare !
Redeem my pennon, — charge

again !
Cry, " Marmion to the rescue ! " —

Vain!
Last of my race, on battle-plain
That shout shall ne'er be heard

again ! —
Yet my last thought is England's
— fly, 880

To Dacre bear my signet-ring ;
Tell him his squadrons up to
bring. —
Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie :
Tunstall lies dead upon the field,
His lifeblood stains the spotless

shield ;
Edmund is down : my life is reft ;
The Admiral alone is left.
Let Stanley charge with spur of

fire,—
With Chester charge, and Lanca-
shire,
Full upon Scotland's central host,
Or victory and England's lost.— 8qi
Must I bid twice ? — hence, var-
lets ! fly ! — ,
Leave Marmion here alone — to

die.'
They parted, and alone he lay ;
Clare drew her from the sight
away,
Till pain wrung forth a lowlymoan,
And half he murmured, ' Is there
none
Of all my halls have nurst,
Page, squire, or groom, one cup to
bring

Of blessed water from the spring,
To slake my dying thirst ! ' 901

XXX

O Woman ! in our hours of ease
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made ;
When pain and anguish wring the

brow,
A ministering angel thou ! —
Scarce were the piteous accents

said,
When with the baron's casque the

maid
To the nigh streamlet ran: 910
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and

fears ,•
The plaintive voice alone she

hears,
Sees but the dying man.
She stooped her by the runnel's

side,
But in abhorrence backward

drew;
For, oozing from the mountain's

side
Where raged the war, a dark-red

tide
Was curdling in the streamlet

blue.
Where shall she turn?— behold

her mark
A little fountain cell, 920

Where water, clear as diamond-
spark,
In a stone basin fell.
Above, some half-worn letters say,
Brink, foears. pilgrim. Drink, ano,

pran.
jfor. tfjc. Stnti.'fcoul. of. .StopL (Srrg.
raf)o- outlt. tf)ts. cross, ano. torll..
She filled the helm and back she

hied,
And with surprise and joy espied
A monk supporting Marmion's

head ; 929

A pious man, whom duty brought

To dubious verge of battle fought,

To shrieve the dying, bless the

dead.

CANTO SIXTH

195

XXXI

Deep drank Lord Marmion of the

wave,
And, as she stooped his brow to

lave —
' Is it the hand of Clare,' he said,
4 Or injured Constance, bathes my

head ? •
Then, as remembrance rose,—
' Speak not to me of shrift or

prayer !
I must redress her woes.
Short space, few words, are mine

to spare ; 940

Forgive and listen, gentle

Clare ! ' —
4 Alas ! ■ she said, ' the while, —
Oh ! think of your immortal weal !
In vain for Constance is your

zeal;
She — died at Holy Isle.'—
Lord Marmion started from the

ground
As light as if he felt no wound,
Though in the action burst the

tide
In torrents from his wounded

side.
4 Then it was truth,' he said — * I

knew 950

That the dark presage must be

true. —
I would the Fiend, to whom be-
longs
The vengeance due to all her

wrongs,
Would spare me but a day !
For wasting fire, and dying groan,
And priests slain on the altar

stone,
Might bribe him for delay.
It may not be ! — this dizzy

trance —
Curse on yon base marauder's

lance,
And doubly cursed my failing

brand I 960

A sinful heart makes feeble hand.'
Then fainting down on earth he

sunk,
Supported by the trembling monk.

XXXII

With fruitless labor Clara bound
And strove to stanch the gushing

wound ;
The monk with unavailing cares
Exhausted all the Church's

prayers.
Ever, he said, that, close and near,
A lady's voice was in his ear,
And that the priest he could not

hear ; 970

For that she ever sung,
4 In the lost battle, borne down by

the flying,
Where mingles war's rattle with

groans of the dying ! ■
So the notes rung.—
4 Avoid thee, Fiend! — with cruel

hand
Shake not the dying sinner's

sand! —
Oh ! look, my son, upon yon sign
Of the Redeemer's grace divine ;

Oh ! think on faith and bliss ! —
By many a death-bed I have been,
And many a sinner's parting

seen, 981

But never aught like this.' —
The war, that for a space did fail,
Now trebly thundering swelled

the gale,
And 4 Stanley ! ' was the cry.—
A light on Marmion' s visage

spread,
And fired his glazing eye ;
With dying hand above his head
He shook the fragment of his

blade,
And shouted 4 Victory ! — 990
Charge, Chester, charge! On,

Stanley, on ! '
Were the last words of Marmion.

XXXIII

By this, though deep the evening

fell,
Still rose the battle's deadly swell,
For still the Scots around their

king,
Unbroken, fought in desperate

ring.

196

MARMION

Where 's now their victor vaward
wing,
Where Hnntly, and where
Home? —
Oh ! for a blast of that dread horn,
On Fontarabian echoes borne, 1000
That to King Charles did come,
When Rowland brave, and Olivier,
And every paladin and peer,

On Roncesvalles died !
Such blasts might warn them, not

in vain,
To quit the plunder of the slain
And turn the doubtful day again,

While yet on Flodden side
Afar the Royal Standard flies,
And round it toils and bleeds and
dies 1010

Our Caledonian pride !
In vain the wish — for far away,
While spoil and havoc mark their

way,
Near Sibyl's Cross the plunderers

stray. —
1 0 lady,' cried the monk, 6 away ! '

And placed her on her steed,
And led her to the chapel fair

Of Tilmouth upon Tweed.
There all the night they spent in

prayer,
And at the dawn of morning there
She met her kinsman, Lord Fitz-
Clare. 102 1

XXXIV

But as they left the darkening
heath

More desperate grew the strife of
death.

The English shafts in volleys
hailed,

In headlong charge their horse as-
sailed ;

Front, flank, and rear, the squad-
rons sweep

To break the Scottish circle deep
That fought around their king.

But yet, though thick the shafts as
snow,

Though charging knights like
whirlwinds go, 1030

Though billmen ply the ghastly

blow,
Unbroken was the ring ;
The stubborn spearmen still made

good
Their dark impenetrable wood,
Each stepping where his comrade

stood
The instant that he fell.
No thought was there of dastard

flight;
Linked in the serried phalanx

tight,
Groom fought like noble, squire

like knight,
As fearlessly and well, 1040

Till utter darkness closed her wing
O'er their thin host and wounded

king.
Then skilful Surrey's sage com-
mands
Led back from strife his shattered

bands ;
And from the charge they drew,
As mountain-waves from wasted

lands
Sweep back to ocean blue.
Then did their loss his foemen

know ;
Their king, their lords, their might-
iest low,
They melted from the field, as

snow, 1050

When streams are swoln and

south winds blow,
Dissolves in silent dew.
Tweed's echoes heard the cease-

less plash,
While many a broken band
Disordered through her currents

dash,
To gain the Scottish land ;
To town and tower, to down and

dale,
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale,
And raise the universal wail.
Tradition, legend, tune, and song
Shall many an age that wail pro-
long; 106 1
Still from the sire the son shall

hear

CANTO SIXTH

197

Of the stern strife and carnage
drear
Of Flodden's fatal field,
Where shivered was fair Scotland's
spear
And broken was her shield !

XXXV

Day dawns upon the mountain's

side.
There, Scotland! lay thy bravest

pride,
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many

a one ;
The sad survivors all are

gone. — 1070

View not that corpse mistrustfully,
Defaced and mangled though it

be;
Nor to yon Border castle high
Look northward with upbraiding

eye;
Nor cherish hope in vain
That, journeying far on foreign

strand,
The Royal Pilgrim to his land

May yet return again.
He saw the wreck his rashness

wrought ;
Reckless of life, he desperate

fought, 1080

And fell on Flodden plain :
And well in death his trusty

brand,
Firm clenched within his manly

hand,
Beseemed the monarch slain.
But oh! how changed since yon

blithe night ! —
Gladly I turn me from the sight
Unto my tale again.

XXXVI

Short is my tale : — Fitz-Eustace'

care
A pierced and mangled body bare
To moated Lichfield's lofty

pile ; 1090

And there, beneath the southern

aisle,

A tomb with Gothic sculpture

fair
Did long Lord Marmion's image

bear. —
Now vainly for its site you look ;
'T was levelled when fanatic

Brook
The fair cathedral stormed and

took,
But, thanks to Heaven and good

Saint Chad,
A guerdon meet the spoiler

had ! —
There erst was martial Marmion

found,
His feet upon a couchant

hound, 1 100

His hands to heaven upraised ;
And all around, on scutcheon rich,
And tablet carved, and fretted

niche,
His arms and feats were

blazed.
And yet, though all was carved so

fair,
And priest for Marmion breathed

the prayer,
The last Lord Marmion lay not

there.
From Ettrick woods a peasant

swain
Followed his lord to Flodden

plain, —
One of those flowers whom plain-
tive lay 1 1 10
In Scotland mourns as 'wede

away : '
Sore wounded, Sibyl's Cross he

spied,
And dragged him to its foot, and

died
Close by the noble Marmion's

side.
The spoilers stripped and gashed

the slain,
And thus their corpses were mis-

ta'en ;
And thus in the proud baron's

tomb
The lowly woodsman took the

room.

198

MARMION

XXXVII

Less easy task it were to show
Lord Marmion's nameless grave

and low. 1120

They dug his grave e'en where he

lay,
But every mark is gone :
Time's wasting hand has done

away
The simple Cross of Sibyl Grey,
And broke her font of stone ;
But yet from out the little hill
Oozes the slender springlet still.

Oft halts the stranger there,
For thence may best his curious

eye
The memorable field descry ; 1130

And shepherd boys repair
To seek the water-flag and rush,
And rest them by the hazel bush,

And plait their garlands fair,
Nor dream they sit upon the grave
That holds the bones of Marmion

brave. —
When thou shalt find the little hill,
With thy heart commune and be

still.
If ever in temptation strong
Thou left'st the right path for the

wrong, 1 140

If every devious step thus trod
Still led thee further from the

road,
Dreatf thou to speak presumptu-

ous doom
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb ;
But say, 4He died a gallant

knight,
With sword in hand, for England's

right'

XXXVIII

I do not rhyme to that dull elf
Who cannot image to himself
That all through Flodden's dismal

night
Wilton was foremost in the

fight, 1 150

That when brave Surrey's steed

was slain
'T was Wilton mounted him again ;

'T was Wilton's brand that deep-
est hewed
Amid the spearmen's stubborn

wood :
Unnamed by Holinshed or Hall,
He was the living soul of all;
That, after fight, his faith made

plain,
He won his rank and lands again,
And charged his old paternal

shield
With bearings won on Flodden

Field. 1 1 60

Nor sing I to that simple maid
To whom it must in terms be said
That king and kinsmen did agree
To bless fair Clara's constancy;
Who cannot, unless I relate,
Paint to her mind the bridal's

state, —
That Wolsey's voice the blessing

spoke,
More, Sands, and Denny, passed

the joke ;
That bluff King Hal the curtain

drew,
And Katherine's hand the stocking

threw; 1170

And afterwards, for many a day,
That it was held enough to say,
In blessing to a wedded pair,
1 Love they like Wilton and like

Clare ! »

L'ENVOY

TO THE READER

Why then a final note prolong,
Or lengthen out a closing song,
Unless to bid the gentles speed,
Who long have listed to my rede?
To statesmen grave, if such may

deign
To read the minstrel's idle strain,
Sound head, clean hand, and pier-
cing wit,
And patriotic heart — as Pitt !
A garland for the hero's crest,
And twined by her he loves the
best!

CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE

199

To every lovely lady bright,
What can I wish but faithful

knight?
To every faithful lover too,
What can I wish but lady true ?
And knowledge to the studious

sage,
And pillow soft to head of age !

To thee, dear school-boy, whom
my lay

Has cheated of thy hour of play,

Light task and merry holiday !

To all, to each, a fair good-
night,

And pleasing dreams, and slum-
bers light !

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

TO
THE MOST NOBLE

JOHN JAMES, MARQUIS OF ABERCORN,
&c, &c, &c,

THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY
THE AUTHOR

ARGUMENT

The scene of the following Poem is laid chiefly in the vicinity of Loch Katrine,
in the Western Highlands of Perthshire. The time of Action includes Six Days,
and the transactions of each Day occupy a Canto.

CANTO FIRST

THE CHASE

Harp of the North ! that moulder-
ing long hast hung
On the witch-elm that shades
Saint Fillan's spring,
And down the fitful breeze thy
numbers flung,
Till envious ivy did around thee
cling,
Muffling with verdant ringlet every
string,—
0 Minstrel Harp, still must thine
accents sleep ?

Mid rustling leaves and fountains

murmuring,
Still must thy sweeter sounds

their silence keep,
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach

a maid to weep ?

Not thus, in ancient days of Cale-
don, 10

Was thy voice mute amid the
festal crowd,
When lay of hopeless love, or glory
won,
Aroused the fearful or subdued
the proud.

200

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

At each according pause was
heard aloud
Thine ardent symphony sublime
and high !

Fair dames and crested chiefs at-
tention bowed ;
For still the burden of thy min-
strelsy

Was Knighthood's dauntless deed,
and Beauty's matchless eye.

O, wake once more ! how rude
soe'er the hand
That ventures o'er thy magic
maze to stray ; 20

O, wake once more ! though scarce
my skill command
Some feeble echoing of thine
earlier lay :
Though harsh and faint, and soon
to die away,
And all unworthy of thy nobler
strain,
Yet if one heart throb higher at its
sway,
The wizard note has not been
touched in vain.
Then silent be no more ! Enchant-
ress, wake again !

The stag at eve had drunk his fill,
Where danced the moon on Mo-
nan's rill,
And deep his midnight lair had
made 30

In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ;
But when the sun his beacon red
Had kindled on Benvoirlich'shead,
The deep-mouthed bloodhound's

heavy bay
Resounded up the rocky way,
And faint, from farther distance

borne,
Were heard the clanging hoof and
horn.

As Chief, who hears his warder

call,
4 To arms ! the foemen storm the

wall,'

The antlered monarch of the

waste 40

Sprung from his heathery couch

in haste.
But ere his fleet career he took,
The dew-drops from his flanks he

shook ;
Like crested leader proud and

high
Tossed his beamed frontlet to the

sky;
A moment gazed adown the dale,
A moment snuffed the tainted

gale,
A moment listened to the cry,
That thickened as the chase drew

nigh;
Then, as the headmost foes ap-
peared, 50
With one brave bound the copse

he cleared,
And, stretching forward free and

far,
Sought the wild heaths of Uam-

Yar.

111

Yelled on the view the opening

pack;
Rock, glen, and cavern paid them

back;
To many a mingled sound at once
The awakened mountain gave re-
sponse.
A hundred dogs bayed deep and

strong,
Clattered a hundred steeds along,
Their peal the merry horns rung

out, 60

A hundred voices joined the shout ;
With hark and whoop and wild

halloo,
No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew.
Far from the tumult fled the roe,
Close in her covert cowered the

doe,
The falcon, from her cairn on high,
Cast on the rout a wondering eye,
Till far beyond her piercing ken
The hurricane had swept the glen.
Faint, and more faint, its failing

din 70

CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE

201

Returned from cavern, cliff, and

linn,
And silence settled, wide and still,
On the lone wood and mighty hill.

Less loud the sounds of sylvan war
Disturbed the heights of Uam- Var,
And roused the cavern where, 't is

told,
A giant made his den of old ;
For ere that steep ascent was won,
High in his pathway hung the sun,
And many a gallant, stayed per-
force, 80
Was fain to breathe his faltering

horse,
And of the trackers of the deer
Scarce half the lessening pack was

near;
So shrewdly on the mountain-side
Had the bold burst their mettle
tried.

The noble stag was pausing now
Upon the mountain's southern

brow,
Where broad extended, far be-

neath,
The varied realms of fairMenteith.
With anxious eye he wandered

o'er 90

Mountain and meadow, moss and

moor,
And pondered refuge from his toil,
By far Lochard or Aberfoyle.
But nearer was the copsewood

gray
That waved and wept on Loch

Achray,
And mingled with the pine-trees

blue
On the bold cliffs of Benvenue.
Fresh vigor with the hope re-
turned,
With flying foot the heath he

spurned,
Held westward with unwrearied

race, 100

And left behind the panting chase.

'Twere long to tell what steeds

gave o'er,
As swept the hunt through Cam-

busmore ;
What reins were tightened in de-
spair,
When rose Benledi's ridge in air ;
Who flagged upon Bochastle's

heath,
Who shunned to stem the flooded

Teith,—
For twice that day, from shore to

shore, ,

The gallant stag swam stoutly

o'er.
Few were the stragglers, following

far, no

That reached the lake of Venna-

char;
And when the Brigg of Turk was

won,
The headmost horseman rode

alone.

VII

Alone, but with unbated zeal,
That horseman plied the scourge

and steel ;
For jaded now, and spent with toil,
Embossed with foam, and dark

with soil,
While every gasp with sobs he

drew,
The laboring stag strained full in

view.
Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's

breed, 120

Unmatched for courage, breath,

and speed,
Fast on his flying traces came,
And all but won that desperate

game ;
For, scarce a spear's length from

his haunch,
Vindictive toiled the bloodhounds

stanch ;
Nor nearer might the dogs attain,
Nor farther might the quarry

strain.
Thus up the margin of the lake,

202

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Between the precipice and brake,

O'er stock and rock their race they

take. 130

VIII

The Hunter marked that moun-
tain high,

The lone lake's western bound-
ary,

And deemed the stag must turn to
bay,

Where that huge rampart barred
the way ;

Already glorying in the prize,

Measured his antlers with his eyes ;

For the death-wound and death-
halloo

Mustered his breath, his whinyard
drew : —

But thundering as he came pre-
pared,

With ready arm and weapon
bared, 140

The wily quarry shunned the
shock,

And turned him from the opposing
rock;

Then, dashing down a darksome
glen,

Soon lost to hound and Hunter's
ken,

In the deep Trosachs' wildest
nook

His solitary refuge took.

There, while close couched the
thicket shed

Cold dews and wild flowers on his
head.

He heard the baffled dogs in vain

Rave through the hollow pass
amain, 150

Chiding the rocks that yelled
again.

Close on the hounds the Hunter

came,
To cheer them on the vanished

game;
But, stumbling in the rugged dell,
The gallant horse exhausted fell.

The impatient rider strove in vain
To rouse him with the spur and

rein,
For the good steed, his labors

o'er,
Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no

more;
Then, touched with pity and re.

morse, 160

He sorrowed o'er the expiring

horse.
1 1 little thought, when first thy

rein
I slacked upon the banks of Seine,
That Highland eagle e'er should

feed
On thy fleet limbs, my matchless

steed !
Woe worth the chase, woe worth

the day,
That costs thy life, my gallant

gray ! '

Then through the dell his horn

resounds,
From vain pursuit to call the

hounds.
Back limped, with slow and crip-
pled pace, 170
The sulky leaders of the chase ;
Close to their master's side they

pressed,
With drooping tail and humbled

crest ;
Bnt still the dingle's hollow throat
Prolonged the swelling bugle-note.
The owlets started from their

dream,
The eagles answered with their

scream,
Round and around the sounds

were cast,
Till echo seemed an answering

blast; 179

And on the Hunter hied his way,
To join some comrades of the day,
Yet often paused, so strange the

road,
So wondrous were the scenes it

showed.

CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE

203

The western waves of ebbing day
Rolled o'er the glen their level

way ;
Each purple peak, each flinty

spire,
Was bathed in floods of lft ing

fire.
But not a setting beam could glow
Within the dark ravines below,
Where twined the path in shadow

hid, 190

Round many a rocky pyramid,
Shooting abruptly from the dell
Its thunder-splintered pinnacle ;
Round many an insulated mass,
The native bulwarks of the pass,
Huge as the tower which builders

vain
Presumptuous piled on Shinar's

plain.
The rocky summits, split and rent,
Formed turret, dome, or battle-

ment,
Or seemed fantastically set 200
With cupola or minaret,
Wrild crests as pagod ever decked,
Or mosque of Eastern architect.
Nor were these earth-born castles

bare,
Nor lacked they many a banner

fair;
For, from their shivered brows

displayed,
Far o'er the unfathomable glade,
All twinkling with the dewdrop

sheen,
The brier-rose fell in streamers

green,
And creeping shrubs of thousand

dyes 210

Waved in the west-wind's summer

sighs.

XII

Boon nature scattered, free and
wild,

Each plant or flower, the moun-
tain's child.

Here eglantine embalmed the air,

Hawthorn and hazel mingled
there ;

The primrose pale and violet

flower
Found in each clift a narrow

bower;
Foxglove and nightshade, side by

side,
Emblems of punishment and pride,
Grouped their dark hues with

every stain 220

The weather-beaten crags retain.
W7ith boughs that quaked at every

breath,
Gray birch and aspen wept be-
neath ;
Aloft, the ash and warrior oak
Cast anchor in the rifted rock ;
And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung
His shattered trunk, and frequent

flung,
Where seemed the cliffs to meet on

high,
His boughs athwart the narrowed

sky.
Highest of all, where white peaks

glanced, 230

Where glistening streamers waved

and danced,
The wanderer's eye could barely

view
The summer heaven's delicious

blue;
So wondrous wild, the whole might

seem
The scenery of a fairy dream.

xiir

Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep

A narrow inlet, still and deep,

Affording scarce such breadth of
brim

As served the wild duck's brood
to swim.

Lost for a space, through thickets
veering, 240

But broader when again appear-
ing,

Tall rocks and tufted knolls their
face

Could on the dark-blue mirror
trace ;

And farther as the Hunter strayed,

204

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Still broader sweep its channels

made.
The shaggy mounds no longer

stood,
Emerging from entangled wood,
But, wave-encircled, seemed to

float,
Like castle girdled with its moat ;
Yet broader floods extending still
Divide them from their parent

hill, 251

Till each, retiring, claims to be
An islet in an inland sea.

XIV

And now, to issue from the glen,
No pathway meets the wanderer's

ken,
Unless he climb with footing nice
A far-projecting precipice.
The broom's tough roots his ladder

made,
The hazel saplings lent their aid ;
And thus an airy point he won,
Where, gleaming with the setting
sun, 261

One burnished sheet of living

gold,
Loch Katrine lay beneath him

rolled,
In all her length far winding

. lay,
With promontory, creek, and bay,
And islands that, empurpled

bright,
Floated amid the livelier light,
And mountains that like giants

stand
To sentinel enchanted land.
High on the south, huge Benve-
nue 270

Down to the lake in masses threw
Crags, knolls, and mounds, con-
fusedly hurled,
The fragments of an earlier world ;
A wildering forest feathered o'er
His ruined sides and summit hoar,
While on the north, through mid-
dle air,
Ben-an heaved high his forehead
bare.

From the steep promontory gazed
The stranger, raptured and

amazed,
And, ' What a scene were here,'

he cried, 280

1 For princely pomp or church-

man's pride !
On this bold brow, a lordly tower ;
In that soft vale, a lady's bower ;
On yonder meadow far away,
The turrets of a cloister gray ;
How blithely might the bugle-horn
Chide on the lake the lingering

morn !
How sweet at eve the lover's lute
Chime when the groves were still

and mute !
And when the midnight moon

should lave 290

Her forehead in the silver wave,
How solemn on the ear would

come
The holy matins' distant hum,
While the deep peal's commanding

tone
Should wake, in yonder islet lone,
A sainted hermit from his cell,
To drop a bead with every knell !
And bugle, lute, and bell, and

»all,
Should each bewildered stranger

call 299

To friendly feast and lighted hall.

xvi

4 Blithe were it then to wander

here!
But now — beshrew yon nimble

deer —
Like that same hermit's, thin and

spare,
The copse must give my evening

fare ;
Some mossy bank my couch must

be,
Some rustling oak my canopy.
Yet pass we that ; the war and

chase
Give little choice of resting-
place ; —

CANTO FIRST : THE CHASE

205

A summer night in greenwood
spent 309

Were but to-morrow's merriment :

But hosts may in these wilds
abound,

Such as are better missed than
found ;

To meet with Highland plunderers
here

Were worse than loss of steed or
deer. —

I am alone ; — my bugle-strain

May call some straggler of the
train ;

Or, fall the worst that may be-
tide,

Ere now this falchion has been
tried.'

XVII

But scarce again his horn he

wound,
When lo! forth starting at the

sound, 320

From underneath an aged oak
That slanted from the islet rock,
A damsel guider of its way,
A little skiff shot to the bay,
That round the promontory steep
Led its deep line in graceful sweep,
Eddying, in almost viewless wave,
The weeping willow twig to lave,
And kiss, with whispering sound

and slow,
The beach of pebbles bright as

snow. 330

The boat had touched this silver

strand
Just as the Hunter left his stand,
And stood concealed amid the

brake,
To view this Lady of the Lake.
The maiden paused, as if again
She thought to catch the distant

strain.
With head upraised, and look in-
tent,
And eye and ear attentive bent,
And locks flung back, and lips

apart, 339

Like monument of Grecian art,

In listening mood, she seemed to

stand,
The guardian Naiad of the strand.

XVIII

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace
A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace,
Of finer form or lovelier face !
What though the sun, with ardent

frown,
Had slightly tinged her cheek with

brown,
The sportive toil, which, short and

light,
Had dyed her glowing hue so

bright,
Served too in hastier swell to

show 350

Short glimpses of a breast of

snow :
What though no rule of courtly

grace
To measured mood had trained

her pace, —
A foot more light, a step more

true,
Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed

the dew ;
E'en the slight harebell raised its

head,
Elastic from her airy tread :
What though upon her speech

there hung
The accents of the mountain

tongue, —
Those silver sounds, so soft, so

dear, 360

The listener held his breath to

hear !

XIX

A chieftain's daughter seemed the
maid;

Her satin snood, her silken plaid,

Her golden brooch, such birth be-
trayed.

And seldom was a snood amid

Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid.

Whose glossy black to shame
might bring

The plumage of the raven's wing .

206

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

And seldom o'er a breast so fair
Mantled a plaid with modest care,
And never brooch the folds com-
bined 371
Above a heart more good and

kind.
Her kindness and her worth to

spy,
You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ;
Not Katrine in her mirror blue
Gives back the shaggy banks

more true,
Than every free-born glance con-
fessed
The guileless movements of her

breast ;
Whether joy danced in her dark

eye,
Or woe or pity claimed a sigh, 380
Or filial love was glowing there,
Or meek devotion poured a prayer,
Or tale of injury called forth
The indignant spirit of the North.
One only passion unrevealed
With maiden pride the maid con-
cealed,
Yet not less purely felt the

flame ; —
O, need I tell that passion's name ?

Impatient of the silent horn,
Now on the gale her voice was

borne:— 390

* Father ! ' she cried ; the rocks

around
Loved to prolong the gentle sound.
Awhile she paused, no answer

came ; —
' Malcolm, was thine the blast ? '

the name
Less resolutely uttered fell,
The echoes could not catch the

swell.
4 A stranger I,' the Huntsman said,
Advancing from the hazel shade.
Tke maid, alarmed, with hasty oar
Pushed her light shallop from the

shore, 400

And when a space was gained be-
tween,

Closer she drew her bosom's

screen ; —
So forth the startled swan would

swing,
So turn to prune his ruffled wing.
Then safe, though fluttered and

amazed,
She paused, and on the stranger

gazed.
Not his the form, nor his the eye,
That youthful maidens wont to

fly.

XXI

On his bold visage middle age
Had slightly pressed its signet
sage, 410

Yet had not quenched the open

truth
And fiery vehemence of youth ;
Forward and frolic glee was there,
The will to do, the soul to dare,
The sparkling glance, soon blown

to fire,
Of hasty love or headlong ire.
His limbs were cast in manly

mould
For hardy sports or contest bold ;
And though in peaceful garb ar-
rayed, 419
And weaponless except his blade,
His stately mien as well implied
A high-born heart, a martial pride,
As if a baron's crest he wore,
And sheathed in armor trode the

shore.
Slighting the petty need he

showed,
He told of his benighted road ;
His ready speech flowed fair and

free,
In phrase of gentlest courtesy,
Yet seemed that tone and gesture

bland
Less used to sue than to com-
mand. 430

XXII

Awhile the maid the stranger

eyed,
And, reassured, at length replied,

CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE

207

That Highland halls were open

still
To wildered wanderers of the hill.

* Nor think you unexpected come
To yon lone isle, our desert home ;
Before the heath had lost the dew
This morn, a couch was pulled for

you;
On yonder mountain's purple head
Have ptarmigan and heath-cock

hied, 440

And our broad nets have swept

the mere,
To furnish forth your evening

cheer.' —

• Now, by the rood, my lovely maid,
Your courtesy has erred,' he said ;
4 No right have I to claim, mis-
placed,

The welcome of expected guest.
A wanderer, here by fortune tost,
My way, my friends, my courser

lost,
I ne'er before, believe me, fair,
Have ever drawn your mountain

air, 450

Till on this lake's romantic strand

I found a fay in fairy land ! ' —

XXIII

4 1 well believe,' the maid replied,
As her light skiff approached the
side, —

I I well believe, that ne'er before
Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's

shore ;
But yet, as far as yesternight,
Old Allan - bane foretold your

plight,—
A gray-haired sire, whose eye in-
tent 459
Was on the visioned future bent.
He saw your steed, a dappled gray,
Lie dead beneath the birchen way ;
Painted exact your form and mien,
Your hunting-suit of Lincoln green,
That tasselled horn so gayly gilt,
That falchion's crooked blade and

hilt,
That cap with heron plumage
trim.

And yon two hounds so dark and

grim.
He bade that all should ready be
To grace a guest of fair degree ;
But light I held his prophecy, 471
And deemed it was my father's

horn
Whose echoes o'er the lake were

borne.'

XXIV

The stranger smiled : — ' Since to

your home
A destined errant-knight I come,
Announced by prophet sooth and

old,
Doomed, doubtless, for achieve-
ment bold,
I '11 lightly front each high emprise
For one kind glance of those bright

eyes. 479

Permit me first the task to guide
Your fairy frigate o'er the tide.'
The maid, with smile suppressed

and sly,
The toil unwonted saw him try,
For seldom, sure, if e'er before,
His noble hand had grasped an

oar:
Yet with main strength his strokes

he drew,
And o'er the lake the shallop flew ;
With heads erect and whimpering

cry,
The hounds behind their passage

ply.

Nor frequent does the bright oar
break 490

The darkening mirror of the lake,
Until the rocky isle they reach,
And moor their shallop on the
beach.

XXV

The stranger viewed the shore
around ;

'T was all so close with copsewood
bound,

Nor track nor pathway might de-
clare

That human foot frequented there,

208

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Until the mountain maiden showed
A clambering unsuspected road,
That winded through the tangled

screen, 5oo

And opened on a narrow green,
Where weeping birch and willow

round
With their long fibres swept the

ground.
Here, for retreat in dangerous

hour,
Some chief had framed a rustic

bower.

xxvi

It was a lodge of ample size,
But strange of structure and de-
vice;
Of such materials as around
The workman's hand had readiest

found.

Lopped of their boughs, their hoar

trunks bared, 510

And by the hatchet rudely squared.

To give the walls their destined

height,
The sturdy oak and ash unite ;
While moss and clay and leaves

combined
To fence each crevice from the

wind.
The lighter pine-trees overhead
Their slender length for rafters

spread,
And withered heath and rushes

dry
Supplied a russet canopy.
Due westward, fronting to the
green, 520

A rural portico was seen,
Aloft on native pillars borne,
Of mountain fir with bark unshorn,
Where Ellen's hand had taught to

twine
The ivy and Idaean vine,
The clematis, the favored flower
Which boasts the name of virgin-
bower,
And every hardy plant could bear
Loch Katrine's keen and search-
ing air.

instant in this porch she
stayed, 530

And gayly to the stranger said :
1 On heaven and on thy lady call,
And enter the enchanted hall ! '

XXVII

' My hope, my heaven, my trust

must be,
My gentle guide, in following

thee!' —
He crossed the threshold, — and a

clang
Of angry steel that instant rang.
To his bold brow his spirit rushed,
But soon for vain alarm he blushed,
When on the floor he saw dis-
played, 540
Cause of the din, a naked blade
Dropped from the sheath, that

careless flung
Upon a stag's huge antlers swung;
For all around, the walls to grace,
Hung trophies of the fight or

chase :
A target there, a bugle here,
A battle-axe, a hunting-spear,
And broadswords, bows, and ar-
rows store,
With the tusked trophies of the

boar.
Here grins the wolf as when he

died, 550

And there the wild-cat's brindled

hide
The frontlet of the elk adorns,
Or mantles o'er the bison's horns ;
Pennons and flags defaced and

stained,
That blackening streaks of blood

retained,
And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and

white,
With otter's fur and seal's unite,
In rude and uncouth tapestry all,
To garnish forth the sylvan hall.

XXVIII

The wondering stranger round him
gazed, 560

CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE

209

And next the fallen weapon

raised : —
Few were the arms whose sinewy

strength
Sufficed to stretch it forth at

length.
And as the brand he poised and

swayed,
' I never knew but one,' be said,

• Whose stalwart arm might brook

to wield
A blade like this in battle-field.'
She sighed, then smiled and took

the word :

* You see the guardian champion's

sword ; 569

As light it trembles in his hand
As in my grasp a hazel wand :
My sire's tall form might grace the

part
Of Ferragus or Ascabart,
But in the absent giant's hold
Are women now, and menials old.'

XXIX

The mistress of the mansion came,
Mature of age, a graceful dame,
Whose easy step and stately port
Had well become a princely court,
To whom, though more than kin-
dred knew, 580
Young Ellen gave a mother's

due.
Meet welcome to her guest she

made,
And every courteous rite was paid,
That hospitality could claim,
Though all unasked his birth and

name.
Such then the reverence to a guest,
That fellest foe might join the

feast,
And from his deadliest foeman's

door
Unquestioned turn, the banquet

o'er.
At length his rank the stranger

names, 590

1 The Knight of Snowdoun, James

Fitz-James ;
Lord of a barren heritage,

Which his brave sires, from age to

age,
By their good swords had held with

toil;
His sire had fallen in such tur-
moil,
And he, God wot, was forced to

stand
Oft for his right with blade in

hand.
This morning with Lord Moray's

train
He chased a stalwart stag in vain,
Outstripped his comrades, missed

the deer, 600

Lost his good steed, and wandered

here.'

XXX

Fain would the Knight in turn re-
quire
The name and state of Ellen's

sire.
Well showed the elder lady's mien
That courts and cities she had

seen;
Ellen, though more her looks dis-
played
The simple grace of sylvan maid,
In speech and gesture, form and

face,
Showed she was come of gentle

race.
'T were strange in ruder rank to

find 610

Such looks, such manners, and

such mind.
Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun

gave,
Dame Margaret heard with silence

grave ;
Or Ellen, innocently gay,
Turned all inquiry light away : —
1 Weird women we ! by dale and

down
We dwell, afar from tower and

town.
We stem the flood, we ride the

blast,
On wandering knights our spells

we cast ;

210

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

While viewless minstrels touch
the string, 620

'T is thus our charmed rhymes we
sing.'

She sung, and still a harp unseen

Filled up the symphony between.

XXXI

SONG

* Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not
breaking ;
Dream of battled fields no more,
Days of danger, nights of wak-
ing.
In our isle's enchanted hall,
Hands unseen thy couch are
strewing,
Fairy strains of music fall, 630
Every sense in slumber dewing.
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more ;
Sleep the sleep that knows not

breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

* No rude sound shall reach thine

ear,
Armor's clang of war -steed
champing,
Trump nor pibroch summon here
Mustering clan or squadron
tramping.
Yet the lark's shrill fife may
come 640

At the daybreak from the fallow,
And the bittern sound his drum,

Booming from the sedgy shallow.
Ruder sounds shall none be near,
Guards nor warders challenge

here,
Here's no war-steed's neigh and

champing,
Shouting clans or squadrons
stamping.'

XXXII

She paused, — then, blushing, led

the lay,
To grace the stranger of the day.

Her mellow notes awhile pro-
long 650
The cadence of the flowing song,
Till to her lips in measured frame
The minstrel verse spontaneous
came.

SONG CONTINUED

'Huntsman, rest! thy chase is
done ;
While our slumbrous spells as-
sail ye,
Dream not, with the rising sun,

Bugles here shall sound reveille*.
Sleep ! the deer is in his den j
Sleep ! thy hounds are by thee ly-
ing; 659
Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen
How thy gallant steed lay dy-

ing.
Huntsman, rest! thy chase is

done;
Think not of the rising sun,
For at dawning to assail ye
Here no bugles sound reveille.'

XXXIII

The hall was cleared, — the stran-
ger's bed
Was there of mountain heather

spread.
Where oft a hundred guests had

lain,
And dreamed their forest sports

again.
But vainly did the heath-flower

shed 670

Its moorland fragrance round his

head;
Not Ellen's spell had lulled to

rest
The fever of his troubled breast.
In broken dreams the image rose
Of varied perils, pains, and woes :
His steed now flounders in the

brake,
Now sinks his barge upon the

lake;
Now leader of a broken host,
His standard falls, his honor 's

lost.

CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE

211

Then, — from my couch may hea-
venly might 680

Chase that worst phantom of the
night! —

Again returned the scenes of j
youth,

Of confident, undoubting truth ;

Again his soul he interchanged

With friends whose hearts were !
long estranged.

They come, in dim procession led, |

The cold, the faithless, and the
dead;

As warm each hand, each brow
as gay,

As if they parted yesterday.

And doubt distracts him at the
view, — 690

O were his senses false or true ?

Dreamed he of death or broken
vow,

Or is it all a vision now ?

XXXIV

At length, with Ellen in a grove
He seemed to walk and speak of ,

love;
She listened with a blush and I

sigh,
His suit was warm, his hopes were

high.
He sought her yielded hand to

clasp,
And a cold gauntlet met his grasp :
The phantom's sex was changed
and gone, 700

Upon its head a helmet shone ;
Slowly enlarged to giant size,
With darkened cheek and threat-
ening eyes,
The grisly visage, stern and hoar,
To Ellen still a likeness bore. — -
He woke, and, panting with af-
fright.
Recalled the vision of the night.
The hearth's decaying brands

were red,
And deep and dusky lustre shed,
Half showing, half concealing,
all 710

The uncouth trophies of the hall.

Mid those the stranger fixed his

eye
Where that huge falchion hung on

high,
And thoughts on thoughts, a

countless throng,
Rushed, chasing countless

thoughts along,
Until, the giddy whirl to cure,
He rose and sought the moonshine

pure.

XXXV

The wild rose, eglantine, and
broom

Wasted around their rich per-
fume ;

The birch-trees wept in fragrant
balm; 720

The aspens slept beneath the
calm ;

The silver light, with quivering
glance,

Played on the water's still ex-
panse, —

Wild were the heart whose pas-
sion's sway

Could rage beneath the sober ray !

He felt its calm, that warrior
guest,

WThile thus he communed with his
breast :

' Why is it, at each turn I trace

Some memory of that exiled race ?

Can I not mountain maiden
spy, 730

But she must bear the Douglas
eye?

Can I not view a Highland brand,

But it must match the Douglas
hand ?

Can I not frame a fevered dream,

But still the Douglas is the theme ?

I'll dream no more, — by manly
mind

Not even in sleep is will resigned.

My midnight orisons said o'er,

1 '11 turn to rest, and dream no
more.'

His midnight orisons he told, 740

A prayer with every bead of gold,

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Consigned to heaven his cares and

woes,
And sunk in undisturbed repose,
Until the heath-cock shrilly crew,
And morning dawned on Benvenue.

CANTO SECOND

THE ISLAND

At morn the black-cock trims his
jetty wing,
'Tis morning prompts the lin-
net's blithest lay,
All Nature's children feel the
matin spring
Of life reviving, with reviving
day;
And while yon little bark glides
down the bay,
Wafting the stranger on his way
again,
Morn's genial influence roused a
minstrel gray,
And sweetly o'er the lake was
heard thy strain,
Mixed with the sounding harp, 0
white-haired Allan-bane !

SONG

' Not faster yonder rowers'
might 10

Flings from their oars the spray,
Not faster yonder rippling bright,
That tracks the shallop's course
in light,
Melts in the lake away,
Than men from memory erase
The benefits of former days ;
Then, stranger, go! good speed

the while,
Nor think again of the lonely isle.

* High place to thee in royal court,
High place in battled line, 20
Good hawk and hound for sylvan
sport !

Where beauty sees the brave re-
sort,
The honored meed be thine !

True be thy sword, thy friend sin-
cere,

Thy lady constant, kind, and dear,

And lost in love's and friendship's
smile

Be memory of the lonely isle !

SONG CONTINUED

' But if beneath yon southern sky

A plaided stranger roam,
Whose drooping crest and stifled
sigh, 30

And sunken cheek and heavy eye,

Pine for his Highland home ;
Then, warrior, then be thine to

show
The care that soothes a wanderer's

woe;
Remember then thy hap ere while,
A stranger in the lonely isle.

' Or if on life's uncertain main
Mishap shall mar thy sail ;

If faithful, wise, and brave in vain,

Woe, want, and exile thou sustain
Beneath the fickle gale ; 41

Waste not a sigh on fortune
changed,

On thankless courts, or friends es-
tranged,

But come where kindred worth
shall smile,

To greet thee in the lonely isle.'

As died the sounds upon the tide,
The shallop reached the mainland

side,
And ere his onward way he took,
The stranger cast a lingering look,
Where easily his eye might reach
The Harper on the islet beach, 51
Reclined against a blighted tree,
As wasted, gray, and worn as he.
To minstrel meditation given,

CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND

2I3

His reverend brow was raised to

heaven,
As from the rising sun to claim
A sparkle of inspiring flame.
His hand, reclined upon the wire,
Seemed watching the awakening

fire;
So still he sat as those who wait
Till judgment speak the doom of

fate 6 1

So still, as if no breeze might dare
To lift one lock of hoary hair ;
So still, as life itself were fled
In the last sound his harp had

sped.

Upon a rock with lichens wild,
Beside him Ellen sat and smiled. —
Smiled she to see the stately drake
Lead forth his fleet upon the lake,
While her vexed spaniel from the

beach 70

Bayed at the prize beyond his

reach?
Yet tell me, then, the maid who

knows,
Why deepened on her cheek the

rose ? —
Forgive, forgive, Fidelity !
Perchance the maiden smiled to

see
Yon parting lingerer wave adieu,
And stop and turn to wave anew ;
And, lovely ladies, ere your ire
Condemn the heroine of my lyre,
Show me the fair would scorn to

spy 80

And prize such conquest of her

eye!

While yet he loitered on the spot,
It seemed as Ellen marked him

not;
But when he turned him to the

glade,
One courteous parting sign she

made;
And after, oft the knight would

say,

That not when prize of festal day
Was dealt him by the brightest

fair
Who e'er wore jewel in her hair,
So highly did his bosom swell 90
As at that simple mute farewell.
Now with a trusty mountain-guide,
And his dark stag-hounds by his

side,
He parts, — the maid, unconscious

still,
Watched him wind slowly round

the hill;
But when his stately form was hid,
The guardian in her bosom chid,—
' Thy Malcolm ! vain and selfish

maid ! >
'T was thus upbraiding conscience

said, —
' Not so had Malcolm idly hung 100
On the smooth phrase of Southern

tongue ;
Not so had Malcolm strained his

eye
Another step than thine to spy.' —
1 Wake, Allan - bane,' aloud she

cried
To the old minstrel by her side, —
'Arouse thee from thy moody

dream !
I '11 give thy harp heroic theme,
And warm thee with a noble

name;
Pour forth the glory of the

Graeme ! ■
Scarce from her lip the word had
rushed, no

When deep the conscious maiden

blushed ;
For of his clan, in hall and bower,
Young Malcolm Graeme was held
the flower.

YII

The minstrel waked his harp, —

three times
Arose the well - known martial

chimes,
And thrice their high heroic pride
In melancholy murmurs died.
1 Vainly thou bidst, 0 noble maid,'

2«4

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Clasping his withered hands, he

said,
' Vainly thou bidst me wake the

strain, 120

Though all unwont to hid in vain.
Alas ! than mine a mightier hand
Has tuned my harp, my strings

has spanned !
I touch the chords of joy, but low
And mournful answer notes of

woe;
And the proud march which vic-
tors tread
Sinks in the wailing for the dead.
O, well for me, if mine alone
That dirge's deep prophetic tone !
If, as my tuneful fathers said, 130
This harp, which erst Saint Modan

swayed,
Can thus its master's fate foretell,
Then welcome be the minstrel's

knell !

VIII

' But ah ! dear lady, thus it sighed,
The eve thy sainted mother died ;
And such the sounds which, while

I strove
To wake a lay of war or love,
Came marring all the festal mirth,
Appalling me who gave them birth.
And, disobedient to my call, 140
Wailed loud through BothwelPs

bannered hall,
Ere Douglases, to ruin driven,
Were exiled from their native

heaven.—
O ! if yet; worse mishap and woe
My master's house must undergo,
Or aught but weal to Ellen fair
Brood in these accents of despair,
No future bard, sad Harp ! shall

fling
Triumph or rapture from thy

string ;
One short, one final strain shall

flow, 150

Fraught with unutterable woe,
Then shivered shall thy fragments

lie,
Thy master cast him down and

die!'

Soothing she answered him : * As-
suage,
Mine honored friend, the fears of

age;
All melodies to thee are known
That harp has rung or pipe has

blown,
In Low7land vale or Highland glen,
From Tweed to Spey — what mar-
vel, then,
At times unbidden notes should

rise, 160

Confusedly bound in memory's

ties,
Entangling, as they rush along,
The war-march with the funeral

song?—-
Small ground is now for boding

fear;
Obscure, but safe, we rest us

here.
My sire, in native virtue great,
Resigning lordship, lands, and

state,
Not then to fortune more resigned
Than yonder oak might give the

wind ;
The graceful foliage storms may

reave, 170

The noble stem they cannot grieve.
For me ' — she stooped, and, look-
ing round,
Plucked a blue harebell from the

ground,—
' For me, whose memory scarce

conveys
An image of more splendid days,
This little flower that loves the

lea
May well my simple emblem be ;
It drinks heaven's dew as blithe

as rose
That in the King's own garden

grows ;
And when I place it in my hair, 180
Allan, a bard is bound to swear
He ne'er saw coronet so fair*'
Then playfully the chaplet wild
She wreathed in her dark locks,

and smiled.

CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND

215

Her smile, her speech, with win-
ning sway,
Wiled the old Harper's mood away.
With such a look as hermits throw,
When angels stoop to soothe their \

woe,
He gazed, till fond regret and

pride
Thrilled to a tear, then thus re-
plied : 190
4 Loveliest and best ! thou little

know'st
The rank, the honors, thou hast

lost!
O, might I live to see thee grace,
In Scotland's court, thy birthright

place,
To see my favorite's step advance
The lightest in the courtly dance,
The cause of every gallant's sigh,
And leading star of every eye,
And theme of every minstrel's

art,
The Lady of the Bleeding Heart ! '

' Fair dreams are these,' the maiden

cried, — 201

Light was her accent, yet she

sighed, —
1 Yet is this mossy rock to me
Worth splendid chair and canopy ;
Nor would my footstep spring

more gay
In courtly dance than blithe strath-

spey,
Nor half so pleased mine ear in-
cline
To royal minstrel's lay as thine.
And then for suitors proud and

high,
To bend before my conquering

eye,—- 210

Thou, flattering bard ! thyself wilt

say,
That grim Sir Roderick owns its

sway.
The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine's

pride,
The terror of Loch Lomond's side,

Would, at my suit, thou know'st,

delay
A Lennox foray — for a day.' —

XII

The ancient bard her glee re-
pressed :
'111 hast thou chosen theme for

jest!
For who, through all this western

wild,
Named Black Sir Roderick e'er,

and smiled? 220

In Holy-Rood a knight he slew ;
I saw, when back the dirk he

drew,
Courtiers give place before the

stride
Of the undaunted homicide ;
And since, though outlawed, hath

his hand
Full sternly kept his mountain land.
Who else dared give — ah! woe

the day,
That I such hated truth should

say! —
The Douglas, like a stricken deer.
Disowned by every noble peer, 230
Even the rude refuge we have

here?
Alas, this wild marauding Chief
Alone might hazard our relief,
And now thy maiden charms ex-
pand,
Looks for his guerdon in thy hand ;
Full soon may dispensation

sought,
To back his suit, from Rome be

brought.
Then, though an exile on the hill,
Thy father, as the Douglas, still
Be held in reverence and fear; 240
And though to Roderick thou'rt

so dear
That thou mightst guide with

silken thread,
Slave of thy will, this chieftaiu

dread,
Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth re-

frain !
Thv hand is on a lion's mane.' —

2l6

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

XIII

* Minstrel,' the maid replied, and

high
Her father's soul glanced from her

eye,
'My debts to Roderick's house I

know : 248

All that a mother could bestow
To Lady Margaret's care I owe,
Since first an orphan in the wild
She sorrowed o'er her sister's

child ;
To her brave chieftain son, from ire
Of Scotland's king who shrouds

my sire,
A deeper, holier debt is owed ;
And, could I pay it with my blood,
Allan! Sir Roderick should com-
mand
My blood, my life, — but not my

hand.
Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell
A votaress in Maronnan's cell ; 260
Rather through realms beyond the

sea,
Seeking the world's cold charity,
Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish

word,
And ne'er the name of Douglas

heard,
An outcast pilgrim will she rove,
Than wed the man she cannot love.

XIV

'Thou shak'st, good friend, thy

tresses gray,
That pleading look, what can it

say
But what I own?— I grant him

brave,
But wild as Bracklinn's thundering

wave ; 270

And generous, — save vindictive

mood
Or jealous transport chafe his

blood :
I grant him true to friendly band,
As his claymore is to his hand ;
But O ! that very blade of steel
More mercy for a foe would feel :
I grant him liberal, .to fling

Among his clan the wealth they

bring,
When back by lake and glen they

wind,

279

And in the Lowland leave behind,
Where once some pleasant hamlet

stood,
A mass of ashes slaked with blood.
The hand that for my father

fought
I honor, as his daughter ought ;
But can I clasp it reeking red
From peasants slaughtered in their

shed?
No ! wildly while his virtues gleam,
They make his passions darker

seem,
And flash along his spirit high,
Like lightning o'er the midnight

sky. 290

While yet a child, — and children

know,
Instinctive taught, the friend and

foe,— •
I shuddered at his brow of gloom,
His shadowy plaid and sable

plume ;
A maiden grown, I ill could bear
His haughty mien and lordly air :
But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim,
In serious mood, to Roderick's

name,
I thrill with anguish ! or, if e'er
A Douglas knew the word, with

fear. 300

To change such odious theme were

best,—
What think'st thou of our stranger

guest?' —

1 What think I of him? — woe the

while
That brought such wanderer to

our isle !
Thy father's battle-brand, of yore
For Tine-man forged by fairy lore,
What time he leagued, no longer

foes,
His Border spears with Hotspur's

bows,

CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND

217

Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow
Tbe footstep of a secret foe. 3 10
If courtly spy hath harbored here,
What may we for the Douglas

fear?
What for this island, deemed of

old
Clan- Alpine's last and surest hold ?
If neither spy nor foe, I pray
What yet may jealous Roderick

say?—
Nay, wave not thy disdainful

head!
Bethink thee of the discord dread
That kindled when at Beltane

game
Thou led' st the dance with Mal-
colm Graeme; 320
Still, though thy sire the peace re-
newed,
Smoulders in Roderick's breast

the feud :
Beware ! — But hark ! what sounds

are these ?
My dull ears catch no faltering

breeze,
No weeping birch nor aspens wake,
Nor breath is dimpling in the lake ;
Still is the canna's hoary beard,
Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard —
And hark again ! some pipe of war
Sends the bold pibroch from afar.'

XVI

Far up the lengthened lake were

spied 331

Four darkening specks upon the

tide,
That, slow enlarging on the view,
Four manned and masted barges

grew,
And, bearing downwards from

Glengyle,
Steered full upon the lonely isle ;
The point of Brianchoil they

passed,
And, to the windward as they cast,
Against the sun they gave to shine
The bold Sir Roderick's bannered

Pine. 340

Nearer and nearer as they bear,

Spears, pikes, and axes flash in

air.
Now might you see the tartans

brave,
And plaids and plumage dance and

wave:
Now see the bonnets sink and

rise,
As his tough oar the rower plies;
See, flashing at each sturdy stroke,
The wave ascending into smoke ;
See the proud pipers on the bow,
And mark the gaudy streamers

flOW 350

From their loud chanters down,

and sweep
The furrowed bosom of the deep,
As, rushing through the lake

amain.
They plied the ancient Highland

strain.

XVII

Ever, as on they bore, more loud
And louder rung the pibroch proud.
At first the sounds, by distance

tame,
Mellowed along the waters came,
And, lingering long by cape and

bay, 359

Wailed every harsher note away,
Then bursting bolder on the ear,
The clan's shrill Gathering they

could hear,
Those thrilling sounds that call

the might
Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight.
Thick beat the rapid notes, as

when
The mustering hundreds shake the

glen,
And hurrying at the signal dread,
The battered earth returns their

tread.
Then prelude light, of livelier tone,
Expressed their merry marching

on, 370

Ere peal of closing battle rose,
With mingled outcry, shrieks, and

blows ;
And mimic din of stroke and ward,

2l8

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

As broadsword upon target jarred ;
And groaning pause, ere yet again,
Condensed, the battle yelled

amain :
The rapid charge, the rallying

shout,
Retreat borne headlong into rout,
And bursts of triumph, to declare
Clan-Alpine's conquest — all were
there. 380

Nor ended thus the strain, but

slow
Sunk in a moan prolonged and low,
And changed the conquering clar-
ion swell
For wild lament o'er those that
fell.

XVIII

The war-pipes ceased, but lake and

hill
Were busy with their echoes still ;
And, when they slept, a vocal

strain
Bade their hoarse chorus wake

again,
While loud a hundred clansmen

raise
Their voices in their Chieftain's

praise. 390

Each boatman, bending to his oar,
With measured sweep the burden

bore,
In such wild cadence as the breeze
Makes through December's leaf-
less trees.
The chorus first could Allan know,
* Roderick Vich Alpine, ho ! iroe ! '
And near, and nearer as they

rowed,
Distinct the martial ditty flowed.

XIX

BOAT SONG

Hail to the Chief who in triumph

advances !
Honored and blessed be the

ever-green Pine ! 400

Long may the tree, in his banner

that glances,

Flourish, the shelter and grace
of our line !
Heaven send it happy dew,
Earth lend it sap anew,
Gayly to bourgeon and broadly
to grow,
While every Highland glen
Sends our shout back again,
' Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho !
ieroe ! »

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown
by the fountain,
Blooming at Beltane, in winter
to fade; 410

When the whirlwind has stripped
every leaf on the mountain,
The more shall Clan-Alpine ex-
ult In her shade.
Moored in the rifted rock,
Proof to the tempest's shock,
Firmer he roots him the ruder it
blow;
Menteith and Breadalbane,

then,
Echo his praise again,
1 Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho !

ieroe ! '

Proudly our pibroch has thrilled
in Glen Fruin,
And Bannochar's groans to our
slogan replied ; 420

Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are
smoking in ruin,
And the best of Loch Lomond
lie dead on her side.
Widow and Saxon maid
Long shall lament our raid,
Think of Clan-Alpine with fear
and with woe;
Lennox and Leven-glen
Shake when they hear again,
' Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho !
ieroe ! '

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of
the Highlands !
Stretch to your oars for the ever-
green Pine ! 430

CANTO SECOND : THE ISLAND

219

0 that the rosebud that graces

yon islands
Were wreathed in a garland
around him to twine !
O that some seedling gem,
Worthy such noble stem,
Honored and blessed in their
shadow might grow !
Loud should Clan-Alpine then
Ring from her deepmost glen,
* Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho !
ieroe ! '

XXI

With all her joyful female band

Had Lady Margaret sought the
strand. 440

Loose on the breeze their tresses
flew,

And high their snowy arms they
threw,

As echoing back with shrill ac-
claim,

And chorus wild, the Chieftain's
name;

While, prompt to please, with mo-
ther's art,

The darling passion of his heart,

The Dame called Ellen to the
strand,

To greet her kinsman ere he land :

'' Come, loiterer, come ! a Douglas
thou,

And shun to wreathe a victor's
brow?' 450

Reluctantly and slow, the maid

The unwelcome summoning
obeyed,

And when a distant bugle rung,

In the mid - path aside she
sprung : —

'List, Allan-bane ! From main-
land cast

1 hear my father's signal blast.
Be ours,' she cried, 'the skiff to

guide,

And waft him from the mountain-
side.'

Then, like a sunbeam, swift and
bright,

She darted to her shallop light 460

And, eagerly while Roderick

scanned,
For her dear form, his mother's

band,
The islet far behind her lay,
And she had landed in the bay.

XXII

Some feelings are to mortals given
With less of earth in them than

heaven :
And if there be a human tear
From passion's dross refined and

clear,
A tear so limpid and so meek
It would not stain an angel's

cheek, 470

'T is that which pious fathers

shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head !
And as the Douglas to his breast
His darling Ellen closely pressed,
Such holy drops her tresses

steeped,
Though 't was an hero's eye that

weeped.
Nor while on Ellen's faltering

tongue
Her filial welcomes crowded hung,
Marked she that fear — affection's

proof — 479

Still held a graceful youth aloof ;
No! not till Douglas named his

name,
Although the youth was Malcolm

Graeme.

XXIII

Allan, with wistful look the while
Marked Roderick landing on the

isle;
His master piteously he eyed,
Then gazed upon the Chieftain's

pride,
Then dashed with hasty hand

away
From his dimmed eye the gather-
ing spray ;
And Douglas, as his hand he laid
On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly
said : 4Q0

220

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

1 Canst thou, young friend, no

meaning spy
In my poor follower's glistening

eye?
I '11 tell thee : — he recalls the day
When in my praise he led the lay
O'er the arched gate of Bothwell

proud,
While many a minstrel answered

loud,
When Percy's Norman pennon,

won
In bloody field, before me shone,
And twice ten knights, the least a

name 499

As mighty as yon Chief may claim.
Gracing my pomp, behind me earned
Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so

proud
Was I of all that marshalled

crowd,
Though the waned crescent owned

my might,
And in my train trooped lord and

knight,
Though Blantyre hymned her holi-
est lays,
And Bothwell's bards flung back

my praise,
As when this old man's silent tear,
And this poor maid's affection

dear,
A welcome give more kind and

true 510

Than aught my better fortunes

knew.
Forgive, my friend, a father's

boast, —
O, it out-beggars all I lost! ■

XXIV

Delightful praise ! — like summer
rose,

That brighter in the dew-drop
glows,

The bashful maiden's cheek ap-
peared,

For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm
heard.

The flush of shame-faced joy to
hide,

The hounds, the hawk, her cares

divide ;
The loved caresses of the maid
The dogs with crouch and whim-
per paid; 521
And, at her whistle, on her hand
The falcon took his favorite stand,
Closed his dark wing, relaxed his

eye,
Nor, though unhooded, sought to

fly.

And, trust, while in such guise she

stood,
Like fabled Goddess of the wood,
That if a father's partial thought
O'er weighed her worth and beauty

aught,
Well might the lover's judgment

fail 530

To balance with a juster scale ;
For with each secret glance he

stole,
The fond enthusiast sent his soul.

XXV

Of stature fair, and slender frame,

But firmly knit, was Malcolm
Graeme.

The belted plaid and tartan hose

Did ne'er more graceful limbs dis-
close ;

His flaxen hair, of sunny hue,

Curled closely round his bonnet
blue.

Trained to the chase, his eagle
eye 540

The ptarmigan in snow could spy ;

Each pass, by mountain, lake, and
heath,

He knew, through Lennox and
Menteith ;

Yain wras the bound of dark-brown
doe

When Malcolm bent his sounding
bow,

And scarce that doe, though winged
with fear,

Outstripped in speed the moun-
taineer :

Right up Ben Lomond could he
press, 548

CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND

221

And not a sob his toil confess.
His form accorded with a mind
Lively and ardent, frank and kind ;
A blither heart, till Ellen came,
Did never love nor sorrow tame ;
It danced as lightsome in his

breast
As played the feather on his crest.
Yet friends, who nearest knew the

youth,
His scorn of wrong, his zeal for

truth,
And bards, who saw his features

bold
When kindled by the tales of

old,
Said, were that youth to manhood

grown, 560

Not long should Roderick Dhu's

renown
Be foremost voiced by mountain

fame,
But quail to that of Malcolm

Graeme.

XXVI

Now back they wend their watery

way,
And, ■ O my sire ! ' did Ellen say,
1 Why urge thy chase so far astray ?
And why so late returned ? And

why ' —
The rest was in her speaking eye.
' My child, the chase I follow far,
'T is mimicry of noble war ; 570
And with that gallant pastime reft
Were all of Douglas I have left.
I met young Malcolm as I strayed
Far eastward, in G-lenfinlas' shade ;
Nor strayed I safe, for all around
Hunters and horsemen scoured the

ground.
This youth, though still a royal

ward,
Risked life and land to be my

guard,
And through the passes of the

wood
Guided my steps, not unpursued ;
And Roderick shall his welcome

make, 581

Despite old spleen, for Douglas'

sake.
Then must he seek Strath-Endrick

glen,
Nor peril aught for me again.'

XXVII

Sir Roderick, who to meet them

came,
Reddened at sight of Malcolm

Graeme,
Yet, not in action, word, or eye,
Failed aught in hospitality.
In talk and sport they whiled

away 589

The morning of that summer day ;
But at high noon a courier light
Held secret parley with the knight,
Whose moody aspect soon de-
clared
That evil were the news he heard.
Deep thought seemed toiling in his

head;
l"et was the evening banquet made
Ere he assembled round the flame
His mother, Douglas, and the

Graeme,
And Ellen too ; then cast around
His eyes, then fixed them on the

ground, 600

As studying phrase that might

avail
Best to convey unpleasant tale.
Long with his dagger's hilt he

played,
Then raised his haughty brow,

and said : —

XXVIII

'Short be my speech;— -nor time

affords,
Nor my plain temper, glozing

words.
Kinsman and father, — if such

name
Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's

claim ;
Mine honored mother ; — Ellen, —

why,
My cousin, turn away thine

eye?— 610

22\

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

And Graeme, in whom I hope to
know

Full soon a noble friend or foe,

When age shall give thee thy com-
mand,

And leading in thy native land, —

List all ! — The King's vindictive
pride

Boasts to have tamed the Border-
side,

Where chiefs, with hound and
hawk who came

To share their monarch's sylvan
game,

Themselves in bloody toils were
snared,

And when the banquet they pre-
pared, 620

And wide their loyal portals flung

O'er their own gateway struggling
hung.

Loud cries their blood from Meg-
gat's mead,

From Yarrow braes and banks of
Tweed,

Where the lone streams of Ettrick
glide,

And from the silver Teviot's side ;

The dales, where martial clans
did ride,

Are now one sheep-walk, waste
and wide.

This tyrant of the Scottish throne.

So faithless and so ruthless
known, 630

Now hither comes ; his end the
same,

The same pretext of sylvan game.

What grace for Highland Chiefs,
judge ye

By fate of Border chivalry.

Yet more ; amid Glenfinlas' green,

Douglas, thy stately form was
seen.

This by espial sure I know :

Your counsel in the streight I
show.'

XXIX

Ellen and Margaret fearfully
Sought comfort in each other's
eye, 640

Then turned their ghastly look,

each one,
This to her sire, that to her son.
The hasty color went and came
In the bold cheek of Malcolm

Graeme,
But from his glance it well ap-
peared
'T was but for Ellen that he

feared ;
While, sorrowful, but undismayed
The Douglas thus his counsel said :
1 Brave Roderick, though the tem-
pest roar,
It may but thunder and pass
o'er ; 650

Nor will I here remain an hour,
To draw the lightning on thy

bower ;
For well thou know'st, at this gray

head
The royal bolt were fiercest sped.
For thee, who, at thy King's com-
mand,
Canst aid him with a gallant band,
Submission, homage, humbled

pride,
Shall turn the Monarch's wrath

aside.
Poor remnants of the Bleeding

Heart,
Ellen and I will seek apart 660
The refuge of some forest cell,
There, like the hunted quarry,

dwell,
Till on the mountain and the moor
The stern pursuit be passed and

o'er.'

XXX

' No, by mine honor,' Roderick

said,
1 So help me Heaven, and my good

blade !
No, never ! Blasted be yon Pine,
My father's ancient crest and mine,
If from its shade in danger part
The lineage of the Bleeding

Heart ! 670

Hear my blunt speech: grant me

this maid
To wife, thy counsel to mine aid;

CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND

223

To Douglas, leagued with Roder-
ick Dim,
Will friends and allies flock enow ;
Like cause of doubt, distrust, and

grief,
Will bind to us each Western

Chief.
When the loud pipes my bridal

tell,
The Links of Forth shall hear the

knell,
The guards shall start in Stirling's

porch ;
And when I light the nuptial

torch, 680

A thousand villages in flames
Shall scare the slumbers of King

James ! —
Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away,
And, mother, cease these signs, I

pray;
I meant not all my heat might

say.—
Small need of inroad or of fight,
When the sage Douglas may

unite
Each mountain clan in friendly

band,
To guard the passes of their land,
Till the foiled King from pathless

glen 690

Shall bootless turn him home

again.'

XXXI

There are who have, at midnight

hour,
In slumber scaled a dizzy tower,
And, on the verge that beetled

o'er
The ocean tide's incessant roar,
Dreamed calmly out their danger.

ous dream,
Till wakened by the morning

beam;
When, dazzled by the eastern

glow,
Such startler cast his glance be-
low,
And saw unmeasured depth

around, 7oo

And heard unintermitted sound,
And thought the battled fence so

frail,
It waved like cobweb in the gale ; —
Amid his senses' giddy wheel,
Did he not desperate impulse feel
Headlong to plunge himself be-
low,
And meet the worst his fears fore-
show ? —
Thus Ellen, dizzy and astound,
As sudden ruin yawned around,
By crossing terrors wildly tossed,
Still for the Douglas fearing most,
Could scarce the desperate thought
withstand, 712

To buy his safety with her hand.

XXXII

Such purpose dread could Mal-
colm spy
In Ellen's quivering lip and eye,
And eager rose to speak, — but ere
His tongue could hurry forth his

fear,
Had Douglas marked the hectic

strife,
Where death seemed combating

with life ;
For to her cheek, in feverish flood,
One instant rushed the throbbing

blood, 721

Then ebbing back, with sudden

sway,
Left its domain as wan as clay.
4 Roderick, enough ! enough ! » he

cried,
' My daughter cannot be thy bride ;
Not that the blush to wooer dear,
Nor paleness that of maiden fear.
It may not be, — forgive her, Chief,
Nor hazard aught for our relief.
Against his sovereign, Douglas

ne'er 730

Will level a rebellious spear.
'T was I that taught his youthful

hand
To rein a steed and wield a brand ;
I see him yet, the princely boy !
Not Ellen more my pride and

joy;

:24

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

I love him still, despite my wrongs
By hasty wrath and slanderous

tongues.
O, seek the grace you well may

find,
Without a cause to mine com-

bined ! '

XXXIII

Twice through the hall the Chief-
tain strode ; 740
The waving of his tartans broad,
And darkened brow, where

wounded pride
With ire and disappointment vied,
Seemed, by the torch's gloomy

light,
Like the ill Demon of the night,
Stooping his pinions' shadowy

sway
Upon the nighted pilgrim's way :
But, unrequited Love ! thy dart
Plunged deepest its envenomed

smart,
And Roderick, with thine anguish

stung, 750

At length the hand of Douglas

wrung,
While eyes that mocked at tears

before
With bitter drops were running

o'er.
The death-pangs of long-cherished

hope
Scarce in that ample breast had

scope,
But, struggling with his spirit

proud,
Convulsive heaved its checkered

shroud,
While every sob — so mute were

all —
Was heard distinctly through the

hall.
The son's despair, the mother's

look, 760

111 might the gentle Ellen brook ;
She rose, and to her side there

came,
To aid her parting steps, the

Graeme.

xxxiv

Then Eoderick from the Douglas
broke —

As flashes flame through sable
smoke,

Kindling its wreaths, long, dark,
and low,

To one broad blaze of ruddy glow,

So the deep anguish of despair

Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air.

With stalwart grasp his hand he
laid 770

On Malcolm's breast and belted
plaid :

4 Back, beardless boy ! ' he sternly
said,

'Back, minion! holdst thou thus
at naught

The lesson I so lately taught?

This roof, the Douglas, and that
maid,

Thank thou for punishment de-
layed.'

Eager as greyhound on his game,

Fiercely with Roderick grappled
Graeme.

' Perish my name, if aught afford

Its Chieftain safety save his
sword ! ' 780

Thus as they strove their despe-
rate hand

Griped to the dagger or the brand,

And death had been— but Doug-
las rose,

And thrust between the struggling
foes

His giant strength : — 4 Chieftains,
forego !

I hold the first who strikes my
foe.—

Madmen, forbear your frantic jar !

What ! is the Douglas fallen so far,

His daughter's hand is deemed the
spoil

Of such dishonorable broil ? ' 790

Sullen and slowly they unclasp,

As struck with shame, their de-
sperate grasp,

And each upon his rival glared,

With foot advanced and blade half
bared.

CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND

225

XXXV

Ere yet the brands aloft were

flung,
Margaret on Roderick's mantle

hung,
And Malcolm heard his Ellen's

scream,
As faltered through terrific dream.
Then Roderick plunged in sheath

his sword,
And veiled his wrath in scornful

word : 800

4 Rest safe till morning; pity 't

were
Such cheek should feel the mid-
night air !
Then mayst thou to James Stuart

tell,
Roderick will keep the lake and

fell,
Nor lackey with his freeborn clan
The pageant pomp of earthly man.
More would he of Clan-Alpine

know,
Thou canst our strength and

passes show. —
Malise, what ho !' — his henchman

came :
'Give our safe-conduct to the

Graeme/ 810

Young Malcolm answered, calm

and bold :
* Fear nothing for thy favorite

hold;
The spot an angel deigned to

grace
Is blessed, though robbers haunt

the place.
Thy churlish courtesy for those
Reserve, who fear to be thy foes.
As safe to me the mountain way
At midnight as in blaze of day,
Though with his boldest at his

back
Even Roderick Dhu beset the

track. — 820

Brave Douglas,— lovely Ellen,—

nay,
Naught here of parting will I say.
Earth does not hold a lonesome

glen

So secret but we meet again. —
Chieftain ! we too shall find an

hour,' —
He said, and left the sylvan bower.

XXXVI

Old Allan followed to the strand —

Such was the Douglas's com-
mand—

And anxious told, how, on the
morn,

The stern Sir Roderick deep had
sworn, 830

The Fiery Cross should circle o'er

Dale, glen, and valley, down and
moor.

Much were the peril to the Graeme

From those who to the signal
came;

Far up the lake 't were safest land,

Himself would row him to the
strand.

He gave his counsel to the wind,

While Malcolm did, unheeding,
bind,

Round dirk and pouch and broad-
sword rolled,

His ample plaid in tightened
•fold, 840

And stripped his limbs to such ar-
ray

As best might suit the watery
way, —

XXXVII

Then spoke abrupt : ' Farewell to

thee,
Pattern of old fidelity ! '
The Minstrel's hand he kindly

pressed,—
' O, could I point a place of rest!
My sovereign holds in ward my

land,
My uncle leads my vassal band ;
To tame his foes, his friends to

aid,
Poor Malcolm has but heart and

blade. 850

Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme
Who loves the chieftain of his

name,

226

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Not long shall honored Douglas

dwell
Like hunted stag in mountain

cell;
Nor, ere yon pride-swollen robber

dare, —
I may not give the rest to air !
Tell Roderick Dhu I owed him

naught,
Not the poor service of a boat,
To waft me to yon mountain-side.'
Then plunged he in the flashing

tide. 860

Bold o'er the flood his head he

bore,
And stoutly steered him from the

shore ;
And Allan strained his anxious

eye,
Far mid the lake his form to spy,
Darkening across each puny

wave,
To which the moon her silver

gave.
Fast as the cormorant could skim,
The swimmer plied each active

limb;
Then landing in the moonlight

dell,
Loud shouted of his weal to

tell. 870

The Minstrel heard the far halloo,
And joyful from the shore with-

drew.

CANTO THIRD

THE GATHERING

Time rolls his ceaseless course.

The race of yore,
Who danced our infancy upon

their knee,
And told our marvelling boyhood

legends store
Of their strange ventures happed

by land or sea,
How are they blotted from the

things that be !

How few, all weak and withered
of their force,
Wait on the verge of dark eter-
nity,
Like stranded wrecks, the tide
returning hoarse,
To sweep them from our sight;
Time rolls his ceaseless
course.

Yet live there still wrho can re-
member well, 10
How, when a mountain chief his
bugle blew,
Both field and forest, dingle, cliff,
and dell,
And solitary heath, the signal
knew ;
And fast the faithful clan around
him drew,
What time the warning note was
keenly wound,
What time aloft their kindred ban-
ner flew,
While clamorous wTar-pipes
yelled the gathering sound,
And while the Fiery Cross glanced,
like a meteor, round.

11
The Summer dawn's reflected

v hue
To purple changed Loch Katrine

blue ; 20

Mildly and soft the western breeze
Just kissed the 'lake, just stirred

the trees,
And the pleased lake, like maiden

coy,
Trembled but dimpled not for joy :
The mountain -shadows on her

breast
Were neither broken nor at rest ;
In bright uncertainty they lie,
Like future joys to Fancy's eye.
The water-lily to the light
Her chalice reared of silver

bright; 30

The doe awoke, and to the lawn,
Begemmed with dew-drops, led

her fawn ;

CANTO THIRD: THE GATHERING

227

The gray mist left the mountain-
side,

The torrent showed its glistening
pride ;

Invisible in flecked sky

The lark sent down her revelry ;

The blackbird and the speckled
thrush

Good-morrow gave from brake and
bush ;

In answer cooed the cushat dove

Her notes of peace and rest and
love. 40

No thought of peace, no thought

of rest,
Assuaged the storm in Roderick's

breast.
With sheathed broadsword in his

hand,
Abrupt he paced the islet strand,
And eyed the rising sun, and laid
His hand on his impatient blade.
Beneath a rock, his vassal's care
Was prompt the ritual to prepare,
With deep and deathful meaning

fraught :
For such Antiquity had taught 50
Was preface meet, ere yet abroad
The Cross of F ire should take its

road.
The shrinking band stood oft

aghast
At the impatient glance he cast ; —
Such glance the mountain eagle

threw,
As, from the cliffs of Benvenue,
She spread her dark sails on the I

wind,
And, high in middle heaven re- j

clined,
With her broad shadow on the

lake,
Silenced the warblers of the

brake. 60

A heap of withered boughs was

piled,
Of juniper and rowan wild,

Mingled with shivers from the

oak,
Rent by the lightning's recent

stroke.
Brian the Hermit by it stood,
Barefooted, in his frock and hood.
His grizzled beard and matted

hair
Obscured a visage of despair;
His naked arms and legs, seamed

o'er,
The scars of frantic penance

bore. 70

That monk, of savage form and

face,
The impending danger of his race
Had drawn from deepest solitude,
Far in Benharrow's bosom rude.
Not his the mien of Christian

priest,
But Druid's, from the grave re-
leased,
Whose hardened heart and eye

might brook
On human sacrifice to look ;
And much, 't was said, of heathen

lore
Mixed in the charms he muttered

o'er. 80

The hallowed creed gave only

worse
And deadlier emphasis of curse.
No peasant sought that Hermit's

prayer,
His cave the pilgrim shunned with

care ;
The eager huntsman knew his

bound,
And in mid chase called off his

hound ;
Or if, in lonely glen or strath,
The desert-dweller met his path,
He prayed, and signed the cross

between, 89

While terror took devotion's mien.

Of Brian's birth strange tales were

told.
His mother watched a midnight

fold,

228

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Built deep within, a dreary glen,
Where scattered lay the bones of

men
In some forgotten battle slain,
And bleached by drifting wind and

rain.
It might have tamed a warrior's

heart
To view such mockery of his art !
The knot-grass fettered there the

hand
Which once could burst an iron

band ; ioo

Beneath the broad and ample

bone,
That bucklered heart to fear un-
known,
A feeble and a timorous guest,
The fieldfare framed her lowly

nest;
There the slow blind worm left his

slime
On the fleet limbs that mocked at

time ;
And there, too, lay the leader's

skull,
Still wreathed with chaplet, flushed

and full,
For heath-bell with her purple

bloom
Supplied the bonnet and the

plume. no

All night, in this sad glen, the

maid
Sat shrouded in her mantle's

shade :
She said no shepherd sought her

side,
No hunter's hand her snood un-
tied,
Yet ne'er again to braid her hair
The virgin snood did Alice wear ;
Gone was her maiden glee and

sport,
Her maiden girdle all too short,
Nor sought she, from that fatal

night,
Or holy church or blessed rite, 120
But locked her secret in her

breast,
And died in travail, unconfessed.

Alone, among his young compeers,
Was Brian from his infant years ;
A moody and heart-broken boy,
Estranged from sympathy and joy,
Bearing each taunt which careless

tongue
On his mysterious lineage flung.
Whole nights he spent by moon-
light pale,
To wood and stream his hap to
wail, 130

Till, frantic, he as truth received
What of his birth the crowd be-
lieved,
And sought, in mist and meteor

fire,
To meet and know his Phantom

Sire !
In vain, to soothe his wayward

fate,
The cloister oped her pitying gate ;
In vain the learning of the age
Unclasped the sable-lettered page ;
Even in its treasures he could find
Food for the fever of his mind. 140
Eager he read whatever tells
Of magic, cabala, and spells,
And every dark pursuit allied
To curious and presumptuous

pride ;
Till with fired brain and nerves

o'erstrung,
And heart with mystic horrors

wrung,
Desperate he sought Benharrow's

den,
And hid him from the haunts of
men.

VII

The desert gave him visions wild,

Such as might suit the spectre's
child. 150

Where with black cliffs the tor-
rents toil,

He watched the wheeling eddies
boil,

Till from their foam his dazzled
eyes

Beheld the River Demon rise :

CANTO THIRD: THE GATHERING

229

The mountain mist took form and

limb
Of noontide hag or goblin grim ;
The midnight wind came wild and

dread,
Swelled with the voices of the

dead;
Far on the future battle-heath 159
His eye beheld the ranks of death ;
Thus the lone Seer, from mankind

hurled,
Shaped forth a disembodied world.
One lingering sympathy of mind
Still bound him to the mortal kind ;
The only parent he could claim
Of ancient Alpine's lineage came.
Late had he heard, in prophet's

dream,
The fatal Ben-Shie's boding

scream ;
Sounds, too, had come in midnight

blast 169

Of charging steeds, careering fast
Along Benhar row's shingly side,
Where mortal horseman ne'er

might ride ;
The thunderbolt had split the

pine, —
All augured ill to Alpine's line.
He girt his loins, and came to

show
The signals of impending woe,
And now stood prompt to bless or

ban,
As bade the Chieftain of his clan.

VIII

'T was all prepared ; — and from

the rock 179

A goat, the patriarch of the flock,
Before the kindling pile was laid,
And pierced by Roderick's ready

blade.
Patient the sickening victim eyed
The life-blood ebb in crimson tide
Down his clogged beard and

shaggy limb,
Till darkness glazed his eyeballs

dim.
The grisly priest, with murmuring

prayer,

A slender crosslet framed with

care,
A cubit's length in measure due ;
The shaft and limbs were rods of

yew, 190

Whose parents in Inch Cailliach

wave
Their shadows o'er Clan-Alpine's

grave,
And, answering Lomond's breezes

deep,
Soothe many a chieftain's endless

sleep.
The Cross thus formed he held on

high,
With wasted hand and haggard

eye,
And strange and mingled feelings

woke,
While his anathema he spoke : —

'Woe to the clansman who shall

view
This symbol of sepulchral yew, 200
Forgetful that its branches grew
Where weep the heavens their

holiest dew
On Alpine's dwelling low !
Deserter of his Chieftain's trust,
He ne'er shall mingle with their

dust,
But, from his sires and kindred

thrust,
Each clansman's execration just

Shall doom him wrath and woe.'
He paused ; — the word the vassals

took,
With forward step and fiery look,
On high their naked brands they

shook, 211

Their clattering targets wildly

strook ;
And first in murmur low,
Then, like the billow in his course,
That far to seaward finds his

source,
And flings to shore his mustered

force,
Burst with loud roar their answer

hoarse,

230

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

' Woe to the traitor, woe ! '
Ben-an's gray scalp the accents

knew,
The joyous wolf from covert drew,
The exulting eagle screamed

afar,— 221

They knew the voice of Alpine's

war.

The shout was hushed on lake and

fell,
The Monk resumed his muttered

spell :
Dismal and low its accents came,
The while he scathed the Cross

with flame ;
And the few words that reached

the air,
Although the holiest name was

there,
Had more of blasphemy than

prayer.
But when he shook above the

crowd 230

Its kindled points, he spoke

aloud : —
1 Woe to the wretch who fails to

rear
At this dread sign the ready spear !
For, as the flames this symbol sear,
His home, the refuge of his fear,

A kindred fate shall know ;
Far o'er its roof the volumed flame
Clan-Alpine's vengeance shall pro-
claim,
While maids and matrons on his

name
Shall call down wretchedness and

shame, 240

And infamy and woe.'
Then rose the cry of females, shrill
As goshawk's whistle on the hill,
Denouncing misery and ill,
Mingled with childhood's babbling

trill
Of curses stammered slow ;
Answering with imprecation

dread,
' Sunk be his home in embers red !
And cursed be the meanest shed

That e'er shall hide the houseless
head 250

We doom to want and woe ! '
A sharp and shrieking echo gave,
Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave !
And the gray pass where birches
wave
On Beala-nam-bo.

Then deeper paused the priest

anew,
And hard his laboring breath he

drew,
While, with set teeth and clenched

hand,
And eyes that glowed like fiery

brand,
He meditated curse more dread,
And deadlier, on the clansman's

head 261

Who, summoned to his chieftain's

aid,
The signal saw and disobeyed.
The crosslet's points of sparkling

wood
He quenched among the bubbling

blood,
And, as again the sign he reared,
Hollow and hoarse his voice was

heard :
' When flits this Cross from man

to man,
Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan,
Burst be the ear that fails to heed !
Palsied the foot that shuns to

speed! 271

May ravens tear the careless eyes,
Wolves make the coward heart

their prize!
As sinks that blood-stream in the

earth,
So may his heart's-blood drench

his hearth !
As dies in hissing gore the spark,
Quench thou his light, Destruction

dark !
And be the grace to him denied,
Bought by this sign to all beside ! '
He ceased; no echo gave again 280
The murmur of the deep Amen.

CANTO THIRD: THE GATHERING

XII

Then Roderick with impatient

look
From Brian's hand the symbol

took:
' Speed, Malise, speed ! ' he said,

and gave
The crosslet to his henchman

brave.
'The muster-place be Lanrick

mead —
Instant the time — speed, Malise,

speed ! '
Like heath-bird, when the hawks

pursue,
A barge across Loch Katrine flew :
High stood the henchman on the

prow ; 290

So rapidly the barge-men row,
The bubbles, where they launched

the boat,
Were all unbroken and afloat,
Dancing in foam and ripple still,
When it had neared the mainland

hill;
And from the silver beach's side
Still was the prow three fathom

wide,
When lightly bounded to the land
The messenger of blood and brand.

XIII

Speed, Malise, speed! the dun
deer's hide 300

On fleeter foot was never tied.

Speed, Malise, speed! such cause
of haste

Thine active sinews never braced.

Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy
breast,

Burst down like torrent from its
crest;

With short and springing footstep
pass

The trembling bog and false mo-
rass ;

Across the brook like roebuck
bound,

And thread the brake like quest-
ing hound ; 309

The crag is high, the scaur is deep,

Yet shrink not from the desperate

leap:
Parched are thy burning lips and

brow,
Yet by the fountain pause not now ;
Herald of battle, fate, and fear,
Stretch onward in thy fleet career l
The wounded hind thou track'st

not now,
Pursuest not maid through green-
wood bough,
Nor pliest thou now thy flying

pace
With rivals in the mountain race ;
But danger, death, and wrarrior

deed 320

Are in thy course — speed, Malise,

speed !

XIV

Fast as the fatal symbol flies,

In arms the huts and hamlets rise ;

From winding glen, from upland

brown,
They poured each hardy tenant

down.
Nor slacked the messenger his

pace:
He showred the sign, he named the

place,
And, pressing forward like the

wTind,
Left clamor and surprise behind.
The fisherman forsook the strand,
The swarthy smith took dirk and

brand; 331

With changed cheer, the mower

blithe
Left in the half-cut swath his

scythe ;
The herds without a keeper

strayed,
The plough was in mid-furrow

stayed,
The falconer tossed his hawk

away,
The hunter left the stag at bay ;
Prompt at the signal of alarms,
Each son of Alpine rushed to arms ;
So swept the tumult and affray 340
Along the margin of Achray.

232

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Alas, thou lovely lake ! that e'er
Thy banks should echo sounds of

fear !
The rocks, the bosky thickets,

sleep
So stilly on thy bosom deep,
The lark's blithe carol from the

cloud
Seems for the scene too gayly

loud.

Speed, Malise, speed! The lake

is past,
Duncraggan's huts appear at last,
And peep, like moss-grown rocks,

half seen, 350

Half hidden in the copse so green ;
There mayst thou rest, thy labor

done,
Their lord shall speed the signal

on.—
As stoops the hawk upon his prey,
The henchman shot him down the

way.
What wof ul accents load the gale ?
The funeral yell, the female wail !
A gallant hunter's sport is o'er,
A valiant warrior fights no more.
Who, in the battle or the chase,
At Roderick's side shall fill his

place ! — 361

Within the hall, where torch's ray
Supplies the excluded beams of

day,
Lies Duncan on his lowly bier,
And o'er him streams his widow's

tear.
His stripling son stands mournful

by,
His youngest weeps, but knows

not why ;
The village maids and matrons

round
The dismal coronach resound.

XVI
CORONACH

He is gone on the mountain,
He is lost to the forest,

370

Like a summer-dried fountain,
When our need was the sorest.

The font, reappearing,
From the rain-drops shall bor-
row,

But to us comes no cheering,
To Duncan no morrow !

The hand of the reaper

Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper 380

Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rushing

Waft the leaves that are searest,
But our flower was in flushing,

When blighting was nearest.

Fleet foot on the correi,

Sage counsel in cumber,
Red hand in the foray,

How sound is thy slumber !
Like the dew on the mountain, 390

Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,

Thou art gone, and forever !

XVII

See Stumah, who, the bier beside,
His master's corpse with wonder

eyed,
Poor Stumah! whom his least

halloo
Could send like lightning o'er the

dew,
Bristles his crest, and points his

ears,
As if some stranger step he hears,
'T is not a mourner's mufiled tread,
Who comes to sorrow o'er the

dead, 401

But headlong haste or deadly fear
Urge the precipitate career.
All stand aghast: — unheeding all,
The henchman bursts into the hall ;
Before the dead man's bier he stood
Held forth the Cross besmeared

with blood ;
1 The muster-place is Lanrick

mead ;
Speed forth the signal ! clansmen,

speed ! '

CANTO THIRD: THE GATHERING

233

XVIII

Angus, the heir of Duncan's line,
Sprung forth and seized the fatal
sign. 411

In haste the stripling to his side
His father's dirk and broadsword

tied;
But when he saw his mother's

eye
Watch him in speechless agony,
Back to her opened arms he flew,
Pressed on her lips a fond adieu, —
4 Alas ! ' she sobbed, — ' and yet be

gone,
And speed thee forth, like Dun-
can's son!' 419
One look he cast upon the bier,
Dashed from his eye the gathering

tear,
Breathed deep to clear his labor-
ing breast,
And tossed aloft his bonnet crest,
Then, like the high-bred colt when,

freed,
First he essays his fire and speed,
He vanished, and o'er moor and

moss
Sped forward with the Fiery Cross.
Suspended was the widow's tear
While yet his footsteps she could

hear;
And when she marked the hench-
man's eye 430
Wet with unwonted sympathy,
'Kinsman,' she said, 'his race is

run
That should have sped thine er-
rand on ;
The oak has fallen, — the sapling

bough
Is all Duncraggan's shelter now.
Yet trust I well, his duty done,
The orphan's God will guard my

son. —
And you in many a danger true,
At Duncan's hest your blades that

drew,
To arms, and guard that orphan's
head ! 440

Let babes and women wail the
dead.'

Then weapon-clang and martial
call

Resounded through the funeral
hall,

While from the walls the attend-
ant band

Snatched sword and targe with
hurried hand ;

And short and flitting energy

Glanced from the mourner's sunk-
en eye,

As if the sounds to warrior dear

Might rouse her Duncan from his
bier.

But faded soon that borrowed
force ; 450

Grief claimed his right, and tears
their course.

XIX

Benledi saw the Cross of Fire,
It glanced like lightning up Strath-
Ire.
0?er dale and hill the summons

flew,
Xor rest nor pause young Angus

knew ;
The tear that gathered in his

eye
He left the mountain-breeze to

dry;
Until, where Teith's young waters

roll
Betwixt him and a wooded knoll
That graced the sable strath with

green, 460

The chapel of Saint Bride was

seen.
Swoln was the stream, remote the

bridge,
But Angus paused not on the

edge;
Though the dark waves danced

dizzily,
Though reeled his sympathetic

eye,
He dashed amid the torrent's roar :
His right hand high the crosslet

bore,
His left the pole-axe grasped, to

guide

234

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

And stay his footing in the tide.
He stumbled twice, — the foam

splashed high, 470

With hoarser swell the stream

raced by ;
And had he fallen, — forever

there,
Farewell Duncraggan's orphan

heir !
But still, as if in parting life,
Firmer he grasped the Cross of

strife,
Until the opposing bank he gained,
And up the chapel pathway

strained.

A blithesome rout that morning-
tide
Had sought the chapel of Saint

Bride. 479

Her troth Tombea's Mary gave
To Norman, heir of Armandave,
And, issuing from the Gothic arch,
The bridal now resumed their

march.
In rude but glad procession came
Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame ;
And plaided youth, with jest and

jeer,
Which snooded maiden would not

hear ;
And children, that, unwitting why,
Lent the gay shout their shrilly

cry;
And minstrels, that in measures

vied 490

Before the young and bonny bride,
Whose downcast eye and cheek

disclose
The tear and blush of morning

rose.
With virgin step and bashful hand
She held the kerchief's snowy

band,
The gallant bridegroom by her side
Beheld his prize with victor's

pride,
And the glad mother in her ear
Was closely whispering word of

cheer.

XXI

Who meets them at the church-
yard gate? 500
The messenger of fear and fate !
Haste in his hurried accent lies,1
And grief is swimming in his eyes,
All dripping from the recent flood.
Panting and travel-soiled he stood,
The fatal sign of fire and sword
Held forth, and spoke the ap-
pointed word :
•The muster-place is Lanrick

mead;
Speed forth the signal ! Norman,

speed ! '
And must he change so soon the
hand 510

Just linked to his by holy band,
For the fell Cross of blood and

brand ?
And must the day so blithe that

rose,
And promised rapture in the close,
Before its setting hour, divide
The bridegroom from the plighted

bride ?
0 fatal doom ! — it must ! it must !
Clan- Alpine's cause, her Chief-
tain's trust,
Her summons dread, brook no de-
lay; 519
Stretch to the race,— away ! away !

XXII

Yet slow he laid his plaid aside,
And lingering eyed his lovely

bride,
Until he saw the starting tear
Speak woe he might not stop to

cheer ;
Then, trusting not a second look,
In haste he sped him up the brook,
Nor backward glanced till on the

heath
Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the

Teith. —
What in the racer's bosom stirred?
The sickening pang of hope de-
ferred, 530
And memory with a torturing
train

CANTO THIRD : THE GATHERING

235

Of all his morning visions vain.
Mingled with love's impatience,

came
The manly thirst for martial fame ;
The stormy joy of mountaineers
Ere yet they rush upon the spears ;
And zeal for Clan and Chieftain

burning,
And hope, from well-fought field

returning,
With war's red honors on his

crest, 539

To clasp his Mary to his breast.
Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank

and brae,
Like fire from flint he glanced

away,
While high resolve and feeling

strong
Burst into voluntary song.

XXIII
SOXG

The heath this night must be my

bed,
The bracken curtain for my head,
My lullaby the warder's tread,
Far, far, from love and thee,

Mary ;
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid,
My couch may be my bloody plaid,
My vesper song thy wail, sweet

maid! 551

It will not waken me, Mary !

I may not, dare not, fancy now
The grief that clouds thy lovely

brow,
I dare not think upon thy vow,

And all it promised me, Mary.
No fond regret must Norman

know ;
When bursts Clan-Alpine on the

foe,
His heart must be like bended

how, 559

His foot like arrow free, Mary.

A time will come with feeling
fraught,

For, if I fall in battle fought,
Thy hapless lover's dying thought
Shall be a thought on thee,

Mary.
And if returned from conquered

foes,
How blithely will the evening

close,
How sw7eet the linnet sing repose,
To my young bride and me,

Mary!

XXIV'

Not faster o'er thy heathery braes,
Balquidder, speeds the midnight

blaze, 570

Rushing in conflagration strong
Thy deep ravines and dells along,
Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow,
And reddening the dark lakes be-
low;
Nor faster speeds it, nor so far,
As o'er thy heaths the voice of

war.
The signal roused to martial coil
The sullen margin of Loch Voil,
Waked still Loch Doine, and to

the source
Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy

course ; 580

Thence southward turned its rapid

road
Adown Strath - Gartney's valley

broad,
Till rose in arms each man might

claim
A portion in Clan- Alpine's name,
From the gray sire, whose trem-
bling hand
Could hardly buckle on his brand,
To the raw boy, whose shaft and

bow
Were yet scarce terror to the crow.
Each valley, each sequestered

glen,
Mustered its little horde of men, 590
That met as torrents from the

height
In highland dales their streams

unite,
Still gathering, as they pour along,

236

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

A voice more loud, a tide more
strong,

Till at the rendezvous they stood

By hundreds prompt for blows
and blood,

Each trained to arms since life be-
gan,

Owning no tie but to his clan,

No oath but by his chieftain's
hand,

No law but Roderick Dhu's com-
mand. 600

XXV

That summer morn had Roderick

Dhu
Surveyed the skirts of Benvenue,
And sent his scouts o'er hill and

heath,
To view the frontiers of Menteith.
All backward came with news of

truce ;
Still lay each martial Graeme and

Bruce,
In Rednock courts no horsemen

wait,
No banner waved on Cardross

gate,
On Duchray's towers no beacon

shone,
Nor scared the herons from Loch

Con; 610

All seemed at peace. — Now wot

ye why
The Chieftain with such anxious

eye,
Ere to the muster he repair,
This western frontier scanned

with care ? —
In Benvenue' s most darksome

cleft,
A fair though cruel pledge was

left;
For Douglas, to his promise true,
That morning from the isle with-
drew,
And in a deep sequestered dell
Had sought a low and lonely

cell. 620

By many a bard in Celtic tongue
Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung ;

A softer name the Saxons gave,
And called the grot the Goblin
Cave.

xxvi
It was a wild and strange retreat,
As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet.
The dell, upon the mountain's

crest,
Yawned like a gash on warrior's

breast ;
Its trench had stayed full many a

rock,
Hurled by primeval earthquake

shock 630

From Benvenue' s gray summit

wild,
And here, in random ruin piled,
They frowned incumbent o'er the

spot,
And formed the rugged sylvan

grot.
The oak and birch with mingled

shade
At noontide there a twilight made,
Unless when short and sudden

shone
Some straggling beam on cliff or

stone,
With such a glimpse as prophet's

eye
Gains on thy- depth, Futurity. 640
No murmur waked the solemn

still,
Save tinkling of a fountain rill ;
But when the wind chafed with

the lake,
A sullen sound would upward

break,
With dashing hollow voice, that

spoke
The incessant war of wave and

rock.
Suspended cliffs with hideous sway
Seemed nodding o'er the cavern

gray.
From such a den the wolf had

sprung,
In such the wild-cat leaves her

young ; 650

Yet Douglas and his daughter fair

CANTO THIRD : THE GATHERING

Sought for a space their safety
there.

Gray Superstition's whisper dread

Debarred the spot to vulgar tread ;

For there, she said, did fays re-
sort,

And satyrs hold their sylvan court,

By moonlight tread their mystic
maze,

And blast the rash beholder's gaze.

XXVII

Now eve, with western shadows
long,

Floated on Katrine bright and
strong, 660

When Roderick with a chosen few

Repassed the heights of Benvenue.

Above the Goblin Cave they go,

Through the wild pass of Beal-
nam-bo ;

The prompt retainers speed be-
fore,

To launch the shallop from the
shore,

For 'cross Loch Katrine lies his
way

To view the passes of Achray,

And place his clansmen in array.

Yet lags the Chief in musing
mind, 670

Unwonted sight, his men behind.

A single page, to bear his sword,

Alone attended on his lord ;

The rest their way through thick-
ets break,

And soon await him by the lake.

It was a fair and gallant sight,

To view them from the neighbor-
ing height,

By the low - levelled sunbeam's
light!

For strength and stature, from the
clan 679

Each warrior was a chosen man,

As even afar might well be seen,

By their proud step and martial
mien.

Their feathers dance, their tartans
float,

Their targets gleam, as by the boat

A wild and warlike group they
stand,

That well became such mountain-
strand.

XXVIII

Their Chief with step reluctant still
Was lingering on the craggy hill,
Hard by where turned apart the

road
To Douglas's obscure abode, 690
It was but with that dawning

morn
That Roderick Dhu had proudly

sworn
To drown his love in war's wild

roar,
Nor think of Ellen Douglas more ;
But he who stems a stream with

sand,
And fetters flame with flaxen band,
Has yet a harder task to prove, —
By firm resolve to conquer love !
Eve finds the Chief, like restless

ghost,
Still hovering near his treasure

lost ; 700

For though his haughty heart deny
A parting meeting to his eye,
Still fondly strains his anxious ear
The accents of her voice to hear,
And inly did he curse the breeze
That waked to sound the rustling

trees.
But hark! what mingles in the

strain ?
It is the harp of Allan-bane,
That wakes its measure slow and

high,
Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 710
What melting voice attends the

strings ?
'T is Ellen, or an angel, sings.

XXIX
HYMN TO THE VIRGIN

Ave Maria ! maiden mild !

Listen to a maiden's prayer !
Thou canst hear though from the
wild,

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Thou canst save amid despair.
Safe may we sleep beneath thy
care,
Though banished, outcast, and
reviled —
Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer;
Mother, hear a suppliant child !
Ave Maria !

Ave Maria ! undented ! 721

The flinty couch we now must
share
Shall seem with down of eider
piled,
If thy protection hover there.
The murky cavern's heavy air
Shall breathe of balm if thou
hast smiled ;
Then, Maiden! hear a maiden's
prayer,
Mother, list a suppliant child !

Ave Maria !

Ave Maria ! stainless styled !
Foul demons of the earth and
air, 730

From this their wonted haunt
exiled,
Shall flee before thy presence
fair.
We bow us to our lot of care,
Beneath thy guidance recon-
ciled :
Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer,
And for a father hear a child !

Ave Maria !

XXX

Died on the harp the closing

hymn, —
Unmoved in attitude and limb,
As listening still, Clan-Alpine's

lord 739

Stood leaning on his heavy sword,
Until the page with humble sign
Twice pointed to the sun's decline.
Then while his plaid he round him

cast,
1 It is the last time — 't is the last,'
He muttered thrice, — * the last

time e'er
That angel-voice shall Roderick

hear ! '

It was a goading thought, — his
stride

Hied hastier down the mountain-
side;

Sullen he flung him in the boat,

An instant 'cross the lake it shot.

They landed in that silvery bay,

And eastward held their hasty
way, 752

Till, with the latest beams of light,

The band arrived on Lanrick
height,

Where mustered in the vale be-
low

Clan- Alpine's men in martial show.

XXXI

A various scene the clansmen

made:
Some sat, some stood, some slowly

strayed ;
But most, with mantles folded

round,
Were, couched to rest upon the

ground, 760

Scarce to be known by curious

eye
From the deep heather where they

lie,
So well was matched the tartan

screen
With heath-bell dark and brackens

green ;
Unless where, here and there, a

blade
Or lance's point a glimmer made,
Like glow-worm twinkling through

the shade.
But when, advancing through the

gloom,
They saw the Chieftain's eagle

plume,
Their shout of welcome, shrill and

wide, 770

Shook the steep mountain's steady

side.
Thrice it arose, and lake and fell
Three times returned the martial

yell;
It died upon Bochastle's plain,
Aud Silence claimed her evening

reign.

CANTO FOURTH : THE PROPHECY

239

CANTO FOURTH

THE PROPHECY

' The rose is fairest when 't is
budding new,
And hope is brightest when it
dawns from fears ;
The rose is sweetest washed with
morning dew,
And love is loveliest when em-
balmed in tears.
O wilding rose, w7hom fancy thus
endears,
I bid your blossoms in my bon-
net wave,
Emblem of hope and love through
future years ! '
Thus spoke young Norman, heir
of Armandave,
What time the sun arose on Ven-
nachar's broad wave.

11
Such fond conceit, half said, half

sung, 10

Love prompted to the bridegroom's

tongue.
All while he stripped the wild-rose

spray,
His axe and bow beside him lay,
For on a pass 'twixt lake and

wood
A wakeful sentinel he stood.
Hark! — on the rock a footstep

rung,
And instant to his arms he sprung.
' Stand, or thou diest ! — What,

Malise ? — soon
Art thou returned from Braes of

Doune.
By thy keen step and glance I

know, 20

Thou bring' st us tidings of the

foe.' —
For while the Fiery Cross hied on,
On distant scout had Malise

gone. —
'Where sleeps the Chief?' the

henchman said.

' Apart, in yonder misty glade ;
To his lone couch I '11 be your

guide.' —
Then called a slumberer by his

side,
And stirred him with his slackened

bow, —
1 Up, up, Glentarkin ! rouse thee,

ho!
We seek the Chieftain; on the

track 30

Keep eagle watch till I come

back.'

Together up the pass they sped :

* What of the foeman ? ' Norman
said. —

' Varying reports from near and
far;

This certain, — that a band of
war

Has for two days been ready
boune,

At prompt command to march
from Doune ;

King James the while, with
princely powers,

Holds revelry in Stirling towers.

Soon will this dark and gathering
cloud 40

Speak on our glens in thunder
loud.

Inured to bide such bitter bout,

The warrior's plaid may bear it
out;

But, Norman, how wilt thou pro-
vide

A shelter for thy bonny bride ? ' —

' What ! know ye not that Roder-
ick's care

To the lone isle hath caused re-
pair

Each maid and matron of the clan,

And every child and aged man

Unfit for arms ; and given his
charge, 50

Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor
barge,

Upon these lakes shall float at
large,

240

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

But all beside the islet moor,
That such dear pledge may rest
secure ? ' —

°T is well advised, — the Chief-
tain's plan
Bespeaks the father of his clan.
But wherefore sleeps Sir Rod-

erick Dhu
Apart from all his followers true ? '
* It is because last evening-tide
Brian an augury hath tried, 60
Of that dread kind which must not

be
Unless in dread extremity,
The Taghairm called ; by which,

afar,
Our sires foresaw the events of

war.
Duncraggan's milk-white bull they
slew.' —

MALISE

eAh! well the gallant brute I

knew!
The choicest of the prey we had
When swept our merrymen Gal-

langad.
His hide was snow, his horns were

dark,
His red eye glowed like fiery

spark ; 7°

So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet,
Sore did he cumber our retreat,
And kept our stoutest kerns in

awe,
Even at the pass of Beal 'maha.
But steep and flinty was the road,
And sharp the hurrying pikeman's

goad,
And when we came to Dennan's

Row
A child might scathless stroke his

brow.'

NORMAN

1 That bull was slain ; his reeking
hide

They stretched the cataract be-

side, 80

Whose waters their wild tumult

toss
Adown the black and craggy

boss
Of that huge cliff whose ample

verge
Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.
Couched on a shelf beneath its

brink,
Close where the thundering tor-
rents sink,
Rocking beneath their headlong

sway,
And drizzled by the ceaseless

spray,
Midst groan of rock and roar of

stream, 89

The wizard waits prophetic dream.
Nor distant rests the Chief ; — but

hush!
See, gliding slow through mist and

bush,
The hermit gains yon rock, and

stands
To gaze upon our slumbering

bands.
Seems he not, Malise, like a

ghost,
That hovers o'er a slaughtered

host ?
Or raven on the blasted oak,
That, watching while the deer is

broke,
His morsel claims with sullen

croak ? '

MALISE

' Peace ! peace 1 to other than to
me 100

Thy words were evil augury ;

But still I hold Sir Roderick's
blade

Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid,

Not aught that, gleaned from hea-
ven or hell,

Yon fiend-begotten Monk can tell.

The Chieftain joins him, see — and
now

Together they descend the brow.'

CANTO FOURTH : THE PROPHECY

241

And, as they came, with Alpine's

Lord
The Hermit Monk held solemn

word : — 109

' Roderick ! it is a fearful strife,
For man endowed with mortal

life,
Whose shroud of sentient clay can

still
Feel feverish pang and fainting

chill,
Whose eye can stare in stony

trance,
Whose hair can rouse like war-
rior's lance, —
'T is hard for such to view, un-
furled,
The curtain of the future world.
Yet, witness every quaking limb,
My sunken pulse, mine eyeballs

dim,
My soul with harrowing anguish

torn, 120

This for my Chieftain have I

borne ! —
The shapes that sought my fearful

couch
A human tongue may ne'er

avouch ;
No mortal man — save he, who,

bred
Between the living and the dead,
Is gifted beyond nature's law —
Had e'er survived to say he

saw.
At length the fateful answer came
In characters of living flame !
Not spoke in word, nor blazed in

scroll, 130

But borne and branded on my

soul: —
Which spills the foremost

fobman's life,
That party conquers in the

STRIFE.'

VII

'Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and

. care !
Good is thine augury, and fair.

Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood
But first our broadswords tasted

blood.
A surer victim still I know,
Self -off ered to the auspicious blow :
A spy has sought my land this

morn, 140

No eve shall witness his return !
My followers guard each pass's

mouth,
To east, to westward, and to

south ;
Red Murdoch, bribed to be his

guide,
Has charge to lead his step3 aside,
Till in deep path or dingle brown
He light on those shall bring him

down.—
But see, who comes his news to

show!
Malise ! what tidings of the foe ? '

VIII

' At Doune, o'er many a spear and
glaive 150

Two Barons proud their banners
wave.

I saw the Moray's silver star,

And marked the sable pale of
Mar.'

1 By Alpine's soul, high tidings
those !

I love to hear of worthy foes.

When move they on?' 'To-mor-
row's noon

Will see them here for battle
boune.'

1 Then shall it see a meeting stern !

But, for the place,— say, couldst
thou learn

Nought of the friendly clans of
Earn ? 160

Strengthened by them, we well
might bide

The battle on Benledi's side.

Thou couldst not? — well! Clan-
Alpine's men

Shall man the Trosachs' shaggy
glen;

Within Loch Katrine's gorge we '11
fight,

242

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

All in our maids' and matrons'
sight.

Each for his hearth and household
fire,

Father for child, and son for sire,

Lover for maid beloved! — But
why —

Is it the breeze affects mine eye?

Or dost thou come, ill-omened tear !

A messenger of doubt or fear? 172

No ! sooner may the Saxon lance

Unfix Benledi from his stance,

Than doubt or terror can pierce
through

The unyielding heart of Roderick
Dhu !

5T is stubborn as his trusty targe.

Each to his post ! — all know their
charge.'

The pibroch sounds, the bands ad-
vance,

The broadswords gleam, the ban-
ners dance, 180

Obedient to the Chieftains'
glance. —

I turn me from the martial roar.

And seek Coir-Uriskin once more.

Where is the Douglas? — he is

gone ;
And Ellen sits on the gray stone
Fast by the cave, and makes her

moan,
While vainly Allan's words of

cheer
Are poured on her unheeding ear.
4 He will — return — dear lady,

trust ! —
With joy return ; — he will — he

must. 190

Well was it time to seek afar
Some refuge from impending war,
When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged

swarm
Are cowed by the approaching

storm.
I saw their boats with many a

light,
Floating the livelong yesternight,
Shifting like flashes darted forth

By the red streamers of the north ?
I marked at morn how close they

ride,
Thick moored by the lone islet's

side, 200

Like wild ducks couching in the

fen
When stoops the hawk upon the

glen.
Since this rude race dare not abide
The peril on the mainland side,
Shall not thy noble father's care
Some safe retreat for thee pre-

pare ? '

ELLEN

' No, Allan, no ! Pretext so kind
My wakeful terrors could not

blind.
When in such tender tone, yet

grave,
Douglas a parting blessing gave,
The tear that glistened in his eye
Drowned not his purpose fixed

and high. 212

My soul, though feminine and

weak,
Can image his ; e'en as the lake,
Itself disturbed by slightest

stroke,
Reflects the invulnerable rock.
He hears report of battle rife,
He deems himself the cause of

strife.
I saw him redden when the theme
Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream
Of Malcolm Graeme in fetters

bound, 221

Which I, thou saidst, about him

wound.
Think'st thou he trowed thine

omen aught ?
0 no ! 't was apprehensive thought
For the kind youth,— for Roderick

too —
Let me be just — that friend so

true;
In danger both, and in our cause !
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not

pause.

CANTO FOURTH : THE PROPHECY

243

Why else that solemn warning

given,
" If not on earth, we meet in hea-

ven !

23c

Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's

fane,
If eve return him not again,
Am I to hie and make me known?
Alas, he goes to Scotland's throne,
Buys his friends' safety with his

own;
He goes to do— what I had done,
Had Douglas' daughter been his

son!'

' Nay, lovely Ellen ! — dearest, nay !
If aught should his return delay,
He only named yon holy fane 240
As fitting place to meet again.
Be sure he's safe; and for the

Graeme,—
Heaven's blessing on his gallant

name ! —
My visioned sight may yet prove

true,
Nor bode of ill to him or you.
When did my gifted dream be-
guile ?
Think of the stranger at the isle,
And think upon the harpings

slow
That presaged this approaching

woe \ 249

Sooth was my prophecy of fear ;
Believe it when it augurs cheer.
Would we had left this dismal

spot !
Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot.
Of such a wondrous tale I know —
Dear lady, change that look of

woe,
My harp was wont thy grief to

cheer.'

ELLEN

4 Well, be it as thou wilt ; I hear,
But cannot stop the bursting tear.'
The Minstrel tried his simple art,
But distant far was Ellen's heart.

XII

BALLAD

ALICE BRAND

Merry it is in the good greenwood.
When the mavis and merle are

singing, 262

When the deer sweeps by, and the

hounds are in cry.
And the hunter's horn is ringing.

1 0 Alice Brand, my native land

Is lost for love of you ;
And we must hold by wood and
wold,

As outlaws wont to do.

' 0 Alice, 't was all for thy locks so
bright,
And 't was all for thine eyes so
blue, 270

That on the night of our luckless
flight
Thy brother bold I slew.

'Now must I teach to hew the

beech

The hand that held the glaive,

For leaves to spread our lowly

bed,

And stakes to fence our cave.

' And for vest of pall, thy fingers
small,
That wont on harp to stray,
A cloak must shear from the
slaughtered deer,
To keep the cold away.' 280

' 0 Richard ! if my brother died,
'T was but a fatal chance ;

For darkling was the battle tried,
And fortune sped the lance.

' If pall and vair no more I wear,
Nor thou the crimson sheen,

As warm, we '11 say, is the russet
gray,
As gay the forest-green.

244

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

* And, Richard, if our lot be hard,
And lost thy native land, 290

Still Alice has her own Richard,
And he his Alice Brand.'

XIII
BALLAD CONTINUED

'T is merry, 't is merry, in good
greenwood ;
So blithe Lady Alice is singing ;
On the beech's pride, and oak's
brown side,
Lord Richard's axe is ringing.

Up spoke the moody Elfin King,
Who woned within the hill, —

Like wind in the porch of a ruined
church,
His voice was ghostly shrill. 300

' Why sounds yon stroke on beech
and oak,
Our moonlight circle's screen ?
Or who comes here to chase the
deer,
Beloved of our Elfin Queen ?
Or who may dare on wold to wear
The fairies' fatal green ?

4 Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal hie,
For thou wert christened man ;

For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,
For muttered word or ban. 3 10

'Lay on him the curse of the
withered heart,
The curse of the sleepless eye ;
Till he wish and pray that his life
would part,
Nor yet find leave to die.'

XIV
BALLAD CONTINUED

'T is merry, 't is merry, in good

greenwood,

Though the birds have stilled

their singing ;

The evening blaze doth Alice raise,

And Richard is fagots bringing.

Up Urgan starts, that hideous
dwarf,
Before Lord Richard stands, 320
And, as he crossed and blessed

himself,
1 1 fear not sign,' quoth the grisly
elf,
4 That is made with bloody
hands.'

But out then spoke she, Alice
Brand,
That woman void of fear, —
'And if there's blood upon his
hand,
'T is but the blood of deer.'

4 Now loud thou liest, thou bold of
mood!
It cleaves unto his hand,
The stain of thine own kindly
blood, , 330

The blood of Ethert Brand.'

Then forward stepped she, Alice
Brand,
And made the holy sign,—
4 And if there 's blood on Richard's
hand,
A spotless hand is mine.

4 And I conjure thee, demon elf,
By Him whom demons fear,

To show us whence thou art thy-
self,
And what thine errand here ? '

BALLAD CONTINUED

4'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-
land, 340
When fairy birds are singing,
When the court doth ride by their
monarch's side.
With bit and bridle ringing :

4 And gayly shines the Fairy-
land —
But all is glistening show,

CANTO FOURTH : THE PROPHECY

245

Like the idle gleam that Decem-
ber's beam
Can dart on ice and snow.

' And fading, like that varied
gleam,
Is our inconstant shape,
Who now like knight and lady
seem, 350

And now like dwarf and ape.

' It was between the night and
day,
When the Fairy King has power,
That I sunk down in a sinful fray.
And 'twixt life and death was
snatched away
To the joyless Elfin bower.

1 But wist I of a woman bold,
Who thrice my brow durst sign,

I might regain my mortal mould,
As fair a form as thine.' 360

She crossed him once — she
crossed him twice —

That lady was so brave ;
The fouler grew his goblin hue,

The darker grew the cave.

She crossed him thrice, that lady
bold;
He rose beneath her hand
The fairest knight on Scottish
mould,
Her brother, Ethert Brand !

Merry it is in good greenwood,
When the mavis and merle were
singing, 370

But merrier were they in Dun-
fermline gray,
When all the bells were ringing.

XVI

Just as the minstrel sounds were

stayed,
A stranger climbed the steepy

glade ;
His martial step, his stately mien,
His hunting-suit of Lincoln green,

His eagle glance, remembrance

claims —
'T is Snowdoun's Knight, 'tis

James Fitz-James.
Ellen beheld as in a dream,
Then, starting, scarce suppressed

a scream : 380

' O stranger! in such hour of fear
What evil hap has brought thee

here ? '
' An evil hap how can it be
That bids me look again on thee ?
By promise bound, my former

guide
Met me betimes this morning-tide,
And marshalled over bank and

bourne
The happy path of my return.'
1 The happy path ! — what ! said he

naught
Of war, of battle to be fought, 390
Of guarded pass?' 'No, by my

faith !
Nor saw I aught could augur

scathe.'

0 haste thee, Allan, to the kern :
Yonder his tartans I discern ;
Learn thou his purpose, and con-
jure

That he will guide the stranger

sure ! —
What prompted thee, unhappy

man?
The meanest serf in Roderick's

clan
Had not been bribed, by love or

fear,
Unknown to him to guide thee

here.' 400

XVII

' Sweet Ellen, dear my life must

be,
Since it is worthy care from thee ;
Yet life I hold but idle breath
When love or honor 's weighed

with death.
Then let me profit by my chance,
And speak my purpose bold at

once.

1 come to bear thee from a wild

246

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Where ne'er before such blossom

smiled,
By this soft hand to lead thee far
From frantic scenes of feud and

war. 410

Near Bochastle my horses wait ;
They bear us soon to Stirling gate.
I '11 place thee in a lovely bower,
I'll guard thee like a tender

flower ' —
*0 hush, Sir Knight! 't were fe-
male art,
To say I do not read thy heart ;
Too much, before, my selfish ear
Was idly soothed my praise to

hear.
That fatal bait hath lured thee

back,
In deathful hour, o'er dangerous

track ; 420

And how, O how, can I atone
The wreck my vanity brought on !—
One way remains — I '11 tell him

all —
Yes! struggling bosom, forth it

shall !
Thou, whose light folly bears the

blame,
Buy thine own pardon with thy

shame !
But first — my father is a man
Outlawed and exiled, under ban ;
The price of blood is on his head,
With me 't were infamy to wed.
Still wouldst thou speak?— then

hear the truth! 431

Fitz- James, there is a noble youth
If yet he is ! — exposed for me
And mine to dread extremity —
Thou hast the secret of my heart ;
Forgive, be generous, and depart ! '

XVIII

Fitz-James knew every wily train
A lady's fickle heart to gain,
But here he knew and felt them

vain.
There shot no glance from Ellen's

eye, 440

To give her steadfast speech the

lie;

In maiden confidence she stood,
Though mantled in her cheek the

blood,
And told her love with such a sigh
Of deep and hopeless agony,
As death had sealed her Malcolm's

doom
And she sat sorrowing on his

tomb.
Hope vanished from Fitz-James's

eye,
But not with hope fled sympathy.
He proffered to attend her

side, 450

As brother would a sister guide.
* O little know'st thou Roderick's

heart !
Safer for both we go apart.
0 haste thee, and from Allan learn
If thou mayst trust yon wily kern.'
With hand upon his forehead laid,
The conflict of his mind to shade,
A parting step or two he made ;
Then, as some thought had crossed

his brain,
He paused, and turned, and came

again. 460

XIX

4 Hear, lady, yet a parting word ! —
It chanced in fight that my poor

sword
Preserved the life of Scotland's

lord.
This ring the grateful Monarch

gave,
And bade, when I had boon to

crave,
To bring it back, and boldly claim
The recompense that I would

name.
Ellen, I am no courtly lord,
But one who lives by lance and

sword,
Whose castle is his helm and

shield, 470

His lordship the embattled field.
What from a prince can I demand,
Who neither reck of state nor

land?
Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thine ;

CANTO FOURTH : THE PROPHECY

247

Each guard and usher knows the

sign.
Seek thou the King without delay ;
This signet shall secure thy way :
And claim thy suit, what'er it be,
As ransom of his pledge to me.'
He placed the golden circlet on,
Paused — kissed her hand — and

then was gone. 481

The aged Minstrel stood aghast,
So hastily Fitz-James shot past.
jle joined his guide, and wending

down
The ridges of the mountain brown,
Across the stream they took their

way
That joins Loch Katrine to Ach-

ray.

All in the Trosachs' glen was still,
Noontide was sleeping on the hill :
Sudden his guide whooped loud

and high — 490

' Murdoch ! was that a signal

cry ? ■ —
He stammered forth, ' I shout to

scare
Yon raven from his dainty fare.'
He looked — he knew the raven's

prey,
His own brave steed: 'Ah! gal-
lant gray !
For thee — for me, perchance —

't were well
We ne'er had seen the Trosachs'

dell. —
Murdoch, move first — but silently ;
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt

die!'
Jealous and sullen on they

fared, 500

Each silent, each upon his guard.

XXI

Now wound the path its dizzy

ledge
Around a precipice's edge,
When lo ! a wasted female form,
Blighted by wrath of sun and

storm,

In tattered weeds and wild array,
Stood on a cliff beside the way,
And glancing round her restless

eye,
Upon the wood, the rock, the

sky,
Seemed naught to mark, yet all to

spy. 510

Her brow was wreathed with

gaudy broom ;
With gesture wild she waved a

plume
Of feathers, which the eagles fling
To crag and cliff from dusky wing;
Such spoils her desperate step had

sought,
Where scarce was footing for the

goat.
The tartan plaid she first descried,
And shrieked till all the rocks re.

plied ;
As loud she laughed when near

they drew,
For then the Lowland garb she

knew ; 520

And then her hands she wildly

wrung,
And then she wept, and then she

sung —
She sung ! — the voice, in better

time,
Perchance to harp or lute might

chime ;
And now, though strained and

roughened, still
Rung wildly sweet to dale and

hill.

XXII
SONG

They bid me sleep, they bid me

pray,
They say my brain is warped

and wrung —
I cannot sleep on Highland brae,
I cannot pray in Highland

tongue. 530

But were I now where Allan

glides,
Or heard my native Devan's tides,

248

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

So sweetly would I rest, and pray
That Heaven would close my win-
try day !

'T was thus my hair they bade me
braid,
They made me to the church re-
pair;

It was my bridal morn they said,
And my true love would meet
me there.

But woe betide the cruel guile

That drowned in blood the morn-
ing smile ! 540

And woe betide the fairy dream !

I only waked to sob and scream.

XXIII

* Who is this maid ? what means

her lay ?
She hovers o'er the hollow way,
And flutters wide her mantle gray,
As the lone heron spreads his

wing,
By twilight, o'er a haunted spring.'
"T is Blanche of Devan,' Murdoch

said,
*A crazed and captive Lowland

maid,
Ta'en on the morn she was a

bride, 550

When Roderick forayed Devan-

side.
The gay bridegroom resistance

made,
And felt our Chief's unconquered

blade.
I marvel she is now at large,
But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's

charge. —
Hence, brain - sick fool ! ' — He

raised his bow : —

* Now, if thou strik'st her but one

blow,
I '11 pitch thee from the cliff as

far
As ever peasant pitched a bar ! '
4 Thanks, champion, thanks ! ' the

Maniac cried. 560

And pressed her to Fitz-James's

side.

1 See the gray pennons I prepare,
To seek my true love through the

air!
I will not lend that savage groom,
To break his fall, one downy

plume !
No ! — deep amid disjointed stones,
The wolves shall batten on his

bones,
And then shall his detested plaid,
By bush and brier in mid -air

stayed,
Wave forth a banner fair and

free, 570

Meet signal for their revelry.'

XXIV

' Hush thee, poor maiden, and be
still ! '

'0! thou look'st kindly, and I
will.

Mine eye has dried and wasted
been,

But still it loves the Lincoln green ;

And, though mine ear is all un-
strung,

Still, still it loves the Lowland
tongue.

1 For O my sweet William was
forester true,
He stole poor Blanche's heart
away!
His coat it was all of the green-
wood hue, 580
And so blithely he trilled the
Lowland lay !

1 It was not that I meant to

tell . . .
But thou art wise and guessest

well.'
Then, in a low and broken tone,
And hurried note, the song went

on.
Still on the Clansman fearfully
She fixed her apprehensive eye,
Then turned it on the Knight, and

then
Her look glanced wildly o'er the

glen.

CANTO FOURTH : THE PROPHECY

249

XXV

'The toils are pitched, and the
stakes are set, — 590

Ever sing merrily, merrily ;
The bows they bend, and the
knives they whet,
Hunters live so cheerily.

1 It was a stag, a stag of ten,
Bearing its branches sturdily ;

He came stately down the glen,—
Ever sing hardily, hardily.

1 It was there he met with a
wounded doe,

She was bleeding deathfully;
She warned him of the toils below,

O, so faithfully, faithfully ! 601

1 He had an eye, and he could
heed,—
Ever sing warily, warily ;
He had a foot, and he could
speed,—
Hunters watch so narrowly.'

XXVI

Fitz-James's mind was passion-
tossed,
When Ellen's hints and fears were

lost;
But Murdoch's shout suspicion

wrought,
And Blanche's song conviction

brought.
Xot like a stag that spies the

snare, 610

But lion of the hunt aware,
He waved at once his blade on

high,
1 Disclose thy treachery, or die ! '
Forth at full speed the Clansman

flew,
But in his race his bow he drew.
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's

crest,
And thrilled in Blanche's faded

breast. —
Murdoch of Alpine ! prove thy

speed,
For ne'er had Alpine's son such

need;

With heart of fire, and foot of

wind, 620

The fierce avenger is behind !
Fate judges of the rapid strife —
The forfeit death — the prize is

life;
Thy kindred ambush lies before,
Close couched upon the heathery

moor;
Them couldst thou reach ! — it may

not be —
Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er

shalt see,
The fiery Saxon gains on thee ! —
Resistless speeds the deadly

thrust,
As lightning strikes the pine to

dust ; 630

With foot and hand Fitz-James

must strain
Ere he can win his blade again.
Bent o'er the fallen with falcon

eye,
He grimly smiled to see him die,
Then slower wended back his way,
Where the poor maiden bleeding

lay.

XXVII

She sat beneath the birchen tree,

Her elbow resting on her knee ;

She had withdrawn the fatal shaft,

And gazed on it, and feebly-
laughed ; 640

Her wreath of broom and feathers
gray,

Daggled with blood, beside her
lay.

The Knight to stanch the life-
stream tried,—

' Stranger, it is in vain ! ' she cried.

' This hour of death has given me
more

Of reason's power than years be-
fore;

For, as these ebbing veins decay,

My frenzied visions fade away.

A helpless injured wretch I die,

And something tells me in thine
eye 650

That thou wert mine avenger
born.

250

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Seest thou this tress ? — 0< still I ' ve

worn
This little tress of yellow hair,
Through danger, frenzy, and de-
spair !
It once was bright and clear as

thine,
But blood and tears have dimmed

its shine.
I will not tell thee when 'twas

shred,
Nor from what guiltless victim's

head,—
My brain would turn ! but it shall

wave 659

Like plumage on thy helmet brave,
Till sun and wind shall bleach the

stain,
And thou wilt bring it me again.
I waver still. — 0 God ! more

bright
Let reason beam her parting

light l —
O, by thy knighthood's honored

sign,
And for thy life preserved by

mine,
When thou shalt see a darksome

man,
Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's

Clan,
With tartans broad and shadowy

plume,
And hand of blood, and brow of

gloom, 670

Be thy heart bold, thy weapon

strong,
And wreak poor Blanche of De-
van's wrong ! —
They watch for thee by pass and

fell . . .
Avoid the path . . . O God! . . .

farewell ! '

XXXIII

A kindly heart had brave Fitz-

James ;
Fast poured his eyes at pity's

claims ;
And now, with mingled grief and

ire,

He saw the murdered maid expire.
4 God, in my need, be my relief, 679
As I wreak this on yonder Chief ! '
A lock from Blanche's tresses fair
He blended with her bridegroom's

hair;
The mingled braid in blood he

dyed,
And placed it on his bonnet-side :
'By Him whose word is truth, I

swear,
No other favor will I wear,
Till this sad token I imbrue
In the best blood of Roderick

Dhu ! —
But hark! what means yon faint

halloo ?
The chase is up, — but they shall

know, 690

The stag at bay's a dangerous

foe.'
Barred from the known but guarded

way,
Through copse and cliffs Fitz-

James must stray,
And oft must change his desperate

track,
By stream and precipice turned

back.
Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at

length,
From lack of food and loss of

strength,
He couched him in a thicket hoar,
And thought his toils and perils

o'er : — 699

' Of all my rash adventures past,
This frantic feat must prove the

last!
Who e'er so mad but might have

guessed
That all this Highland hornet's

nest
Would muster up in swarms so

soon
As e'er they heard of bands at

Doune ? —
Like bloodhounds now they search

me out, —
Hark, to the whistle and the

shout ! — -

CANTO FOURTH : THE PROPHECY

251

If farther through the wilds I go,

I only fall upon the foe :

I '11 couch me here till evening

gray, 710

Then darkling try my dangerous

way.'

XXIX

The shades of eve come slowly

down,
The woods are wrapt in deeper

brown,
The owl awakens from her dell,
The fox is heard upon the fell ;
Enough remains of glimmering

light
To guide the wanderer's steps

aright,
Yet not enough from far to show
His figure to the watchful foe. 719 I
With cautious step and ear awake, |
He climbs the crag and threads

the brake :
And not the summer solstice there
Tempered the midnight mountain

air,
But every breeze that swept the

wold
Benumbed his drenched limbs

with cold.
In dread, in danger, and alone,
Famished and chilled, through

ways unknown,
Tangled and steep, he journeyed

on;
Till, as a rock's huge point he

turned,
A watch-fire close before him

burned. 730

XXX

Beside its embers red and clear,
Basked in his plaid a mountaineer ;
And up he sprung with sword in

hand, —
' Thy name and purpose ! Saxon,

stand ! '
' A stranger.' ' What dost thou re-

quire ? '
'Rest and a guide, and food and

fire.

My life 's beset, my path is lost,
The gale has chilled my limbs with

frost.'
' Art thou a friend to Roderick ? '

•No.'
' Thou dar'st not call thyself a

foe?' 740

' I dare ! to him and all the band
He brings to aid his murderous

hand.'
1 Bold words ! —- but, though the

beast of game
The privilege of chase may claim.
Though space and law the stag

we lend,
Ere hound we slip or bow we

bend,
Who ever recked, where, how, or

when,
The prowling fox was trapped or

slain ?
Thus treacherous scouts,— yet

sure they lie,
Who say thou cam'st a secret

spy ! ' — 750

1 They do, by heaven ! — come Rod-
erick Dhu,
And of his clan the boldest two,
And let me but till morning rest,
I write the falsehood on their

crest.'
' If by the blaze I mark aright,
Thou bear'st the belt and spur of

Knight.'
' Then by these tokens mayst

thou know
Each proud oppressor's mortal

foe.'
1 Enough, enough ; sit down and

share 759

A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare.'

XXXI

He gave him of his Highland

cheer,
The hardened flesh of mountain

deer ;
Dry fuel on the fire he laid,
And bade the Saxon share his

plaid.
He tended him like welcome guest,

252

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Then thus his further speech ad-
dressed:—
4 Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu
A clansman born, a kinsman true :
Each word against his honor

spoke 769

Demands of me avenging stroke ;
Yet more, — upon thy fate, 't is

said,
A mighty augury is laid.
It rests with me to wind my

horn, —
Thou art with numbers overborne ;
It rests with me, here, brand to

brand,
Worn as thou art, to bid thee

stand :
But, not for clan, nor kindred's

cause,
Will I depart from honor's laws ;
To assail a wearied man were

shame,
And stranger is a holy name ; 780
Guidance and rest, and food and

fire,
In vain he never must require.
Then rest thee here till dawn of

day;
Myself will guide thee on the way
O'er stock and stone, through

watch and ward,
Till past Clan-Alpine1s outmost

guard,
As far as Coilantogle's ford ;
From thence thy warrant is thy

sword.'
1 1 take thy courtesy, by heaven,
As freely as 't is nobly given ! * 790
* Well, rest thee ; for the bittern's

cry
Sings us the lake's wild lullaby.'
With that he shook the gathered

heath,
And spread his plaid upon the

wreath ;
And the brave foemen, side by

side,
Lay peaceful down like brothers

tried,
And slept until the dawning beam
Purpled the mountain and the

stream.

CANTO FIFTH

THE COMBAT

Fair as the earliest beam of east-
ern light,
When first, by the bewildered
pilgrim spied,
It smiles upon the dreary brow of
night,
And silvers o'er the torrent's
foaming tide,
And lights the fearful path on
mountain-side, —
Fair as that beam, although the
fairest far,
Giving to horror grace, to danger
pride,
Shine martial Faith, and Cour-
tesy's bright star,
Through all the wreckful storms
that cloud the brow of War.

That early beam, so fair and

sheen, 10

Was twinkling through the hazel

screen,
When, rousing at its glimmer red,
The warriors left their lowly bed,
Looked out upon the dappled sky,
Muttered their soldier matins by,
And then awaked their fire, to

steal,
As short and rude, their soldier

meal.
That o'er, the Gael around him

threw
His graceful plaid of varied hue,
And, true to promise, led the way,
By thicket green and mountain

gray. 21

A wildering path! — they winded

now
Along the precipice's brow,
Commanding the rich scenes be-
neath,
The windings of the Forth and

Teith,
And all the vales between that

lie,

CANTO FIFTH : THE COMBAT

253

Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky;

Then, sunk in copse, their farthest
glance

Gained not the length of horse-
man's lance.

'T was oft so steep, the foot was
fain 30

Assistance from the hand to gain ;

So tangled oft that, bursting
through,

Each hawthorn shed her showers
of dew,—

That diamond dew, so pure and
clear,

It rivals all but Beauty's tear !

111
At length they came where, stern

and steep,
The hill sinks down upon the deep.
Here Vennachar in silver flows,
There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose ;
Ever the hollow path twined on, 40
Beneath steep bank and threaten-
ing stone ;
A hundred men might hold the

post
With hardihood against a host.
The rugged mountain's scanty

cloak
Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and

oak,
With shingles bare, and cliffs be-
tween,
And patches bright of bracken

green,
And heather black, that waved so

high,
It held the copse in rivalry.
But where the lake slept deep and

still, 50

Dank osiers fringed the swamp

and hill ;
And oft both path and hill were

torn,
Where wintry torrent down had

borne,
And heaped upon the cumbered

land
Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and

sand.

So toilsome was the road to trace,
The guide, abating of his pace,
Led slowly through the pass's

jaws,
And asked Fitz-James by what

strange cause
He sought these wilds, traversed

by few, 60

Without a pass from Roderick

Dhu.

1 Brave Gael, my pass, in danger

tried,
Hangs in my belt and by my side,
Yet, sooth to tell,' the Saxon said,
' I dreamt not now to claim its aid.
When here, but three days since,

I came,
Bewildered in pursuit of game,
All seemed as peaceful and as still
As the mist slumbering on yon hill ;
Thy dangerous Chief was then

afar, 70

Xor soon expected back from war.
Thus said, at least, my mountain-
guide,
Though deep perchance the villain

lied.'
1 Yet why a second venture try ? '
'A warrior thou, and ask me

why ! -
Moves our free course by such

fixed cause
As gives the poor mechanic laws?
Enough, I sought to drive away
The lazy hours of peaceful day;
Slight cause will then suffice to

guide 80

A Knight's free footsteps far and

wide, —
A falcon flown, a greyhound

strayed,
The merry glance of mountain

maid;
Or, if a path be dangerous known,
The danger's self is lure alone.'

' Thy secret keep,
not; —

I urge thee

254

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Yet, ere again ye sought this spot,
Say, heard ye naught of Lowland

war,
Against Clan-Alpine, raised by

Mar?*
1 No, by my word ; — of bands pre-

pared 90

To guard King James's sports I

heard ;
Nor doubt I aught, but, when they

hear
This muster of the mountaineer,
Their pennons will abroad be flung,
Which else in Doune had peaceful

hung.'
1 Free be they flung ! for we were

loath
Their silken folds should feast the

moth.
Free be they flung ! — as free shall

wave
Clan-Alpine's pine in banner brave.
But, stranger, peaceful since you

came, 100

Bewildered in the mountain-game,
"Whence the bold boast by which

you show
Vich-Alpine's vowed and mortal

foe?'
* Warrior, but yester-morn I knew
Naught of thy Chieftain, Koderick

Dhu,
Save as an outlawed desperate

man,
The chief of a rebellious clan,
Who, in the Regent's court and

sight,
With ruffian dagger stabbed a

knight; 109

Yet this alone might from his part
Sever each true and loyal heart'

Wrathful at such arraignment
foul,

Dark lowered the clansman's sa-
ble scowl.

A space he paused, then sternly
said,

; And heardst thou why he drew
his blade ?

Heardst thou that shameful word

and blow
Brought Roderick's vengeance on

his foe?
What recked the Chieftain if he

stood
On Highland heath or Holy-Rood ?
He rights such wrong where it is

given, 120

If it were in the court of heaven.'
4 Still was it outrage ; — yet, 't is

true,
Not then claimed sovereignty his

due;
While Albany with feeble hand
Held borrowed truncheon of com-
mand,
The young King, mewed in Stir-
ling tower,
Was stranger to respect and

power.
But then, thy Chieftain's robber

life ! —
"Winning mean prey by causeless

strife,
Wrenching from ruined Lowland

swain 130

His herds and harvest reared in

vain,—
Methinks a soul like thine should

scorn
The spoils from such foul foray

borne.'

VII

The Gael beheld him grim the

while,
And answered with disdainful

smile :
1 Saxon, from yonder mountain

high,
I marked thee send delighted eye
Far to the south and east, where

lay,
Extended in succession gay,
Deep waving fields and pastures

green, 140

With gentle slopes and groves be-
tween : —
These fertile plains, that softened

vale,

CANTO FIFTH : THE COMBAT

255

Were once the birthright of the

Gael;
The stranger came with iron hand,
And from our fathers reft the land.
Where dwell we now ? See, rudely

swell
Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell.
Ask we this savage hill we tread
For fattened steer or household

bread,
Ask we for flocks these shingles

dry, 150

And well the mountain might re-
ply,—
" To you, as to your sires of yore,
Belong the target and claymore !
I give you shelter in my breast,
Your own good blades must win

the rest."
Pent in this fortress of the Xorth,
Think'st thou we will not sally

forth,
To spoil the spoiler as we may,
And from the robber rend the

prey?
Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon

plain 160

The Saxon rears one shock of

grain,
While of ten thousand herds there

strays
But one along yon river's maze,—
The Gael, of plain and river heir,
Shall with strong hand redeem his

share.
Where live the mountain Chiefs

who hold
That plundering Lowland field

and fold
Is aught but retribution true ?
Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick

Dhu.'

VIII

Answered Fitz-James: 'And, if I
sought, 170

Think'st thou no other could be
brought ?

What deem ye of my path way-
laid?

My life given o'er to ambuscade?'

' As of a meed to rashness due :
Hadst thou sent warning fair and

true, —
I seek my hound or falcon strayed,
I seek, good faith, a Highland

maid,—
Free hadst thou been to come and

go;
But secret path marks secret foe.
Nor yet for this, even as a spy, 180
Hadst thou, unheard, been doomed

to die,
Save to fulfil an augury/
' Well, let it pass ; nor will I now
Fresh cause of enmity avow,
To chafe thy mood and cloud thy

brow.
Enough, I am by promise tied
To match me with this man of

pride :
Twice have I sought Clan- Alpine's

glen
In peace ; but w7hen I come again,
I come with banner, brand, and

bow, 190

As leader seeks his mortal foe.
For love-lorn swain in lady's

bower
Ne'er panted for the appointed

hour,
As I, until before me stand
This rebel Chieftain and his

band ! '

' Have then thy wish ! ' — He whis-
tled shrill,

And he was answered from the
hill;

Wild as the scream of the curlew,

From crag to crag the signal flew\

Instant, through copse and heath,
arose 200

Bonnets and spears and bended
bows ;

On right, on left, above, below,

Sprung up at once the lurking foe ;

From shingles gray their lances
start,

The bracken bush sends forth the
dart,

256

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

The rushes and the willow-wand
Are bristling into axe and brand,
And every tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior armed for

strife. 209

That whistle garrisoned the glen
At once with full five hundred men,
As if the yawning hill to heaven
A subterranean host had given.
Watching their leader's beck and

will,
All silent there they stood and

still.
Like the loose crags whose threat-
ening mass
Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass,
As if an infant's touch could urge
Their headlong passage down the

verge,
With step and weapon forward

flung, 220

Upon the mountain - side they

hung.
The Mountaineer cast glance of

pride
Along Benledi's living side,
Then fixed his eye and sable brow
Full on Fitz-James: 'How say'st

thou now ?
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors

true ;
And, Saxon, — I am Roderick

Dim!'

Fitz-James was brave : — though

to his heart
The life-blood thrilled with sudden

start,
He manned himself with dauntless

air, 230

Returned the Chief his haughty

stare,
His back against a rock he bore,
And firmly placed his foot be-
fore : —
4 Come one, come all ! this rock

shall fly
From its firm base as soon as I.'
Sir Roderick marked, — and in his

eyes

Respect was mingled with sur-
prise,

And the stern joy which warriors
feel

In foeman worthy of their steel.

Short space he stood — then waved
his hand : 240

Down sunk the disappearing
band ;

Each warrior vanished where he
stood,

In broom or bracken, heath or
wood;

Sunk brand and spear and bended
bow,

In osiers pale and copses low ;

It seemed as if their mother Earth

Had swallowed up her warlike
birth.

The wind's last breath had tossed
in air

Pennon and plaid and plumage
fair, —

The next but swept a lone hill-
side, 250

Where heath and fern were wav-
ing wide :

The sun's last glance was glinted
back

From spear and glaive, from targe
and jack ;

The next, all unreflected, shone

On bracken green and cold gray
stone.

yet

Fitz-James looked round,

scarce believed
The witness that his sight re-
ceived;
Such apparition well might seem
Delusion of a dreadful dream. 259
Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed,
And to his look the Chief replied :
' Fear naught — nay, that I need

not say —
But— doubt not aught from mine

array.
Thou art my guest; — I pledged

my word
As far as Coilantogle ford :

CANTO FIFTH: THE COMBAT

257

Nor would I call a clansman's

brand
For aid against one valiant hand,
Though on our strife lay every

vale
Rent by the Saxon from the

Gael. 269

So move we on ; — I only meant
To show the reed on which you

leant,
Deeming this path you might pur-

sue
Without a pass from Roderick

Dhu.'
They moved ; — I said Fitz-James

was brave
As ever knight that belted glaive,
Yet dare not say that now his

blood
Kept on its wont and tempered

flood,
As, following Roderick's stride, he

drew
That seeming lonesome pathway

through,
Which yet by fearful proof was

rife 280

With lances, that, to take his

life,
Waited but signal from a guide,
So late dishonored and defied.
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought

round
The vanished guardians of the

ground,
And still from copse and heather

deep
Fancy saw spear and broadsword

peep,
And in the plover's shrilly strain
The signal whistle heard again.
Nor breathed he free till far be-
hind 290
The pass was left; for then they

wind
Along a wide and level green,
Where neither tree nor tuft was

seen,
Nor rush nor bush of broom was

near,
To hide a bonnet or a spear.

XII

The Chief in silence strode before,
And reached that torrent's sound-
ing shore,
Which, daughter of three mighty

lakes,
From Vennachar in silver breaks,
Sweeps through the plain, and

ceaseless mines 300

On Bochastle the mouldering

lines,
Where Rome, the Empress of the

world,
Of yore her eagle wings unfurled.
And here his course the Chieftain

stayed,
Threw down his target and his

plaid,
And to the Lowland warrior said :
' Bold Saxon ! to his promise just,
Vich- Alpine has discharged his

trust.
This murderous Chief, this ruth-
less man,
This head of a rebellious clan, 310
Hath led thee safe, through watch

and ward,
Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost

guard.
Now, man to man, and steel to

steel,
A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt

feel.
See, here all vantageless I stand,
Armed like thyself with single

brand ;
For this is Coilantogle ford,
And thou must keep thee with thy

sword.

XIII

The Saxon paused : ' I ne'er de-
layed,

When foeman bade me draw my
blade; 320

Nay more, brave Chief, I vowed
thy death ;

Yet sure thy fair and generous
faith,

And my deep debt for life pre-
served,

:58

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

A better meed have well deserved :
Can naught but blood our feud

atone ?
Are there no means ?'—' No,

stranger, none !
And hear, — to fire thy flagging

zeal,—
The Saxon cause rests on thy

steel;
For thus spoke Fate by prophet

bred 329

Between the living and the dead :
" Who spills the foremost f oeman's

life,
His party conquers in the strife." '
'Then, by my word,' the Saxon

said,
4 The riddle is already read.
Seek yonder brake beneath the

cliff, -
There lies Red Murdoch, stark

and stiff.
Thus Fate hath solved her pro-
phecy ;
Then yield to Fate, and not to me.
To James at Stirling let us go, 339
When, if thou wilt be still his foe,
Or if the King shall not agree
To grant thee grace and favor free,
I plight mine honor, oath, and

word
That, to thy native strengths re-
stored,
With each advantage shalt thou

stand
That aids thee now to guard thy

land.'

XIV

Dark lightning flashed from Rod-
erick's eye :

'Soars thy presumption, then, so
high, 348

Because a wretched kern ye slew,

Homage to name to Roderick Dhu ?

He yields not, he, to man nor Fate !

Thou add'st but fuel to my hate ; —

My clansman's blood demands re-
venge.

Not yet prepared ? — By heaven, I
change

My thought, and hold thy valor

light
As that of some vain carpet

knight,
Who ill deserved my courteous

care,
And whose best boast is but to

wear
A braid of his fair lady's hair.'
' I thank thee, Roderick, for the

word ! 360

It nerves my heart, it steels my

sword ;
For I have sworn this braid to

stain
In the best blood that warms thy

vein.
Now, truce, farewell! and, ruth,

begone ! —
Yet think not that by thee alone,
Proud Chief ! can courtesy be

shown ;
Though not from copse, or heath,

or cairn,
Start at my whistle clansmen stern,
Of this small horn one feeble blast
Would fearful odds against thee

cast. 370

But fear not— doubt not — which

thou wilt —
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt.'
Then each at once his falchion

drew,
Each on the ground his scabbard

threw,
Each looked to sun and stream

and plain
As what they ne'er might see

again;
Then foot and point and eye op-
posed,
In dubious strife they darkly

closed.

111 fared it then with Roderick

Dhu,
That on the field his targe he

threw, 380

Whose brazen studs and tough

bull-hide

CANTO FIFTH: THE COMBAT

259

Had death so often dashed aside ;
For, trained abroad his arms to

wield,
Fitz- James's blade was sword and

shield.
He practised every pass and ward,
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to

guard ;
While less expert, though stronger

far,
The Gael maintained unequal war.
Three times in closing strife they

stood,
And thrice the Saxon blade drank

blood; 390

No stinted draught, no scanty tide,
The gushing flood the tartans dyed.
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal

drain,
And showered his blows like win-
try rain ;
And, as firm rock or castle-roof
Against the winter shower is

proof,
The foe, invulnerable still,
Foiled his wild rage by steady

skill;
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand
Forced Roderick's weapon from

his hand, 400

And backward borne upon the lea,
Brought the proud Chieftain to his

knee.

XVI

■ Now yield thee, or by Him who

made
The world, thy heart's blood dyes

my blade ! '
1 Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy !
Let recreant yield, who fears to

die.'
Like adder darting from his coil,
Like wolf that dashes through the

toil,
Like mountain-cat who guards her

young,
Full at Fitz- James's throat he

sprung; 410

Received, but recked not of a

wound,

And locked his arms his foeman

round. —
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine

own !
No maiden's hand is round thee

thrown !
That desperate grasp thy frame

might feel
Through bars of brass and triple

steel !
They tug, they strain ! down, down

they go,
The Gael above, Fitz-James below.
The Chieftain's gripe his throat

compressed,
His knee was planted on his

breast; 420

His clotted locks he backward

threw,
Across his brow his hand he drew,
From blood and mist to clear his

sight,
Then gleamed aloft his dagger

bright !
But hate and fury ill supplied
The stream of life's exhausted tide,
And all too late the advantage

came,
To turn the odds of deadly game ;
For, while the dagger gleamed on

high,
Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain

and eye. 430

Down came the blow! but in the

heath
The erring blade found bloodless

sheath.
The struggling foe may now un-
clasp
The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp :
Unwounded from the dreadful

close,
But breathless all, Fitz-James

arose.

XYII

He faltered thanks to Heaven for
life,

Redeemed, unhoped, from despe-
rate strife :

Next on his foe his look he cast,

26o

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Whose every gasp appeared his

last ; 440

In Koderick's gore he dipped the

braid, —
4 Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are

dearly paid ;
Yet with thy foe must die, or live,
The praise that faith and valor

give.'
With that he blew a bugle note,
Undid the collar from his throat,
Unbonneted, and by the wave
Sat down his brow and hands to

lave.
Then faint afar are heard the feet
Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet ;
The sounds increase, and now are

seen 451

Four mounted squires in Lincoln

green ;
Two who bear lance, and two who

lead
By loosened rein a saddled steed ;
Each onward held his headlong

course,
And by Fitz-James reined up his

horse,—
With wonder viewed the bloody

spot, —
' Exclaim not, gallants ! question

not.—
You, Herbert and Luffness, alight,
And bind the wounds of yonder

knight ; 460

Let the gray palfrey bear his

weight,
We destined for a fairer freight.
And bring him on to Stirling

straight ;
I will before at better speed,
To seek fresh horse and fitting

weed.
The sun rides high ; — I must be

boune
To see the archer-game at noon ;
But lightly Bayard clears the lea.—
De Vaux and Herries, follow me.

XVIII

* Stand, Bayard, stand ! '— the steed
obeyed, 470

With arching neck and bended

head,
And glancing eye and quivering

ear,
As if he loved his lord to hear.
No foot Fitz-James in stirrup

stayed,
No grasp upon the saddle laid,
But wreathed his left hand in the

mane,
And lightly bounded from the

plain,
Turned on the horse his armed

heel,
And stirred his courage with the

steel.
Bounded the fiery steed in air, 480
The rider sat erect and fair,
Then like a bolt from steel cross-

bow
Forth launched, along the plain

they go.
They dashed that rapid torrent

through,
And up Carhonie's hill they flew;
Still at the gallop pricked the

Knight,
His merrymen followed as they

might.
Along thy banks, swift Teith, they

ride,
And in the race they mock thy

tide ; 489

Torry and Lendrick now are past,
And Deanstown lies behind them

cast;
They rise, the bannered towers of

Doune,
They sink in distant woodland

soon;
Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs

strike fire,
They sweep like breeze through

Ochtertyre ;
They mark just glance and disap-
pear
The lofty brow of ancient Kier;
They bathe their coursers' swelter-
ing sides,
Dark Forth ! amid thy sluggish

tides,

CANTO FIFTH: THE COMBAT

261

And on the opposing shore take

ground, 5°°

With plash, with scramble, and

with bound.
Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, |

Craig-Forth !
And soon the bulwark of the North,
Gray Stirling, with her towers and

town,
Upon their fleet career looked

down.

XIX

As up the flinty path they strained,

Sudden his steed the leader
reined ;

A signal to his squire he flung,

Who instant to his stirrup
sprung : —

4 Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woods-
man gray, 510

Who townward holds the rocky
way,

Of stature tall and poor array ?

Mark' st thou the firm, yet active
stride,

With which he scales the moun-
tain-side ?

Know'st thou from whence he
comes, or whom?'

4 No, by my word ; — a burly groom

He seems, who in the field or
chase

A baron's train would nobly
grace — '

4 Out, out, De Vaux ! can fear sup-
ply,

And jealousy, no sharper eye ? 520

Afar, ere to the hill he drew,

That stately form and step I knew ;

Like form in Scotland is not
seen,

Treads not such step on Scottish
green.

'T is James of Douglas, by Saint
Serle !

The uncle of the banished Earl.

Away, away, to court, to show

The near approach of dreaded foe :

The King must stand upon his
guard ;

Douglas and he must meet pre-
pared.' 530

Then right - hand wheeled their
steeds, and straight

They won the Castle's postern
gate.

The Douglas who had bent his

way
From Cambus - kenneth's abbey

gray,
Now, as he climbed the rocky

shelf,
Held sad communion with him-
self : —
4 Yes ! all is true my fears could

frame ;
A prisouer lies the noble Grseuie,
And fiery Roderick soon will feel
The vengeance of the royal steel.
I, only I, can ward their fate,—
God grant the ransom come not

late ! 542

The Abbess hath her promise

given,
My child shall be the bride of

Heaven ; —
Be pardoned one repining tear !
For He who gave her knows how

dear,
How excellent! — but that is by,
And now my business is — to

die.—
Ye towers! within whose circuit

dread 549

A Douglas by his sovereign bled ;
And thou, 0 sad and fatal mound!
That oft hast heard the death-axe

sound,
A s on the noblest of the land
Fell the stern headsman's bloody

hand, —
The dungeon, block, and nameless

tomb
Prepare — for Douglas seeks his

doom !
But hark ! what blithe and jolly

peal
Makes the Franciscan steeple

reel ?

262

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

And see ! upon the crowded street,
In motley groups what masquers

meet ! 560

Banner and pageant, pipe and

drum,
And merry morrice-dancers come.
I guess, by all this quaint array,
The burghers hold their sports to-
day.
James will be there ; he loves such

show,
Where the good yeoman bends his

bow,
And the tough wrestler foils his

foe,
As well as where, in proud career,
The high-born tilter shivers spear.
I '11 follow to the Castle-park, 570
And play my prize ; — King James

shall mark
If age has tamed these sinews

stark,
Whose force so oft in happier

days
His boyish wonder loved to praise.'

XXI

The Castle gates were open flung,
The quivering drawbridge rocked

and rung.
And echoed loud the flinty street
Beneath the courser's clattering

feet,
As slowly down the steep descent
Fair Scotland's King and nobles

went, 580

While all along the crowded way.
Was jubilee and loud huzza.
And ever James wTas bending

low
To his white jennet's saddle-bow,
Doffing his cap to city dame,
Who smiled and blushed for pride

and shame.
And well the simperer might be

vain,—
He chose the fairest of the train.
Gravely he greets each city sire,
Commends each pageant's quaint

attire, 590

Gives to the dancers thanks aloud,

And smiles and nods upon the
crowd,

Who rend the heavens with their
acclaims,—

' Long live the Commons' King,
King James ! '

Behind the King thronged peer
and knight,

And noble dame and damsel
bright,

Whose fiery steeds ill brooked the
stay

Of the steep street and crowded
way.

But in the train you might dis-
cern

Dark lowering brow and visage
stern ; 600

There nobles mourned their pride
restrained,

And the mean burgher's joys dis-
dained ;

And chiefs, who, hostage for their
clan,

Were each from home a banished
man,

There thought upon their own
gray tower,

Their waving woods, their feudal
power,

And deemed themselves a shame-
ful part

Of pageant which they cursed in
heart.

XXII

Now, in the Castle-park, drew out
Their checkered bands the joyous

rout. 610

There morricers, with bell at heel
And blade in hand, their mazes

wheel;
But chief, beside the butts, there

stand
Bold Robin Hood and all his

band, —
Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and

cowl,
Old Scathelocke with his surly

scowl,
Maid Marian, fair as ivory bone,

CANTO FIFTH : THE COMBAT

263

Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little
John ;

Their bugles challenge all that
will.

In archery to prove their skill. 620

The Douglas bent a bow of
might, —

His first shaft centred in the white,

And when in turn he shot again,

His second split the first in twain.

From the King's hand must Doug-
las take

A silver dart, the archer's stake ;

Fondly he watched, with watery
eye,

Some answering glance of sym-
pathy, —

No kind emotion made reply !

Indifferent as to archer wight, 630

The monarch gave the arrow
bright.

XXIII

Now, clear the ring ! for, hand to

hand,
The manly wrestlers take their

stand.
Two o'er the rest superior rose,
And proud demanded mightier

foes, —
Nor called in vain, for Douglas

came.—
For life is Hugh of Larbert lame ;
Scarce better John of Alloa's fare,
Whom senseless home his com-

rades bare.
Prize of the wrestling match, the

King 640

To Douglas gave a golden ring,
While coldly glanced his eye of

blue,
As frozen drop of wintry dew.
Douglas would speak, but in his

breast
His struggling soul his words sup-
pressed :
Indignant then he turned him

where
Their arms the brawny yeomen

bare,
To hurl the massive bar in air.

When each his utmost strength

had shown,
The Douglas rent an earth-fast

stone 650

From its deep bed, then heaved it

high,
And sent the fragment through

the sky
A rood beyond the farthest mark •
And still in Stirling's royal park,
The gray-haired sires, who know

the past,
To strangers point the Douglas

cast,
And moralize on the decay
Of Scottish strength in modern

day.

XXIV

The vale with loud applauses

rang,
The Ladies' Rock sent back the

clang. 660

The King, with look unmoved, be-
stowed
A purse well filled with pieces

broad.
Indignant smiled the Douglas

proud,
And threw the gold among the

crowd,
Who now with anxious wonder

scan,
And sharper glance, the dark gray

man;
Till whispers rose among the

throng,
That heart so free, and hand so

strong,
Must to the Douglas blood be-
long.
The old men marked and shook

the head, 670

To see his hair with silver spread ;
And winked aside, and told each

son
Of feats upon the English done,
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand
Was exiled from his native land.
The women praised his stately

form,

264

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Though wrecked by many a win-
ter's storm ;
The youth with awe and wonder

saw
His strength surpassing Nature's

law.
Thus judged, as is their wont, the

crowd, 680

Till murmurs rose to clamors

loud.
But not a glance from that proud

ring
Of peers who circled round the

King
With Douglas held communion

kind,
Or called the banished man to

mind ;
No, not from those who at the

chase
Once held his side the honored

place,
Begirt his board, and in the field
Found safety underneath his

shield ;
For he whom royal eyes dis-
own, 690
When was his form to courtiers

known !

XXV

The Monarch saw the gambols

flag,
And bade let loose a gallant stag,
Whose pride, the holiday to

crown,
Two favorite greyhounds should

pull down,
That venison free and Bourdeaux

wine
Might serve the archery to dine.
But Luf ra, — whom from Douglas'

side
Nor bribe nor threat could e'er

divide,
The fleetest hound in all the

North, — 700

Brave Lufra saw, and darted

forth.
She left the royal hounds midway,
And dashing on the antlered prey,

Sunk her sharp muzzle in his

flank,
And deep the flowing life-blood

drank.
The king's stout huntsman saw

the sport
By strange intruder broken short,
Came up, and with his leash un-
bound
In anger struck the noble hound.
The Douglas had endured, that

morn, 710

The King's cold look, the nobles'

scorn,
And last, and worst to spirit proud.
Had borne the pity of the crowd ;
But Lufra had been fondly bred,
To share his board, to watch his

bed,
And oft would Ellen Lufra's neck
In maiden glee with garlands

deck ;
They were such playmates that

with name
Of Lufra Ellen's image came.
His stifled wrath is brimming

high, • 720

In darkened brow and flashing

eye;
As waves before the bark divide,
The crowd gave way before his

stride ;
Needs but a buffet and no more,
The groom lies senseless in his

gore.
Such blow no other hand could

deal,
Though gauntleted in glove of

steel.

XXVI

Then clamored loud the royal

train,
And brandished swords and staves

amain,
But stern the Baron's warning:

' Back ! 730

Back., on your lives, ye menial

pack !
Beware the Douglas. — Yes ! be-

hold,

CAXTO FIFTH: THE COMBAT

265

King James ! The Douglas, doomed

of old,
And vainly sought for near and

far,
A victim to atone the war,
A willing victim, now attends,
Nor craves thy grace but for his

friends.' —
' Thus is my clemency repaid ?
Presumptuous Lord!' the Mon-
arch said; 739
1 Of thy misproud ambitious clan.
Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the

man,
The only man, in whom a foe
My woman-mercy would not

know ;
But shall a Monarch's presence

brook
Injurious blow and haughty

look? —
What ho ! the Captain of our

Guard !
Give the offender fitting ward. —
Break off the sports ! ' — for tu-
mult rose,
And yeomen 'gan to bend their

bows, —
' Break off the sports ! ' he said

and frowned, 750

' And bid our horsemen clear the

ground.'

XXVII

Then uproar wild and misarray
Marred the fair form of festal

day.
The horsemen pricked among the

crowd,
Kepelled by threats and insult

loud;
To earth are borne the old and

weak,
The timorous fly, the women

shriek j
With flint, with shaft, with staff,

with bar,
The hardier urge tumultuous war.
At once round Douglas darkly

sweep 760

The royal spears in circle deep,

And slowly scale the pathway

steep,
While on the rear in thunder pour
The rabble with disordered roar.
With grief the noble Douglas saw
The Commons rise against the

law,
And to the leading soldier said :
1 Sir John of Hyndford, 't was my

blade,
That knighthood on thy shoulder

laid;
For that good deed permit me

then 770

A word with these misguided

men. —

XXVIII

' Hear, gentle friends, ere yet for

me
Ye break the bands of fealty.
My life, my honor, and my cause,
I tender free to Scotland's laws.
Are these so weak as must re-
quire
The aid of your misguided ire ?
Or if I suffer causeless wrong,
Is then my selfish rage so strong,
My sense of public weal so low, 780
That, for mean vengeance on a

foe,
Those cords of love I should un-
bind
Which knit my country and my

kind?
0 no ! Believe, in yonder tower
It will not soothe my captive

hour,
To know those spears, our foes

should dread
For me in kindred gore are red :
To know, in fruitless brawl be-
gun,
For me that mother wails her son,
For me that widow's mate ex-
pires, 790
For me that orphans weep their

sires,
That patriots mourn insulted laws,
And curse the Douglas for the
cause.

266

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

0 let your patience ward such

ill,
And keep your right to love me
still ! '

XXIX

The crowd's wild fury sunk again
In tears, as tempests melt in rain.
With lifted hands and eyes, they

prayed
For blessings on his generous

head
Who for his country felt alone, 800
And prized her blood beyond his

own.
Old men upon the verge of life
Blessed him who stayed the civil

strife ;
And mothers held their babes on

high,
The self-devoted Chief to spy,
Triumphant over wrongs and ire,
To whom the prattlers owed a sire.
Even the rough soldier's heart was

moved ;
As if behind some bier beloved,
With trailing arms and drooping

head, 810

The Douglas up the hill he led,
And at the Castle's battled verge,
With sighs resigned his honored

charge.

XXX

The offended Monarch rode apart,
With bitter thought and swelling

heart,
And would not now vouchsafe

again
Through Stirling streets to lead

his train.

1 O Lennox, who would wish to rule
This changeling crowd, this com-
mon fool ?

Hear'st thou,' he said, ' the loud ac-
claim 820

With which they shout the Doug-
las name ?

With like acclaim the vulgar
throat

Strained for King James their
morning note ;

With like acclaim they hailed the

day
When first I broke the Douglas

sway;
And like acclaim would Douglas

greet
If he could hurl me from my seat.
Who o'er the herd would wish to

reign, 828

Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain?
Vain as the leaf upon the stream,
And fickle as a changeful dream ;
Fantastic as a woman's mood,
And fierce as Frenzy's fevered

blood;
Thou many-headed monster-thing,

0 who would wish to be thy

king ? —

XXXI

'But soft! what messenger of

speed
Spurs hitherward his panting

steed?

1 guess his cognizance afar —
What from our cousin, John of

Mar?'

1 He prays, my liege, your sports
keep bound 840

Within the safe and guarded
ground ;

For some foul purpose yet un-
known,—

Most sure for evil to the throne,—

The outlawed Chieftain, Roderick
Dhu,

Has summoned his rebellious
crew;

'T is said, in James of Bothwell's
aid

These loose banditti stand ar-
rayed.

The Earl of Mar this morn from
Doune

To break their muster marched,
and soon

Your Grace will hear of battle
fought ; 850

But earnestly the Earl besought,

Till for such danger he provide,

With scanty train you will not
ride.'

CANTO SIXTH: THE GUARD-ROOM

267

XXXII

1 Thou warn'st me I have done

amiss, —
I should have earlier looked to

this ;
I lost it in this hustling day. —
Retrace with speed thy former

way ;
Spare not for spoiling of thy steed,
The best of mine shall be thy

meed.
Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, 860
We do forbid the intended war ;
Roderick this morn in single fight
Was made our prisoner by a

knight,
And Douglas hath himself and

cause
Submitted to our kingdom's laws.
The tidings of their leaders lost
Will soon dissolve the mountain

host,
Nor would we that the vulgar feel,
For their Chief's crimes, avenging

steel. 869

Bear Mar our message, Braco, fly ! '
He turned his steed, — 'Mv liege,

I hie,
Yet ere I cross this lily lawn
I fear the broadswords will be

drawn.'
The turf the flying courser

spurned,
And to his towers the King re-
turned.

XXXIII

111 with King James's mood that

day
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay ;
Soon were dismissed the courtly

throng, 878

And soon cut short the festal song.
Nor less upon the saddened town
The evening sunk in sorrow down.
The burghers spoke of civil jar,
Of rumored feuds and mountain

war,
Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu,
All up in arms ; — the Douglas

too,

They mourned him pent within the

hold,
'Where stout Earl William was

of old.' —
And there his word the speaker

stayed,
And finger on his lip he laid,
Or pointed to his dagger blade. 890
But jaded horsemen from the west
At evening to the Castle pressed,
And busy talkers said they bore
Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore;
At noon the deadly fray begun,
And lasted till the set of sun.
Thus giddy rumor shook the town,
Till closed the Night her pennons

brown.

CANTO SIXTH

THE GUARD-ROOM
I.

The sun, awakening, through the
smoky air
Of the dark city casts a sullen
glance,
Rousing each caitiff to his task of
care,
Of sinful man the sad inheri-
tance ;
Summoning revellers from the
lagging dance,
Scaring the prowling robber to
his den ;
Gilding on battled tower the ward-
er's lance,
And warning student pale to
leave his pen,
And yield his drowsy eyes to the
kind nurse of men.

What various scenes, and O, what
scenes of woe, 10

Are witnessed by that red and
struggling beam !
The fevered patient, from his pal-
let low,
Through crowded hospital be-
holds it stream ;

268

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

The ruined maiden trembles at its

gleam,
The debtor wakes to thought of

gyve and jail,
The love-lorn wretch starts from

tormenting dream ;
The wakeful mother, by the

glimmering pale,
Trims her sick infant's couch, and

soothes his feeble wail.

At dawn the towers of Stirling
rang

With soldier -step and weapon-
clang, 20

"While drums with rolling note
foretell

Relief to weary sentinel.

Through narrow loop and case-
ment barred,

The sunbeams sought the Court of
Guard,

And, struggling with the smoky
air,

Deadened the torches' yellow
glare.

In comfortless alliance shone

The lights through arch of black-
ened stone,

And showed wild shapes in garb
of war,

Faces deformed with beard and
scar, 3 c

All haggard from the midnight
watch,

And fevered with the stern de-
bauch ;

For the oak table's massive board,

Flooded with wine, with fragments
stored,

And beakers drained, and cups
o'erthrown,

Showed in what sport the night
had flown.

Some, weary, snored on floor and
bench ;

Some labored still their thirst to
quench ;

Some, chilled with watching,
spread their hands

O'er the huge chimney's dying
brands, 40

While round them, or beside them
flung,

At every step their harness rung.

These drew not for their fields the
sword,

Like tenants of a feudal lord,

Nor owned the patriarchal claim

Of Chieftain in their leader's
name ;

Adventurers they, from far who
roved,

To live by battle which they loved.

There the Italian's clouded face,

The swarthy Spaniard's there you
trace ; 50

The mountain-loving Switzer there

More freely breathed in mountain-
air;

The Fleming there despised the
soil

That paid so ill the laborer's toil ;

Their rolls showed French and
German name ;

And merry England's exiles came,

To share, with ill-concealed dis-
dain,

Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain.

All brave in arms, well trained to
wield

The heavy halberd, brand, and
shield ; 60

In camps licentious, wild, and
bold;

In pillage fierce and uncontrolled

And now, by holytide and feast,

From rules of discipline released.

They held debate of bloody fray,
Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and

Achray.
Fierce was their speech, and mid

their words
Their hands oft grappled to their

swords ;
Nor sunk their tone to spare the

ear

CANTO SIXTH : THE GUARD-ROOM

169

Of wounded comrades groaning

near, 70

Whose mangled limbs and bodies

gored
Bore token of the mountain sword,
Though, neighboring to the Court

of Guard,
Their prayers and feverish wails

were heard, —
Sad burden to the ruffian joke,
And savage oath by fury spoke ! —
At length up started John of

Brent,
A yeoman from the banks of

Trent ;
A stranger to respect or fear,
In peace a chaser of the deer, 80
In host a hardy mutineer,
But still the boldest of the crew
When deed of danger was to do.
He grieved that day their games

cut short,
And marred the dicer's brawling

sport,
And shouted loud, ' Renew the

bowl !
And, while a merry catch I troll,
Let each the buxom chorus bear,
Like brethren of the brand and

spear.'

SOLDIER'S SOXG

Our vicar still preaches that Peter

and Poule 90

Laid a swinging long curse on the

bonny brown bowl,
That there 's wrath and despair in

the jolly black-jack,
And the seven deadly sins in a

flagon of sack ;
Yet whoop, Barnaby ! off with thy

liquor,
Drink upsees out, and a fig for the

vicar !

Our vicar he calls it damnation to

sip
The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's

dear lip,

Says that Beelzebub lurks in her

kerchief so sly,
And Apollyon shoots darts from

her merry black eye ;
Yet whoop, Jack ! kiss Gillian the

quicker, 100

Till she bloom like a rose, and a

fig for the vicar !

Our vicar thus preaches,— and

why should he not ?
For the dues of his cure are the

placket and pot ;
And 't is right of his office poor

laymen to lurch
Who infringe the domains of our

good Mother Church.
Yet whoop, bully-boys ! off with

your liquor,
Sweet Marjorie 's the word, and a

fig for the vicar !

The warder's challenge, heard

without,
Stayed in mid - roar the merry

shout.
A soldier to the portal went, — no
I ' Here is old Bertram, sirs, of

Ghent ;
And — beat for jubilee the drum ! —
A maid and minstrel with him

come.'
Bertram, a Fleming, gray and

scarred,
Was entering now the Court of

Guard,
A harper with him, and, in plaid
All muffled close, a mountain

maid,
Who backward shrunk to 'scape

the view
Of the loose scene and boisterous

crew.
'What news?' they roared : — ' I

only know, 120

From noon till eve we fought with

foe,
As wild and as untamable
As the rude mountains where they

dwell ;

270

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

On both sides store of blood is

lost,
Nor much success can either

boast.' —

* But whence thy captives, friend ?

such spoil
As theirs must needs reward thy

toil.
Old dost thou wax, and wars grow

sharp ;
Thou now hast glee-maiden and

harp!
Get thee an ape, and trudge the

land, 130

The leader of a juggler band.'

VII

1 No, comrade ; — no such fortune

mine.
After the fight these sought our

line,
That aged harper and the girl,
And, having audience of the Earl,
Mar bade I should purvey them

steed,
And bring them hitherward with

speed.
Forbear your mirth and rude

alarm,
For none shall do them shame or

harm. — '

* Hear ye his boast ? ' cried John

of Brent, 140

Ever to strife and jangling bent ;
'Shall he strike doe beside our

lodge,
And yetthe jealous niggard grudge
To pay the forester his fee ?
I '11 have my share howe'er it

be,
Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee.'
Bertram his forward step with-
stood ;
And, burning in his vengeful mood,
Old Allan, though unfit for strife,
Laid hand upon his dagger-knife ;
But Ellen boldly stepped between,
And dropped at once the tartan
screen:— 152

So, from his morning cloud, ap-
pears

The sun of May through summer

tears.
The savage soldiery, amazed,
As on descended angel gazed ;
Even hardy Brent, abashed and

tamed,
Stood half admiring, half ashamed.

VIII

Boldly she spoke: 'Soldiers, at-
tend !
My father was the soldier's friend,
Cheered him in camps, in marches

led, 161

And with him in the battle bled.
Not from the valiant or the strong
Should exile's daughter suffer

wrong.'
Answered De Brent, most forward

still
In every feat or good or ill :
' I shame me of the part I played ;
And thou an outlaw's child, poor

maid !
An outlaw 1 by forest laws,
And merry Needwood knows the

cause. 170

Poor Rose, — if Rose be living

now,' —
He wiped his iron eye and brow, —
1 Must bear such age, I think, as

thou. — ■
Hear ye, my mates ! I go to call
The Captain of our watch to hall :
There lies my halberd on the floor ;
And he that steps my halberd

o'er,
To do the maid injurious part,
My shaft shall quiver in his heart !
Beware loose speech, or jesting

rough ; 180

Ye all know John de Brent.

Enough.'

Their Captain came, a gallant

young, —
Of Tullibardine's house he

sprung, —
Nor wore he yet the spurs of

knight ;

CANTO SIXTH : THE GUARD-ROOM

271

Gay was liis mien, his humor

light,
And, though by courtesy con-

trolled,
Forward his speech, his bearing

bold.
The high-born maiden ill could

brook
The scanning of his curious look
And dauntless eye : — and yet, in

sooth, 190

Young Lewis was a generous

youth ;
But Ellen's lovely face and mien,
111 suited to the garb and scene,
Might lightly bear construction

strange,
And give loose fancy scope to

range.
4 Welcome to Stirling towers, fair

maid!
Come ye to seek a champion's aid,
On palfrey white, with harper

hoar,
Like errant damosel of yore?
Does thy high quest a knight re-
quire, 200
Or may the venture suit a squire ? ;
Her dark eye flashed ; — she

paused and sighed : —
' O what have I to do with pride ! —
Through scenes of sorrow, shame,

and strife,
A suppliant for a father's life,
I crave an audience of the King
Behold, to back my suit, a ring,
The royal pledge of grateful

claims,
Given by the Monarch to Fitz-

James.'

The signet-ring young Lewis took
With deep respect and altered

look, 211

And said : ' This ring our duties

own ;
And pardon, if to worth unknown,
In semblance mean obscurely

veiled,
Lady, in aught my folly failed.

Soon as the day flings wide his

gates,
The King shall know what suitor

waits.
Please you meanwhile in fitting

bower
Repose you till his waking hour ;
Female attendance shall obey 220
Your nest, for service or array.
Permit I marshal you the way.'
But, ere she followed, with the

grace
And open bounty of her race,
She bade her slender purse be

shared
Among the soldiers of the guard.
The rest with thanks their guerdon

took,
But Brent, with shy and awkward

look,
On the reluctant maiden's hold
Forced bluntly back the proffered

gold : 230

1 Forgive a haughty English heart,
And 0, forget its ruder part !
The vacant purse shall be my

share,
Which in my barret-cap I "11 bear,
Perchance, in jeopardy of war,
Where gayer crests may keep

afar.'
With thanks — 't was all she could

— the maid
His rugged courtesy repaid.

When Ellen forth with Lewis went,
Allan made suit to John of

Brent : — 240

' My lady safe, 0 let your grace
Give me to see my master's face !
His minstrel I, — to share his doom
Bound from the cradle to the

tomb.
Tenth in descent, since first my

sires
Waked for his noble house their

lyres,
Nor one of all the race was known
But prized its weal above their

own.

272

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

With the Chief's birth begins our

care;
Our harp must soothe the infant

heir, 250

Teach the youth tales of fight, and

grace
His earliest feat of field or chase ;
In peace, in war, our rank we

keep,
We cheer his board, we soothe his

sleep,
Nor leave him till we pour our

verse —
A doleful tribute ! — o'er his

hearse.
Then let me share his captive lot;
It is my right, — deny it not ! '
■ Little we reck,' said John of

Brent,
'We Southern men, of long de-
scent; 260
Nor wot we how a name— a

word —
Makes clansmen vassals to a lord :
Yet kind my noble landlord's

part, —
God bless the house of Beaude-

sert !
And, but I loved to drive the deer
More than to guide the laboring

steer,
I had not dwelt an outcast here.
Come, good old Minstrel, follow

me;
Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou

see.'

XII

Then, from a rusted iron hook, 270

A bunch of ponderous keys he
took,

Lighted a torch, and Allan led

Through grated arch and passage
dread.

Portals they passed, where, deep
within,

Spoke prisoner's moan and fetters'
din;

Through rugged vaults, where,
loosely stored,

Lay wheel, and axe, and heads-
man's sword,

And many a hideous engine grim,
For wrenching joint and crushing

limb,
By artists formed who deemed it

shame 280

And sin to give their work a name.
They halted at a low-browed porch,
And Brent to Allan gave the torch,
While bolt and chain he backward

rolled,
And made the bar unhasp its hold.
They entered : — 't was a prison-

room
Of stern security and gloom,
Yet not a dungeon ; for the day
Through lofty gratings found its

way, 289

And rude and antique garniture
Decked the sad walls and oaken

floor,
Such as the rugged days of old
Deemed fit for captive noble's hold.
4 Here,' said De Brent, ' thou mayst

remain
Till the Leech visit him again.
Strict is his charge, the warders

tell,
To tend the noble prisoner well.'
Retiring then the bolt he drew,
And the lock's murmurs growled

anew.
Roused at the sound, from lowly

bed 300

A captive feebly raised his head ;
The wondering Minstrel looked,

and knew —
Not his dear lord, but Roderick

Dim !
For, come from where Clan-Alpine

fought,
They, erring, deemed the Chief he

sought.

XIII

As the tall ship, whose lofty prore
Shall never stem the billows more,
Deserted by her gallant band, 308
Amid the breakers lies astrand, —
So on his couch lay Roderick Dhu !
And oft his fevered limbs he threw
In toss abrupt, as when her sides

CANTO SIXTH: THE GUARD-ROOM

Lie rocking in the advancing tides,
That shake her frame with cease-
less beat,
Yet cannot heave her from her

seat ; —
O, how unlike her course at sea !
Or his free step on hill and lea ! —
Soon as the Minstrel he could

scan,—
'What of thy lady? — of my

clan ? —
My mother ? — Douglas ? — tell me

all! 320

Have they been ruined in my fall ?
Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou

here?
Yet speak, — speak boldly, — do

not fear.'
For Allan, who his mood well

knew,
Was choked with grief and terror

too.
'Who fought? — who fled? — Old

man, be brief; —
Some might, — for they had lost

their Chief.
Who basely live? — who bravely

died ? »
' 0, calm thee, Chief ! ' the Minstrel

cried,
' Ellen is safe! ' ' For that thank

Heaven!' 330

4 And hopes are for the Douglas

given; —
The Lady Margaret, too, is well ;
And, for thy clan, — on field or fell,
Has never harp of minstrel told
Of combat fought so true and bold.
Thy stately Pine is yet unbent,
Though many a goodly bough is

rent.'

XIV

The Chieftain reared his form on

high,
And fever's fire was in his eye ;
But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks
Checkered his swarthy brow and

cheeks. 341

' Hark, Minstrel ! I have heard

thee play,

With measure bold on festal day,
In yon lone isle, — again where

ne'er
Shall harper play or warrior

hear ! —
That stirring air that peals on

high,
O'er Dermid's race our victory.—
Strike it! — and then, — for well

thou canst, —
Free from thy minstrel-spirit

glanced, 349

Fling me the picture of the fight,
When met my clan the Saxon

might.
I '11 listen, till my fancy hears
The clang of swords, the crash of

spears !
These grates, these walls, shall

vanish then
For the fair field of fighting men,
And my free spirit burst away,
As if it soared from battle fray.'
The trembling Bard with awe

obeyed,—
Slow on the harp his hand he laid ;
But soon remembrance of the

sight 360

He witnessed from the mountain's

height,
With what old Bertram told at

night,
Awakened the full power of song,
And bore him in career along ; —
As shallop launched on river's

tide,
That slow and fearful leaves the

side,
But, when it feels the middle

stream,
Drives downward swift as light-
ning's beam.

BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DTJINE

' The Minstrel came once more to
view 369

The eastern ridge of Benvenue,
For ere he parted he would say

274

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Farewell to lovely Loch Achray —
Where shall he find, in foreign

land,
So lone a lake, so sweet a
strand ! —
There is no breeze upon the
fern,
No ripple on the lake,
Upon her eyry nods the erne,

The deer has sought the brake ;
The small birds will not sing

aloud, 379

The springing trout lies still,
So darkly glooms yon thunder-
cloud,
That swathes, as with a purple
shroud,
Benledi's distant hill.
Is it the thunder's solemn sound
That mutters deep and dread,
Or echoes from the groaning
ground
The warrior's measured tread ?
Is it the lightning's quivering
glance
That on the thicket streams,
Or do they flash on spear and
lance 390

The sun's retiring beams ?—
I see the dagger-crest of Mar,
I see the Moray's silver star,
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon

war,
That up the lake comes winding
far!
To hero boune for battle-strife,

Or bard of martial lay,
'T were worth ten years of
peaceful life,
One glance at their array !

XVI

'Their light-armed archers far
and near 4°°

Surveyed the tangled ground,
Their centre ranks, with pike
and spear,
A twilight forest frowned,
Their barded horsemen in the
rear
The stern battalia crowned.

No cymbal clashed, no clarion
rang,
Still were the pipe and drum ;
Save heavy tread, and armor's
clang,
The sullen march was dumb.
There breathed no wind their
crests to shake, 410

Or wave their flags abroad ;
Scarce the frail aspen seemed
to quake,
That shadowed o'er their road.
Their vaward scouts no tidings
bring,
Can rouse no lurking foe,
Nor spy a trace of living thing,
Save when they stirred the
roe;
The host moves like a deep-sea

wave,
Where rise no rocks its pride to
brave,
High-swelling, dark, and slow,
The lake is passed, and now they
gain 421

A narrow and a broken plain,
Before the Trosachs' rugged jaws ;
And here the horse and spear-
men pause,
While, to explore the dangerous

glen,
Dive through the pass the archer-
men.

XVII

' At once there rose so wild a yell
Within that dark and narrow dell,
As all the fiends from heaven that
fell 429

Had pealed the banner-cry of hell !
Forth from the pass in tumult

driven,
Like chaff before the wind of
heaven,
The archery appear :
For life! for life! their flight

they ply —
And shriek, and shout, and bat-
tle-cry,
And plaids and bonnets waving
high,

CANTO SIXTH : THE GUARD-ROOM

27S

And broadswords flashing to the

They hurled them on the foe.

*ky,

I heard the lance's shivering crash,

Are maddening in the rear.

As when the whirlwind rends the

Onward they .drive in dreadful

ash ;

race,

I heard the broadsword's deadly

Pursuers and pursued ; 440

clang^

Before that tide of flight and

As if a hundred anvils rang !

chase,

But Moray wheeled his rearward

How shall it keep its rooted

rank

place,

Of horsemen on Clan - Alpine's

The spearmen's twilight

flank, — 470

wood ? —

" My banner-men, advance !

" Down, down," cried Mar, " your

I see," he cried, "their column

lances down !

shake.

Bear back both friend and

Now, gallants ! for your ladies'

foe!" —

sake,

Like reeds before the tempest's

Upon them with the lance ! " —

frown,

The horsemen dashed among

That serried grove of lances

the rout,

brown

As deer break through the

At once lay levelled low ;

broom ;

And closely shouldering side to

Their steeds are stout, their

side,

swords are out,

The bristling ranks the onset

They soon make lightsome

bide.— 450

room.

"We'll quell the savage moun-

Clan-Alpine's best are backward

taineer,

borne —

As their Tinchel cows the

Where, where was Roderick

game !

then ! 480

They come as fleet as forest

One blast upon his bugle-horn

deer,

Were worth a thousand men.

We '11 drive them back as

And refluent through the pass

tame."

of fear

The battle's tide was poured ;

XVIII

Vanished the Saxon's struggling

'Bearing before them in their

spear,

course

Vanished the mountain-sword.

The relics of the archer force,

As Bracklinn's chasm, so black

Like wave with crest of sparkling

and steep,

foam,

Receives her roaring linn,

Right onward did Clan - Alpine

As the dark caverns of the deep

come.

Suck the wild whirlpool in, 490

Above the tide, each broadsword

So did the deep and darksome pass

bright

Devour the battle's mingled mass;

Was brandishing like beam of

None linger nowr upon the plain,

light, 460

Save those who ne'er shall fight

Each targe was dark below;

again.

» And with the ocean's mighty

swing,

XIX

When heaving to the tempest's

' Now westward rolls the battle's

wing,

din,

276

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

That deep and doubling pass with-
in. —
Minstrel, away ! the work of fate
Is bearing on ; its issue wait,
Where the rude Trosachs' dread
defile 499

Opens on Katrine's lake and isle.
Gray Benvenue I soon repassed,
Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast.
The sun is set ; — the clouds are
met,
The lowering scowl of heaven
An inky hue of livid blue
To the deep lake has given ;
Strange gusts of wind from moun-
tain glen
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk

again.
I heeded not the eddying surge,
Mine eye but saw the Trosachs'
gorge, 510

Mine ear but heard that sullen

sound,
Which like an earthquake shook

the ground,
And spoke the stern and desperate

strife
That parts not but with parting

life,
Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll
The dirge of many a passing
soul.
Nearer it comes— the dim wood-
glen
The martial flood disgorged
again,
But not in mingled tide ;
The plaided warriors of the
North 520

High on the mountain thunder
forth
And overhang its side,
While by the lake below appears
The darkening cloud of Saxon

spears.
At weary bay each shattered

band,
Eying their foemen, sternly

stand ;
Their banners stream like tat-
tered sail,

That flings its fragments to the

gale,
And broken arms and disarray
Marked the fell havoc of the

day.

530

'Viewing the mountain's ridge

askance,

The Saxons stood in sullen trance,

Till Moray pointed with his lance,

And cried : " Behold yon isle !—

See ! none are left to guard its

strand
But women weak, that wring the

hand :
'T is there of yore the robber band

Their booty wont to pile ; —
My purse, with bonnet -pieces

store, 539

To him will swim a bow- shot

o'er,
And loose a shallop from the

shore.
Lightly we '11 tame the wrar-wolf

then,
Lords of his mate, and brood, and

den."
Forth from the ranks a spearman

sprung,
On earth his casque and corselet

rung,
He plunged him in the wave : —
All saw the deed, — the purpose

knew,
And to their clamors Benvenue

A mingled echo gave;
The Saxons shout, their mate to

cheer, 550

The helpless females scream for

fear,
And yells for rage the mountain-
eer.
'T was then, as by the outcry

riven,
Poured down at once the lowering

heaven :
A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's

breast,
Her billows reared their snowy

crest.

CANTO SIXTH : THE GUARD-ROOM

277

Well for the swimmer swelled they

high,
To mar the Highland marksman's

eye;
For round him showered, mid rain

and hail,
The vengeful arrows of the Gael.
In vain. — He nears the isle — and

10! 561

His hand is on a shallop's bow.
Just then a flash of lightning

came,
It tinged the waves and strand

with flame :
I marked Duncraggan's widowed

dame,
Behind an oak I saw her stand,
A naked dirk gleamed in her

hand : —
It darkened, — but amid the moan
Of waves I heard a dying groan ; —
Another flash ! — the spearman

floats 570

A weltering corse beside the boats,
And the stern matron o'er him

stood,
Her hand and dagger streaming

blood.

XXI

' " Revenge ! revenge ! " the Saxons

cried,
The Gaels' exulting shout replied.
Despite the elemental rage,
Again they hurried to engage ;
But, ere they closed in desperate

fight,
Bloody with spurring came a

knight,
Sprung from his horse, and from

a crag 580

Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-
white flag.
Clarion and trumpet by his side
Pamg forth a truce-note high and

wide,
While, in the Monarch's name,

afar
A herald's voice forbade the war,
For Bothwell's lord and Roderick

bold

Were both, he said, in captive

hold,' —
But here the lay made sudden

stand,
The harp escaped the Minstrel's

hand!
Oft had he stolen a glance, to

spy 590

How Roderick brooked his min-
strelsy :
At first, the Chieftain, to the

chime,
With lifted hand kept feeble

time ;
That motion ceased, — yet feeling

strong
Varied his look as changed the

song;
At length, no more his deafened

ear
The minstrel melody can hear ;
His face grows sharp, —his hands

are clenched,
As if some pang his heart-strings

wrenched ;
Set are his teeth, his fading

eye 600

Is sternly fixed on vacancy ;
Thus, motionless and moanless,

drew
His parting breath stout Roderick

Dhu! —
Old Allan-bane looked on aghast,
While grim and still his spirit

passed;
But when he saw that life was

fled,
He poured his wailing o'er the

dead.

XXII
LAMENT

'And art thou cold and lowly

laid,
Thy foeman's dread, thy people's

aid,
Breadalbane's boast, Clan- Alpine's

shade ! 610

For thee shall none a requiem

say ? —

278

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

For thee, who loved the minstrel's

lay,
For thee, of BothwelPs house the

stay,
The shelter of her exiled line,
E'en in this prison-house of thine,
I '11 wail for Alpine's honored

Pine!

4 What groans shall yonder valleys
fill!

What shrieks of grief shall rend
yon hill !

What tears of burning rage shall
thrill,

When mourns thy tribe thy bat-
tles done, 620

Thy fall before the race was won,

Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun !

There breathes not clansman of
thy line,

But would have given his life for
thine.

O, woe for Alpine's honored Pine !

'Sad was thy lot on mortal

stage ! —
The captive thrush may brook the

cage,
The prisoned eagle dies for rage.
Brave spirit, do not scorn my

strain !
And, when its notes awake

again, 630

Even she, so long beloved in vain,
Shall with my harp her voice com-
bine,
And mix her woe and tears with

mine,
To wail Clan -Alpine's honored

Pine.'

XXIII

Ellen, the while, with bursting

heart,
Eemained in lordly bower apart,
Where played, with many-colored

gleams,
Through storied pane the rising

beams.
In vain on gilded roof they fall,

And lightened up a tapestried

wall, 640

And for her use a menial train
A rich collation spread in vain.
The banquet proud, the chamber

gay,
Scarce drew one curious glance

astray ;
Or if she looked, 't was but to say,
With better omen dawned the day
In that lone isle, where waved on

high
The dun-deer's hide for canopy ;
Where oft her noble father shared
The simple meal her care pre-
pared, 650
While Lufra, crouching by her

side,
Her station claimed with jealous

pride,
And Douglas, bent on woodland

game,
Spoke of the chase to Malcolm

Graeme,
Whose answer, oft at random

made,
The wandering of his thoughts be-
trayed.
Those who such simple joys have

known
Are taught to prize them when

they 're gone.
But sudden, see, she lifts her head,
The window seeks with cautious

tread. 660

What distant music has the power
To win her in this woful hour?
'T was from a turret that o'er-

hung
Her latticed bower, the strain was

sung.

XXIV

LAY OF THE IMPRISONED
HUNTSMAN

4 My hawk is tired of perch and

hood,
My idle greyhound loathes his

food,
My horse is weary of his stall,

CANTO SIXTH : THE GUARD-ROOM

279

And I am sick of captive thrall.
I wish I were as I have been,
Hunting the hart in forest green,
With bended bow and bloodhound
free, 671

For that 's the life is meet for me.

4 1 hate to learn the ebb of time
From yon dull steeple's drowsy

chime,
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,
Inch after inch, along the wall.
The lark was wont my matins

ring,
The sable rook my vespers sing,
These towers, although a king's

they be,
Have not a hall of joy for me. 680

' No more at dawning morn I rise,
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,
Drive the fleet deer the forest

through,
And homeward wend with evening

dew ;
A blithesome welcome blithely

meet,
And lay my trophies at her feet,
While fled the eve on wing of

glee,—
That life is lost to love and me ! '

XXV

The heart-sick lay was hardly

said,
The listener had not turned her

head, 690

It trickled still, the starting tear,
When light a footstep struck her

, ear,
And Snowdoun's graceful Knight

was near.
She turned the hastier, lest again
The prisoner should renew his

strain.
' O welcome, brave Fitz-James!'

she said ;
1 How may an almost orphan maid
Pay the deep debt ' — * O say not

so!
To me no gratitude you owe.

Not mine, alas ! the boon to give,
And bid thy noble father live ; 701
I can but be thy guide, sweet

maid,
With Scotland's King thy suit to

aid.
No tyrant he, though ire and pride
May lay his better mood aside.
Come, Ellen, come ! 't is more than

time,
He holds his court at morning

prime.'
With beating heart, and bosom

wrung,
As to a brother's arm she clung.
Gently he dried the falling tear,
And gently whispered hope and

cheer; 711

Her faltering steps half led, half

stayed,
Through gallery fair and high ar-
cade,
Till at his touch its wings of pride
A portal arch unfolded wide.

XXVI

Within 't was brilliant all and

light,
A thronging scene of figures

bright ;
It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight,
As when the setting sun has given
Ten thousand hues to summer

even, 720

And from their tissue fancy frames
Aerial knights and fairy dames.
Still by Fitz-James her footing

staid ;
A few faint steps she forward

made,
Then slow her drooping head she

raised,
And fearful round the presence

gazed ;
For him she sought who owned

this state,
The dreaded Prince whose will

wras fate ! —
She gazed on many a princely port
Might well have ruled a royal

court ; 730

28o

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

On many a splendid garb she

gazed, —
Then turned bewildered and

amazed,
For all stood bare; and in the

room
Fitz-James alone wore cap and

plume.
To him each lady's look was lent,
On him each courtier's eye was

bent ;
Midst furs and silks and jewels

sheen,
He stood, in simple Lincoln green,
The centre of the glittering ring, —
And Snowdoun's Knight is Scot-

land's King

740

XXVII

As wreath of snow on mountain-
breast

Slides from the rock that gave it
rest,

Poor Ellen glided from her stay,

And at the Monarch's feet she
lay;

No word her choking voice com-
mands.

She showed the ring, - she clasped
her hands.

O, not a moment could he brook,

The generous Prince, that sup-
pliant look !

Gently he raised her, — and, the
while,

Checked with a glance the circle's
smile ; 750

Graceful, but grave, her brow he
kissed,

And bade her terrors be dis-
missed : —

'Yes, fair; the wandering poor
Fitz-James

The fealty of Scotland claims.

To him thy woes, thy wishes,
bring ;

He will redeem his signet ring,

Ask naught for Douglas ; — yester
even,

His Prince and he have much for-
given ;

Wrong hath he had from slander-
ous tongue, 759

I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong.

We would not, to the vulgar crowd,

Yield what they craved with cla-
mor loud ;

Calmly we heard and judged his
cause,

Our council aided and our laws.

I stanched thy father's death-feud
stern

With stout De Vaux and gray
Glencairn ;

And Bothwell's Lord henceforth
we own

The friend and bulwark of our
throne. —

But, lovely infidel, how now?

What clouds thy misbelieving
brow ? 770

Lord James of Douglas, lend thine
aid;

Thou must confirm this doubting
maid.'

XXVIII

Then forth the noble Douglas

sprung,
And on his neck his daughter

hung.
The Monarch drank, that happy

hour,
The sweetest, holiest draught of

Power, —
When it can say with godlike

voice,
Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice !
Yet would not James the general

eye
On nature's raptures long should

pry ; 780

He stepped between — • Nay,

Douglas, nay,
Steal not my proselyte away !
The riddle 't is my right to read,
That brought this happy chance

to speed.
Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray
In life's more low but happier way,
'T is under name which veils my

power,

CANTO SIXTH: THE GUARD-ROOM

281

Nor falsely veils, — for Stirling's

tower
Of yore the name of Snowdoun

claims,
And Normans call me James Fitz-

James. 790

Thus watch I o'er insulted laws,
Thus learn to right the injured

cause.'
Then, in a tone apart and low, —
1 Ah, little traitress ! none must

know
What idle dream, what lighter

thought,
What vanity full dearly bought,
Joined to thine eye's dark witch-
craft, drew
My spell-bound steps to Benve-

nue
In dangerous hour, and all but

gave
Thy Monarch's life to mountain

glaive i ' 800

Aloud he spoke : * Thou still dost

hold
That little talisman of gold,
Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's

ring, —
What seeks fair Ellen of the King? '

XXIX

Full well the conscious maiden

guessed
He probed the weakness of her

breast ;
But with that consciousness there

came
A lightening of her fears for

Graeme,
And more she deemed the Mon-
arch's ire
Kindled 'gainst him who for her

sire 810

Rebellious broadsword boldly

drew;
And, to her generous feeling

true,
She craved the grace of Roderick

Dhu.

' Forbear thy suit ; — the King of

kings
Alone can stay life's parting

wings.
I know his heart, I know his

hand,
Have shared his cheer, and proved

his brand ; —
My fairest earldom would I give
To bid Clan - Alpine's Chieftain

live!— 819

Hast thou no other boon to crave ?
No other captive friend to save ? '
Blushing, she turned her from the

King,
And to the Douglas gave the

ring,
As if she wished her sire to

speak
The suit that stained her glowing

cheek.
4 Nay, then, my pledge has lost its

force,
And stubborn justice holds her

course.
Malcolm, come forth ! ' — and, at

the word,
Down kneeled the Graeme to Scot-
land's Lord.
1 For thee, rash youth, no suppliant

sues, 830

From thee may Vengeance claim

her dues,
Who, nurtured underneath our

smile,
Hast paid our care by treacherous

wile,
And sought amid thy faithful clan
A refuge for an outlawed man,
Dishonoring thus thy loyal name. —
Fetters and warder for the

Graeme ! '
His chain of gold the King un-
strung,
The links o'er Malcolm's neck he

flung,
Then gently drew the glittering

band, 840

And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand.

282 THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Harp of the North, farewell ! The hills grow dark,

On purple peaks a deeper shade descending ;
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark,

The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending.
Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountain lending,

And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy ;
Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending,

With distant echo from the fold and lea,
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee. 850

Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp !

Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway,
And little reck I of the censure sharp

May idly cavil at an idle lay.
Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way,

Through secret woes the world has never known,
When on the weary night dawned wearier day,

And bitterer was the grief devoured alone. —
That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress ! is thine own.

Hark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, 860

Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string !
'T is now a seraph bold, with touch of fire,

'T is now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing.
Receding now, the dying numbers ring

Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell ;
And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring

A wandering witch-note of the distant spell —
And now 't is silent all ! — Enchantress, fare thee well !

INTRODUCTION

2S3

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

Quid dignum memorare tuis, Hispania, terris.
Vox humana valet ! — Claudian.

JOHN WHITMORE, ESQ.,

AND TO THE

COMMITTEE OF SUBSCRIBERS FOR RELIEF OF THE

PORTUGUESE SUFFERERS,

IN WHICH HE PRESIDES,

THIS POEM,

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK,

COMPOSED FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE FUND UNDER THEIR

MANAGEMENT,

IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY

WALTER SCOTT

INTRODUCTION

Lives there a strain whose
sounds of mounting fire
May rise distinguished o'er the
din of war ;
Or died it with yon Master of
the Lyre,
Who sung beleaguered Ilion's
evil star ?
Such, Wellington, might
reach thee from afar,
Wafting its descant wide o'er
Ocean's range ;
Nor shouts, nor clashing arms,
its mood could mar,
All as it swelled 'twixt each
loud trumpet-change,
That clangs to Britain victory, to
Portugal revenge !

11
Yes ! such a strain, with all o'er-
powering measure, 10

Might melodize with each tu-
multuous sound,
Each voice of fear or triumph,
woe or pleasure,
That rings Mondego's ravaged
shores around ;
The thundering cry of hosts with
conquest crowned,
The female shriek, the ruined
peasant's moan,
The shout of captives from their
chains unbound,
The foiled oppressor's deep
and sullen groan,
A Nation's choral hymn for tyr-
anny o'erthrowii;

284

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

in
But we, weak minstrels of a lag-
gard day,
Skilled but to imitate an elder
page, 20

Timid and raptureless, can we
repay
The debt thou claim'st in this
exhausted age ?
Thou givest our lyres a theme,
that might engage
Those that could send thy
name o'er sea and land,
While sea and land shall last;
for Homer's rage
A theme ; a theme for Milton's
mighty hand —
How much unmeet for us, a faint
degenerate band !

Ye mountains stern ! within
whose rugged breast
The friends of Scottish free-
dom found repose ;
Ye torrents! whose hoarse
sounds have soothed their
rest, 30

Returning from the field of
vanquished foes :
Say, have ye lost each wild ma-
jestic close,
That erst the choir of Bards or
Druids flung;
What time their hymn of victory
arose,
And Cattraeth's glens with
voice of triumph rung,
And mystic Merlin harped, and
gray-haired Lly warch sung ?

O, if your wilds such minstrelsy
retain,
As sure your changeful gales
seem oft to say,
When sweeping wild and sink-
ing soft again,
Like trumpet-jubilee or harp's
wild sway ; 40

If ye can echo such triumphant
lay,
Then lend the note to him has
loved you long !
Who pious gathered each tradi-
tion gray,
That floats your solitary
wastes along,
And with affection vain gave them
new voice in song.

For not till now, how oft soe'er
the task
Of truant verse hath lightened
graver care,
From Muse or Sylvan was he
wont to ask,
In phrase poetic, inspiration
fair ;
Careless he gave his numbers to
the air, 50

They came unsought for, if
applauses came ;
Nor for himself prefers he now
the prayer :
Let but his verse befit a hero's
fame,
Immortal be the verse ! — forgot
the poet's name !

VII

Hark, from yon misty cairn their
answer tost :
'Minstrel! the fame of whose
romantic lyre,
Capricious - swelling now, may
soon be lost,
Like the light flickering of a
cottage fire ;
If to such task presumptuous
thou aspire
Seek not from us the meed to
warrior due : 60

Age after age has gathered son
to sire,
Since our gray cliffs the din of
conflict knew,
Or, pealing through our vales, vic-
torious bugles blew.

INTRODUCTION

285

VIII

1 Decayed our old traditionary
lore,
Save where the lingering fays
renew their ring,
By milkmaid seen beneath the
hawthorn hoar,
Or round the marge of Minch-
more's haunted spring;
Save where their legends gray-
haired shepherds sing,
That now scarce win a listen-
ing ear but thine,
Of feuds obscure and Border
ravaging, 7°

And rugged deeds recount in
rugged line
Of moonlight foray made on Te-
viot, Tweed, or Tyne.

' Xo ! search romantic lands,
where the near Sun
Gives with unstinted boon
ethereal flame,
Where the rude villager, his la-
bor done,
In verse spontaneous chants
some favored name,
Whether Olalia's charms his
tribute claim,
Her eye of diamond and her
locks of jet,
Or whether, kindling at the
deeds of Graeme,
He sings, to wild Morisco mea-
sure set, 80
Old Albin's red claymore, green
Erin's bayonet !

1 Explore those regions, where

the flinty crest
Of wild Nevada ever gleams

with snows,
Where in the proud Alhambra's

ruined breast
Barbaric monuments of pomp

repose ;
Or where the banners of more

ruthless foes

Than the tierce Moor float o'er
Toledo's fane,
From whose tall towers even
now the patriot throws
An anxious glance, to spy
upon the plain
The blended ranks of England,
Portugal, and Spain. 90

f There, of Numantian fire a
swarthy spark
Still lightens in the sunburnt
native's eye;
The stately port, slow step, and
visage dark
Still mark enduring pride and
constancy.
And, if the glow of feudal chiv-
alry
Beam not, as once, thy nobles'
dearest pride,
Iberia 2 oft thy crestless peas-
antry
Have seen the plumed Hidalgo
quit their side,
Have seen, yet dauntless stood —
'gainst fortune fought aud
died.

XII

1 And cherished still by that un-
changing race, 100
Are themes for minstrelsy
more high than thine ;
Of strange tradition many a
mystic trace,
Legend and vision, prophecy
and sign ;
Where wonders wild of Ara-
besque combine
With Gothic imagery of darker
shade,
Forming a model meet for min-
strel line.
Go, seek such theme."— The
Mountain Spirit said :
With filial awe I heard — I heard,
and I obeyed.

286

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

THE VISION OF DON ROD-
ERICK

Rearing their crests amid the
cloudless skies,
And darkly clustering in the
pale moonlight,
Toledo's holy towers and spires
arise,
As from a trembling lake of
silver white.
Their mingled shadows inter-
cept the sight
Of the broad burial-ground
outstretched below,
And naught disturbs the silence
of the night ;
All sleeps in sullen shade, or
silver glow,
All save the heavy swell of Teio's
ceaseless flow.

All save the rushing swell of
Teio's tide, 10

Or, distant heard, a courser's
neigh or tramp,
Their changing rounds as watch-
ful horsemen ride,
To guard the limits of King
Roderick's camp.
For, through the river's night-
fog rolling damp,
Was many a proud pavilion
dimly seen,
Which glimmered back, against
the moon's fair lamp,
Tissues of silk and silver
twisted sheen,
And standards proudly pitched,
and warders armed between.

in
But of their monarch's person
keeping ward,
Since last the deep-mouthed
bell of vespers tolled, 20
The chosen soldiers of the royal
guard
The post beneath the proud
cathedral hold :

A band unlike their Gothic sires
of old,
Who, for the cap of steel and
iron mace,
Bear slender darts and casques
bedecked with gold,
While silver-studded belts their
shoulders grace,
Where ivory quivers ring in the
broad falchion's place.

In the light language of an idle
court,
They murmured at their mas-
ter's long delay,
And held his lengthened orisons
in sport: 30

'What! will Don Roderick
here till morning stay,
To wear in shrift and prayer the
night away ?
And are his hours in such dull
penance past,
For fair Florinda's plundered
charms to pay ? '
Then to the east their weary
eyes they cast,
And wished the lingering dawn
would glimmer forth at last.

But, far within, Toledo's prelate
lent
An ear of fearful wonder to
the king ;
The silver lamp a fitful lustre
sent,
So long that sad confession
witnessing : 40

For Roderick told of many a hid-
den thing,
Such as are lothly uttered to
the air,
When Fear, Remorse, and Shame
the bosom wring,
And Guilt his secret burden
cannot bear,
And Conscience seeks in speech a
respite from Despair.

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

287

Full on the prelate's face and
silver hair
The stream of failing light was
feebly rolled ;
But Roderick's visage, though
his head was bare,
Was shadowed by his hand and
mantle's fold.
While of his hidden soul the
sins he told, 50

Proud Alaric's descendant
could not brook
That mortal man his bearing
should behold,
Or boast that he had seen,
when conscience shook,
Fear tame a monarch's brow, re-
morse a wrarrior's look.

VII

The old man's faded cheek
waxed yet more pale,
As many a secret sad the king
bewrayed ;
As sign and glance eked out the
unfinished tale,
When in the midst his faltering
whisper staid. —
4 Thus royal Witiza was slain,'
he said ;
* Yet, holy father, deem not it
was L" 60

Thus still Ambition strives her
crimes to shade. —
' O, rather deem 't was stern
necessity!
Self-preservation bade, and I must
kill or die.

VIII

'And if Florinda's shrieks
alarmed the air,
If she invoked her absent sire
in vain
And on her knees implored that
I would spare,
Yet, reverend priest, thy sen-
tence rash refrain !

All is not as it seems — the
female train
Know by their bearing to dis-
guise their mood : ' —
But Conscience here, as if in high
disdain. 70

Sent to the Monarch's cheek
the burning blood —
He stayed his speech abrupt — and
up the prelate stood.

1 0 hardened offspring of an iron
race!
What of thy crimes, Don Rod-
erick, shall I say ?
What alms or prayers or penance
can efface
Murder's dark spot, wash
treason's stain away !
For the foul ravisher how shall
I pray,
Who, scarce repentant, makes
his crime his boast?
How hope Almighty vengeance
shall delay,
Unless, in mercy to yon Chris-
tian host, 80
He spare the shepherd lest the
guiltless sheep be lost*

Then kindled the dark tyrant in
his mood,
And to his brow returned its
dauntless gloom ;
' And welcome then,' he cried,
' be blood for blood,
For treason treachery, for dis-
honor doom !
Yet will I know whence come
they or by whom,
Show, for thou canst — give
forth the fated key,
And guide me, priest, to that
mysterious room
Where, if aught true in old
tradition be,
His nation's future fates a Spanish
king shall see.' go

;88

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

* Ill-fated Prince ! recall the de-
sperate word,
Or pause ere yet the omen thou
obey !
Bethink, yon spell-bound portal
would afford
Never to former monarch en-
trance-way ;
Nor shall it ever ope, old records
say,
Save to a king, the last of all
his line,
What time his empire totters to
decay,
And treason digs beneath her
fatal mine,
And high above impends avenging
wrath divine.' —

XII

4 Prelate ! a monarch's fate
brooks no delay ; ioo

Lead on ! ' — The ponderous
key the old man took,
And held the winking lamp, and
led the way,
By winding stair, dark aisle,
and secret nook,
Then on an ancient gateway
bent his look;
And, as the key the desperate
king essayed,
Low muttered thunders the
cathedral shook,
And twice he stopped and
twice new effort made,
Till the huge bolts rolled back and
the loud hinges brayed.

XIII

Long, large, and lofty was that

vaulted hall ;
Roof, walls, and floor were all

of marble stone, no

Of polished marble, black as

funeral pall,
Carved o'er with signs and

characters unknown.
A paly light, as of the dawning,

shone

Through the sad bounds, but
whence they could not spy,
For window to the upper air was
none ;
Yet by that light Don Roder-
ick could descry
Wonders that ne'er till then were
seen by mortal eye.

XIV

Grim sentinels, against the up-
per wall,
Of molten bronze, two Statues
held their place ;
Massive their naked limbs, their
stature tall, 120

Their frowning foreheads
golden circles grace.
Moulded they seemed for kings
of giant race,
That lived and sinned before
the avenging flood ;
This grasped a scythe, that
rested on a mace ;
This spread his wings for flight,
that pondering stood,
Each stubborn seemed and stern,
immutable of mood.

Fixed was the right-hand giant's
brazen look
Upon his brother's glass of
shifting sand,
As if its ebb he measured by a
book,
Whose iron volume loaded his
huge hand; 130

In which was wrote of many a
fallen land,
Of empires lost, and kings to
exile driven :
And o'er that pair their names
in scroll expand —
4 Lo, Destiny and Time ! to
whom by Heaven
The guidance of the earth is for a
season given.' —

XVI

Even while they read, the sand-
glass wastes away ;

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

»8q

And, as the last and lagging
grains did creep,
That right hand giant 'gan his
club upsway,
As one that startles from a
heavy sleep.
Full on the upper wall the mace's
sweep 140

At once descended with the
force of thunder,
And, hurtling down at once in
crumbled heap,
The marble boundary was rent
asunder,
And gave to Roderick's view new
sights of fear and wonder.

XVII

For they might spy beyond that
mighty breach
Realms as of Spain in visioned
prospect laid,
Castles and towers, in due pro-
portion each,
As by some skilful artist's
hand portrayed :
Here, crossed by many a wild
Sierra's shade
And boundless plains that tire
the traveller's eye ; 150

There, rich with vineyard and
with olive glade,
Or deep-embrowned by forests
huge and high,
Or washed by mighty streams that
slowly murmured by.

XVIII

And here, as erst upon the an-
tique stage
Passed forth the band of mas-
quers trimly led,
In various forms and various
equipage,
While fitting strains the hear-
er's fancy fed ;
So, to sad Roderick's eye in or-
der spread,
Successive pageants filled that
mystic scene,
Showing the fate of battles ere
they bled, 160

And issue of events that had
not been ;
And ever and anon strange sounds
were heard between.

XIX

First shrilled an unrepeated fe-
male shriek ! —
It seemed as if Don Roderick
knew the call,
For the bold blood was blanch-
ing in his cheek. —
Then answered kettle-drum
and atabal,
Gong-peal and cymbal- clank the
ear appall,
The Tecbir war-cry and the
Lelie's yell
Ring wildly dissonant along the
hall.
Needs not to Roderick their
dread import tell — 170

The Moor ! ' he cried, ' the Moor ! —
ring out the tocsin bell !

' They come ! they come ! I see
the groaning lands
White with the turbans of
each Arab horde ;
Swart Zaarah joins her misbe-
lieving bands,
Alia and Mahomet their bat-
tle-word,
The choice they yield, the Koran
or the sword. —
See how the Christians rush to
arms amain! —
In yonder shout the voice of con-
flict roared,
The shadowy hosts are closing
on the plain —
Now, God and Saint Iago strike
for the good cause of Spain !

XXI

1 By Heaven, the Moors prevail !

the Christians yield ! 18 1
Their coward leader gives for

flight the sign !
The sceptred craven mounts

to quit the field —

200

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

Is not yon steed Orelia? —
Yes, 't is mine !
But never was she turned from
battle-line :
Lo ! where the recreant spurs
o'er stock and stone ! —
Curses pursue the slave, and
wrath divine !
Rivers ingulf him P — 'Hush,'
in shuddering tone,
The prelate said; 'rash prince,
yon visioned form's thine
own.'

XXII

Just then, a torrent crossed the
flier's course ; 190

The dangerous ford the kingly
likeness tried ;
But the deep eddies whelmed
both man and horse,
Swept like benighted peasant
down the tide ;
And the proud Moslemah spread
far and wide,
As numerous as their native
locust band ;
Berber and IsmaePs sons the
spoils divide,
With naked scimitars mete out
the land,
And for the bondsmen base the
freeborn natives brand.

XXIII

Then rose the grated Harem, to
enclose
The loveliest maidens of the
Christian line ; 200

Then, menials, to their misbe-
lieving foes
Castile's young nobles held for-
bidden wine ;
Then, too, the holy Cross, salva-
tion's sign,
By impious hands was from
the altar thrown,
And the deep aisles of the pol-
luted shrine
Echoed, for holy hymn and or-
gan-tone,
The Santon's frantic dance, the
Fakir's gibbering moan.

XXIV

How fares Don Roderick? —
E'en as one who spies
Flames dart their glare o'er
midnight's sable woof,
And hears around his children's
piercing cries, 210

And sees the pale assistants
stand aloof ;
While cruel Conscience brings
him bitter proof
His folly or his crime have
caused his grief ;
And while above him nods the
crumbling roof,
He curses earth and Heaven
— himself in chief —
Desperate of earthly aid, despair-
ing Heaven's relief !

XXV

That scythe-armed Giant turned
his fatal glass
And twilight on the landscape
closed her wings ;
Far to Asturian hills the war-
sounds pass,
And in their stead rebeck or
timbrel rings ; 220

And to the sound the bell-decked
dancer springs,
Bazars resound as when their
marts are met,
In tourney light the Moor his
jerrid flings,
And on the land as evening
seemed to set,
The Imaum's chant was heard
from mosque or minaret.

XXVI

So passed that pageant. Ere
another came
The visionary scene was
wrapped in smoke,
Whose sulphurous wreaths were
crossed by sheets of flame ;
With every flash a bolt explo-
sive broke,
Till Roderick deemed the fiends
had burst their yoke 230
And waved 'gainst heaven the
infernal gonfalone !

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

291

For War a new and dreadful lan-
guage spoke,
Never by ancient warrior
heard or known ;
Lightning and smoke her breath,
and thunder was her tone.

XXVII

From the dim landscape roll the
clouds away —
The Christians have regained
their heritage ;
Before the Cross has waned the
Crescent's ray,
And many a monastery decks
the stage,
And lofty church, and low-
browed hermitage.
The land obeys a Hermit and
a Knight,— 240

The Genii these of Spain for
many an age ;
This clad in sackcloth, that in
armor bright,
And that was Valor named, this
Bigotry was hight.

XXVIII

Valor was harnessed like a
chief of old,
Armed at all points, and
prompt for knightly gest ;
His sword was tempered in the
Ebro cold,
Morena's eagle plume adorned
his crest,
The spoils of Afric's lion bound
his breast.
Fierce he stepped forward and
flung down his gage ;
As if of mortal kind to brave the
best. 250

Him followed his companion,
dark and sage
As he my Master sung, the dan-
gerous Archimage.

XXIX

Haughty of heart and brow the
warrior came.

In look and language proud
as proud might be,
Vaunting his lordship, lineage,
fights, and fame :
Yet was that barefoot monk
more proud than he ;
And as the ivy climbs the tallest
tree,
So round the loftiest soul his
toils he wound,
And with his spells subdued the
fierce and free.
Till ermined Age and Youth in
arms renowned, 260

Honoring his scourge and hair-
cloth, meekly kissed the
ground.

XXX

And thus it chanced that Valor,
peerless knight,
Who ne'er to king or Kaiser
veiled his crest,
Victorious still in bull-feast or in
fight,
Since first his limbs with mail
he did invest,
Stooped ever to that anchoret's
behest ;
Nor reasoned of the right nor
of the wrong,
But at his bidding laid the lance
in rest,
And wrought fell deeds the
troubled world along,
For he was fierce as brave and
pitiless as strong. 270

XXXI

Oft his proud galleys sought
some new-found world,
That latest sees the sun or
first the morn ;
Still at that wizard's feet their
spoils he hurled,—
Ingots of ore from rich Potosi
borne,
Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes
by Omrahs worn,
Wrought of rare gems, but
broken, rent, and foul ;

292

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

Idols of gold from heathen tem-
ples torn,
Bedabbled all with blood.—
With grisly scowl
The hermit marked the stains and
smiled beneath his cowl.

XXXII

Then did he bless the offering,
and bade make 280

Tribute to Heaven of grati-
tude and praise ;
And at his word the choral
hymns awake,
And many a hand the silver
censer sways,
But with the incense - breath
these censers raise
Mix steams from corpses
smouldering in the fire ;
The groans of prisoned victims
mar the lays,
And shrieks of agony con-
found the quire ;
While, 'mid the mingled sounds,
the darkened scenes expire.

XXXIII

Preluding light, were strains of
music heard,
As once again revolved that
measured sand ; 290

Such sounds as when, for sylvan
dance prepared,
Gay Xeres summons forth her
vintage band ;
When for the light bolero ready
stand
The mozo blithe, with gay mu-
chacha met,
He conscious of his broidered
cap and band,
She of her netted locks and
light corsette,
Each tiptoe perched to spring and
shake the castanet.

XXXIV

And well such strains the open-
ing scene became ;
For Valok had relaxed his
ardent look,

And at a lady's feet, like lion
tame, 300

Lay stretched, full loath the
weight of arms to brook ;
And softened Bigotry upon his
book
Pattered a task of little good
or ill :
But the blithe peasant plied his
pr uning-hook,
Whistled the muleteer o'er
vale and hill,
And rung from village-green the
merry seguidille.

XXXV

Gray Royalty, grown impotent
of toil,
Let the grave sceptre slip his
lazy hold ;
And careless saw his rule be-
come the spoil
Of a loose female and her min-
ion bold. 310
But peace was on the cottage
and the fold,
From court intrigue, from bick-
ering faction far;
Beneath the chestnut-tree love's
tale was told,
And to the tinkling of the light
guitar
Sweet stooped the western sun,
sweet rose the evening star.

XXXVI

As that sea-cloud, in size like hu-
man hand
When first from Carmel by the
Tishbite seen,
Came slowly overshadowing
Israel's land,
Awhile perchance bedecked
with colors sheen,
While yet the sunbeams on its
skirts had been, 320

Limning with purple and with
gold its shroud,
Till darker folds obscured the
blue serene
And blotted heaven with one
broad sable cloud.

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

293

Then sheeted rain burst down and
whirlwinds howled aloud : —

XXXVII

Even so, upon that peaceful
scene was poured,
Like gathering clouds, full
many a foreign band,
And He, their leader, wore in
sheath his sword,
And offered peaceful front
and open hand,
Veiling the perjured treachery
he planned,
By friendship's zeal and
honor's specious guise, 330
Until he won the passes of the
land ;
Then burst wrere honor's oath
and friendship's ties !
He clutched his vulture grasp and
called fair Spain his prize.

XXXYIII

An iron crown his anxious fore-
head bore :
And well such diadem his
heart became
Who ne'er his purpose for re-
morse gave o'er,
Or checked his course for
piety or shame ;
Who, trained a soldier, deemed
a soldier's fame
Might flourish in the wreath of
battles won,
Though neither truth nor honor
decked his name ; 340

Who, placed by fortune on a
monarch's throne,
Recked not of monarch's faith or
mercy's kingly tone.

XXXIX

From a rude isle his ruder lin-
eage came :
The spark that, from a suburb-
hovel's hearth

Ascending, wraps some capital
in flame,

Hath not a meaner or more
sordid birth.
And for the soul that bade him
waste the earth —
The sable land-flood from some
swamp obscure,
That poisons the glad husband-
field with dearth,
And by destruction bids its
fame endure, 350

Hath not a source more sullen,
stagnant, and impure.

Before that leader strode a shad-
owy form ;
Her limbs like mist, her torch
like meteor showed,
With which she beckoned him
through fight and storm,
And all he crushed that
crossed his desperate road,
Xor thought, nor feared, nor
looked on what he trode.
Realms could not glut his
pride, blood could not slake,
So oft as e'er she shook her
torch abroad :
It was Ambition bade his
terrors wake,
Xor deigned she, as of yore, a
milder form to take. 360

xli

No longer nowT she spurned at
mean revenge,
Or staid her hand for con-
quered foeman's moan,
As when, the fates of aged Rome
to change,
By Caesar's side she crossed
the Rubicon.
Nor joyed she to bestow the
spoils she won,
As when the banded powers
of Greece were tasked
To war beneath the Youth of
Macedon :
No seemly veil her modern
minion asked.

294

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

He saw her hideous face and
"loved the fiend unmasked.

XLII

That prelate marked his march
— on banners blazed 370
With battles won in many a
distant land,
On eagle-standards and on arms
he gazed ;
'And hopest thou, then,' he
said, ' thy power shall stand ?
O, thou hast builded on the
shifting sand
And thou hast tempered it
with slaughter's flood;
And know, fell scourge in the
Almighty's hand,
Gore-moistened trees shall per-
ish in the bud,
And by a bloody death shall die
the Man of Blood ! '

XLIII

The ruthless leader beckoned
from his train
A wan fraternal shade, and
bade him kneel, 380

And paled his temples with the
crown of Spain,
While trumpets rang and her-
alds cried ' Castile ! '
Not that he loved him — No ! —
In no man's weal,
Scarce in his own, e'er joyed
that sullen heart ;
Yet round that throne he bade
his warriors wheel,
That the poor puppet might
perform his part
And be a sceptred slave, at his
stern beck to start.

xliv

But on the natives of that land
misused
Not long the silence of amaze-
ment hung,
Nor brooked they long their
friendly faith abused ; 390
For with a common shriek the
general tongue

Exclaimed, ' To arms ! ' and fast
to arms they sprung.
And Valor woke, that Genius
of the land !
Pleasure and ease and sloth
aside he flung,
As burst the awakening Naza-
rite his band
When 'gainst his treacherous foes
he clenched his dreadful
hand.

XLV

That mimic monarch now cast
anxious eye
Upon the satraps that begirt
him round,
Now doffed his royal robe in act
to fly,
And from his brow the diadem
unbound. 400

So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle
wound,
From Tarik's walls to Bilboa's
mountains blown,
These martial satellites hard
labor found,
To guard awhile his substi-
tuted-throne;
Light recking of his cause, but
battling for their own.

XLV I

From Alpuhara's peak that bu-
gle rung,
And it was echoed from Co-
runna's wall ;
Stately Seville responsive war-
shout flung,
Grenada caught it in her
Moorish hall ;
Galicia bade her children fight
or fall, 4*0

Wild Biscay shook his moun-
tain-coronet,
Valencia roused her at the bat-
tle-call,
And, foremost still where
Valor's sons are met,
Fast started to his gun each fiery
Miquelet.

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

295

XLVII

But unappallecl and burning for
the fight,
The invaders march, of vic-
tory secure ;
Skilful their force to sever or
unite,
And trained alike to vanquisl-i
or endure,
Nor skilful less, cheap conquest
to insure
Discord to breathe and jeal-
ousy to sow, 420
To quell by boasting and by
bribes to lure ;
While naught against them
bring the unpractised foev
Save hearts for freedom's cause
and hands for freedom's
blow.

XLVIII

Proudly they march — but, O,
they march not forth
By one hot field to crown a
brief campaign,
As when their eagles, sweeping
through the North,
Destroyed at every stoop an
ancient reign !
Far other fate had Heaven de-
creed for Spain ;
In vain the steel, in vain the
torch was plied,
New Patriot armies started from
the slain, 430

High blazed the war, and long,
and far, and wide,
And oft the God of Battles blest
the righteous side.

XLIX

Nor unatoned, where Freedom's
foes prevail,
Remained their savage waste.
With blade and brand
By day the invaders ravaged
hill and dale,
But with the darkness the
Guerilla band

Came like night's tempest and
avenged the land,
And claimed for blood the re-
tribution due,
Probed the hard heart and
lopped the murd'rous hand;
And Dawn, when o'er the scene
her beams she threw, 440
Midst ruins they had made the
spoilers' corpses knew.

What minstrel verse may sing
or tongue may tell,
Amid the visioned strife from
sea to sea,
How oft the Patriot banners rose
or fell,
Still honored in defeat as vic-
tory ?
For that sad pageant of events
to be
Showed every form of fight by
field and flood;
Slaughter and Ruin, shouting
forth their glee,
Beheld, while riding on the
tempest scud, 449

The waters choked with slain, the
earth bedrenched with blood :

Then Zaragoza — blighted be the
tongue
That names thy name without
the honor due !
For never hath the harp of min-
strel rung
Of faith so felly proved, so
firmly true !
Mine, sap, and bomb thy shattered
ruins knew,
Each art of war's extremity
had room,
Twice from thy half - sacked
streets the foe withdrew,
And when at length stern Fate
decreed thy doom,
They won not Zaragoza but her
children's bloody tomb,

296

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

LII

Yet raise thy head, sad city !
Though in chains, 460

Enthralled thou canst not be !
Arise, and claim
Reverence from every heart
where Freedom reigns,
For what thou worshippest ! —
thy sainted dame,
She of the Column, honored be
her name
By all, whate'er their creed,
who honor love !
And like the sacred relics of the
flame
That gave some martyr to the
blessed above,
To every loyal heart may thy sad
embers prove !

liii

Nor thine alone such wreck.
Gerona fair !
Faithful to death thy heroes
should be sung, 470

Manning the towers, while o'er
their heads the air
Swart as the smoke from ra-
ging furnace hung ;
Now thicker darkening where
the mine was sprung,
Now briefly lightened by the
cannon's flare,
Now arched with fire-sparks as
the bomb was flung,
And reddening now with con-
flagration's glare,
While by the fatal light the foes
for storm prepare.

LIV

While all around was danger,
strife, and fear,
While the earth shook and
darkened was the sky,
And wide destruction stunned
the listening ear, 480

Appalled the heart, and stupe-
fled the eye, —

Afar was heard that thrice-re-
peated cry,
In which old Albion's heart
and tongue unite,
Whene'er her soul is up and
pulse beats high,
Whether it hail the wine-cup
or the fight,
And bid each arm, be strong or bid
each heart be light.

Don Roderick turned him as the
shout grew loud —
A varied scene the changeful
vision showed,
For, where the ocean mingled
with the cloud,
A gallant navy stemmed the
billows broad. 490

From mast and stern Saint
George's symbol flowed,
Blent with the silver cross to
Scotland dear;
Mottling the sea their landward
barges rowed,
And flashed the sun on bayo-
net, brand, and spear,
And the wild beach returned the
seamen's jovial cheer.

IiVI

It was a dread yet spirit-stirring
sight !
The billows foamed beneath a
thousand oars,
Fast as they land the red-cross
ranks unite,
Legions on legions brightening
all the shores.
Then banners rise and cannon-
signal roars, 500
Then peals the warlike thun-
der of the drum,
Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-
flourish pours,
And patriot hopes awake and
doubts are dumb,
For, bold in Freedom's cause, the
bands of Ocean come !

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

297

LVII

A various host they came —
whose ranks display
Each mode in which the war-
rior meets the fight :
The deep battalion locks its firm
array,
And meditates his aim the
marksman light ;
Far glance the lines of sabres
flashing bright,
Where mounted squadrons
shake the echoing mead ; 510
Lacks not artillery breathing
flame and night,
Nor the fleet ordnance whirled
by rapid steed,
That rivals lightning's flash in ruin
and in speed.

LYIII

A various host — from kindred
realms they came,
Brethren in arms but rivals in
renown —
For yon fair bands shall merry
England claim,
And with their deeds of valor
deck her crown.
Hers their bold port, and hers
their martial frown,
And hers their scorn of death
in freedom's cause,
Their eyes of azure, and their
locks of brown, 520

And the blunt speech that
bursts without a pause,
And freeborn thoughts which
league the soldier with the
laws.

LIX

And, O loved warriors of the
minstrel's land !
Yonder your bonnets nod, your
tartans wave !
The rugged form may mark the
mountain band,
And harsher features, and a
mien more grave ;

But ne'er in battle-field throbbed
heart so brave
As that which beats beneath
the Scottish plaid ;
And when the pibroch bids the
battle rave,
And level for the charge your
arms are laid, 530

Where lives the desperate foe that
for such onset staid ?

Hark! from yon stately ranks
what laughter rings,
Mingling wild mirth with war's
stern minstrelsy,
His jest while each blithe com-
rade round him flings
And moves to death with mili-
tary glee :
Boast, Erin, boast them ! tame-
less, frank, and free,
In kindness warm and fierce
in danger known,
Eough nature's children, humor-
ous as she :
And He, yon Chieftain — strike
the proudest tone
Of thy bold harp, green Isle ! — the
hero is thine own. 540

LXI

Now on the scene Vimeira
should be shown,
On Talavera's fight should
Roderick gaze,
And hear Corunna wail her
battle won,
And see Busaco's crest with
lightning blaze : —
But shall fond fable mix with
heroes' praise ?
Hath Fiction's stage for
Truth's long triumphs room ?
And dare her wild-flowers mingle
with the bays
That claim a long eternity to
bloom
Around the warrior's crest and
o'er the warrior's tomb !

298

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK

LXII

Or may I give adventurous
Fancy scope, 550

And stretch a bold hand to
the awful veil
That hides futurity from anxious
hope.
Bidding beyond it scenes of
glory hail,
And painting Europe rousing at
the tale
Of Spain's invaders from her
confines hurled,
While kindling nations buckle
on their mail,
And Fame, with clarion-blast
and wings unfurled,
To freedom and revenge awakes
an injured world?

LXIII

O vain, though anxious, is the
glance I cast,
Since Fate has marked futurity
her own : 560

Yet Fate resigns to worth the
glorious past,
The deeds recorded and the
laurels won.
Then, though the Vault of De-
stiny be gone,
King, prelate, all the phan-
tasms of my brain,
Melted away like mist-wreaths
in the sun,
Yet grant for faith, for valor,
and for Spain,
One note of pride and fire, a pa-
triot's parting strain !

CONCLUSION

1 Who shall command Estrella's
mountain-tide
Back to the source, when tem-
pest-chafed, to hie ?

Who, when Gascogne's vexed
gulf is raging wide,

Shall hush it as a nurse her in-
fant's cry ?
His magic power let such vain
boaster try,
And when the torrent shall his
voice obey,
And Biscay's whirlwinds list his
lullaby,
Let him stand forth and bar
mine eagles' way,
And they shall heed his voice and
at his bidding stay.

1 Else ne'er to stoop till high on
Lisbon's towers 10

They close their wings, the
symbol of our yoke,
And their own sea hath whelmed
yon red-cross powers ! '
Thus, on the summit of Al-
verca's rock,
To marshal, duke, and peer
Gaul's leader spoke.
While downward on the land
his legions press,
Before them it was rich with
vine and flock,
And smiled like Eden in her
summer dress ; —
Behind their wasteful march a
reeking wilderness,
in

And shall the boastful chief
maintain his word,
Though Heaven hath heard
the wailings of the land, 20
Though Lusitania whet her
vengeful sword,
Though Britons arm and
Wellington command ?
No ! grim Busaco's iron ridge
shall stand
An adamantine barrier to his
force ;
And from its base shall wheel
his shattered band,
As from the unshaken rock
the torrent hoarse
Bears off its broken waves and
seeks a devious course.

CONCLUSION

299

Yet not because Alcoba's moun-
tain-hawk
Hath on his best and bravest
made her food,
In numbers confident, yon chief
shall balk 30

His lord's imperial thirst for
spoil and blood :
For full in view the promised
conquest stood,
And Lisbon's matrons from
their walls might sum
The myriads that had half the
world subdued,
And hear the distant thunders
of the drum
That bids the bands of France to
storm and havoc come.

Four moons have heard these
thunders idly rolled,
Have seen these wistful my-
riads eye their prey,
As famished wolves survey a
guarded fold —
But in the middle path a Lion
lay ! 40

At length they move — but not
to battle-fray,
Nor blaze yon fires where
meets the manly fight ;
Beacons of infamy, they light the
way
Where cowardice and cruelty
unite
To damn with double shame their
ignominious flight !

0 triumph for the fiends of lust
and wrath !
Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to
be forgot,
What wanton horrors marked
then- wrackf ul path !
The peasant butchered in his
ruined cot,

The hoary priest even at the
altar shot, 50

Childhood and age given o'er
to sword and flame,
Woman to infamy; — no crime
forgot,
By which inventive demons
might proclaim
Immortal hate to man and scorn
of God's great name !

VII

The rudest sentinel in Britain
born
With horror paused to view
the havoc done,
Gave his poor crust to feed some
wretch forlorn,
Wiped his stern eye, then
fiercer grasped his gun.
Nor with less zeal shall Britain's
peaceful son
Exult the debt of sympathy to
pay ; 60

Kiches nor poverty the tax shall
shun,
Nor prince nor peer, the
wealthy nor the gay,
Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor
bard's more worthless lay.

viii

But thou — unfoughten wilt
thou yield to Fate,
Minion of Fortune, now mis-
called in vain !
Can vantage-ground no confi-
dence create,
Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's
mountain-chain?
Vainglorious fugitive, yet turn
again !
Behold, where, named by some
•prophetic seer,
Flows Honor's Fountain, as fore-
doomed the stain 70
From thy dishonored name and
arms to clear —
Fallen child of Fortune, turn, re-
deem her favor here !

300

thp: vision of don Roderick

Yet, ere thou turn'st, collect each
distant aid ;
Those chiefs that never heard
the lion roar !
Within whose souls lives not a
trace portrayed
Of Talavera or Mondego's
shore !
Marshal each hand thou hast
and summon more ;
Of war's fell stratagems ex-
haust the whole ;
Rank upon rank, squadron on
squadron pour,
Legion on legion on thy foe-
man roll, 80
And weary out his arm — thou
canst not quell his soul.

O vainly gleams with steel
Agueda's shore,
Vainly thy squadrons hide
Assuava's plain,
And front the flying thunders as
they roar,
With frantic charge and ten-
fold odds, in vain !
And what avails thee that for
Cameron slain
Wild from his plaided ranks
the yell was given ?
Vengeance and grief gave moun-
tain-rage the rein,
And, at the bloody spear-point
headlong driven.
Thy despot's giant guards fled like
the rack of heaven. 90

Go, baffled boaster! teach thy
haughty mood
To plead at thine imperious
master's throne !

Say, thou hast left his legions in
their blood,
Deceived his hopes and frus-
trated thine own ;

Say, that thine utmost skill and
valor shown

By British skill and valor were
outvied ;
Last say, thy conqueror was
Wellington !
And if he chafe, be his own
fortune tried —
God and our cause to friend, the
venture we '11 abide.

XII

But you, the heroes of that well-
fought day, 100
How shall a bard unknowing
and unknown
His meed to each victorious
leader pay,
Or bind on every brow the
laurels won ?
Yet fain my harp would wake
its boldest tone,
O'er the wide sea to hail Ca-
dogak brave :
And he perchance the minstrel-
note might own,
Mindful of meeting brief that
Fortune gave
Mid yon far western isles that hear
the Atlantic rave.

XIII

Yes! hard the task, when Brit-
ons wield the sword,
To give each chief and every
field its fame: no

Hark ! Albuera thunders Beres-

FORD,

And red Barosa shouts for
dauntless Gr.eme !
O for a verse of tumult and of
flame,
Bold as the bursting of their
cannon sound,
To bid the world re-echo to their
fame!
For never upon gory battle-
ground
With conquest's well - bought
wreath were braver victors
crowned !

CONCLUSION

30i

XIV

O who shall grudge him Al-
buera's bays
Who brought a race regene-
rate to the field,
Koused them to emulate their
fathers' praise, 120

Tempered their headlong rage,
their courage steeled,
And raised fair Lusitania'>
fallen shield,
And gave new edge to Lusi-
tania's sword,
And taught her sons forgotten
arms to wield —
Shivered my harp and burst its
every chord,
If it forget thy worth, victorious
Beresford!

Not on that bloody field of battle
won,
Though Gaul's proud legions
rolled like mist away,
Was half his self-devoted valor
shown, —
He gaged but life on that illus-
trious day ; 130
But when he toiled those squad-
rons to array
Who fought like Britons in the
bloody game,
Sharper than Polish pike or as-
sagay,
He braved the shafts of cen-
sure and of shame,
.And, clearer far than life, he
pledged a soldier's fame.

XVI

Nor be his praise o'erpast who
strove to hide
Beneath the warrior's vest
affection's wound,
Whose wish Heaven for his
country's weal denied ;
Danger and fate ne sought,
but glory found.

From clime to clime, where'er
war's trumpets sound, 140
The wanderer went; yet, Cale-
donia ! still
Thine was his thought in march
and tented ground ;
He dreamed mid Alpine cliffs
of Athole's hill,
And heard in Ebro's roar his
Lyndoch's lovely rill.

XVII

0 hero of a race renowned of old,
Whose war-cry oft has waked
the battle-swell,
Since first distinguished in the
onset bold,
Wild sounding when the Eo-
man rampart fell !
By Wallace' side it rung the
Southron's knell,
Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber
owned its fame, 150

T umme IPs rude pass can of its
terrors tell,
But ne'er from prouder field
arose the name
Than when wild Eonda learned
the conquering shout of

GR-E3IE !

XVIII

But all too long, through seas un-
known and dark, —
With Spenser's parable I close
my tale, —
By shoal and rock hath steered
my venturous bark,
And landward now I drive be-
fore the gale.
And now the blue and distant
shore I hail,
And nearer now I see the port
expand,
And now I gladly furl my weary
sail, 160

And, as the prow light touches
on the strand,
I strike my red-cross flag and
bind my skiff to land.

302

ROKEBY

A POEM IN SIX CANTOS

JOHN B. S. MORRITT, ESQ.

THIS POEM

THE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUL DEMESNE
OF ROKEBY, IS INSCRIBED, IN TOKEN OF SINCERE

FRIENDSHIP, BY

WALTER SCOTT.

The Scene of this Poem is laid at Rokeby, near Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire,
and shifts to the adjacent fortress of Barnard Castle, and to other places in that
Vicinity.

The Time occupied by the Action is a space of Five Days, Three of which are
supposed to elapse between the end of the Fifth and the beginning of the Sixth
Canto.

The date of the supposed events is immediately subsequent to the great
Battle of Marston Moor, 3d July, 1644. This period of public confusion has been
chosen without any purpose of combining the Fable with the Military or Political
Events of the Civil War, but only as affording a degree of probability to the
Fictitious Narrative now presented to the Public.

CANTO FIRST

The moon is in her summer glow,

But hoarse and high the breezes
blow,

And, racking o'er her face, the
cloud

Varies the tincture of her shroud ;

On Barnard's towers and Tees's
stream

She changes as a guilty dream,

When Conscience with remorse
and fear

Goads sleeping Fancy's wild ca-
reer.

Her light seems now the blush of

shame,
Seems now fierce anger's darker

flame, 10

Shifting that shade to come and go,
Like apprehension's hurried glow ;
Then sorrow's livery dims the air,
And dies in darkness, like despair.
Such varied hues the warder sees
Reflected from the woodland Tees,
Then from old Baliol's tower looks

forth,
Sees the clouds mustering in the

north, 1 8

Hears upon turret-roof and wall
By fits the plashing rain -drop fall,

CANTO FIRST

303

Lists to the breeze's boding sound,
And wraps his shaggy mantle
round.

11
Those towers, which in the change-
ful gleam
Throw murky shadows on the

stream,
Those towers of Barnard hold a

guest,
The emotions of whose troubled

breast,
In wild and strange confusion

driven,
Rival the flitting rack of heaven.
Ere sleep stern Oswald's senses

tied,
Oft had he changed his weary

side, 30

Composed his limbs, and vainly

sought
By effort strong to banish thought.
Sleep came at length, but with a

train
Of feelings true and fancies vain,
Mingling, in wild disorder cast,
The expected future with the past,
Conscience, anticipating time,
Already rues the enacted crime,
And calls her furies forth to shake
The sounding scourge and hissing

snake ; 40

While her poor victim's outward

throes
Bear witness to his mental woes,
And show what lesson may be read
Beside a sinner's restless bed.

in
Thus Oswald's laboring feelings

trace
Strange changes in his sleeping

face,
Rapid and ominous as these
With which the moonbeams tinge

the Tees.
There might be seen of shame the

blush,
There anger's dark and fiercer

flush, so

While the perturbed sleeper's hand
Seemed grasping dagger-knife or

brand.
Relaxed that grasp, the heavy

sigh,
The tear in the half-opening eye,
The pallid cheek and brow, con-
fessed
That grief was busy in his breast :
Nor pause that mood — a sudden

start
Impelled the life-blood from the

heart ;
Features convulsed and mutter-

ings dread
Show terror reigns in sorrow's

stead. 60

That pang the painful slumber

broke,
And Oswald with a start awoke.

He woke, and feared again to close
His eyelids in such dire repose ;
He woke, — to watch the lamp, and

tell
From hour to hour the castle-bell,
Or listen to the owlet's cry,
Or the sad breeze that whistles

hy,

Or catch by fits the tuneless rhyme

With which the warder cheats the

time, 70

And envying think how, when the

sun
Bids the poor soldier's watch be

done,
Couched on his straw and fancy-
free,
He sleeps like careless infancy.

Far town ward sounds a distant

tread,
And Oswald, starting from his bed,
Hath caught it, though no human

ear,
Unsharpened by revenge and fear,
Could e'er distinguish horse's

clank, 79

Until it reached the castle bank.

304

ROKEBY

Now nigh and plain the sound ap-
pears,

The warder's challenge now he
hears,

Then clanking chains and levers
tell

That o'er the moat the drawbridge
fell,

And, in the castle court below,

Voices are heard, and torches
glow,

As marshalling the stranger's way

Straight for the room where Os-
wald lay ;

The cry was, ' Tidings from the
host,

Of weight — a messenger comes
post.' 90

Stifling the tumult of his breast,

His answer Oswald thus expressed,

1 Bring food and wine, and trim the
fire;

Admit the stranger and retire.'

The stranger came with heavy

stride;
The morion's plumes his visage

hide,
And the buff-coat in ample fold
Mantles his form's gigantic mould.
Full slender answer deigned he
To Oswald's anxious courtesy, 100
But marked by a disdainful smile
He saw and scorned the petty

wile,
When Oswald changed the torch's

place,
Anxious that on the soldier's face
Its partial lustre might be thrown,
To show his looks yet hide his own.
His guest the while laid slow aside
The ponderous cloak of tough

bull's hide,
And to the torch glanced broad

and clear
The corselet of a cuirassier ; no
Then from his brows the casque

he drew
And from the dank plume dashed

the dew,

From gloves of mail relieved his

hands
And spread them to the kindling

brands,
And, turning to the genial board,
Without a health or pledge or word
Of meet and social reverence said,
Deeply he drank and fiercely fed,
As free from ceremony's sway
As famished wolf that tears his

prey. 120

VII

With deep impatience, tinged with

fear,
His host beheld him gorge his

cheer,
And quaff the full carouse that

lent
His brow a fiercer hardiment.
Now Oswald stood a space aside,
Now paced the room with hasty

stride,
In feverish agony to learn
Tidings of deep and dread con-
cern,
Cursing each moment that his

guest 129

Protracted o'er his ruffian feast,
Yet, viewing with alarm at last
The end of that uncouth repast,
Almost he seemed their haste to

rue
As at his sign his train withdrew,
And left him with the stranger

free
To question of his mystery.
Then did his silence long proclaim
A struggle between fear and

shame.

VIII

Much in the stranger's mien ap-
pears
To justify suspicious fears. 140
On his dark face a scorching clime
And toil had done the work of

time,
Roughened the brow, the temples

bared,
And sable hairs with silver shared

CANTO FIRST

305

Yet left — what age alone could

tame —
The lip of pride, the eye of flame ;
The full-drawn lip that upward

curled,
The eye that seemed to scorn the

world.
That lip had terror never

blanched ;
Ne'er in that eye had tear-drop

quenched 150

The flash severe of swarthy glow
That mocked at pain and knew

not woe.
Inured to danger's direst form,
Tornado and earthquake, flood

and storm,
Death had he seen by sudden

blow,
By wasting plague, by tortures

slow,
By mine or breach, by steel or

ball,
Knew all his shapes and scorned

them all.

But yet, though Bertram's hard-
ened look
Unmoved could blood and danger
brook, 160

Still worse than apathy had place
On his swart brow and callous

face;
For evil passions cherished long
Had ploughed them with impres-
sions strong.
All that gives gloss to sin, all gay
Light folly, past with youth away,
But rooted stood in manhood's

hour
The weeds of vice without their

flower.
And yet the soil in which they

grew,

Had it been tamed when life was

new, 170

Had depth and vigor to bring forth

The hardier fruits of virtuous

worth.
Not that e'en then his heart had
known

The gentler feelings' kindly tone ;
But lavish waste had been refined
To bounty in his chastened mind,
And lust of gold, that waste to

feed,
Been lost in love of glory's meed,
And, frantic then no more, his

pride
Had ta'en fair virtue for its

guide. 180

Even now, by conscience unre-
strained,
Clogged by gross vice, by slaugh-
ter stained,
Still knew his daring soul to soar
And mastery o'er the mind he

bore ;
For meaner guilt or heart less

hard
Quailed beneath Bertram's bold

regard.
And this felt Oswald, while in

vain
He strove by many a winding

train
To lure his sullen guest to show
Unasked the news he longed to

know, 190

While on far other subject hung
His heart than faltered from his

tongue.
Yet naught for that his guest did

deign
To note or spare his secret pain,
But still in stern and stubborn

sort
Keturned him answer dark and

short,
Or started from the theme to range
In loose digression wild and

strange,
And forced the embarrassed host

to buy
By query close direct reply. 200

Awhile he glozed upon the cause
Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws,
And Church reformed — but felt
rebuke

306

ROKEBY

Beneath grim Bertram's sneering

look,
Then stammered — ' Has a field

been fought?
Has Bertram news of battle

brought?
For sure a soldier, famed so far
In foreign fields for feats of war,
On eve of fight ne'er left the host
Until the field were won and

lost.' 2IO

1 Here, in your towers by circling

Tees,
You, Oswald Wycliffe, rest at

ease:
Why deem it strange that others

come
To share such safe and easy home,
From fields where danger, death,

and toil
Are the reward of civil broil ? ' —
4 Nay, mock not, friend ! since well

we know
The near advances of the foe,
To mar our northern army's work,
Encamped before beleaguered

York 220

Thy horse with valiant Fairfax

lay.
And must have fought — how went

the day ? '

XII

'Wouldst hear the tale? — On

Marston heath
Met front to front the ranks of

death ;
Flourished the trumpets fierce,

and now
Fired was each eye and flushed

each brow ;
On either side loud clamors ring,
"God and the Cause!"— " God

and the King ! "
Right English all, they rushed to

blows,
With naught to win and all to

lose. 230

I could have laughed — but lacked

the time —
To see, in phrenesy sublime,

How the fierce zealots fought and

bled
For king or state, as humor led ;
Some for a dream of public good,
Some for church-tippet, gown, and

hood,
Draining their veins, in death to

claim
A patriot's or a martyr's name. —
Led Bertram Risingham the

hearts
That countered there on adverse

parts, 240

No superstitious fool had I
Sought El Dorados in the sky !
Chili had heard me through her

states,
And Lima oped her silver gates,
Rich Mexico I had marched

through,
And sacked the splendors of Peru,
Till sunk Pizarro's daring name,
And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's

fame.' —
' Still from the purpose wilt thou

stray !
Good gentle friend, how went the

day?' 250

XIII

' Good am I deemed at trumpet

sound,
And good where goblets dance the

round,
Though gentle ne'er was joined

till now
With rugged Bertram's breast and

brow. —
But I resume. The battle's rage
Was like the strife which currents

wage
Where Orinoco in his pride
Rolls to the main no tribute tide,
But 'gainst broad ocean urges

far
A rival sea of roaring war ; 260
While, in ten thousand eddies

driven,
The billows fling their foam to

heaven,
And the pale pilot seeks in vain

CANTO FIRST

307

Where rolls the river, where the

main:
Even thus upon the bloody field
The eddying tides of conflict

wheeled
Ambiguous, till that heart of

flame,
Hot Rupert, on our squadrons

came,
Hurling against our spears a line
Of gallants fiery as their wine ; 270
Then ours, though stubborn in

their zeal,
In zeal's despite began to reel.
"What wouldst thou more?*— in

tumult tost,
Our leaders fell, our ranks were

lost.
A thousand men who drew the

sword
For both the Houses and the

Word,
Preached forth from hamlet,

grange, and down,
To curb the crosier and the crown,
Now, stark and stiff, lie stretched

in gore,
And ne'er shall rail at mitre

more.— 280

Thus fared it when I left the fight,
With the good Cause and Com-
mons' right' —

XIV

4 Disastrous news ! ' dark Wycliffe

said;
Assumed despondence bent his

head,
While troubled joy was in his eye,
The well -feigned sorrow to be-
lie.—
' Disastrous news ! — when needed

most,
Told ye not that your chiefs were

lost?
Complete the woful tale and say
Who fell upon that fatal day, 290
What leaders of repute and name
Bought by their death a deathless

fame.
If such my direst foeman's doom,

My tears shall dew his honored

tomb. —
No answer ? — Friend, of all our

host,
Thou know'st whom I should hate

the most,
Whom thou too once wert wont to

hate,
Yet leavest me doubtful of his

fate.' —
With look unmoved — ' Of friend

or foe,
Aught,' answered Bertram,

' wouldst thou know, 300
Demand in simple terms and plain,
A soldier's answer shalt thou gain ;
For question dark or riddle high
I have nor judgment nor reply.'

The wrath his art and fear sup-

pressed
Now blazed at once in Wycliffe's

breast,
And brave from man so meanly

born
Roused his hereditary scorn.
1 Wretch ! hast thou paid thy

bloody debt ?
Philip of Mortham, lives he

yet? 310

False to thy patron or thine oath,
Traitorous or perjured, one or

both.
Slave! hast thou kept thy promise

plight,
To slay thy leader in the fight ? '
Then from his seat the soldier

sprung,
And Wycliffe's hand he strongly

wrung ;
His grasp, as hard as glove of

mail,
Forced the red blood-drop from

the nail —
' A health ! ' he cried ; and ere he

quaffed
Flung from him Wycliffe's hand

and laughed— 320

1 Now, Oswald Wycliffe, speaks

thy heart !

3o8

ROKEBY

Now play'st thou well thy genuine

part !
Worthy, but for thy craven fear,
Like me to roam a buccaneer.
What reck'st thou of the Cause

divine,
If Mortham's wealth and lands be

thine ?
What carest thou for beleaguered

York,
If this good hand have done its

work ?
Or what though Fairfax and his

best
Are reddening Marston's swarthy

breast, 330

If Philip Mortham with them lie,
Lending his life - blood to the

dye? —
Sit, then ! and as mid comrades

free
Carousing after victory,
When tales are told of blood and

fear
That boys and women shrink to

hear,
From point to point I frankly

tell
The deed of death as it befell.

XVI

1 When purposed vengeance I fore-
go,

Term me a wretch, nor deem me
foe ; 34°

And when an insult I forgive,

Then brand me as a slave and
live ! —

Philip of Mortham is with those

Whom Bertram Kisingham calls
foes ;

Or whom more sure revenge at-
tends,

If numbered with ungrateful
friends.

As was his wont, ere battle
glowed,

Along the marshalled ranks he
rode,

And wore his visor up the while.

I saw his melancholy smile 350

When, full opposed in front, he
knew

Where Rokeby's kindred banner
flew.

" And thus," he said, " will friends
divide!" —

I heard, and thought how side by
side

We two had turned the battle's
tide

In many a well-debated field

Where Bertram's breast was
Philip's shield..

I thought on Darien's deserts pale

Where death bestrides the even-
ing gale ;

How o'er my friend my cloak I
threw, 360

Aud fenceless faced the deadly
dew;

I thought on Quariana's cliff

Where, rescued from our founder-
ing skiff,

Through the white breakers' wrath
I bore

Exhausted Mortham to the shore ;

And, when his side an arrow
found,

I sucked the Indian's venomed
wound.

These thoughts like torrents rush-
ed along,

To sweep away my purpose strong.

XYII

1 Hearts are not flint, and flints are

rent; 370

Hearts are not steel, and steel is

bent.
When Mortham bade me, as of

yore,
Be near him in the battle's roar,
I scarcely saw the spears laid low,
I scarcely heard the trumpets

blow;
Lost was the war in inward strife,
Debating Mortham's death or life.
'T was then I thought how, lured

to come
As partner of his wealth and home,
Years of piratic wandering o'er,

CANTO FIRST

309

With him I sought our native
shore. 381

But Mortham's lord grew far es-
tranged

From the bold heart with whom
he ranged ;

Doubts, horrors, superstitious
fears,

Saddened and dimmed descending
years ;

The wily priests their victim
sought,

And damned each free-born deed
and thought.

Then must I seek another home,

My license shook his sober dome ;

If gold he gave, in one wild day

I revelled thrice the sum away. 391

An idle outcast then I strayed,

Unfit for tillage or for trade.

Deemed, like the steel of rusted
lance,

Useless and dangerous at once.

The women feared my hardy look,

At my approach the peaceful
shook ;

The merchant saw my glance of
flame,

And locked his hoards when Ber-
tram came ;

Each child of coward peace kept
far 400

From the neglected son of war.

XVIII

4 But civil discord gave the call,
And made my trade the trade of

all.
By Mortham urged, I came again
His vassals to the fight to train.
What guerdon waited on my care ?
I could not cant of creed or prayer ;
Sour fanatics each trust obtained,
And I, dishonored and disdained,
Gained but the high and happy

lot 410

In these poor arms to front the

shot ! —
All this thou know'st,thy gestures

tell;
Yet hear it o'er and mark it well.

'T is honor bids me now relate
Each circumstance of Mortham's
fate.

XIX

4 Thoughts, from the tongue that

slowly part,
Glance quick as lightning through

the heart.
As my spur pressed my courser's

side,
Philip of Mortham's cause was

tried,
And ere the charging squadrons

mixed 420

His plea was cast, his doom was

fixed.
I watched him through the doubt-
ful fray,
That changed as March's moody

day,
Till, like a stream that bursts its

bank,
Fierce Rupert thundered on our

flank.
'T was then, midst tumult, smoke,

and strife,
Where each man fought for death

or life,
'T was then I fired my petronei,
And Mortham, steed and rider, fell.
One dying look he upward cast, 430
Of wrath and anguish— 'twas his

last.
Think not that there I stopped, to

view
What of the battle should ensue ;
But ere I cleared that bloody

press,
Our northern horse ran master-
less;
Monckton and Mitton told the news
How troops of Roundheads choked

the Ouse,
And many a bonny Scot aghast,
Spurring his palfrey northward,

past,
Cursing the day when zeal or

meed 44o

First lured their Lesley o'er the

Tweed.

3io

ROKEBY

Yet when I reached the banks of
Swale,

Had rumor learned another tale ;

With his barbed horse, fresh tid-
ings say,

Stout Cromwell has redeemed the
day:

But whether false the news or true,

Oswald, I reck as light as you.'

Not then by Wycliffe might be

shown
How his pride startled at the tone
In which his complice, fierce and

free, 450

Asserted guilt's equality.
In smoothest terms his speech he

wove
Of endless friendship, faith, and

love;
Promised and vowed in courteous

sort,
But Bertram broke professions

short.
4 Wycliffe, be sure not here I stay,
No, scarcely till the rising day ;
Warned by the legends of my

youth,
I trust not an associate's truth.
Do not my native dales prolong 460
Of Percy Rede the tragic song,
Trained forward to his bloody fall,
By Girsonfield, that treacherous

Hall?
Oft by the Pringle's haunted side
The shepherd sees his spectre

glide.
And near the spot that gave me

name,
The moated mound of Risingham,
Where Reed upon her margin sees
Sweet Woodburne's cottages and

trees,
Some ancient sculptor's art has

shown 470

An outlaw's image on the stone ;
Unmatched in strength, a giant he,
With quivered back and kirtled

knee.
Ask how he died, that hunter bold,

The tameless monarch of the

wold,
And age and infancy can tell
By brother's treachery he fell.
Thus warned by legends of my

youth,
I trust to no associate's truth.

XXI

' When last we reasoned of this

deed, 480

Naught, I bethink me, was agreed,
Or by what rule, or when, or

where,
The wealth of Mortham we should

share ;
Then list while I the portion name
Our differing laws give each to

claim.
Thou, vassal sworn to England's

throne,
Her rules of heritage must own ;
They deal thee, as to nearest heir,
Thy kinsman's lands and livings

fair,
And these I yield : — do thou re-
vere 490
The statutes of the buccaneer.
Friend to the sea, and foeman

sworn
To all that on her waves are

borne,
WThen falls a mate in battle broil
His comrade heirs his portioned

spoil ;
When dies in fight a daring foe
He claims his wealth who struck

the blow ;
And either rule to me assigns
Those spoils of Indian seas and

mines
Hoarded in Mortham's caverns

dark ; 500

Ingot of gold and diamond spark,
Chalice and plate from churches

borne,
And gems from shrieking beauty

torn,
Each string of pearl, each silver

bar,
And all the wealth of western war.

CANTO FIRST

3ii

I go to search where, dark and

deep,
Those trans - Atlantic treasures

sleep.
Thou must along— for, lacking

thee,
The heir will scarce find entrance

free ; 509

And then farewell. I haste to try
Each varied pleasure wealth can

buy;
When cloyed each wish, these

wars afford
Fresh work for Bertram's restless

sword.'

XXII

An undecided answer hung
On Oswald's hesitating tongue.
Despite his craft, he heard with

awe
This ruffian stabber fix the law ;
While his own troubled passions

veer
Through hatred, joy, regret, and

fear : —
Joyed at the soul that Bertram

flies, 520

He grudged the murderer's mighty

prize,
Hated his pride's presumptuous

tone,
And feared to wend with him

alone.
At length, that middle course to

steer
To cowardice and craft so dear,
1 His charge,' he said, ■ would ill

allow
His absence from the fortress

now;
Wilfrid on Bertram should

attend,
His son should journey with his

friend.'

XXIII

Contempt kept Bertram's anger
down. 530

And wreathed to savage smile his
frown.

4 Wilfrid, or thou, — 'tis one tome

Whichever bears the golden key.

Yet think not but I mark, and
smile

To mark, thy poor and selfish wile !

If injury from me you fear,

What, Oswald Wycliffe, shields
thee here ?

I 've sprung from walls more high
than these,

I've swam through deeper streams
than Tees. 539

Might I not stab thee ere one yell

Could rouse the distant sentinel?

Start not — it is not my design,

But, if it were, weak fence were
thine ;

And, trust me that in time of need

This hand hath done more desper-
ate deed.

Go, haste and rouse thy slumber-
ing son ;

Time calls, and I must needs be

gone.

XXIV

Naught of his sire's ungenerous

part
Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart,
A heart too soft from early life 550
To hold with fortune needful

strife.
His sire, while yet a hardier race
Of numerous sons were Wycliffe's

grace,
On Wilfrid set contemptuous brand
For feeble heart and forceless

hand;
But a fond mother's care and joy
Were centred in her sickly boy.
No touch of childhood's frolic

mood
Showed the elastic spring of blood ;
Hour after hour he loved to

pore 560

On Shakespeare's rich and varied

lore,
But turned from martial scenes

and light,
From Falstaff's feast and Percy's

fight,

312

ROKEBY

To ponder Jaques' moral strain,
And muse with Hamlet, wise in

vain,
And weep himself to soft repose
O'er gentle Desdemona's woes.

XXV

In youth he sought not pleasures

found
By youth in horse and hawk and

hound, 569

But loved the quiet joys that wake
By lonely stream and silent lake ;
In Deepdale's solitude to lie,
Where all is cliff and copse and

sky;
To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak,
Or lone Pendragon's mound to

seek.
Such was his wont ; and there his

dream
Soared on some wild fantastic

theme
Of faithful love or ceaseless spring,
Till Contemplation's wearied wing
The enthusiast could no more sus-
tain, 580
And sad he sunk to earth again.

XXVI

He loved — as many a lay can tell,
Preserved in Stanmore's lonely

dell;
For his was minstrel's skill, he

caught
The art unteachable, untaught;
He loved — his soul did nature

frame
For love, and fancy nursed the

flame;
Vainly he loved — for seldom

swain
Of such soft mould is loved again ;
Silent he loved — in every gaze 590
Was passion, friendship in his

phrase ;
So mused his life away — till died
His brethren all, their father's

pride.
Wilfred is now the only heir
Of all his stratagems and care,

And destined darkling to pursue
Ambition's maze by Oswald's clue.

XXVII

Wilfrid must love and woo the
bright

Matilda, heir of "Rokeby's knight.

To love her was an easy hest, 600

The secret empress of his breast;

To woo her was a harder task

To one that durst not hope or ask.

Yet all Matilda could she gave

In pity to her gentle slave ;

Friendship, esteem, and fair re-
gard,

And praise, the poet's best re-
ward !

She read the tales his taste ap-
proved,

And sung the lays he framed or
loved ; 609

Yet, loath to nurse the fatal flame

Of hopeless love in friendship's
name,

In kind caprice she oft withdrew

The favoring glance to friendship
due,

Then grieved to see her victim's
pain,

And gave the dangerous smiles
again.

XXVIII

So did the suit of WiJfrid stand
When war's loud summons waked

the land.
Three banners, floating o'er the

Tees,
The woe-foreboding peasant sees ;
In concert oft they braved of old
The bordering Scot's incursion
bold: 621

Frowning defiance in their pride,
Their vassals now and lords di-
vide.
From his fair hall on Greta banks,
The Knight of Rokeby led his

ranks,
To aid the valiant northern earls
Who drew the sword for royal
Charles.

CANTO FIRST

313

Mortham, by marriage near al-
lied,—
His sister had been Rokeby's
bride, 629

Though long before the civil fray
In peaceful grave the lady lay, —
Philip of Mortham raised his band,
And marched at Fairfax's com-
mand ;
While Wycliffe, bound by many a

train
Of kindred art with wily Vane,
Less prompt to brave the bloody

field,
Made Barnard's battlements his

shield,
Secured them with his Lunedale

powers,
And for the Commons held the
towers.

XXIX

The lovely heir of Rokeby's

Knight 640

Waits in his halls the event of

fight;
For England's war revered the

claim
Of every unprotected name,
And spared amid its fiercest rage
Childhood and womanhood and

age,
But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby's foe,
Must the dear privilege forego,
By Greta's side in evening gray,
To steal upon Matilda's way,
Striving with fond hypocrisy 650
For careless step and vacant eye ;
Calming each anxious look and

glance,
To give the meeting all to chance,
Or framing as a fair excuse
The book, the pencil, or the muse ;
Something to give, to sing, to

say,
Some modern tale, some ancient

lay,
Then, while the longed-for minutes

last, —
Ah ! minutes quickly over-past! —
Recording each expression free 660

Of kind or careless courtesy,
Each friendly look, each softer

tone,
As food for fancy when alone.
All this is o'er — but still unseen
Wilfrid may lurk in Eastwood

green,
To watch Matilda's wonted round,
While springs his heart at every

sound.
She comes ! — 't is but a passing

sight,
Yet serves to cheat his weary

night ;
She comes not — he will wrait the

hour 670

When her lamp lightens in the

tower ;
T is something yet if, as she

past,
Her shade is o'er the lattice cast.
' What is my life, my hope ? ' he

said ;
* Alas ! a transitory shade.'

XXX

Thus wore his life, though reason

strove
For mastery in vain with love,
Forcing upon his thoughts the sum
Of present woe and ills to come,
While still he turned impatient

ear
From Truth's intrusive voice se-
vere. 681
Gentle, indifferent, and subdued,
In all but this unmoved he viewed
Each outward change of ill and

good :
But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild,
Was Fancy's spoiled and wayward

child ;
In her bright car she bade him

ride,
With one fair form to grace his

side,
Or, in some wild and lone retreat,
Flung her high spells around his

seat, 690

Bathed in her dews his languid

head,

ROKEBY

Her fairy mantle o'er him spread,
For him her opiates gave to

flow,
Which he who tastes can ne'er

forego,
And placed him in her circle, free
From every stern reality,
Till to the Visionary seem
Her day-dreams truth, and truth a

dream.

XXXI

Woe to the youth whom Fancy

gains,
Winning from Reason's hand the

reins, 700

Pity and woe ! for such a mind
Is soft, contemplative, and kind ;
And woe to those who train such

youth,
And spare to press the rights of

truth,
The mind to strengthen and an-
neal
While on the stithy glows the

steel !
O teach him while your lessons

last
To judge the present by the past ;
Remind him of each wish pur-
sued,
How rich it glowed with promised

good; 710

Remind him of each wish enjoyed,
How soon his hopes possession

cloyed !
Tell him we play unequal game
Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's

aim;
And, ere he strip him for her

race,
Show the conditions of the chase :
Two sisters by the goal are set,
Cold Disappointment and Regret ;
One disenchants the winner's

eyes,
And strips of all its worth the

prize. 720

While one augments its gaudy

show,

More to enhance the loser's woe.
The victor sees his fairy gold
Transformed when won to drossy

mould,
But still the vanquished mourns

his loss,
And rules as gold that glittering

dross.

XXXII

More would st thou know — yon

tower survey,
Yon couch unpressed since parting

day,
Yon yuntrimmed lamp, whose yel-
low gleam
Is mingling with the cold moon-
beam, 730
And yon thin form ! — the hectic

red
On his pale cheek unequal spread ;
The head reclined, the loosened

hair,
The limbs relaxed, the mournful

air.—
See, he looks up ; — a wof ul smile
Lightens his woe-worn cheek a

while,—
'T is Fancy wakes some idle

thought,
To gild the ruin she has wrought;
For, like the bat of Indian brakes,
Her pinions fan the wound she

makes, 740

And, soothing thus the dreamer's

pain,
She drinks his life-blood from the

vein.
Now to the lattice turn his eyes,
Vain hope ! to see the sun arise.
The moon with clouds is still o'er-

cast,
Still howls by fits the stormy

blast ;
Another hour must wear away
Ere the east kindle into day,
And hark! to waste that weary

hour,
He tries the minstrel's magic

power. 750

CANTO SECOND

315

XXXIII

SONG

TO THE MOON

Hail to thy cold and clouded
beam,
Pale pilgrim of the troubled
sky!
Hail, though the mists that o'er
thee stream
Lend to thy brow their sullen
dye!
How should thy pure and peaceful
eye
Untroubled view our scenes be-
low,
Or how a tearless beam supply
To light a world of war and woe !

Fair Queen ! I will not blame thee
now,
As once by Greta's fairy side ;
Each little cloud that dimmed thy
brow 761

Did then an angel's beauty hide.
And of the shades I then could
chide
Still are the thoughts to memory
dear,
For, while a softer strain I tried,
They hid my blush and calmed
my fear.

Then did I swear thy ray serene
Was formed to light some lonely
dell,
By two fond lovers only seen,

Reflected from the crystal well ;

Or sleeping on their mossy cell, 77 t

Or quivering on the lattice

bright,

Or glancing on their couch, to tell

How swiftly wanes the summer

night !

XXXIV

He starts — a step at this lone

hour !
A voice! — his father seeks the

tower,

With haggard look and troubled
sense,

Fresh from his dreadful confer-
ence.

' Wilfrid ! — what, not to sleep ad-
dressed?

Thou hast no cares to chase thy
rest. 780

Mortham has fallen on Marston-
moor ;

Bertram brings warrant to secure

His treasures, bought by spoil and
blood,

For the state's use and public
good.

The menials will thy voice obey ;

Let his commission have its way,

In every point, in every word.'

Then, in a whisper, — 4 Take thy
sword !

Bertram is — what I must not tell.

I hear his hasty step — fare-
well ! ' 790

CANTO SECOND

Fab in the chambers of the west,
The gale had sighed itself to rest ;
The moon was cloudless now and

clear,
But pale and soon to disappear.
The thin gray clouds waxed dimly

light
On Brusleton and Houghton

height ;
And the rich dale that eastward

lay
Waited the wakening touch of day,
To give its woods and cultured

plain,
And towers and spires, to light

again. 10

But, westward, Stanmore's shape-

less swell,
And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-

fell,
And rock-begirdled Gilmanscar,
And Arkingarth, lay dark afar ;
While, as a livelier twilight falls,

3l6

ROKEBY

Emerge proud Barnard's bannered

walls.
High crowned he sits in dawning

pale,
The sovereign of the lovely vale.

What prospects from his watch-
tower high
Gleam gradual on the warder's

eye!— 20

Far sweeping to the east, he sees
Down his deep woods the course

of Tees,
And tracks his wanderings by the

steam
Of summer vapors from the stream ;
And ere he pace his destined hour
By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower,
These silver mists shall melt away
And dew the woods with glittering-
spray.
Then in broad lustre shall be

shown 29

That mighty trench of living stone,
And each huge trunk that from

the side
Reclines him o'er the darksome

tide
Where Tees, full many a fathom

low,
Wears with his rage no common

foe;
For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed

here,
Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce

career,
Condemned to mine a channelled

way
O'er solid sheets of marble gray.

Nor Tees alone in dawning bright
Shall rush upon the ravished sight ;
But many a tributary stream 4 1
Each from its own dark dell shall

gleam :
Staindrop, who from her sylvan

bowers
Salutes proud Raby's battled

towers ;

The rural brook of Egliston,
And Balder, named from Odin's

son;
And Greta, to whose banks ere

long
We lead the lovers of the song ;
And silver Lune from Stanmore

wild,
And fairy Thorsgill's murmuring

child, 50

And last and least, but loveliest

still,
Romantic Deepdale's slender rill.
Who in that dim-wood glen hath

strayed,
Yet longed for Roslin's magic

glade ?
Who, wandering there, hath sought

to change
Even for that vale so stern and

strange
Where Cartland's crags, fantastic

rent,
Through her green copse like

spires are sent?
Yet, Albin, yet the praise be thine,
Thy scenes and story to combine !
Thou bid'st him who by Roslin

strays 61

List to the deeds of other days ;
Mid Cartland's crags thou show'st

the cave,
The refuge of thy champion brave ;
Giving each rock its storied tale,
Pouring a lay for every dale,
Knitting, as with a moral band,
Thy native legends with thy land,
To lend each scene the interest

high
Which genius beams from Beauty's

eye.

7°

Bertram awaited not the sight
Which sunrise shows from Bar-
nard's height,
Bat from the towers, preventing

day,
With Wilfrid took his early way,
While misty dawn and moonbeam
pale

CANTO SECOND

3*7

Still mingled in the silent dale.
By Barnard's bridge of stately

stone
The southern bank of Tees they

won;
Their winding path then eastward

cast, 79

And Egliston's gray ruins passed ;
Each on his own deep visions

bent,
Silent and sad they onward went.
Well may you think that Bertram's

mood
To Wilfrid savage seemed and

rude ;
Well may you think bold Rising-
ham
Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and

tame ;
And small the intercourse, I ween.
Such uncongenial souls between.

Stern Bertram shunned the nearer
way

Through Rokeby's park and chase
that lay, 90

And, skirting high the valley's
ridge,

They crossed by Greta's ancient
bridge,

Descending where her waters wind

Free for a space and unconfined

As, 'scaped from Brignall's dark-
wood glen,

She seeks wild Mortham's deeper
den.

There, as his eye glanced o'er the
mound

Raised by that Legion long re-
nowned

Whose votive shrine asserts their
claim 99

Of pious, faithful, conquering fame,

'Stern sons of war:' sad Wilfrid
sighed,

' Behold the boast of Soman pride !

What now of all your toils are
known ?

A grassy trench, a broken
stone ! ' —

This to himself; for moral strain
To Bertram were addressed in

vain.

Of different mood a deeper sigh
Awoke when Rokeby's turrets

high
Were northward in the dawning

seen 109

To rear them o'er the thicket green.
0 then, though Spenser's self had

strayed
Beside him through the lovely

glade,
Lending his rich luxuriant glow
Of fancy all its charms to show,
Pointing the stream rejoicing free
As captive set at liberty.
Flashing her sparkling waves

abroad,
And clamoring joyful on her road ;
Pointing where, up the sunny

banks,
The trees retire in scattered ranks
Save where, advanced before the

rest, 121

On knoll or hillock rears his crest,
Lonely and huge, the giant Oak,
As champions when their band is

broke
Stand forth to guard the rearward

post,
The bulwark of the scattered

host —
All this and more might Spenser

say,
Yet waste in vain his magic lay,
While Wilfrid eyed the distant

tower
Whose lattice lights Matilda's

bower. 130

VII

The open vale is soon passed o'er,

Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no

more ;
Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep,
A wild and darker course they

keep,
A stern and lone yet lovely road

3i8

ROKEBY

As e'er the foot of minstrel trode !
Broad shadows o'er their passage

fell,
Deeper and narrower grew the

dell;
It seemed some mountain, rent

and riven,
A channel for the stream had

given, 140

So high the cliffs of limestone gray
Hung beetling o'er the torrent's

way,
Yielding along their rugged base
A flinty footpath's niggard space,
Where he who winds 'twixt rock

and wave
May hear the headlong torrent

rave,
And like a steed in frantic fit,
That flings the froth from curb

and bit,
May view her chafe her waves to

spray
O'er every rock that bars her way,
Till foam-globes on her eddies ride,
Thick as the schemes of human

pride 152

That down life's current drive

amain,
As frail, as frothy, and as vain !

VIII

The cliffs that rear their haughty
head

High o'er the river's darksome
bed

Were now all naked, wild, and
gray,

Now waving all with greenwood
spray,

Here trees to every crevice clung

And o'er the dell their branches
hung ; 160

And there, all splintered and un-
even,

The shivered rocks ascend to hea-
ven;

Oft, too, the ivy swathed their
breast

And wreathed its garland round
their crest,

Or from the spires bade loosely

flare
Its tendrils in the middle air.
As pennons wont to wave of old
O'er the high feast of baron bold,
When revelled loud the feudal rout
And the arched halls returned

their shout, 170

Such and more wild is Greta's

roar,
And such the echoes from her

shore,
And so the ivied banners gleam,
Waved wildly o'er the brawling

stream.

Now from the stream the rocks re-
cede,
But leave between no sunny mead,
No, nor the spot of pebbly sand
Oft found by such a mountain

strand,
Forming such warm and dry re-
treat
As fancy deems the lonely seat
Where hermit, wandering from his
cell, 181

His rosary might love to tell.
But here 'twixt rock and river

grew
A dismal grove of sable yew,
With whose sad tints were min-
gled seen
The blighted fir's sepulchral green.
Seemed that the trees their shad-
ows cast
The earth that nourished them to

blast ;
For never knew that swarthy

grove
The verdant hue that fairies love,
Nor wilding green nor woodland
flower 191

Arose within its baleful bower :
The dank and sable earth receives
Its only carpet from the leaves
That, from the withering branches

cast,
Bestrewed the ground with every
blast.

CANTO SECOND

3*9

Though now the sun was o'er the

hill,
In this dark spot 't was twilight

still,
Save that on Greta's farther side
Some straggling beams through

eopsewood glide; 200

And wild and savage contrast

made
That dingle's deep and funeral

shade
With the bright tints of early day,
Which, glimmering through the

ivy spray,
On the opposing summit lay.

The lated peasant shunned the

dell ;
For Superstition wont to tell
Of many a grisly sound and sight,
Scaring its path at dead of night.
When Christmas logs blaze high
and wide 210

Such wonders speed the festal tide,
While Curiosity and Fear,
Pleasure and Pain, sit crouching

near,
Till childhood's cheek no longer

glows,
And village maidens lose the rose.
The thrilling interest rises higher,
The circle closes nigh and nigher,
And shuddering glance is cast be-
hind,
As louder moans the wintry wind.
Believe that fitting scene was laid
For such wild tales in Mortham
glade ; 221

For who had seen on Greta's side
By that dim light fierce Bertram

stride,
In such a spot, at such an hour, —
If touched by Superstition's power.
Might well have deemed that Hell

had given
A murderer's ghost to upper hea-
ven,
While Wilfrid's form had seemed
to glide 228

Like his pale victim by his side.

Nor think to village swains alone
Are these unearthly terrors known,
For not to rank nor sex confined
Is this vain ague of the mind ;
Hearts firm as steel, as marble

hard,
'Gainst faith and love and pity

barred,
Have quaked, like aspen leaves in

May,
Beneath its universal sway.
Bertram had listed many a tale
Of wonder in his native dale, 239
That in his secret soul retained
The credence they in childhood

gained :
Nor less his wild adventurous

youth
Believed in every legend's truth ;
Learned when beneath the tropic

gale
Full swelled the vessel's steady

sail,
And the broad Indian moon her

light
Poured on the watch of middle

night,
When seamen love to hear and tell
Of portent, prodigy, and spell :
What gales are sold on Lapland's

shore, 250

How whistle rash bids tempests

roar,
Of witch, of mermaid, and of

sprite,
Of Erick's cap and Elmo's light;
Or of that Phantom Ship whose

form
Shoots like a meteor through the

storm
When the dark scud comes driv-
ing hard,
And lowered is every top- sail

yard,
And canvas wove in earthly

looms
No more to brave the storm pre-

sumes

259

Then mid the war of sea and sky,
Top and top-gallant hoisted high,

320

ROKEBY

Full spread and crowded every

sail,
The Demon Frigate braves the

gale,
And well the doomed spectators

know *

The harbinger of wreck and woe.

XII

Then, too, were told in stifled tone
Marvels and omens all their own ;
How, by some desert isle or key
Where Spaniards wrought their

cruelty, 269

Or where the savage pirate's mood
Repaid it home in deeds of blood,
Strange nightly sounds of woe and

fear
Appalled the listening buccaneer,
Whose light -armed shallop an-
chored lay
In ambush by the lonely bay.
The groan of grief, the shriek of

pain,
Ring from the moonlight groves

of cane ;
The fierce adventurer's heart they

scare,
Who wearies memory for a prayer,
Curses the roadstead, and with

gale 280

Of early morning lifts the sail,
To give, in thirst of blood and prey,
A legend for another bay.

XIII

Thus, as a man, a youth, a child,
Trained in the mystic and the

wild,
With this on Bertram's soul at

times
Rushed a dark feeling of his

crimes ;
Such to his troubled soul their

form
As the pale Death-ship to the

storm,
And such their omen dim and

dread 290

As shrieks and voices of the dead.
That pang, whose transitory force

Hovered 'twixt horror and re-
morse —
That pang, perchance, his bosom

pressed
As Wilfrid sudden he addressed :
' Wilfrid, this glen is never trod
Until the sun rides high abroad,
Yet twice have 1 beheld to-day
A form that seemed to dog our

way;
Twice from my glance it seemed

to flee 300

And shroud itself by cliff or tree.
How think'st thou?— Is our path

waylaid ?
Or hath thy sire my trust betrayed ?
If so' — Ere, starting from his

dream
That turned upon a gentler theme,
Wilfrid had roused him to reply,
Bertram sprung forward, shouting

high,
4 Whate'er thou art, thou now shalt

stand ! '
And forth he darted, sword in

hand. 309

XIV

As bursts the levin in its wrath,
He shot him down the sounding

path ;
Rock, wood, and stream rang

wildly out
To his loud step and savage shout
Seems that the object of his race
Hath scaled the cliffs ; his frantic

chase
Sidelong he turns, and now 'tis

bent
Right up the rock's tall battle-
ment ;
Straining each sinew to ascend,
Foot, hand, and knee their aid

must lend.
Wilfrid, all dizzy with dismay, 320
Views from beneath his dreadful

way:
Now to the oak's warped roots he

clings,
Now trusts his weight to ivy

strings ;

CANTO SECOND

321

Now, like the wild-goat, must he

dare
An unsupported leap in air ;
Hid in the shrubby rain-course now,
You mark him by the crashing

bough,
And by his corselet's sullen clank,
And by the stones spurned from

the bank,
And by the hawk scared from her

nest, 330

And raven's croaking o'er their

guest,
Who deem his forfeit limbs shall

pay
The tribute of his bold essay.

See, he emerges ! — desperate now
All farther course — yon beetling

brow,
In craggy nakedness sublime,
What heart or foot shall dare to

climb ?
It bears no tendril for his clasp,
Presents no angle to his grasp :
Sole stay his foot may rest up-
on 340
Is yon earth-bedded jetting stone.
Balanced on such precarious prop,
He strains his grasp to reach the

top.
Just as the dangerous stretch he

makes,
By heaven, his faithless footstool

shakes !
Beneath his tottering bulk it bends ,
It sways, it loosens, it descends,
And downward holds its headlong

way,
Crashing o'er rock and copsewood

spray !
Loud thunders shake the echoing

dell! 350

Fell it alone ?— alone it fell.
Just on the very verge of fate,
The hardy Bertram's falling

weight
He trusted to his sinewy hands,
And on the top unharmed he

stands !

XVI

Wilfrid a safer path pursued,

At intervals where, roughly

hewed,
Eude steps ascending from the

dell
Rendered the cliffs accessible.
By circuit slow he thus attained
The height that Risingham had

gained, 361

And when he issued from the wood
Before the gate of Mortham stood.
'T was a fair scene ! the sunbeam

lay
On battled tower and portal gray ,-
And from the grassy slope he

sees
The Greta flow to meet the Tees
Where, issuing from her darksome

bed,
She caught the morning's eastern

red,
And through the softening vale

below 37°

Rolled her bright waves in rosy

glow,
All blushing to her bridal bed,
Like some shy maid in convent

bred,
While linnet, lark, and blackbird

gay
Sing forth her nuptial roundelay.

XVII

'Twas sweetly sung that rounde-
lay,

That summer morn shone blithe
and gay ;

But morning beam and wild-bird's
call

Awaked not Mortham' s silent
hall. 379

No porter by the low-browed gate

Took in the wonted niche his seat ;

To the paved court no peasant
drew ;

Waked to their toil no menial
crew ;

The maiden's carol was not heard,

As to her morning task she fared :

In the void offices around

322

ROKEBY

Rung not a hoof nor bayed a
hound ;

Nor eager steed with shrilling
neigh

Accused the lagging groom's de-
lay-,

Untrimmed, undressed, neglected
now, 390

Was alleyed walk and orchard
bough ;

All spoke the master's absent care,

All spoke neglect and disrepair.

South of the gate an arrow flight,

Two mighty elms their limbs unite

As if a canopy to spread

O'er the lone dwelling of the dead ;

For their huge boughs in arches
bent

Above a massive monument, 399

Carved o'er in ancient Gothic wise

With many a scutcheon and de-
vice:

There, spent with toil and sunk in
gloom,

Bertram stood pondering by the
tomb.

XVITI

4 It vanished like a flitting ghost !

Behind this tomb,' he said, 4 't was
lost —

This tomb where oft I deemed lies
stored

Of Mortham's Indian wealth the
hoard.

'T is true, the aged servants said

Here his lamented wife is laid ;

But weightier reasons may be
guessed 410

For their lord's strict and stern
behest

That none should on his steps in-
trude

Whene'er he sought this solitude.

An ancient mariner I knew,

What time I sailed with Morgan's
crew,

Who oft mid our carousals spake

Of Ealeigh, Frobisher, and Drake ;

Adventurous hearts ! who bar-
tered, bold,

Their English steel for Spanish

gold.
Trust not, would his experience

say, 420

Captain or comrade with your

prey,
But seek some charnel, when, at

full,
The moon gilds skeleton and

skull:
There dig and tomb your precious

heap,
And bid the dead your treasure

keep;
Sure stewards they, if fitting spell
Their service to the task com-
pel.
Lacks there such charnel ? — kill a

slave
Or prisoner on the treasure-grave,
And bid his discontented ghost 430
Stalk nightly on his lonely post.
Such was his tale. Its truth, I

ween,
Is in my morning vision seen.'

XIX

Wilfrid, who scorned the legend

wild,
In mingled mirth and pity smiled,
Much marvelling that a breast so

bold
In such fond tale belief should

hold,
But yet of Bertram sought to

know
The apparition's form and show.
The power within the guilty

breast, 440

Oft vanquished, never quite sup-
pressed,
That unsubdued and lurking lies
To take the felon by surprise
And force him, as by magic spell,
In his despite his guilt to tell —
That power in Bertram's breast

awoke ;
Scarce conscious he was heard,

he spoke ;
4 'T was Mortham's form, from foot

to head !

CANTO SECOND

323

His morion with the plume of red,
His shape, his mien — 't was Mor-
tmain, right 450
As when I slew him in the fight.' —
* Thou slay him ? — thou ? ' — With

conscious start
He heard, then manned his haugh-
ty heart —
1 1 slew him ? — I ! — I had forgot
Thou, stripling, knew'st not of

the plot.
But it is spoken — nor will I
Deed done or spoken word deny.
I slew him; I! for thankless

pride ;
'T was by this hand that Mortham
died.'

Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart,
Averse to every active part, 461
But most averse to martial broil,
From danger shrunk and turned

from toil ;
Yet the meek lover of the lyre
Nursed one brave spark of noble

fire;
Against injustice, fraud, or wrong
His blood beat high, his hand

waxed strong.
Not his the nerves that could sus-
tain,
Unshakeu, danger, toil, and pain;
But, when that spark blazed forth

to flame, 470

He rose superior to his frame.
And now it came, that generous

mood ;
And, in full current of his blood,
On Bertram he laid desperate

hand,
Placed firm his foot, and drew his

brand.
1 Should every fiend to whom

thou 'rt sold
Rise in thine aid, I keep my

hold.—
Arouse there, ho ! take spear and

sword !
Attach the murderer of your lord!'

XXI

A moment, fixed as by a spell, 480
Stood Bertram — it seemed mira-
cle,
That one so feeble, soft, and tame
Set grasp on warlike Eisingham.
But when he felt a feeble stroke
The fiend within the ruffian woke !
To wrench the sword from Wil-
frid's hand,
To dash him headlong on the sand,
Was but one moment's work,—

one more
Had drenched the blade in Wil-
frid's gore.
But in the instant it arose 490
To end his life, his love, his woes,
A warlike form that marked the

scene
Presents his rapier sheathed be-
tween,
Parries the fast-descending blow,
And steps 'twixt Wilfrid and his

foe;
Nor then unscabbarded his brand,
But, sternly pointing with his

hand,
With monarch's voice forbade the

fight,
And motioned Bertram from his

sight.
' Go, and repent,' he said, ' while
time 5°°

Is given thee; add not crime to
crime.'

XXII

Mute and uncertain and amazed,
As on a vision Bertram gazed !
'T was Mortham' s bearing, bold

and high,
His sinewy frame, his falcon eye,
His look and accent of command,
The martial gesture of his hand,
His stately form, spare-built and

tall,
His war-bleached locks — 't wras

Mortham all.
Through Bertram's dizzy brain

career 5*0

324

ROKEBY

A thousand thoughts, and all of

fear ;
His wavering faith received not

quite
The form he saw as Mortham's

sprite,
But more he feared it if it stood
His lord in living flesh and blood.
What spectre can the charnel send,
So dreadful as an injured friend ?
Then, too, the habit of command,
Used by the leader of the band
When Risingham for many a

day 520

Had marched and fought beneath

his sway,
Tamed him — and with reverted

face
Backwards he bore his sullen

pace,
Oft stopped, and oft on Mortham

stared,
And dark as rated mastiff glared,
But when the tramp of steeds was

heard,
Plunged in the glen and disap-
peared ;
Nor longer there the warrior stood,
Retiring eastward through the

wood,
But first to Wilfrid warning

gives, 530

1 Tell thou to none that Mortham

lives.'

XXIII

Still rung these words in Wilfrid's

ear,
Hinting he knew not what of fear,
When nearer came the coursers'

tread,
And, with his father at their head,
Of horsemen armed a gallant

power
Reined up their steeds before the

tower.
* Whence these pale looks, my

son ? ' he said :
' Where 's Bertram ? Why that

naked blade ? '
Wilfrid ambiguously replied— 540

For Mortham's charge his honor

tied —
'Bertram is gone — the villain's

word
Avouched him murderer of his

lord !
Even now we fought — but when

your tread
Announced you nigh, the felon

fled.'

In Wycliffe's conscious eye ap-
pear

A guilty hope, a guilty fear ;

On his pale brow the dewdrop
broke,

And his lip quivered as he spoke :

XXIV

'A murderer ! — Philip Mortham
died 550

Amid the battle's wildest tide.

Wilfrid, or Bertram raves or you !

Yet, grant such strange confession
true,

Pursuit were vain — let him fly
far —

Justice must sleep in civil war.'

A gallant youth rode near his
side,

Brave Rokeby's page, in battle
tried ;

That morn an embassy of weight

He brought to Barnard's castle
gate,

And followed now in Wycliffe's
train 560

An answer for his lord to gain.

His steed, whose arched and sable
neck

An hundred wreaths of foam be-
deck,

Chafed not against the curb more
high

Than he at Oswald's cold reply ;

He bit his lip, implored his saint —

His the old faith — then burst re-
straint :

XXV

1 Yes ! I beheld his bloody fall
By that base traitor's dastard ball

CANTO SECOND

325

Just wh#n I thought to measure

sword, 570

Presumptuous hope ! with Mor-
tmain's lord.
And shall the murderer 'scape who

slew
His leader, generous, brave, and

true ?
Escape, while on the dew you

trace
The marks of his gigantic pace ?
No! ere the sun that dew shall

dry,
False Risinghani shall yield or

die.—
Ring out the castle larum bell !
Arouse the peasants with the

knell !
Meantime disperse — ride, gallants,

ride ' 580

Beset the wood on every side.
But if among you one there be
That honors Mortham's memory,
Let him dismount and follow me !
Else on your crests sit fear and

shame,
And foul suspicion dog your name V

XXVI

Instant to earth young Redmond
sprung ;

Instant on earth the harness rung

Of twenty men of Wycliffe's band,

Who waited not their lord's com-
mand. 590

Redmond his spurs from buskins
drew,

His mantle from his shoulders
threw,

His pistols in his belt he placed,

The green-wood gained, the foot-
steps traced,

Shouted like huntsman to his
hounds,

1 To cover, hark ! ' — and in he
bounds.

Scarce heard was Oswald's anx-
ious cry,

1 Suspicion ! yes — pursue him —
fly-

But venture not in useless strife

On ruffian desperate of his life ; 600
Whoever finds him shoot him dead !
Five hundred nobles for his head ! '

XXVII

The horsemen galloped to make

good
Each path that issued from the

wood.
Loud from the thickets rung the

shout
Of Redmond and his eager rout ;
With them was Wilfrid, stung

with ire,
And envying Redmond's martial

fire,
And emulous of fame. — But where
Is Oswald, noble Mortham's

heir? 610

He, bound by honor, law, and

faith,
Avenger of his kinsman's death?—
Leaning against the elmin tree,
With drooping head and slackened

knee,
And clenched teeth, and close-
clasped hands,
In agony of soul he stands !
His downcast eye on earth is bent,
His soul to every sound is lent;
For in each shout that cleaves the

air
May ring discovery and despair.

XXTIII

What 'vailed it him that brightly

played 62 1

The morning sun on Mortham's

glade ?
All seems in giddy round to ride,
Like objects on a stormy tide
Seen eddying by the moonlight

dim,
Imperfectly to sink and swim.
What 'vailed it that the fair do-
main,
Its battled mansion, hill, and plain,
On which the sun so brightly
shone,
I Envied so long, was now his own ?
I The lowest dungeon, in that hour,

326

ROKEBY

Of Brackenbury's dismal tower, 632
Had been his choice, could such a

doom
Have opened Mortham's bloody

tomb!
Forced, too, to turn unwilling ear
To each surmise of hope or fear,
Murmured among the rustics

round,
Who gathered at the larum sound.
He dare not turn his head away,
Even to look up to heaven to pray,
Or call on hell in bitter mood 641
For one sharp death-shot from the

wood!

XXIX

At length o'erpast that dreadful
space,

Back straggling came the scat-
tered chase ;

Jaded and weary, horse and man,

Returned the troopers one by one.

Wilfrid the last arrived to say

All trace was lost of Bertram's
way,

Though Redmond still up Brignall
wood

The hopeless quest in vain pur-
sued. 650

O, fatal doom of human race !

What tyrant passions passions
chase !

Remorse from Oswald's brow is
gone,

Avarice and pride resume their
throne ;

The pang of instant terror by,

They dictate thus their slave's re-
ply:

XXX

•Ay — let him range like hasty
hound !

And if the grim wolf's lair be
found,

Small is my care how goes the
game

With Redmond or with Rising-
ham.— 660

Nay, answer not, thou simple boy !

Thy fair Matilda, all so coy
To thee, is of another mood
To that bold youth of Erin's blood.
Thy ditties will she freely praise,
And pay thy pains with courtly

phrase ;
In a rough path will oft com-
mand —
Accept at least — thy friendly

hand;
His she avoids, or, urged and

prayed,
Unwilling takes his proffered aid,
While conscious passion plainly

speaks 671

In downcast look and blushing

cheeks.
Whene'er he sings will she glide

nigh,
And all her soul is in her eye ;
Yet doubts she still to tender free
The wonted words of courtesy.
These are strong signs ! — yet

wherefore sigh,
And wipe, effeminate, thine eye ?
Thine shall she be, if thou attend
The counsels of thy sire and

friend. 680

XXXI

' Scarce wert thou gone, when peep

of light
Brought genuine news of Mars-
ton's fight.
Brave Cromwell turned the doubt-
ful tide,
And conquest blessed the rightful

side;
Three thousand cavaliers lie dead,
Rupert and that bold Marquis fled ;
Nobles and knights, so proud of

late,
Must fine for freedom and estate.
Of these committed to my charge
Is Rokeby, prisoner at large ; 690
Redmond his page arrived to say
He reaches Barnard's towers to-
day.
Right heavy shall his ransom be
Unless that maid compound with
thee J

CANTO THIRD

327

Go to her now — be bold of cheer
While her soul floats 'twixt hope

and fear ;
It is the very change of tide,
When best the female heart is

tried —
Pride, prejudice, and modesty,
Are in the current swept to sea, 700
And the bold swain who plies his

oar
May lightly row his bark to shore.'

CANTO THIRD

The hunting tribes of air and

earth
Respect the brethren of their

birth ;
Nature, who loves the claim of

kind,
Less cruel chase to each assigned.
The falcon, poised on soaring wing,
Watches the wild-duck by the

spring ;
The slow-hound wakes the fox*s

lair;
The greyhound presses on the

hare;
The eagle pounces on the lamb ;
The wolf devours the fleecy dam :
Even tiger fell and sullen bear 1 1
Their likeness and their lineage

spare ;
Man only mars kind Nature's plan,
And turns the fierce pursuit on

man,
Plying war's desultory trade,
Incursion, flight, and ambuscade,
Since Nimrod, Cush's mighty son,
At first the bloody game begun.

The Indian, prowling for his prey,
Who hears the settlers track his

way, 20

And knows in distant forest far
Camp his red brethren of the

war —

He, when each double and dis-
guise

To baffle the pursuit he tries,

Low crouching now his head to
hide

Where swampy streams through
rushes glide,

Now covering with the withered
leaves

The foot-prints that the dew re-
ceives —

He, skilled in every sylvan guile,

Knows not, nor tries, such various
wile 30

As Risingham when on the wind

Arose the loud pursuit behind.

In Redesdale his youth had heard

Each art her wily dalesman dared,

When Rooken-edge and Redswair
high

To bugle rung and blood-hound's
cry,

Announcing Jedwood-axe and
spear,

And Lid'sdale riders in the rear;

And well his venturous life had
proved

The lessons that his childhood
loved. 40

Oft had he shown in climes afar
Each attribute of roving war ;
The sharpened ear, the piercing

eye,
The quick resolve in danger nigh;
The speed that in the flight or

chase
Outstripped the Charib's rapid

race;
The steady brain, the sinewy

limb,
To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim ;
The iron frame, inured to bear
Each dire inclemency of air, 50
Nor less confirmed to undergo
Fatigue's faint chill and famine's

throe.
These arts he proved, his life to

save,
In peril oft by land and wave,

328

ROKEBY

On Arawaca's desert shore,

Or where La Plata's billows roar,

When oft the sons of vengeful

Spain
Tracked the marauder's steps in

vain.
These arts, in Indian warfare

tried,
Must save him now by Greta's

side. 60

'T was then, in hour of utmost

need,
He proved his courage, art, and

speed.
Now slow he stalked with stealthy

pace,
Now started forth in rapid race,
Oft doubling back in mazy train
To blind the trace the dews retain ;
Now clomb the rocks projecting

high
To baffle the pursuer's eye ;
Now sought the stream, whose

brawling sound 69

The echo of his footsteps drowned.
But if the forest verge he nears,
There trample steeds, and glim-
mer spears ;
If deeper down the copse he drew,
He heard the rangers' loud halloo,
Beating each cover while they

came,
As if to start the sylvan game.
♦T was then — like tiger close be-
set
At every pass with toil and net,
'Countered where'er he turns his

glare
By clashing arms and torches'

flare, 80

Who meditates with furious bound
To burst on hunter, horse and

hound —
'T was then that Bertram's soul

arose,
Prompting to rush upon his foes :
But as that crouching tiger, cowed
By brandished steel and shouting

crowd,

Retreats beneath the jungle's

shroud,
Bertram suspends his purpose

stern,
And crouches in the brake and

fern,
Hiding his face lest foemen spy 90
The sparkle of his swarthy eye.

Then Bertram might the bearing

trace
Of the bold youth who led the

chase ;
Who paused to list for every

sound,
Climbed every height to look

around,
Then rushing on with naked

sword,
Each dingle's bosky depths ex-
plored.
'T was Redmond — by the azure

eye;
'T was Redmond — by the locks

that fly
Disordered from his glowing

cheek ; 100

Mien, face, and form young Red-
mond speak.
A form more active, light, and

strong,
Ne'er shot the ranks of war along ;
The modest yet the manly mien
Might grace the court of maiden

queen :
A face more fair you well might

find,
For Redmond's knew the sun and

wind,
Nor boasted, from their tinge when

free,
The charm of regularity ; 109

But every feature had the power
To aid the expression of the hour:
Whether gay wit and humor sly
Danced laughing in his light-blue

eye,
Or bended brow and glance of fire
And kindling cheek spoke Erin's

ire,

CANTO THIRD

329

Or soft aud saddened glances show
Her ready sympathy with woe ;
Or in that wayward mood of mind
When various feelings are com-
bined, 119
When joy and sorrow mingle near,
And hope's bright wings are

checked by fear,
And rising doubts keep transport

down,
And anger lends a short-lived

frown ;
In that strange mood which maids

approve
Even when they dare not call it

love —
With every change his features

played,
As aspens show the light and

shade,

Well Risingham young Redmond

knew,
And much he marvelled that the

crew,
Roused to revenge bold Mortham

dead 130

Were by that Morthain's foeman

led;
For never felt his soul the woe
That wails a generous foeman

low,
Far less that sense of justice

strong
That wreaks a generous foeman' s

wrong.
But small his leisure now to pause ;
Redmond is first, whate'er the

cause :
And twice that Redmond came so

near
Where Bertram couched like

hunted deer,
The very boughs his steps dis-
place 140
Rustled against the ruffian's face,
Who desperate twice prepared to

start,
And plunge his dagger in his

heart !

But Redmond turned a different

way,
And the bent boughs resumed

their sway,
And Bertram held it wise, un-
seen,
Deeper to plunge in coppice green.
Thus, circled in his coil, the snake,
When roving hunters beat the

brake,
Watches with red and glistening

eye, 150

Prepared, if heedless step draw

nigh,
With forked tongue and venomed

fang
Instant to dart the deadly pang ;
But if the intruders turn aside,
Away his coils unfolded glide,
And through the deep savannah

wind,
Some undisturbed retreat to find.

VII

But Bertram, as he backward drew,
And heard the loud pursuit re-

new,
And Redmond's hollo on the wind,
Oft muttered in his savage mind —
1 Redmond O'Neale ! were thou

and I 162

Alone this day's event to try,
With not a second here to see
But the gray cliff and oaken tree,
That voice of thine that shouts so

loud
Should ne'er repeat its summons

proud !
No ! nor e'er try its melting power
Again in maiden's summer bower.'
Eluded, now behind him die 170
Faint and more faint each hostile

cry;
He stands in Scargill wood alone,
Nor hears he now a harsher tone
Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive

cry,
Or Greta's sound that murmurs

by;
And on the dale, so lone and wild,
The summer sun in quiet smiled.

33°

ROKEBY

VIII

He listened long with anxious

heart,
Ear bent to hear and foot to start,
And, while his stretched attention

glows, 180

Refused his weary frame repose.
?T was silence all — he laid him

down,
Where purple heath profusely

strown,
And throatwort with its azure

bell,
And moss and thyme his cushion

swell.
There, spent with toil, he listless

eyed
The course of Greta's playful tide ;
Beneath her banks now eddying

dun, 188

Now brightly gleaming to the sun,
As, dancing over rock and stone,
In yellow light her currents shone,
Matching in hue the favorite gem
Of Al bin's mountain-diadem.
Then, tired to watch the currents

Play,
He turned his weary eyes away
To where the bank opposing

showed
Its huge, square cliffs through

shaggy wood.
One, prominent above the rest,
Reared to the sun its pale gray

breast; 199

Around its broken summit grew
The hazel rude and sable yew ;
A thousand varied lichens dyed
Its waste and weather-beaten side,
And round its rugged basis lay,
By time or thunder rent away,
Fragments that from its frontlet

torn
Were mantled now by verdant

thorn.
Such was the scene's wild majesty
That filled stern Bertram's gazing

eye.

In sullen mood he lay reclined, 210
Revolving in his stormy mind

The felon deed, the fruitless guilt,

His patron's blood by treason
spilt ;

A crime, it seemed, so dire and
dread

That it had power to wake the
dead.

Then, pondering on his life be-
trayed

By Oswald's art to Redmond's
blade,

In treacherous purpose to with-
hold,

So seemed it, Mortham's promised
gold,

A deep and full revenge he vowed

On Redmond, forward, fierce, and
proud; 221

Revenge on Wilfrid — on his sire

Redoubled vengeance, swift and
dire ! —

If, in such mood — as legends say,

And well believed that simple
day —

The Enemy of Man has power

To profit by the evil hour,

Here stood a wretch prepared to
change

His soul's redemption for revenge !

But though his vows with such a
fire 230

Of earnest and intense desire

For vengeance dark and fell were
made

As well might reach hell's lowest
shade,

No deeper clouds the grove em-
browned,

No nether thunders shook the
ground ;

The demon knew his vassal's heart,

And spared temptation's needless
art.

Oft, mingled with the direful

theme,
Came Mortham's form — was it a

dream?
Or had he seen in vision true 240
That very Mortham whom he slew?
Or had in living flesh appeared

CANTO THIRD

331

The only man on earth he

feared? —
To try the mystic cause intent,
His eyes that on the cliff were

bent
Countered at once a dazzling

glance,
Like sunbeam flashed from sword

or lance.
At once he started as for fight,
But not a foeman was in sight ;
He heard the cushat's murmur

hoarse, 250

He heard the river's sounding

course ;
The solitary woodlands lay,
As slumbering in the summer

ray.
He gazed, like lion roused, around,
Then sunk again upon the ground.
'T was but, he thought, some fitful

beam,
Glanced sudden from the sparkling

stream ;
Then plunged him in his gloomy

train
Of ill-connected thoughts again,
Until a voice behind him cried, 260
' Bertram ! well met on Greta side.'

Instant his sword was in his hand,
As instant sunk the ready brand ;
Yet, dubious still, opposed he

stood
To him that issued from the wood :
4 Guy Denzil !— is it thou?' he said ;
1 Do we two meet in Scargill

shade ! —
Stand back a space ! — thy purpose

show,
Whether thou comest as friend or

foe.
Report hath said, that Denzil's

name 270

From Eokeby's band was razed

with shame ' —
' A shame I owe that hot O'Neale,
Who told his knight in peevish

zeal
Of my marauding on the clowns

Of Calverley and Bradford downs.
I reck not. In a war to strive,
Where save the leaders none can

thrive,
Suits ill my mood; and better

game
Awaits us both, if thou 'rt the

same 279

Unscrupulous, bold Risingham
WTho wratched with me in midnight

dark
To snatch a deer from Rokeby-

park.
How think'st thou? ' — ' Speak thy

purpose out;
I love not mystery or doubt'

XII

1 Then list. — Not far there lurk a

crew
Of trusty comrades stanch and

true,
Gleaned from both factions —

Roundheads freed
From cant of sermon and of creed
And Cavaliers, wiiose souls like

mine 289

Spurn at the bonds of discipline.
Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold
A warfare of our owrn to hold
Than breathe our last on battle-
down
For cloak or surplice, mace or

crown.
Our schemes are laid, our purpose

set,
A chief and leader lack we yet.
Thou art a wanderer, it is said,
For Mortham's death thy steps

waylaid,
Thy head at price — so say our

spies,
Who ranged the valley in dis-
guise. 300
Join then with us: though wild

debate
And wrangling rend our infant

state,
Each, to an equal loath to bow,
Will yield to chief renowrned as

thou.' —

332

ROKEBY

XIII

1 Even now,' thought Bertram,
passion-stirred,

*I called on hell, and hell has
heard !

What lack I, vengeance to com-
mand,

But of stanch comrades such a
band?

This Denzil, vowed to every evil,

Might read a lesson to the devil.

Well, be it so ! each knave and

fOOl 311

Shall serve as my revenge's
tool.' —

Aloud, ■ I take thy proffer, Guy,

But tell me where thy comrades
lie.'

1 Not far from hence,' Guy Denzil
said;

1 Descend and cross the river's bed

Where rises yonder cliff so gray.'

' Do thou,' said Bertram, ' lead the
way.'

Then muttered, * It is best make
sure ;

Guy Denzil's faith was never
pure.' 320

He followed down the steep de-
scent,

Then through the Greta's streams
they went ;

And when they reached the far-
ther shore

They stood the lonely cliff before.

XIV

With wonder Bertram heard

within
The flinty rock a murmured din ;
But when Guy pulled the wilding

spray
And brambles from its base away,
He saw appearing to the air
A little entrance low and

square, 330

Like opening cell of hermit lone,
Dark winding through the living

stone.
Here entered Denzil, Bertram

here •

And loud and louder on their ear,
As from the bowels of the earth,
Resounded shouts of boisterous

mirth.
Of old the cavern strait and rude
In slaty rock the peasant hewed ;
And Brignall's woods and Scar-

gill's wave
E'en now o'er many a sister

cave, 340

Where, far within the darksome

rift,
The wedge and lever ply their

thrift.
But war had silenced rural trade,
And the deserted mine was made
The banquet-hall and fortress too
Of Denzil and his desperate crew.
There Guilt his anxious revel kept,
There on his sordid pallet slept
Guilt-born Excess, the goblet

drained
Still in his slumbering grasp re-
tained; 350
Regret was there, his eye still cast
With vain repining on the past ;
Among the feasters waited near
Sorrow and unrepentant Fear,
And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven,
With his own crimes reproaching

Heaven ;
While Bertram showed amid the

crew
The Master-Fiend that Milton

drew.

Hark ! the loud revel wakes again
To greet the leader of the train. 360
Behold the group by the pale lamp
That struggles with the earthy

damp.
By what strange features Vice

hath known
To single out and mark her own !
Yet some there are whose brows

retain
Less deeply stamped her brand

and stain.
See yon pale stripling! when a

boy,

CANTO THIRD

333

A mother's pride, a father's joy !
Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls

reclined,
An early image fills his mind : 370
The cottage once his sire's he sees,
Embowered upon the banks of

Tees;
He views sweet Winston's wood-
land scene,
And shares the dance on Gainford-

green.
A tear is springing — but the zest
Of some wild tale or brutal jest
Hath to loud laughter stirred the

rest.
On him they call, the aptest mate
For jovial song and merry feat :
Fast flies his dream — with daunt-
less air, 380
As one victorious o'er despair,
He bids the ruddy cup go round
Till sense and sorrow both are

drowned ;
And soon in merry wassail he,
The life of all their revelry,
Peals his loud song ! — The muse

has found
Her blossoms on the wildest

ground,
Mid noxious weeds at random

strewed,
Themselves all profitless and

rude. —
With desperate merriment he
sung, 390

The cavern to the chorus rung,
Yet mingled with his reckless glee
Remorse's bitter agony.

XVI

SONG

O, Brignall banks are wild and fair,

And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands
there

Would grace a summer queen.
And as I rode by Dalton-hall,

Beneath the turrets high,
A maiden on the castle wall 400

Was singing merrily, —

chorus

4 0, Brignall banks are fresh and
fair,
And Greta woods are green ;
I 'd rather rove with Edmund
there
Than reign our English queen.'

'If, maiden, thou wouldst wend
with me,
To leave both tower and town,
Thou first must guess what life
lead we
That dwell by dale and down ?
And if thou canst that riddle
read, 410

As read full well you may,
Then to the greenwood shalt thou
speed,
As blithe as Queen of May.'

CHORUS

Yet sung she, ' Brignall banks are
fair,
And Greta woods are green ;

I 'd rather rove with Edmund

there
Than reign our English queen.

XVII

I I read you, by your bugle horn,
And by your palfrey good,

I read you for a ranger sworn 420
To keep the king's greenwood.'

' A ranger, lady, winds his horn,
And 't is at peep of light ;

His blast is heard at merry morn,
And mine at dead of night.'

CHORUS

Yet sung she, ' Brignall banks are
fair,
And Greta woods are gay ;
I would I were with Edmund
there,
To reign his Queen of May !

4 With burnished brand and mus-
ketoon 430

So gallantly you come,

334

ROKEBY

I read you for a bold dragoon,
That lists the tuck of drum.'

I I list no more the tuck of drum,
No more the trumpet hear ;

But when the beetle sounds his
hum,
My comrades take the spear.

CHORUS

* And O, though Brignall banks be
fair,
And Greta woods be gay,
Yet mickle must the maiden
dare 440

Would reign my Queen of May !

XVIII

'Maiden l a nameless life I lead,

A nameless death I '11 die ;
The fiend whose lantern lights the
mead

Were better mate than I !
And when I 'm with my comrades
met

Beneath the greenwood bough,
What once we were we all forget,

Nor think what we are now.

CHORUS

4 Yet Brignall banks are fresh and
fair, 450

And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands
there
Would grace a summer queen.'

When Edmund ceased his simple

song,
Was silence on the sullen throng,
Till waked some ruder mate their

glee
With note of coarser minstrelsy.
But far apart in dark divan,
Denzil and Bertram many a plan
Of import foul and fierce designed,
While still on Bertram's grasping

mind 461

The wealth of murdered Mortham

hung;
Though half he feared his daring

tongue,

When it should give his wishes

birth,
Might raise a spectre from the

earth !

XIX

At length his wondrous tale he

told;
When scornful smiled his comrade

bold,
For, trained in license of a court,
Keligion's self was Denzil's sport ;
Then judge in what contempt he

held 470

The visionary tales of eld !
His awe for Bertram scarce re-
pressed
The unbeliever's sneering jest,
4 'T were hard,' he said, * for sage

or seer
To spell the subject of your fear ;
Nor do I boast the art renowned
Vision and omen to expound.
Yet, faith if I must needs afford
To spectre watching treasured

hoard,
As ban-dog keeps his master's

roof, 480

Bidding the plunderer stand aloof,
This doubt remains — thy goblin

gaunt
Hath chosen ill his ghostly

haunt ;
For why his guard on Mortham

hold,
When Rokeby castle hath the

gold
Thy patron won on Indian soil
By stealth, by piracy, and

spoil? ' —

At this he paused — for angry
shame

Lowered on the brow of Rising-
ham.

He blushed to think, that he
should seem 490

Assertor of an airy dream,

And gave his wrath another
theme.

CANTO THIRD

335

' Denzil,' he says, { though lowly

laid,
Wrong not the memory of the

dead;
For while he lived at Mortham's

look
Thy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook !
And when he taxed thy breach of

word
To yon fair rose of Allenford,
I saw thee crouch like chastened

hound
Whose hack the huntsman's lash

hath found. 500

Nor dare to call his foreign wealth
The spoil of piracy or stealth ;
He won it bravely with his brand
When Spain waged warfare with

our land.
Mark, too — I brook no idle jeer,
Nor couple Bertram's name with

fear;
Mine is but half the demon's lot,
For I believe, but tremble not.
Enough of this. Say, why this

hoard
Thou deem'st at Rokeby castle

stored; 510

Or think'st that Mortham would

bestow
His treasure with his faction's

foe?'

XXI

Soon quenched was Denzil's ill-
timed mirth ;

Rather he would have seen the
earth

Give to ten thousand spectres
birth

Than venture to awake to flame

The deadly wrath of Risingham.

Submisshe answered, ' Mortham's
mind,

Thou know'st, to joy was ill in-
clined, 519

In youth, >t is said, a gallant free,

A lusty reveller was he ;

But since returned from over
sea,

A sullen and a silent mood

Hath numbed the current of his

blood.
Hence he refused each kindly call
j To Rokeby's hospitable hall,
; And our stout knight, at dawn or

morn
j Who loved to hear the bugle-horn,
; Nor less, when eve his oaks em.

browned,
j To see the ruddy cup go round, 530
Took umbrage that a friend so

near
Refused to share his chase and

cheer ;
Thus did the kindred barons jar
Ere they divided in the war.
Yet, trust me, friend, Matilda fair
Of Mortham's wealth is destined
heir.'

XXII

1 Destined to her ! to yon slight

maid!
The prize my life had wellnigh

paid
When 'gainst Laroche by Cayo's

wave
I fought my patron's wealth to

save ! — 540

Denzil, I knew him long, yet ne'er
Knew him that joyous cavalier
Whom youthful friends and early

fame
Called soul of gallantry and game.
A moody man he sought our crew,
Desperate and dark, whom no one

knew,
And rose, as men with us must

rise,
By scorning life and all its ties.
On each adventure rash he roved,
As danger for itself he loved ; 550
On his sad brow nor mirth nor

wine
j Could e'er one wrinkled knot un-
twine ;
111 was the omen if he smiled,
I For 't was in peril stern and wild ;
But when he laughed each luck-

less mate
' Might hold our fortune desperate.

336

ROKEBY

Foremost he fought in every broil,
Then scornful turned him from

the spoil,
Nay, often strove to bar the way
Between his comrades and their

prey ; 560

Preaching even then to such as

we,
Hot with our dear-bought victory,
Of mercy and humanity.

XXIII

4 1 loved him well — his fearless

part,
His gallant leading, won my heart.
And after each victorious fight,
'Twas I that wrangled for his

right,
Redeemed his portion of the prey
That greedier mates had torn

away,
In field and storm thrice saved his

life, 570

And once amid our comrades'

strife. —
Yes, I have loved thee ! Well hath

proved
My toil, my danger, how I loved!
Yet will I mourn no more thy fate,
Ingrate in life,, in death ingrate.
Rise if thou canst ! ' he looked

around
And sternly stamped upon the

ground —
' Rise, with thy bearing proud and

high,
Even as this morn it met mine

eye,
And give me, if thou darest, the

lie ! ' 580

He paused — then, calm and pas-

sion-freed,
Bade Denzil with his tale pro-

ceed.

XXIV

1 Bertram, to thee I need not tell,
What thou hast cause to wot so

well,
How superstition's nets were

twined

Around the Lord of Mortham's

mind;
But since he drove thee from his

tower,
A maid he found in Greta's bower
Whose speech, like David's harp,

had sway
To charm his evil fiend away. 590
I know not if her features moved
Remembrance of the wife he loved,
But he would gaze upon her eye,
Till his mood softened to a sigh.
He, whom no living mortal sought
To question of his secret thought,
Now every thought and care con-
fessed
To his fair niece's faithful breast ;
Nor was there aught of rich and

rare,
In earth, in ocean, or in air, 600
But it must deck Matilda's hair.
Her love still bound him unto

life;
But then awoke the civil strife,
And menials bore by his com-
mands
Three coffers with their iron

bands
From Mortham's vault at midnight

deep
To her lone bower in Rokeby-

Keep,
Ponderous with gold and plate of

pride,
His gift, if he in battle died.'

XXV

' Then Denzil, as I guess, lays
train 610

These iron-banded chests to gain,

Else wherefore should he hover
here

Where many a peril waits him
near

For all his feats of war and peace,

For plundered boors, and harts of
greese ?

Since through the hamlets as he
fared

What hearth has Guy's maraud-
ing spared,

CANTO THIRD

337

Or where the chase that hath not

rung
With Denzil's bow at midnight

strung ? '
* I hold my wont — my rangers go,
Even now to track a milk-white

doe. 621

By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair,
In Greta wood she harbors fair,
And when my huntsman marks

her way,
What think'st thou, Bertram, of

the prey ?
Were Rokeby's daughter in our

power,
We rate her ransom at her dower.'

XXVI

"T is well! — there >s vengeance

in the thought,
Matilda is by Wilfrid sought ;
And hot-brained Redmond too, 't is

said, 630

Pays lover's homage to the maid.
Bertram she scorned — if met by

chance
She turned from me her shudder-
ing glance,
Like a nice dame that will not

brook
On what she hates and loathes to

look ;
She told to Mortham she could

ne'er
Behold me without secret fear,
Foreboding evil : — she may rue
To find her prophecy fall true ! —
The war has weeded Rokeby's

train, 640

Few followers in his halls remain ;
If thy scheme miss, then, brief and

bold,
We are enow to storm the hold,
Bear off the plunder and the dame,
And leave the castle all in flame.'

XXVII

1 Still art thou Valor's venturous

son!
Yet ponder first the risk to run :
The menials of the castle, true

And stubborn to their charge,
though few —

The wall to scale — the moat to
cross — 650

The wicket - grate — the inner
fosse ' —

'Fool! if we blench for toys like
these,

On what fair guerdon can we
seize ?

Our hardiest venture, to explore

Some wretched peasant's fence-
less door,

And the best prize we bear away,

The earnings of his sordid day.'

kA while thy hasty taunt for-
bear:

In sight of road more sure and
fair

Thou wouldst not choose, in blind-
fold wrath 660

Or wantonness a desperate path ?

List, then; — for vantage or as-
sault,

From gilded vane to dungeon
vault,

Each pass of Hoke by -house I
know :

There is one postern dark and
low

That issues at a secret spot,

By most neglected or forgot.

Now, could a spial of our train

On fair pretext admittance gain,

That sally-port might be unbarred ;

Then, vain were battlement and
ward ! ' 67 1

XXVIII

4 Now speak'st thou well : to me

the same
If force or art shall urge the

game;
Indifferent if like fox I wind,
Or spring like tiger on the hind. —
But, hark ! our merry men so gay
Troll forth another roundelay.'

SONG

1 A weary lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine l

338

ROKEBY

To pull the thorn thy brow to
braid, 680

And press the rue for wine !
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,

A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green, —
No more of me you knew,

My love !
No more of me you knew.

1 This morn is merry June, I trow,

The rose is budding fain ;
But she shall bloom in winter
snow 690

Ere we two meet again.'
He turned his charger as he spake

Upon the river shore,
He gave his bridle-reins a shake,

Said, ' Adieu for evermore,

My love !
And adieu for evermore.'

XXIX

1 What youth is this your band

among 698

The best for minstrelsy and song?
In his wild notes seem aptly met
A strain of pleasure and regret.' —
* Edmund of Winston is his name ;
The hamlet sounded with the fame
Of early hopes his childhood

gave, —
Now centred all in Brignall cave !
I watch him well — his wayward

course
Shows oft a tincture of remorse.
Some early love-shaft grazed his

heart,
And oft the scar will ache and

smart.
Yet is he useful ; — of the rest 710
By fits the darling and the jest,
His harp, his story, and his lay,
Oft aid the idle hours away :
When unemployed, each fiery mate
Is ripe for mutinous debate.
He tuned his strings e'en now —

again
He wakes them with a blither

strain.'

XXX

SONG
ALLEN-A-DALE

Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burn-
ing,

Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for
turning,

Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the
spinning, 720

Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for
the winning.

Come, read me my riddle! come,
hearken my tale !

And tell me the craft of bold Allen-
a-Dale.

The Baron of Ravens worth prances

in pride,
And he views his domains upon

Arkindale side.
The mere for his net and the land

for his game,
The chase for the wild and the

park for the tame ;
Yet the fish of the lake and the

deer of the vale
Are less free to Lord Dacre than

Allen-a-Dale I

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a
knight, 730

Though his spur be as sharp and
his blade be as bright;

Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord,

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw
at his word ;

And the best of our nobles his bon-
net will vail,

Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore
meets Allen-a-Dale !

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ;
The mother, she asked of his

household and home :
' Though the castle of Richmond

stand fair on the hill,
My hall,' quoth bold Allen, * shows

gallanter still ;

CANTO FOURTH

339

'T is the blue vault of heaven,
with its crescent so pale 740

And with all its bright spangles ! '
said Allen-a-Dale.

The father was steel and the mo-
ther was stone ;

They lifted the latch and they
bade him be gone :

But loud on the morrow their wail
and their cry :

He had laughed on the lass with
his bonny black eye,

And she fled to the forest to hear
a love-tale,

And the youth it was told by was
Allen-a-Dale !

XXXI

'Thou see'st that, whether sad or

gay,
Love mingles ever in his lay. 749
But when his boyish wayward fit
Is o'er, he hath address and wit ;
O, t is a brain of fire, can ape
Each dialect, each various

shape ! ' —
' Nay, then, to aid thy project,

Guy-
Soft ! who comes here ? '— ' My

trusty spy.
Speak, Hamlin ! hast thou lodged

our deer?'—
4 1 have — but two fair stags are

near.
I watched her as she slowly

strayed
From Egliston up Thorsgill glade,
But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her

side, 760

And then young Redmond in his

pride
Shot down to meet them on their

way;
Much, as it seemed, was theirs to

say:
There 's time to pitch both toil

and net
Before their path be homeward

set.'
A hurried and a whispered speech

Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach,
Who, turning to the robber band,
Bade four, the bravest, take the
brand.

CANTO FOURTH

Whex Denmark's raven soared
on high,

Triumphant through Northum-
brian sky,

Till hovering near her fatal croak

Bade Reged's Britons dread the
yoke,

And the broad shadow of her wing

Blackened each cataract and
spring

Where Tees in tumult leaves his
source,

Thundering o'er Caldron and High-
Force ;

Beneath the shade the Northmen
came, q

Fixed on each vale a Runic name,

Reared high their altar's rugged
stone,

And gave their gods the land they
won.

Then, Balder, one bleak garth was
thine

And one sweet brooklet's silver
line,

And Woden's Croft did title gain

From the stern Father of the
Slain ;

But to the Monarch of the Mace,

That held in fight the foremost
place.

To Odin's son and Sifia's spouse,

Near Stratforth high they paid
their vows, 20

Remembered Thor's victorious
fame,

And gave the dell the Thunder-
er's name.

Yet Scald or Kemper erred, I ween
Who gave that soft and quiet
scene,

340

ROKEBY

With all its varied light and shade,
And every little sunny glade,
And the blithe brook that strolls

along
Its pebbled bed with summer song,
To the grim God of blood and

scar,
The grisly King of Northern

War. 30

O, better were its banks assigned
To spirits of a gentler kind !
For where the thicket-groups re-
cede
And the rathe primrose decks the

mead,
The velvet grass seems carpet

meet
For the light fairies' lively feet.
Yon tufted knoll with daisies

strown
Might make proud Oberon a

throne,
While, hidden in the thicket nigh,
Puck should brood o'er his frolic

sly ; 40

And where profuse the wood-vetch

clings
Round ash and elm in verdant

rings,
Its pale and azure-pencilled flower
Should canopy Titania's bower.

Here rise no cliffs the yale to
shade ;

But, skirting every sunny glade,

In fair variety of green

The woodland lends its sylvan
screen.

Hoary yet haughty, frowns the
oak,

Its boughs by weight of ages
broke ; 50

And towers erect in sable spire

The pine-tree scathed by lightning-
fire;

The drooping ash and birch be-
tween

Hang their fair tresses o'er the
green,

And all beneath at random grow

Each coppice dwarf of varied
show,

Or, round the stems profusely
twined,

Fling summer odors on the wind.

Such varied group TJrbino's hand

Round Him of Tarsus nobly
planned, 60

What time he bade proud Athens
own

On Mars's Mount the God Un-
known !

Then gray Philosophy stood nigh,

Though bent by age, in spirit high :

There rose the scar-seamed veter-
an's spear,

There Grecian Beauty bent to hear,

While Childhood at her foot was
placed,

Or clung delighted to her waist.

1 And rest we here,' Matilda said,
And sat her in the varying

shade. 70

' Chance-met, we well may steal an

hour,
To friendship due from fortune's

power.
Thou, Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend
Thy counsel to thy sister-friend ;
And, Redmond, thou, at my be-
hest,
No farther urge thy desperate

quest.
For to my care a charge is left,
Dangerous to one of aid bereft,
Wellnigh an orphan and alone,
Captive her sire, her house o'er-

thrown.' 80

Wilfrid, with wonted kindness

graced,
Beside her on the turf she placed;
Then paused with downcast look

and eye,
Nor bade young Redmond seat

him nigh.
Her conscious diffidence he saw,
Drew backward as in modest awe,
And sat a little space removed,
Unmarked to gaze on her he loved.

CANTO FOURTH

341

Wreathed in its dark-brown rings,

her hair 89

Half hid Matilda's forehead fair,
Half hid and half revealed to view
Her full dark eye of hazel hue.
The rose with faint and feeble

streak
So slightly tinged the maiden's

cheek
That you had said her hue was

pale;
But if she faced the summer gale,
Or spoke, or sung, or quicker

moved,
Or heard the praise of those she

loved,
Or when of interest was expressed
Aught that waked feeling in her

breast, 100

The mantling blood in ready play
Rivalled the blush of rising day.
There was a soft and pensive

grace,
A cast of thought upon her face,
That suited well the forehead high,
The eyelash dark and downcast

eye;
The mild expression spoke a mind
In duty firm, composed, re-
signed ; —
'Tis that which Roman art has

given,
To mark their maiden Queen of

Heaven. no

In hours of sport that mood gave

way
To Fancy's light and frolic play ;
And when the dance, or tale, or

song
In harmless mirth sped time along,
Full oft her doting sire would call
His Maud the merriest of them all.
But days of war and civil crime
Allowed but ill such festal time,
And her soft pensiveness of brow
Had deepened into sadness now.
In Marston field her father ta'en,
Her friends dispersed, brave Mor-

tham slain, 122

While every ill her soul foretold

From Oswald's thirst of power

and gold,
And boding thoughts that she

must part
With a soft vision of her heart,—
All lowered around the lovely

maid,
To darken her dejection's shade.

Who has not heard — while Erin

yet
Strove 'gainst the Saxon's iron

bit — 13°

Who has not heard how brave

O'Neale
In English blood imbrued his steel,
Against Saint George's cross »

blazed high
The banners of his Tanistry,
To fiery Essex gave the foil,
And reigned a prince on Ulster's

soil?
But chief arose his victor pride
When that brave Marshal fought

and died,
And Avon-Duff to ocean bore 139
His billows red with Saxon gore.
'T was first in that disastrous

fight
Rokeby and Mortham proved their

might.
There had they fallen amongst the

rest,
But pity touched a chieftain's

breast ;
The Tanist he to great O'Xeale,
He checked his followers' bloody

zeal,
To quarter took the kinsmen bold,
And bore them to his mountain-
hold,
Gave them each sylvan joy to

know
Slieve-Donard's cliffs and woods

could show, 150

Shared with them Erin's festal

cheer,
Showed them the chase of wolf

and deer,
And, when a fitting time was come

342

ROKEBY

Safe and unransomed sent them

home,
Loaded with many a gift to prove
A generous foe's respect and love.

VII

Years speed away. On Kokeby's

head
Some touch of early snow was

shed;
Calm he enjoyed by Greta's wave
The peace which James the Peace-
ful gave, 1 60
While Mortham far beyond the

main
Waged his fierce wars on Indian

Spain. —
It chanced upon a wintry night
That whitened Stanmore's stormy

height,
The chase was o'er, the stag was

killed,
In Eokeby hall the cups were filled,
And by the huge stone chimney

sate
The knight in hospitable state.
Moonless the sky, the hour was

late,
When a loud summons shook the

gate, 170

And sore for entrance and for aid
A voice of foreign accent prayed.
The porter answered to the call,
And instant rushed into the hall
A man whose aspect and attire
Startled the circle by the fire.

VIII

His plaited hair in elf-locks spread
Around his bare and matted head ;
On leg and thigh, close stretched

and trim,
His vesture showed the sinewy

limb ; 180

In saffron dyed, a linen vest
Was frequent folded round his

breast ;
A mantle long and loose he wore,
Shaggy with ice and stained with

gore.
He clasped a burden to his heart,

And, resting on a knotted dart,
The snow from hair and beard he

shook,
And round him gazed with wil-

dered look.
Then up the hall with staggering

pace 189

He hastened by the blaze to place,
Half lifeless from the bitter air,
His load, a boy of beauty rare.
To Eokeby next he louted low,
Then stood erect his tale to show
With wild majestic port and tone,
Like envoy of some barbarous

throne.
'Sir Richard, Lord of Eokeby,

hear!
Tur lough O'Neale salutes thee

dear;
He graces thee, and to thy care
Young Eedmond gives, his grand-
son fair. 200
He bids thee breed him as thy son,
For Turlough's days of joy are

done,
And other lords have seized his

land,
And faint and feeble is his hand,
And all the glory of Tyrone
Is like a morning vapor flown.
To bind the duty on thy soul,
He bids thee think on Erin's bowl !
If any wrrong the young O'Neale,
He bids thee think of Erin's steel.
To Mortham first this charge wras

due, 2 1 1

But in his absence honors you. —
Now is my master's message by,
And Ferraught will contented die.'

His look grew fixed, his cheek

grew pale,
He sunk when he had told his tale ;
For, hid beneath his mantle wide,
A mortal wound was in his side.
Vain was all aid — in terror wild
And sorrow screamed the orphan

child. 220

Poor Ferraught raised his wistful

eyes,

CANTO FOURTH

343

And faintly strove to soothe his

cries;
All reckless of his dying pain,
He blest and blest him o'er again,
And kissed the little hands out-
spread,
And kissed and crossed the infant

head,
And in his native tongue and

phrase
Prayed to each saint to watch his

days;
Then all his strength together

drew
The charge to Rokeby to renew.
When half was faltered from his

breast, 231

And half by dying signs expressed,
■ Bless thee, O'Xeale ! ' he faintly

said,
And thus the faithful spirit fled.

'T was long ere soothing might

prevail
Upon the child to end the tale :
And then he said that from his

home
His grandsire had been forced to

roam,
Which had not been if Redmond's

hand
Had but had strength to draw the

brand, 240

The brand of Lenaugh More the

Red,
That hung beside the gray wolf's

head. —
'T was from his broken phrase de-
scried,
His foster father was his guide,
Who in his charge from Ulster

bore
Letters and gifts a goodly store ;
But ruffians met them in the

wood,
Ferraught in battle boldly stood,
Till wounded and o'erpowered at

length,
And stripped of all, his failing

strength 250

Just bore him here — and then the

child
Renewed again his moaning wild.

The tear down childhood's cheek

that flows
Is like the dewdrop on the rose ;
When next the summer breeze

comes by
And waves the bush, the flower is

dry.
Won by their care, the orphan

child
Soon on his new protector smiled,
With dimpled cheek and eye so

fair,
Through his thick curls of flaxen

hair, 260

But blithest laughed that cheek

and eye,
When Rokeby's little maid was

nigh ;
'T was his with elder brother's

pride
Matilda's tottering steps to guide ;
His native lays in Irish tongue
To soothe her infant ear he sung,
And primrose twined with daisy

faii-
To form a chaplet for her hair.
By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's

strand,
The children still were hand in

hand, 270

And good Sir Richard smiling eyed
The early knot so kindly tied.

XII

But summer months bring wilding

shoot
From bud to bloom, from bloom

to fruit ;
And years draw on our human

span
From child to boy, from boy to

man;
And soon in Rokeby's woods is

seen
A gallant boy in hunter's green.
He loves to wake the felon boar

344

ROKEBY

In his dark haunt on Greta's

shore, 280

And loves against the deer so dun
To draw the shaft, or lift the gun :
Yet more he loves in autumn prime
The hazel's spreading boughs to

climb,
And down its clustered store to

hail
Where young Matilda holds her

veil.
And she whose veil receives the

shower
Is altered too and knows her

power,
Assumes a monitress's pride
Her Redmond's dangerous sports

to chide, 296

Yet listens still to hear him tell
How the grim wild-boar fought

and fell,
How at his fall the bugle rung,
Till rock and greenwood answer

flung;
Then blesses her that man can find
A pastime of such savage kind 1

XIII

But Redmond knew to weave his

tale
So well with praise of wood and

dale,
And knew so well each point to

trace 299

Gives living interest to the chase,
And knew so well o'er all to throw
His spirit's wild romantic glow,
That, while she blamed and while

she feared,
She loved each venturous tale she

heard.
Oft, too, when drifted snow and

rain
To bower and hall their steps re-
strain,
Together they explored the page
Of glowing bard or gifted sage ;
Oft, placed the evening fire beside,
The minstrel art alternate tried,
While gladsome harp and lively

lay 311

Bade winter-night flit fast away :

Thus, from their childhood blend-
ing still

Their sport, their study, and their
skill,

An union of the soul they prove,

But must not think that it was
love.

But though they dared not, envious
Fame

Soon dared to give that union
name ;

And when so often side by side

From year to year the pair she
eyed, 320

She sometimes blamed the good
old knight

As dull of ear and dim of sight,

Sometimes his purpose would de-
clare

That young O'Neale should wed
his heir.

XIV

The suit of Wilfrid rent disguise
And bandage from the lovers'

eyes;
'T was plain that Oswald for his

son
Had Rokeby's favor wellnigh won.
Now must they meet with change

of cheer,
With mutual looks of shame and

fear; 330

Now must Matilda stray apart
To school her disobedient heart,
And Redmond now alone must rue
The love he never can subdue.
But factions rose, and Rokeby

sware
No rebel's son should wed his

heir;
And Redmond, nurtured while a

child
In many a bard's traditions wild,
Now sought the lonely wood or

stream,
To cherish there a happier

dream 340

Of maiden won by sword or lance,
As in the regions of romance ;

CANTO FOURTH

345

And count the heroes of his line,
Great Nial of the Pledges Nine,
Shane-Dymas wild, and Geraldine,
And Connan-inore, who vowed his

race
Forever to the fight and chase,
And cursed him of his lineage born
Should sheathe the sword to reap

the corn,
Or leave the mountain and the

wold 350

To shroud himself in castled hold.
From such examples hope he

drew,
And brightened as the trumpet

blew.

If brides were won by heart and

blade,
Redmond had both his cause to aid,
And all beside of nurture rare
That might beseem a baron's heir.
Turlough O'Neale in Erin's strife
On Rokeby's Lord bestowed his

life,
And well did Rokeby's generous

knight 360

Young Redmond for the deed re-

quite.
Nor was his liberal care and cost
Upon the gallant stripling lost :
Seek the North Riding broad and

wide,
Like Redmond none could steed

bestride ;
From Tynemouth search to Cum-
berland,
Like Redmond none could wield a

brand ;
And then, of humor kind and free,
And bearing him to each degree
With frank and fearless courtesy,
There never youth was formed to

steal 371

Upon the heart like brave O'Neale.

xvi

Sir Richard loved him as his son ;
And when the days of peace were
done,

And to the gales of war he gave

The banner of his sires to wave,

Redmond, distinguished by his
care,

He chose that honored flag to
bear,

And named his page, the next de-
gree

In that old time to chivalry. 380

In five pitched fields he well main-
tained

The honored place his worth ob-
tained,

And high was Redmond's youth-
ful name

Blazed in the roll of martial fame.

Had fortune smiled on Marston
fight,

The eve had seen him dubbed a
knight ;

Twice mid the battle's doubtful
strife

Of Rokeby's Lord he saved the
life,

But when he saw him prisoner
made,

He kissed and then resigned his
blade, 390

And yielded him an easy prey

To those who led the knight away,

Resolved Matilda's sire should
prove

In prison, as in fight, his love.

XVII

When lovers meet in adverse hour,
'T is like a sun-glimpse through a

shower,
A watery ray an instant seen
The darkly closing clouds between.
As Redmond on the turf reclined,
The past and present filled his

mind : 400

' It was not thus,' Affeetion said,
1 1 dreamed of my return, dear

maid !
Not thus when from thy trembling

hand
I took the banner and the brand,
When round me, as the bugles

blew,

346

ROKEBY

Their blades three hundred war-

riors drew,
And, while the standard I un-
rolled,
Clashed their bright arms, with

clamor bold.
Where is that banner now ? — its

pride
Lies whelmed in Ouse's sullen

tide! 4 to

Where now these warriors? — in

their gore
They cumber Marston's dismal

moor!
And what avails a useless brand,
Held by a captive's shackled hand,
That only would his life retain
To aid thy sire to bear his chain ! '
Thus Redmond to himself apart,
Nor lighter was his rival's heart :
For Wilfrid, while his generous

soul
Disdained to profit by control, 420
By many a sign could mark too

plain,
Save with such aid, his hopes were

vain.
But now Matilda's accents stole
On the dark visions of their soul,
And bade their mournful musing

fly,

Like mist before the zephyr's sigh.

XVIII

' I need not to my friends recall,
How Mortham shunned my father' s

hall,
A man of silence*and of woe,
Yet ever anxious to bestow 430
On my poor self whate'er could

prove
A kinsman's confidence and love.
My feeble aid could sometimes

chase
The clouds of sorrow for a space ;
But oftener, fixed beyond my

power,
I marked his deep despondence

lower.
One dismal cause, by all un-

guessed,

His fearful confidence confessed ;
And twice it was my hap to see
Examples of that agony 440

Which for a season can o'erstrain
And wreck the structure of the

brain.
He had the awful power to know
The approaching mental over-
throw,
And while his mind had courage

yet
To struggle with the dreadful fit,
The victim writhed against its

throes,
Like wretch beneath a murderer's

blows.
This malady, I well could mark,
Sprung from some direful cause
and dark, 450

But still he kept its source con-
cealed,
Till arming for the civil field ;
Then in my charge he bade me

hold
A treasure huge of gems and gold,
With this disjointed dismal scroll
That tells the secret of his soul
In such wild words as oft betray
A mind by anguish forced astray.'

XIX

MORTHAM' S HISTORY

* Matilda! thou hast seen me

start,
As if a dagger thrilled my heart,
When it has happed some casual

phrase 461

Waked memory of my former days.
Believe that few can backward

cast
Their thought with pleasure on the

past;
But I! — my youth was rash and

vain,
And blood and rage my manhood

stain,
And my gray hairs must now de-
scend
To my cold grave without a

friend !

CANTO FOURTH

347

Even thou, Matilda, wilt disown

Thy kinsman when his guilt is
known. 470

And must I lift the bloody veil

That hides my dark and fatal tale ?

I must — I will — Pale phantom,
cease !

Leave me one little hour in peace !

Thus haunted, think'st thou I have
skill

Thine own commission to fulfil?

Or, while thou point'st with ges-
ture fierce

Thy blighted cheek, thy bloody
hearse,

How can I paint thee as thou
wert,

So fair in face, so warm in heart ! —

'Yes, she was fair ! — Matilda,
thou 481

Hast a soft sadness on thy brow ;
But hers was like the sunny glow,
That laughs on earth and all be-
low!
We wedded secret — there was

need —
Differing in country and in creed ;
And when to Mortham's tower she

came,
We mentioned not her race and

name,
Until thy sire, who fought afar,
Should turn him home from foreign
war 490

On whose kind influence we relied
To soothe her father's ire and

pride.
Few months we lived retired, un-
known
To all but one dear friend alone,
One darling friend — I spare his

shame,
T will not write the villain's name !
My trespasses I might forget,
And sue in vengeance for the debt
Due by a brother worm to me,
Ungrateful to God's clemency, 500
That spared me penitential time,
Nor cut me off amid my crime. —

XXI

4 A kindly smile to all she lent,
But on her husband's friend 't was

bent
So kind that from its harmless glee
The wretch misconstrued villany.
Repulsed in his presumptuous

love,
A vengeful snare the traitor wove.
Alone we sat — the flask had

flowed,
My blood with heat unwonted

glowed, 510

When through the alleyed walk

we spied
With hurried step my Edith glide,
Cowering beneath the verdant

screen,
As one unwilling to be seen.
Words cannot paint the fiendish

smile
That curled the traitor's cheek the

while !
Fiercely I questioned of the cause ;
He made a cold and artful pause,
Then prayed it might not chafe

my mood —
" There was a gallant in the

wood!" 520

We had been shooting at the

deer;
My cross - bow — evil chance ! —

was near :
That ready weapon of my wrath
I caught and, hasting up the path,
In the yew grove my wife I found ;
A stranger's arms her neck had

bound !
I marked his heart — the bow I

drew —
I loosed the shaft — 't was more

than true !
I found my Edith's dying charms
Locked in her murdered brother's

arms ! 530

He came in secret to inquire
Her state and reconcile her sire.

xxn
'All fled my rage — the villain
first

348

ROKEBY

Whose craft my jealousy had

nursed ;
He sought in far and foreign clime
To 'scape the vengeance of his

crime.
The manner of the slaughter done
Was known to few, my guilt to

none ;
Some tale my faithful steward

framed —
I know not what — of shaft mis-
aimed ; 540
And even from those the act who

knew
He hid the hand from which it

flew.
Untouched by human laws I stood,
But God had heard the cry of

blood !
There is a blank upon my mind,
A fearful vision ill-defined
Of raving till my flesh was torn,
Of dungeon - bolts and fetters

worn —
And when I waked to woe more

mild
And questioned of my infant

child— 550

Have I not written that she

bare
A boy, like summer morning

fair?—
With looks confused my menials

tell
That armed men in Mortham

dell
Beset the nurse's evening way,
And bore her with her charge

away.
My faithless friend, and none but

he,
Could profit by this villany ;
Him then I sought with purpose

dread
Of treble vengeance on his head !
He 'scaped me-— but my bosom's

wound 561

Some faint relief from wandering

found,
And over distant land and sea
I bore my load of misery.

XXIII

1 'T was then that fate my foot.

steps led
Among a daring crew and dread,
With whom full oft my hated life
I ventured in such desperate strife
That even my fierce associates

saw
My frantic deeds with doubt and

awe. 570

Much then I learned and much

can show
Of human guilt and human woe,
Yet ne'er have in my wanderings

known
A wretch whose sorrows matched

my own ! —
It chanced that after battle fray
Upon the bloody field we lay ;
The yellow moon her lustre shed
Upon the wounded and the dead,
While, sense in toil and wassail

drowned,
My ruffian comrades slept around,
There came a voice — its silver

tone 581

Was soft, Matilda, as thine own —
"Ah, wretch!" it said, "what

mak'st thou here,
While unavenged my bloody bier,
While unprotected lives mine heir
Without a father's name and

care?"

XXIV

' I heard — obeyed — and home-
ward drew ;
The fiercest of our desperate crew
I brought, at time of need to aid
My purposed vengeance long de-
layed. 590
But humble be my thanks to Hea-
ven
That better hopes and thoughts

has given,
And by our Lord's dear prayer has

taught
Mercy by mercy must be bought ! —
Let me in misery rejoice —
I 've seen his face — T 've heard
his voice —

CANTO FOURTH

349

I claimed of him my only child —
As he disowned the theft, he

smiled !
That very calm and callous look,
That fiendish sneer his visage

took, 600

As when he said, in scornful

mood,
" There is a gallant in the

wood ! " —
I did not slay him as he stood —
All praise be to my Maker given !
Long sufferance is one path to

heaven.'

XXV

Thus far the woful tale was heard
When something in the thicket

stirred.
Up Redmond sprung; the villain

Guy —
For he it was that lurked so nigh —
Drew back — he durst not cross

his steel 610

A moment's space with brave

O'Neale
For all the treasured gold that

rests
In Mortham's iron-banded chests.
Redmond resumed his seat; — he

said
Some roe was rustling in the

shade.
Bertram laughed grimly when he

saw
His timorous comrade backward

draw ;
1 A trusty mate art thou, to fear
A single arm, and aid so near! 619
Yet have I seen thee mark a deer.
Give me thy carabine — I '11 show
An art that thou wilt gladly know,
How thou mayst safely quell a

foe.'

XXVI

On hands and knees fierce Ber-
tram drew

The spreading birch and hazels
through,

Till he had Redmond full in view;

The gun he levelled — Mark like

this
Was Bertram never known to

miss,
When fair opposed to aim there

sate
An object of his mortal hate. 630
That day young Redmond's death

had seen,
But twice Matilda came between
The carabine and Redmond's

breast
Just ere the spring his finger

pressed.
A deadly oath the ruffian swore,
But yet his fell design forbore :
' It ne'er,' he muttered, ' shall be

said
That thus I scathed thee, haughty

maid ! '
Then moved to seek more open

aim,
When to his side Guy Denzil

came : 640

1 Bertram, forbear ! — we are un-
done
Forever, if thou fire the gun.
By all the fiends, an armed force
Descends the dell of foot and

horse !
We perish if they hear a shot —
Madman ! we have a safer plot —
Nay, friend, be ruled, and bear

thee back !
Behold, down yonder hollow track
The warlike leader of the band
Comes with his broadsword in his

hand.' 650

Bertram looked up; he saw, he

knew
That DenziPs fears had counselled

true,
Then cursed his fortune and with-
drew,
Threaded the woodlands unde-

scried,
And gained the cave on Greta

side.

XXVII

They whom dark Bertram in his
wrath

350

ROKEBY

Doomed to captivity or death,
Their thoughts to one sad subject

lent,
Saw not nor heard the ambush-

ment.
Heedless and unconcerned they

sate 660

While on the very verge of fate,
Heedless and unconcerned re-
mained
When Heaven the murderer's arm

restrained ;
As ships drift darkling down the

tide,
Nor see the shelves o'er which

they glide.
Uninterrupted thus they heard
What Mortham's closing tale de-
clared.
He spoke of wealth as of a

load
By fortune on a wretch bestowed,
In bitter mockery of hate, 670
His cureless woes to aggravate ;
But yet he prayed Matilda's

care
Might save that treasure for his

heir —
His Edith's son — for still he

raved
As confident his life was saved ;
In frequent vision, he averred,
He saw his face, his voice he

heard,
Then argued calm-— had murder

been,
The blood, the corpses, had been

seen ; 679

Some had pretended, too, to mark
On Windermere a stranger bark,
Whose crew, with jealous care yet

mild,
Guarded a female and a child.
While these faint proofs he told

and pressed,
Hope seemed to kindle in his

breast ;
Though inconsistent, vague, and

vain,
It warped his judgment and his

brain.

XXVIII

These solemn words his story

close : —
'Heaven witness for me that I

chose
My part in this sad civil fight 690
Moved by no cause but England's

right.
My country's groans have bid me

draw
My sword for gospel and for

law ; —
These righted, I fling arms aside
And seek my son through Europe

wide.
My wealth, on which a kinsman

nigh
Already casts a grasping eye,
With thee may unsuspected lie.
When of my death Matilda hears,
Let her retain her trust three

years ; 700

If none from me the treasure

claim,
Perished is Mortham's race and

name.
Then let it leave her generous

hand,
And flow in bounty o'er the land,
Soften the wounded prisoner's lot,
Eebuild the peasant's ruined cot ;
So spoils, acquired by fight afar,
Shall mitigate domestic war.'

XXIX

The generous youths, who well
had known

Of Mortham's mind the powerful
tone, 710

To that high mind by sorrow
swerved

Gave sympathy his woes de-
served :

But Wilfrid chief, who saw re-
vealed

Why Mortham wished his life con.
cealed,

In secret, doubtless, to pursue

The schemes his wildered fancy
drew.

Thoughtful he heard Matilda tell

CANTO FOURTH

3Si

That she would share her father's

cell,
His partner of captivity,
Where'er his prison-house should

be ; 720

Yet grieved to think that Rokebv-

hall,
Dismantled and forsook by all,
Open to rapine and to stealth,
Had now no safeguard for the

wealth
Intrusted by her kinsman kind
And for such noble use designed.
' Was Barnard Castle then her

choice,'
Wilfrid inquired with hasty voice,
' Since there the victor's laws or-
dain 729
Her father must a space remain ? •
A fluttered hope his accent shook,
A fluttered joy was in his look.
Matilda hastened to reply,
For anger flashed in Redmond's

eye; —
1 Duty,' she said, with gentle grace,
1 Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of

place ;
Else had I for my sire assigned
Prison less galling to his mind
Than that his wild-wood haunts

which sees
And hears the murmur of the

Tees, 740

Recalling thus with every glance
What captive's sorrow can en-
hance ;
But where those woes are highest,

there
Needs Rokeby most his daughter's

care.'

XXX

He felt the kindly check she gave,
And stood abashed — then an-
swered grave :
* I sought thy purpose, noble maid,
Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes

to aid.
I have beneath mine own com-

maud,
So wills my sire, a gallant band,

And well could send some horse-
men wight 751
To bear the treasure forth by

night,
And so bestow it as you deem
In these ill days may safest seem.'
4 Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks,'

she said :
c O, be it not one day delayed !
And, more thy sister-friend to aid,
Be thou thyself content to hold
In thine own keeping Mortham's

goldi
Safest with thee.' — While thus
she spoke, 760

Armed soldiers on their converse

broke,
The same of whose approach

afraid
The ruffians left their ambuscade.
Their chief to Wilfrid bended low,
Then looked around as for a foe.
• What mean'st thou, friend,' young

Wycliffe said,
' Why thus in arms beset the

glade ? ' —
4 That would I gladly learn from

you;
For up my squadron as I drew
To exercise our martial game 770
Upon the moor of Barninghame,
A stranger told you were waylaid,
Surrounded, and to death be-
trayed.
He had a leader's voice, I ween,
A falcon's glance, a warrior's

mien.
He bade me bring you instant aid ;
I doubted not and I obeyed.'

XXXI

Wilfrid changed color, and amazed
Turned short and on the speaker

gazed,
While Redmond every thicket

round 780

Tracked earnest as a questing

hound,
And Denzil's carabine he found j
Sure evidence by which they knew
The warning was as kind as true.

352

ROKEBY

Wisest it seemed with cautious

speed
To leave the dell. It was agreed
That Redmond with Matilda fair
And fitting guard should home re-

pair ;
At nightfall Wilfrid should attend
With a strong band his sister-
friend, 790
To bear with her from Rokeby's

bowers
To Barnard Castle's lofty towers
Secret and safe the banded chests
In which the wealth of Mortham

rests.
This hasty purpose fixed, they

part,
Each with a grieved and anxious

heart.

CANTO FIFTH

The sultry summer day is done,
The western hills have hid the

sun,
But mountain peak and village

spire
Retain reflection of his fire.
Old Barnard's towers are purple

still
To those that gaze from Toller-
hill;
Distant and high, the tower of

Bowes
Like steel upon the anvil glows ;
And Stanmore's ridge behind that

lay
Rich with the spoils of parting

day, 10

In crimson and in gold arrayed,
Streaks yet awhile the closing

shade,
Then slow resigns to darkening

heaven
The tints which brighter hours

had given.
Thus aged men full loath and

slow
The vanities of life forego,

And count their youthful follies

o'er
Till memory lends her light no

more.

The eve that slow on upland fades
Has darker closed on Rokeby's

glades 20

Where, sunk within their banks

profound,
Her guardian streams to meeting

wound.
The stately oaks, whose sombre

frown
Of noontide made a twilight brown,
Impervious now to fainter light,
Of twilight make an early night.
Hoarse into middle air arose
The vespers of the roosting crows,
And with congenial murmurs seem
To wake the Genii of the stream ;
For louder clamored Greta's tide,
And Tees in deeper voice replied,
And fitful waked the evening wind,
Fitful in sighs its breath resigned.
Wilfrid, whose fancy-nurtured soul
Felt in the scene a soft control,
With lighter footstep pressed the

ground,
And often paused to look around ;
And, though his path was to his

love, 39

Could not but linger in the grove,
To drink the thrilling interest

dear
Of awful pleasure checked by fear,
Such inconsistent moods have we,
Even when our passions strike the

key.

in
Now, through the wood's dark

mazes past,
The opening lawn he reached at

last
Where, silvered by the moonlight

ray,
The ancient Hall before him lay.
Those martial terrors long were

fled

CANTO FIFTH

353

That frowned of old around its

head : 50

The battlements, the turrets gray,
Seemed half abandoned to decay ;
On barbican and keep of stone
Stern Time the foeman's work had

done.
Where banners the invader braved,
The harebell now and wallflower

waved ;
In the rude guard-room where of

yore
Their wreary hours the warders

wore,
Now, while the cheerful fagots

blaze,
On the paved floor the spindle

plays ; 60

The flanking guns dismounted lie,
The moat is ruinous and dry,
The grim portcullis gone — and all
The fortress turned to peaceful

Hall.

But yet precautions lately ta'en
Showed danger's day revived

again ;
The court-yard wall showed marks

of care
The fall'n defences to repair,
Lending such strength as might

withstand
The insult of marauding band. 70
The beams once more were taught

to bear
The trembling drawbridge into air,
And not till questioned o'er and

o'er
For Wilfrid oped the jealous door,
And when he entered bolt and bar
Resumed their place with sullen

3'ar;
Then, as he crossed the vaulted

porch,
The old gray porter raised his

torch,
And viewed him o'er from foot to

head
Ere to the hall his steps he led. 80
That huge old hall of knightly

state

Dismantled seemed and desolate.

The moon through transom-shafts
of stone

Which crossed the latticed oriels
shone,

And by the mournf ul light she gave

The Gothic vault seemed funeral
cave.

Pennon and banner waved no
more

O'er beams of stag and tusks of
boar,

Nor glimmering arms wrere mar-
shalled seen

To glance those sylvan spoils be-
tween. 90

Those arms, those ensigns, borne
away,

Accomplished Rokeby's brave
array,

But all were lost on Marston's day!

Yet here and there the moonbeams
fall

Where armor yet adorns the wall,

Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight,

And useless in the modern fight,

Like veteran relic of the wars

Known only by neglected scars.

Matilda soon to greet him came,
And bade them light the evening
flame; 10 1

Said all for parting was prepared,
And tarried but for Wilfrid's

guard.
But then, reluctant to unfold
His father's avarice of gold,
He hinted that lest jealous eye
Should on their precious burden

pry,
He judged it best the castle gate
To enter when the night wore late ;
And therefore he had left com-
mand IIO

With those he trusted of his band
That they should be atRokebymet
What time the midnight-watch was

set.
Now Redmond came, whose anx-
ious care

354

ROKEBY

Till then was busied to prepare
All needful, meetly to arrange
The mansion for its mournful

change.
With Wilfrid's care and kindness

pleased, n8

His cold unready hand he seized,
And pressed it till his kindly strain
The gentle youth returned again.
Seemed as between them this was

said,
4 Awhile let jealousy be dead,
And let our contest be whose

care
Shall best assist this helpless fair.'

There was no speech the truce to

bind;
It was a compact of the mind,
A generous thought at once im-
pressed
On either rival's generous breast.
Matilda well the secret took 130
From sudden change of mien and

look,
And — for not small had been her

fear
Of jealous ire and danger near —
Felt even in her dejected state
A joy beyond the reach of fate.
They closed beside the chimney's

blaze,
And talked, and hoped for happier

days,
And lent their spirits' rising glow
Awhile to gild impending woe —
High privilege of youthful time,
Worth all the pleasures of our

prime ! 14:

The bickering fagot sparkled

bright
And gave the scene of love to

sight,
Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively

glow,
Played on Matilda's neck of snow,
Her nut-brown curls and forehead

high,
And laughed in Redmond's azure

eye.

Two lovers by the maiden sate 148
Without a glance of jealous hate ;
The maid her lovers sat between
With open brow and equal mien ;
It is a sight but rarely spied,
Thanks to man's wrath and wo-
man's pride.

VII

While thus in peaceful guise they

sate
A knock alarmed the outer gate,
And ere the tardy porter stirred
The tinkling of a harp was heard.
A manly voice of mellow swell
Bore burden to the music well : —

SONG

4 Summer eve is gone and past,
Summer dew is falling fast ; 16 x
I have wandered all the day,
Do not bid me farther stray !
Gentle hearts of gentle kin,
Take the wandering harper in ! '

But the stern porter answer gave,
With * Get thee hence, thou stroll-

ing knave !
The king wants soldiers; war, I

trow,
Were meeter trade for such as

thou.'
At this unkind reproof again 170
Answered the ready Minstrel's

strain :

SONG RESUMED

4 Bid not me, in battle-field,
Buckler lift or broadsword wield !
All my strength and all my art
Is to touch the gentle heart
With the wizard notes that ring
From the peaceful minstrel-
string.'

The porter, all unmoved, replied,—
4 Depart in peace, with Heaven to

guide ;
If longer by the gate thou dwell,
Trust me, thou shalt not part so

well.' 181

CANTO FIFTH

35.

VIII

With somewhat of appealing look
The harper's part young Wilfrid

took :
1 These notes so wild and ready

thrill,
They show no vulgar minstrel's

skill;
Hard were his task to seek a home
More distant, since the night is

come ;
And for his faith I dare engage —
Your Harpool's blood is soured by

age;
His gate, once readily displayed
To greet the friend, the poor to

aid, 191

Now even to me though known of

old
Did but reluctantly unfold.' —
1 O blame not as poor Harpool's

crime
An evil of this evil time.
He deems dependent on his care
The safety of his patron's heir,
Nor judges meet to ope the tower
To guest unknown at parting hour,
Urging his duty to excess 200

Of rough and stubborn faithful-
ness.
For this poor harper, I would fain
He may relax : — hark to his

strain!'

IX
SONG RESUMED

' I have song of war for knight,
Lay of love for lady bright,
Fairy tale to lull the heir,
Goblin grim the maids to scare.
Dark the night and long till day,
Do not bid me farther stray !

4 Eokeby's lords of martial fame,
I can count them name by name ;
Legends of their line there be, 212
Known to few but known to me ;
If you honor Rokeby's kin,
Take the wandering harper in !

1 Rokeby's lords had fair regard
For the harp and for the bard ;
Baron's race throve never well
Where the curse of minstrel fell.
If you love that noble kin, 220
Take the weary harper in ! '

4 Hark ! Harpool parleys — there

is hope,'
Said Redmond, ' that the gate will

ope.' —
'For all thy brag and boast, I

trow,
Naught knowest thou of the Felon

Sow,'
Quoth Harpool, ' nor how Greta-
side
She roamed and Rokeby forest

wide;
Nor how Ralph Rokeby gave the

beast
To Richmond's friars to make a

feast.
Of Gilbert Griffinson the tale 230
Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale
That well could strike with sword

amain,
And of the valiant son of Spain,
Friar Middleton, and blithe Sir

Ralph ;
There were a jest to make us

laugh !
If thou canst tell it, in yon shed,
Thou 'st won thy supper and thy

bed.'

Matilda smiled ; ' Cold hope,1 said
she,

*From Harpool's love of min-
strelsy ! 239

But for this harper may we dare,

Redmond, to mend his couch and
fare ? ' —

1 0, ask me not ! — At minstrel-
string

My heart from infancy would
spring ;

Nor can I hear its simplest strain

But it brings Erin's dream again,

356

ROKEBY

When placed by Owen Lysagh's

knee —
The Filea of O'Neale was he,
A blind and bearded man whose

eld
Was sacred as a prophet's held —
I 've seen a ring of rugged kerne,
With aspects shaggy, wild, and

stern, 251

Enchanted by the master's lay,
Linger around the livelong day,
Shift from wild rage to wilder glee,
To love, to grief, to ecstasy,
And feel each varied change of

soul
Obedient to the bard's control. —
Ah, Clandeboy ! thy friendly floor
Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no

more ; 259

Nor Owen's harp beside the blaze
Tell maiden's love or hero's praise !
The mantling brambles hide thy

hearth,
Centre of hospitable mirth ;
All undistinguished in the glade,
My sires' glad home is prostrate

laid,
Their vassals wander wide and

far,
Serve foreign lords in distant war,
And now the stranger's sons enjoy
The lovely woods of Clandeboy ! '
He spoke, and proudly turned

aside 270

The starting tear to dry and hide.

Matilda's dark and softened eye
Was glistening ere O'Neale's was

dry.
Her hand upon his arm she laid —
' It is the will of Heaven,' she

said.
1 And think'st thou, Redmond, I

can part
From this loved home with light-
some heart,
Leaving to wild neglect whate'er
Even from my infancy was dear ?
For in this calm domestic bound

Were all Matilda's pleasures

found. 281

That hearth my sire was wont to

grace
Full soon may be a stranger's

place ;
This hall in which a child I played
Like thine, dear Kedmond, lowly

laid,
The bramble and the thorn may

braid ;
Or, passed for aye from me and

mine,
It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line.
Yet is this consolation given,
My Redmond, — 't is the will of

Heaven.' 290

Her word, her action, and her

phrase
Were kindly as in early days ;
For cold reserve had lost its power
In sorrow's sympathetic hour.
Young Redmond dared not trust

his voice ;
But rather had it been his choice
To share that melancholy hour
Than, armed with all a chieftain's

power,
In full possession to enjoy
Slieve-Donard wide and Clande-
boy. 300

XII

The blood left Wilfrid's ashen

cheek,
Matilda sees and hastes to

speak. —
' Happy in friendship's ready aid,
Let all my murmurs here be staid !
And Rokeby's maiden will not

part
From Rokeby's hall with moody

heart.
This night at least for Rokeby's

fame
The hospitable hearth shall flame/
And ere its native heir retire
Find for the wanderer rest and fire,
While this poor harper by the

blaze 3 1 1

CANTO FIFTH

357

Recounts the tale of other days.
Bid Harpool ope the door with

speed,
Admit him and relieve each

need. —
Meantime, kind Wycliffe, wilt

thou try
Thy minstrel skill?— Nay, no

reply —
And look not sad ! — I guess thy

thought ;
Thy verse with laurels would he

bought,
And poor Matilda, landless now,
Has not a garland for thy brow.
True, I must leave sweet Rokeby's

glades, 321

Nor wander more in Greta shades ;
But sure, no rigid jailer, thou
Wilt a short prison-walk allow
Where summer flowers grow wild

at will
On Marwood - chase and Toller

Hill;
Then holly green and lily gay
Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay.'
The mournful youth a space aside
To tune Matilda's harp applied,
And then a low sad descant rung
As prelude to the lay he sung. 332

XIII
THE CYPRESS WREATH

1 O, lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree !
Too lively glow the lilies light,
The varnished holly's all too

bright,
The May-flower and the eglantine
May shade a brow less sad than

mine ;
But, lady, weave no wreath for

me, 339

Or weave it of the cypress-tree J

'Let dimpled Mirth his temples

twine
With tendrils of the laughing vine ;
The manly oak, the pensive yew,
To patriot and to sage be due ;

The myrtle bough bids lovers live,
But that Matilda will not give ;
Then, lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree !

' Let merry England proudly rear
Her blended roses bought so dear ;
Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 351
With heath and harebell dipped in

dew;
On favored Erin's crest be seen
The flower she loves of emerald

green —
But, lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree.

1 Strike the wild harp while maids
prepare

The ivy meet for minstrel's hair;

And, while his crown of laurel-
leaves

With bloody hand the victor
weaves, 360

Let the loud trump his triumph
tell;

But when you hear the passing-
bell,

Then, lady, twine a wreath for me,

And twrine it of the cypress-tree.

'Yes! twine for me the cypress-
bough ;

But, O Matilda, twine not now !

Stay till a few brief months are
past,

And I have looked and loved my
last!

When villagers my shroud bestrew

With pansies, rosemary, and
rue, — 370

Then, lady, weave a wreath for me,

And weave it of the cypress-tree.'

XIV

O'Neale observed the starting
tear,

And spoke with kind and blithe-
some cheer —

' No, noble Wilfrid ! ere the day

When mourns the land thy silent
lay,

35*

ROKEBY

Shall many a wreath be freely

wove
By hand of friendship and of love.
I would not wish that rigid Fate
Had doomed thee to a captive's

state, 380

Whose hands are bound by honor's

law,
Who wears a sword he must not

draw;
But were it so, in minstrel pride
The land together would we ride
On prancing steeds, like harpers

old,
Bound for the halls of barons bold ;
Each lover of the lyre we 'd seek
From Michael's Mount to Skid-
daw's Peak,
Survey wild Albin's mountain

strand, 389

And roam green Erin's lovely land,
While thou the gentler souls should

move
With lay of pity and of love,
And I, thy mate, in rougher strain
Would sing of war and warriors

slain.
Old England's bards were van-
quished then,
And Scotland's vaunted Haw-

thornden,
And, silenced on Iernian shore,
M'Curtin's harp should charm no

more ! '
In lively mood he spoke to wile
From Wilfrid's woe-worn cheek a

smile. 400

xv
1 But,' said Matilda, * ere thy name,
Good Redmond, gain its destined

fame,
Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call
Thy brother-minstrel to the hall ?
Bid all the household too attend,
Each in his rank a humble friend ;
I know their faithful hearts will

grieve
When their poor mistress takes

her leave ;
So let the horn and beaker flow
To mitigate their parting woe.' 410

The harper came ; — in youth's

first prime
Himself ; in mode of olden time
His garb was fashioned, to express
The ancient English minstrel's

dress,
A seemly gown of Kendal green
With gorget closed of silver sheen ;
His harp in silken scarf was slung,
And by his side an anlace hung.
It seemed some masquer's quaint

array
For revel or for holiday. 420

XVI

He made obeisance with a free
Yet studied air of courtesy.
Each look and accent framed to

please
Seemed to affect a playful ease ;
His face was of that doubtful kind
That wins the eye, but not the

mind ;
Yet harsh it seemed to deem amiss
Of brow so young and smooth as

this.
His was the subtle look and sly
That, spying all, seems naught to

spy; 430

Round all the group his glances

stole,
Unmarked themselves, to mark

the whole.
Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look,
Nor could the eye of Redmond

brook.
To the suspicious or the old
Subtle and dangerous and bold
Had seemed this self-invited guest ;
But young our lovers, — and the

rest,
Wrapt in their sorrow and their

fear 439

At parting of their Mistress dear,
Tear-blinded to the castle-hall
Came as to bear her funeral pall.

XVII

All that expression base was gone
When waked the guest his minstrel
tone;

CANTO FIFTH

359

It fled at inspiration's call,
As erst the demon fled from Saul.
More noble glance be cast around,
More free-drawn breath inspired

the sound,
His pulse beat bolder and more

high
In all the pride of minstrelsy ! 450
Alas ! too soon that pride was o'er,
Sunk with the lay that bade it soar !
His soul resumed with habit's

chain
Its vices wild and follies vain,
And gave the talent with him born,
To be a common curse and scorn.
Such was the youth whom Eokeby's

maid
With condescending kindness

prayed
Here to renew the strains she

loved,
At distance heard and well ap-
proved. 460

XVIII

SONG

THE HARP

I was a wild and wayward boy,
My childhood scorned each child-
ish toy ;
Retired from all, reserved and coy.

To musing prone,
I wooed my solitary joy,
My Harp alone.

My youth with bold ambition's

mood
Despised the humble stream and

wood
Where my poor father's cottage

stood,
To fame unknown ;— 470
What should my soaring views

make good ?
My Harp alone !

Love came with all his frantic fire,
And wild romance of vain desire :
The baron's daughter heard my
lyre

And praised the tone ; —
What could presumptuous hope
inspire ?
My Harp alone !

At manhood's touch the bubble

burst,
And manhood's pride the vision
curst, 480

And all that had my folly nursed

Love's sway to own ;
Yet spared the spell that lulled me
first,
My Harp alone !

Woe came with war, and want

with woe,
And it was mine to undergo
Each outrage of the rebel foe : —

Can aught atone
My fields laid waste, my cot laid
low?
My Harp alone ! 490

Ambition's dreams I've seen de-
part,
Have rued of penury the smart,
Have felt of love the venomed
dart,
When hope was flown ;
Yet rests one solace to my heart,—
My Harp alone !

Then over mountain, moor, and

hill,
My faithful Harp, I'll bear thee

Still ;

And when this life of want and ill
Is wellnigh gone, 500

Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill
My Harp alone !

XIX

' A pleasing lay ! ' Matilda said ;
But Harpool shook his old gray

head,
And took his baton and his torch
To seek his guard-room in the

porch.
Edmund observed — with sudden

change

36°

ROKEBY

Among the strings his fingers

range,
Until they waked a bolder glee
Of military melody ; 510

Then paused amid the martial

sound,
And looked with well-feigned fear

around ; —
1 None to this noble house belong,'
He said, 'that would a minstrel

wrong
Whose fate has been through good

and ill
To love his Royal Master still,
And with your honored leave

would fain
Rejoice you with a loyal strain.'
Then, as assured by sign and

look,
The warlike tone again he took ;
And Harpool stopped and turned

to hear 521

A ditty of the Cavalier.

SONG
THE CAVALIER

While the dawn on the mountain

was misty and gray,
My true love has mounted his

steed and away,
Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and

o'er down ;
Heaven shield the brave gallant

that fights for the Crown !

He has doffed the silk doublet the

breastplate to bear,
He has placed the steel-cap o'er

his long-flowing hair,
From his belt to his stirrup his

broadsword hangs down, —
Heaven shield the brave gallant

that fights for the Crown ! 530

For the rights of fair England that
broadsword he draws,

Her King is his leader, her Church
is his cause ;

His watchword is honor, his pay is

renown, —
God strike with the gallant that

strikes for the Crown !

They may boast of their Fairfax,
their Waller, and all

The roundheaded rebels of West-
minster Hall;

But tell these bold traitors of Lon-
don's proud town,

That the spears of the North have
encircled the Crown.

There 's Derby and Cavendish,

dread of their foes ;
There 's Erin's high Ormond and

Scotland's Montrose ! 540
Would you match the base Skip-

pon, and Massey, and Brown,
With the Barons of England that

fight for the Crown ?

Now joy to the crest of the brave
Cavalier !

Be his banner unconquered, resist-
less his spear,

Till in peace and in triumph his
toils he may drown,

In a pledge to fair England, her
Church, and her Crown.

XXI

' Alas ! ' Matilda said, ' that strain,
Good harper, now is heard in

vain !
The time has been at such a sound
When Rokeby's vassals gathered

round, 550

An hundred manly hearts would

bound ;
But now, the stirring verse we

hear
Like trump in dying soldier's ear !
Listless and sad the notes we

own,
The power to answer them is

flown.
Yet not without his meet applause
Be he that sings the rightful cause,
Even when the crisis of its fate

CANTO FIFTH

36i

To human eye seems desperate.
While Rokeby's heir such power

retains, 560

Let this slight guerdon pay thy

pains: —
And lend thy harp ; I fain would

try
If my poor skill can aught supply,
Ere yet I leave my fathers' hall,
To mourn the cause in which we

fall.'

XXII

The harper with a downcast look
And trembling hand her bounty

took.
As yet the conscious pride of art
Had steeled him in his treacher-
ous part ;
A powerful spring of force un-
guessed 570

That hath each gentler mood sup-
pressed,
And reigned in many a human

breast,
From his that plans the red cam-
paign
To his that wastes the woodland

reign.
The failing wing, the blood-shot

eye
The sportsman marks with apathy,
Each feeling of his victim's ill
Drowned in his own successful

skill.
The veteran, too, who now no
more 579

Aspires to head the battle's roar,
Loves still the triumph of his art,
And traces on the pencilled chart
Some stern invader's destined

way
Through blood and ruin to his

prey;
Patriots to death, and towns to

flame
He dooms, to raise another's name
And shares the guilt, though not

the fame.
What pays him for his span of
time

Spent in premeditating crime ?
What against pity arms his heart?
It is the conscious pride of art. 591

XXIII

But principles in Edmund's mind
Were baseless, vague, and unde-
fined.
His soul, like bark with rudder

lost,
On passion's changeful tide was

tost;
Xor vice nor virtue had the power
Beyond the impression of the

hour ;
And 0, when passion rules, how

rare
The hours that fall to Virtue's

share !
Yet now she roused her — for the

pride 600

That lack of sterner guilt supplied
Could scarce support him when

arose
The lay that mourned Matilda's

woes.

SONG

THE FAREWELL

1 The sound of Rokeby's woods I
hear,
They miugle with the song :
Dark Greta's voice is in mine
ear,
I must not hear them long.
From every loved and native
haunt
The native heir must stray,
And, like a ghost whom sunbeams
daunt, 610

Must part before the day.

'Soon from the halls my fathers
reared,

Their scutcheons may descend,
A line so long beloved and feared

May soon obscurely end.
No longer here Matilda's tone

Shall bid these echoes swell ;

362

ROKEBY

Yet shall they hear her proudly
own
The cause in which we fell.'

The lady paused, and then

again 620

Resumed the lay in loftier
strain. —

XXIV

* Let our halls and towers'decay,

Be our name and line forgot,
Lands and manors pass away, —

We but share our monarch's
lot.
If no more our annals show

Battles won and banners taken,
Still in death, defeat, and woe,

Ours be loyalty unshaken !

* Constant still in danger's hour,

Princes owned our father's
aid ; 63 1

Lands and honors, wealth and
power,
Well their loyalty repaid.
Perish wealth and power and
pride,
Mortal boons by mortals given !
But let constancy abide,
Constancy 's the gift of Heaven.'

XXV

While thus Matilda's lay was

heard,
A thousand thoughts in Edmund

stirred.
In peasant life he might have

known 640

As fair a face, as sweet a tone ;
But village notes could ne'er sup-
ply
That rich and varied melody,
And ne'er in cottage maid was

seen
The easy dignity of mien,
Claiming respect yet waiving

state,
That marks the daughters of the

great.
Yet not perchance had these alone

His scheme of purposed guilt o'er-

thrown ;
But while her energy of mind 650
Superior rose to griefs combined,
Lending its kindling to her eye,
Giving her form new majesty, —
To Edmund's thought Matilda

seemed
The very object he had dreamed
When, long ere guilt his soul had

known,
In Winston bowers he mused

alone,
Taxing his fancy to combine
The face, the air, the voice divine,
Of princess fair by cruel fate 660
Reft of her honors, power, and

state,
Till to her rightful realm restored
By destined hero's conquering

sword.

XXVI

'Such was my vision!' Edmund

thought ;
'And have I then the ruin

wrought
Of such a maid that fancy ne'er
In fairest vision formed her peer?
Was it my hand that could un-
close
The postern to her ruthless foes ?
Foes lost to honor, law, and faith,
Their kindest mercy sudden

death! 671

Have I done this? I, who have

swore
That if the globe such angel bore,
I would have traced its circle

broad
To kiss the ground on which she

trode! —
And now— O, would that earth

would rive
And close upon me while alive ! —
Is there no hope?— is all then

lost ? —
Bertram 's already on his post !
Even now beside the hall's arched

door 680

I saw his shadow cross the floor !

CANTO FIFTH

363

He was to wait my signal strain —
A little respite tbus we gain :
By what I heard the menials say,
Young Wycliffe's troop are on

their way —
Alarm precipitates the crime !
My harp must wear away the

time.' —
And then in accents faint and

low
He faltered forth a tale of woe.

XXVII
BALLAD

' " And whither would you lead me

then?" 690

Quoth the friar of orders gray ;

And the ruffians twain replied

again,

" By a dying woman to pray." —

4 " I see," he said, " a lovely sight,
A sight bodes little harm,

A lady as a lily bright
With an infant on her arm." —

* " Then do thine office, friar gray,
And see thou shrive her free !

Else shall the sprite that parts to-
night 700
Fling all its guilt on thee.

4 " Let mass be said and trentals
read

When thou 'rt to convent gone,
And bid the bell of Saint Benedict

Toll out its deepest tone."

4 The shrift is done, the friar is
gone,

Blindfolded as he came —
Next morning all in Littlecot Hall

Were weeping for their dame.

' Wild Darrell is an altered
man, 710

The village crones can tell ;
He looks pale as clay and strives
to pray,
If he hears the convent bell.

4 If prince or peer cross Darrell's
way,

He '11 beard him in his pride —
If he meet a friar of orders gray,

He droops and turns aside.'

XXVIII

'Harper! methinks thy magic

lays,'
Matilda said, ■ can goblins raise !
Wellnigh my fancy can discern
Near the dark porch a visage

stern; 721

E'en now in yonder shadowy nook
I see it! — Redmond, Wilfrid,

look ! —
A human form distinct and

clear —
God, for thy mercy ! — It draws

near ! '
She saw too true. Stride after

stride,
The centre of that chamber wide
Fierce Bertram gained; then

made a stand,
And, proudly waving with his

hand,
Thundered — ' Be still, upon your

lives! — 730

He bleeds who speaks, he dies

who strives.'
Behind their chief the robber

crew,
Forth from the darkened portal

drew
In silence — save that echo dread
Returned their heavy measured

tread.
The lamp's uncertain lustre gave
Their arms to gleam, their plumes

to wave ;
File after file in order pass,
Like forms on Banquo's mystic

glass.
Then, halting at their leader's

sign, 740

At once they formed and curved

their line,
Hemming within its crescent drear
Their victims like a herd of deer.
Another sign, and to the aim

3^4

ROKEBY

Levelled at once their muskets

came,
As waiting but their chieftain's

word
To make their fatal volley heard.

XXIX

Back in a heap the menials drew ;

Yet, even in mortal terror true,

Their pale and startled group op-
pose 75o

Between Matilda and the foes.

1 O, haste thee, Wilfrid ! ' Redmond
cried ;

' Undo that wicket by thy side !

Bear hence Matilda — gain the
wood

The pass may be awhile made
good —

Thy band ere this must sure be
nigh —

0 speak not — dally not — but fly ! '
While yet the crowd their motions

hide,
Through the low wicket door they

glide.
Through vaulted passages they
wind, 760

In Gothic intricacy twined :
Wilfrid half led and half he bore
Matilda to the postern door,
And safe beneath the forest tree,
The lady stands at liberty.
The moonbeams, the fresh gale's

caress,
Renewed suspended conscious-
ness;—

1 Where 's Redmond ? ' eagerly she

cries :
\Thou answer' st not — he dies ! he

dies !
And thou hast left him all bereft
Of mortal aid — with murderers

left! 771

I know it well — he would not

yield
His sword to man — his doom is

sealed !
For my scorned life, which thou

hast bought
At price of his, I thank thee not.'

XXX

The unjust reproach, the angry

look,
The heart of Wilfrid could not

brook,
' Lady,' he said, * my band so near,
In safety thou mayst rest thee

here.
For Redmond's death thou shalt

not mourn, 780

If mine can buy his safe return.'
He turned away — his heart

throbbed high,
The tear was bursting from his

eye;
The sense of her injustice pressed
Upon the maid's distracted

breast,—
'Stay, Wilfrid, stay! all aid is

vain I '
He heard but turned him not

again !
He reaches now the postern-door,
Now enters — and is seen no more.

XXXI

With all the agony that e'er 790
Was gendered 'tvvixt suspense and

fear,
She watched the line of windows

tall
Whose Gothic lattice lights the

Hall,
Distinguished by the paly red
The lamps in dim reflection shed,
While all beside in wan moonlight
Each grated casement glimmered

white.
No sight of harm, no sound of ill,
It is a deep and midnight still.
Who looked upon the scene had

guessed 800

All in the castle were at rest —
When sudden on the windows

shone
A lightning flash just seen and

gone !
A shot is heard— again the flame
Flashed thick and fast — a volley

came!
Then echoed wildly from within

CANTO FIFTH

365

Of shout and scream the mingled

din,
And weapon-clash and maddening

cry,
Of those who kill and those who

die! —
As filled the hall with sulphurous

smoke, 810

More red, more dark, the death-
flash broke,
And forms were on the lattice

cast
That struck or struggled as they

past.

XXXII

What sounds upon the midnight

wind
Approach so rapidly behind ?
It is, it is, the tramp of steeds,
Matilda hears the sound, she

speeds,
Seizes upon the leader's rein —
* O, haste to aid ere aid be vain !
Fly to the postern — gain the

hall!' 820

From saddle spring the troopers

all;
Their gallant steeds at liberty
Rung wild along the moonlight lea.
But ere they burst upon the scene
Full stubborn had the conflict

been.
When Bertram marked Matilda's

flight,
It gave the signal for the fight ;
And Eokeby's veterans, seamed

with scars
Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars,
Their momentary panic o'er, 830
Stood to the arms which then they

bore —
For they were weaponed and pre-
pared
Their mistress on her way to

guard.
Then cheered them to the fight

O'Xeale,
Then pealed the shot, and clashed

the steel ;
The war-smoke soon with sable

breath

Darkened the scene of blood and

death,
While on the few defenders close
The bandits with redoubled blows,
And, twice driven back, yet fierce

and fell 840

Renew the charge with frantic

yell.

XXXIII

Wilfrid has fallen — but o'er him

stood
Young Redmond soiled with smoke

and blood,
Cheering his mates with heart and

hand
Still to make good their desperate

stand :
1 Up, comrades, up ! In Rokeby

halls
Ne'er be it said our courage falls.
What! faint ye for their savage

cry,
Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt

your eye ?
These rafters have returned a

shout S50

As loud at Rokeby's wassail rout,
As thick a smoke these hearths

have given
At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even.
Stand to it yet ! renew the fight
For Rokeby's and Matilda's right !
These slaves ! they dare not hand

to hand
Bide buffet from a true man's

brand.'
Impetuous, active, fierce, and

young,
Upon the advancing foes he

sprung.
Woe to the wretch at whom is

bent 860

His brandished falchion's sheer

descent !
Backward they scattered as he

came,
Like wolves before the levin flame,
When, 'mid their howling conclave

driven,
Hath glanced the thunderbolt of

heaven.

366

ROKEBY

Bertram rushed on — but Harpool

clasped
His knees, although in death he

gasped,
His falling corpse before him

flung,
And round the trammelled ruffian

clung.
Just then the soldiers filled the

dome, 870

And shouting charged the felons

home
So fiercely that in panic dread,
They broke, they yielded, fell, or

fled,
Bertram's stern voice they heed

no more,
Though heard above the battle's

roar ;
While, trampling down the dying

man,
He strove with volleyed threat

and ban
In scorn of odds, in fate's despite,
To rally up the desperate fight.

XXXIV

Soon murkier clouds the hall en-
fold 880
Than e'er from battle-thunders

rolled,
So dense the combatants scarce

know
To aim or to avoid the blow.
Smothering and blindfold grows

the fight —
But soon shall dawn a dismal

light !
Mid cries and clashing arms there

came
The hollow sound of rushing

flame;
New horrors on the tumult dire
Arise — the castle is on fire !
Doubtful if chance had cast the

brand 890

Or frantic Bertram's desperate

hand,
Matilda saw — for frequent broke
From the dim casements gusts of

smoke,

Yon tower, which late so clear de-
fined

On the fair hemisphere reclined

That, pencilled on its azure pure,

The eye could count each embra-
sure,

Now, swathed within the sweeping
cloud,

Seems giant-spectre in his shroud ;

Till, from each loop-hole flashing
light, 900

A spout of fire shines ruddy bright,

And, gathering to united glare,

Streams high into the midnight
air;

A dismal beacon, far and wide

That wakened Greta's slumbering
side.

Soon all beneath, through gallery
long

And pendent arch, the fire flashed
strong,

Snatching whatever could main-
tain,

Raise, or extend its furious reign ;

Startling with closer cause of
dread 910

The females who the conflict fled,

And now rushed forth upon the
plain,

Filling the air with clamors vain,

XXXV

But ceased not yet the hall within
The shriek, the shout, the carnage-
din,
Till bursting lattices give proof
The flames have caught the raf-
tered roof.
What! wait they till its beams

amain
Crash on the slayers and the slain ?
The alarm is caught— the draw-
bridge falls, 920
The warriors hurry from the walls,
But by the conflagration's light
Upon the lawn renew the fight.
Each straggling felon down was

hewed,
Not one could gain the sheltering
wood ;

CANTO FIFTH

3^7

But forth the affrighted harper

sprung,
And to Matilda's robe he clung.
Her shriek, entreaty, and command
Stopped the pursuer's lifted hand.
Denzil and he alive were ta'en ; 930
The rest save Bertram all are

slain.

xxxvi

And where is Bertram? — Soaring

high,
The general flame ascends the

sky ;
In gathered group the soldiers

gaze
Upon the broad and roaring blaze,
When, like infernal demon, sent
Red from his penal element,
To plague and to pollute the air,
His face all gore, on fire his hair,
Forth from the central mass of

smoke 940

The giant form of Bertram broke !
His brandished sword on high he

rears,
Then plunged among opposing

spears ;
Round his left arm his mantle

trussed,
Received and foiled three lances'

thrust ;
Nor these his headlong course

withstood,
Like reeds he snapped the tough

ashwood.
In vain his foes around himelung ;
With matchless force aside he

flung 949

Their boldest, — as the bull at bay
Tosses the ban-dogs from his way,
Through forty foes his path he

made,
And safely gained the forest glade.

XXXVII

Scarce was this final conflict o'er
When from the postern Redmond

bore
Wilfrid, who, as of life bereft,

Had in the fatal hall been left,
Deserted there by all his train ;
But Redmond saw and turned

again. 959

Beneath an oak he laid him down
That in the blaze gleamed ruddy

brown,
And then his mantle's clasp un-
did;
Matilda held his drooping head,
Till, given to breathe the freer

air,
Returning life repaid their care.
He gazed on them with heavy

sigh, —
1 1 could have wished even thus to

die!'-
No more he said,— for now with

speed
Each trooper had regained his

steed ; 969

The ready palfreys stood arrayed
For Redmond and for Rokeby's

maid ;
Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain,
One leads his charger by the rein.
But oft Matilda looked behind,
As up the vale of Tees they wind,
Where far the mansion of her sires
Beaconed the dale with midnight

fires.
In gloomy arch above them spread,
The clouded heaven lowered

bloody red ; 979

Beneath in sombre light the flood
Appeared to roll in waves of blood.
Then one by one was heard to

fall
The tower, the donjon- keep, the

hall.
Each rushing down with thunder

sound
A space the conflagration drowned ;
Till gathering strength again it

rose,
Announced its triumph in its close,
Shook wide its light the landscape

o'er,
Then sunk — and Rokeby was no

more!

368

ROKEBY

CANTO SIXTH

The summer sun, whose early

power
Was wont to gild Matilda's bower
And rouse her with his matin ray
Her duteous orisons to pay,
That morning sun has three times

seen
The flowers unfold on Rokeby

green,
But sees no more the slumbers fly
From fair Matilda's hazel eye ;
That morning sun has three times

broke
On Rokeby's glades of elm and

oak, 10

But, rising from their sylvan

screen,
Marks no gray turrets glance be-
tween.
A shapeless mass lie keep and

tower,
That, hissing to the morning

shower,
Can but with smouldering vapor

pay
The early smile of summer day.
The peasant, to his labor bound,
Pauses to view the blackened

mound,
Striving amid the ruined space
Each well - remembered spot to

trace. 20

That length of frail and fire-
scorched wall
Once screened the hospitable

hall;
When yonder broken arch was

whole,
'T was there was dealt the weekly

dole;
And where yon tottering columns

nod
The chapel sent the hymn to God.
So flits the world's uncertain span !
Nor zeal for God nor love for man
Gives mortal monuments a date
Beyond the power of Time and

Fate. 30

The towers must share the build.

er's doom ;
Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb :
But better boon benignant Heaven
To Faith and Charity has given,
And bids the Christian hope sub-
lime
Transcend the bounds of Fate and
Time.

Now the third night of summer

came
Since that which witnessed Roke-
by's flame.
On Brignall cliffs and Scargill

brake
The owlet's homilies awake, 40
The bittern screamed from rush

and flag,
The raven slumbered on his crag,
Forth from his den the otter

drew,—
Grayling and trout their tyrant

knew,
As between reed and sedge he

peers,
With fierce round snout and sharp-
ened ears,
Or prowling by the moonbeam cool
Watches the stream or swims the

pool ; —
Perched on his wonted eyrie high,
Sleep sealed the tercelet's wearied

eye, 50

That all the day had watched so

well
The cushat dart across the dell.
In dubious beam reflected shone
That lofty jliff of pale gray stone
Beside whose base the secret cave
To rapine late a refuge gave.
The crag's wild crest of copse and

yew
On Greta's breast dark shadows

threw,
Shadows that met or shunned the

sight 59

With every change of fitful light,
As hope and fear alternate chase
Our course through life's uncertain

race. . .

CANTO SIXTH

369

in
Gliding by crag and copsewood

green,
A solitary form was seen
To trace with stealthy pace the

wold,
Like fox that seeks the midnight

fold,
And pauses oft, and cowers dis-
mayed
At every breath that stirs the

shade. 68

He passes now the ivy bush, —
The owl has seen him and is hush ;
He passes now the doddered oak-
He heard the startled raven croak ;
Lower and lower he descends,
Rustle the leaves, the brushwood

bends ;
The otter hears him tread the

shore,
And dives and is beheld no more ;
And by the cliff of pale gray stone
The midnight wanderer stands

alone.
Methinks that by the moon we

trace 79

A well-remembered form and face !
That stripling shape, that cheek

so pale,
Combine to tell a rueful tale,
Of powers misused, of passion's

force,
Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse !
'T is Edmund's eye at every sound
That flings that guilty glance

around ;
'T is Edmund's trembling haste

divides
The brushwood that the cavern

hides ;
And when its narrow porch lies

bare
'T is Edmund's form that enters

there. 90

His flint and steel have sparkled

bright,
A lamp hath lent the cavern light.
Fearful and quick his eye surveys

Each angle of the gloomy maze.
Since last he left that stern abode,
It seemed as none its floor had

trode ;
Untouched appeared the various

spoil,
The purchase of his comrades'

toil;
Masks and disguises grimed with

mud,
Arms broken and defiled with

blood, 100

And all the nameless tools that aid
Night-felons in their lawless trade,
Upon the gloomy walls were hung
Or lay in nooks obscurely flung.
Still on the sordid board appear
The relics of the noontide cheer :
Flagons and emptied flasks were

there,
And bench o'erthrown and shat-
tered chair ;
And all around the semblance

showed,
As when the final revel glowed, 1 10
When the red sun was setting fast
And parting pledge Guy Denzil

past.
1 To Rokeby treasure-vaults ! ' they

quaffed,
And shouted loud and wildly

laughed,
Poured maddening from the rocky

door,
And parted — to return no more !
They found in Rokeby vaults their

doom,—
A bloody death, a burning tomb !

There his own peasant dress he
spies,

Doffed to assume that quaint dis-
guise, 120

And shuddering thought upon his
glee

When pranked in garb of min-
strelsy.

' O, be the fatal art accurst,'

He cried, ' that moved my folly
first,

370

ROKEBY

Till, bribed by bandits' base ap-
plause,
I burst through God's and Na-
ture's laws !
Three summer days are scantly

past
Since I have trod this cavern last,
A thoughtless wretch, and prompt

to err —
But 0, as yet no murderer ! 130
Even now I list my comrades'

cheer.
That general laugh is in mine ear
Which raised my pulse and steeled

my heart,
As I rehearsed my treacherous

part —
And would that all since then

could seem
The phantom of a fever's dream !
But fatal memory notes too well
The horrors of the dying yell
From my despairing mates that

broke
When flashed the fire and rolled

the smoke, 140

When the avengers shouting came
And hemmed us 'twixt the sword

and flame !
My frantic flight— the lifted

brand —
That angel's interposing hand! —
If for my life from slaughter freed
I yet could pay some grateful

meed !
Perchance this object of my quest
May aid' — he turned nor spoke

the rest.

Due northward from the rugged
hearth

With paces five he meets the
earth, 150

Then toiled with mattock to ex-
plore

The entrails of the cavern floor,

Nor paused till deep beneath the
ground

His search a small steel casket
found.

Just as he stooped to loose its

hasp
His shoulder felt a giant grasp ;
He started and looked up aghast,
Then shrieked! — 'T was Bertram

held him fast.
' Fear not ! » he said ; but who

could hear
That deep stern voice and cease

to fear ? 160

' Fear not ! — By heaven, he shakes

as much
As partridge in the falcon's

clutch : '
He raised him and unloosed his

hold,
While from the opening casket

rolled
A chain and reliquaire of gold.
Bertram beheld it with surprise,
Gazed on its fashion and device,
Then, cheering Edmund as he

could,
Somewhat he smoothed his rugged

mood,
For still the youth's half-lifted eye
Quivered with terror's agony, 171
And sidelong glanced as to ex-
plore
In meditated flight the door.
'Sit,' Bertram said, * from danger

free :
Thou canst not and thou shalt not

flee.
Chance brings me hither ; hill and

plain
I 've sought for refuge-place in

vain.
And tell me now, thou aguish boy,
What makest thou here? wThat

means this toy ?
Denzil and thou, I marked, were

ta'en ; 180

What lucky chance unbound your

chain ?
I deemed, long since on BalioPs

tower,
Your heads were warped with sun

and shower.
Tell me the whole — and mark!

naught e'er

CANTO SIXTH

371

Chafes me like falsehood or like

fear.'
Gathering his courage to his aid
But trembling still, the youth

obeyed.

VII

'Denzil and I two nights passed

o'er
In fetters on the dungeon floor.
A guest the third sad morrow

brought ; 190

Our hold, dark Oswald Wye I iff e

sought,
And eyed my comrade long

askance
With fixed and penetrating glance.
"Guy Denzil art thou called?" —

" The same."
" At Court who served wild Buck-
ingham e ;
Thence banished, won a keeper's

place,
So Villiers willed, in Marwood-

chase ;
That lost— I need not tell thee

why —
Thou madest thy wit thy wants

supply,
Then fought for Rokeby: — have

I guessed 200

My prisoner right ? " — " At thy

behest." —
He paused awhile, and then went

on
With low and confidential tone ; —
Me, as I judge, not then he saw
Close nestled in my couch of

straw. —
" List to me, Guy. Thou know'st

the great
Have frequent need of what they

hate ;
Hence, in their favor oft we see
Unscrupled, useful men like thee.
Were I disposed to bid thee live,
What pledge of faith hast thou to

give?

VIII

1 The ready fiend who never yet
Hath failed to sharpen Denzil's wit

Prompted his lie — " His only child
Should rest his pledge." — The

baron smiled,
And turned to me — " Thou art

his son?"
I bowed — our fetters were un-
done,
And we were led to hear apart
A dreadful lesson of his art.
Wilfrid, he said, his heir and son,
Had fair Matilda's favor won; 221
And long since had their union

been
But for her father's bigot spleen,
Whose brute and blindfold party-

rage
Would, force perforce, her hand

engage
To a base kern of Irish earth,
Unknown his lineage and his birth,
Save that a dying ruffian bore
The infant brat to Rokeby door.
Gentle restraint, he said, would

lead 230

Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed ;
But fair occasion be must find
For such restraint well meant and

kind,
The knight being rendered to his

charge
But as a prisoner at large.

' He schooled us in a well-forged

tale
Of scheme the castle walls to

scale,
To which was leagued each Cava-
lier
That dwells upon the Tyne and
Wear, 239

That Rokeby, his parole forgot,
Had dealt with us to aid the plot.
Such was the charge which Den-
zil's zeal
Of hate to Rokeby and O'Neale
Proffered as witness to make good,
Even though the forfeit were their

blood.
I scrupled until o'er and o'er
His prisoners' safety Wycliffe
swore ;

372

ROKEBY

And then — alas ! what needs there

more ?
I knew I should not live to say
The proffer I refused that day ; 250
Ashamed to live, yet loath to die,
I soiled me with their infamy ! '
1 Poor youth ! ' said Bertram, wa-
vering still,
Unfit alike for good or ill !
But what fell next ? ' — ' Soon as

at large
Was scrolled and signed our fatal

charge,
There never yet on tragic stage
Was seen so well a painted rage
As Oswald's showed ! With loud

alarm
He called his garrison to arm ; 260
From tower to tower, from post to

post,
He hurried as if all were lost ;
Consigned to dungeon and to chain
The good old knight and all his

train ;
Warned each suspected Cavalier
Within his limits to appear
To-morrow at the hour of noon
In the high church of Eglistone.' —

1 Of Eglistone ! — Even now I

passed,'
Said Bertram, ' as the night closed

fast ; 270

Torches and cressets gleamed

around,
I heard the saw and hammer

sound,
And I could mark they toiled to

raise
A scaffold, hung with sable baize,
Which the grim headsman's scene

displayed,
Block, axe, and sawdust ready laid.
Some evil deed will there be done
Unless Matilda wed his son ; —
She loves him not — 't is shrewdly

guessed
That Redmond rules the damsel's

breast. 280

This is a turn of Oswald's skill ;

But I may meet, and foil him
still ! —

How earnest thou to thy free-
dom ? ' — ' There

Lies mystery more dark and rare.

In midst of Wycliffe's well-feigned
rage,

A scroll was offered by a page,

Who told a muffled horseman late

Had left it at the Castle-gate.

He broke the seal — his cheek
showed change,

Sudden, portentous, wild, and
strange ; 290

The mimic passion of his eye

Was turned to actual agony ;

His hand like summer sapling
shook,

Terror and guilt w7ere in his look.

Denzil he judged in time of need

Fit counsellor for evil deed ;

And thus apart his counsel broke,

While with a ghastly smile he
spoke :

' " As in the pageants of the stage
The dead awake in this wild age,
Mortham — whom all men deemed

decreed 301

In his own deadly snare to bleed,
Slain by a bravo whom o'er sea
He trained to aid in murdering

me,—
Mortham has 'scaped! The cow-
ard shot
The steed but harmed the rider

not.'"
Here with an execration fell
Bertram leaped up and paced the

cell: —
' Thine own gray head or bosom

dark,'
He muttered, ' may be surer

mark!' 310

Then sat and signed to Edmund,

pale
With terror, to resume his tale.
' Wycliffe went on : — " Mark with

what flights
Of wildered reverie he writes : —

CANTO SIXTH

373

THE LETTER

* " Ruler of Mortham's destiny !
Though dead, thy victim lives to

thee.
Once had he all that binds to life,
A lovely child, a lovelier wife ;
Wealth, fame, and friendship were

his own —
Thou gavest the word and they

are flown. 320

Mark how he pays thee : to thy

hand
He yields his honors and his land,
One boon premised; — restore his

child !
And, from his native land exiled,
Mortham no more returns to claim
His lands, his honors, or his name ;
Refuse him this and from the slain
Thou shalt see Mortham rise

again." —

XII

* This billet while the baron read,
His faltering accents showed his

dread ; 330

He pressed his forehead with his

palm,
Then took a scornful tone and

calm ;
" Wild as the winds, as billows

wild!
What wot I of his spouse or child ?
Hither he brought a joyous dame,
Unknown her lineage or her name :
Her in some frantic fit he slew ;
The nurse and child in fear with

drew.
Heaven be my witness, wist I

where
To find this youth, my kinsman's

heir, 340

Unguerdoned I would give with

joy
The father's arms to fold his boy,
And Mortham's lands and towers

resign
To the just heirs of Mortham's

line."
Thou know' st that scarcely e'en

his fear

Suppresses Denzil's cynic sneer ; —
" Then happy is thy vassal's part,"
He said, "to ease his patron's

heart !
In thine own jailer's watchful care
Lies Mortham's just and rightful

heir; 350

Thy generous wish is fully won,—
Redmond O'Neale is Mortham's

son." —

XIII

' Up starting with a frenzied look,
His clenched hand the baron

shook :
" Is Hell at work ? or dost thou

rave,
Or darest thou palter with me,

slave !
Perchance thou wot'st not, Bar-
nard's towers
Have racks of strange and ghastly

powers."
Denzil, who well his safety knew,
Firmly rejoined, " I tell thee true.
Thy racks could give thee but to

know 361

The proofs which I, untortured,

show.
It chanced upon a winter night
When early snow made Stanmore

white,
That very night when first of all
Redmond O'Neale saw Rokeby-

hall,
It was my goodly lot to gain
A reliquary and a chain,
Twisted and chased of massive

gold. 369

Demand not how the prize I hold !
It was not given nor lent nor sold.
Gilt tablets to the chain were hung
With letters in the Irish tongue.
I hid my spoil, for there was need
That I should leave the land with

speed,
Nor then I deemed it safe to bear
On mine own person gems so rare.
Small heed I of the tablets took,
But since have spelled them by

the book 379

374

ROKEBY

When some sojourn in Erin's land
Of their wild speech had given

command.
But darkling was the sense ; the

phrase
And language those of other days,
Involved of purpose, as to foil
An interloper's prying toil.
The words but not the sense I

knew,
Till fortune gave the guiding clue.

XIV

4 " Three days since, was that clue

revealed
In Thorsgill as I lay concealed,
And heard at full when Rokeby's

maid 390

Her uncle's history displayed ;
And now I can interpret well
Each syllable the tablets tell.
Mark, then: fair Edith was the

joy
Of old O'Neale of Clandeboy ;
But from her sire and country

fled
In secret Mortham's lord to wed.
O'Neale, his first resentment o'er,
Despatched his son to Greta's

shore,
Enjoining he should make him

known— 400

Until his farther will were shown —
To Edith, but to her alone.
What of their ill-starred meeting

fell
Lord Wycliffe knows, and none so

well.

1 u O'Neale it was who in despair

Eobbed Mortham of his infant
heir;

He bred him in their nurture wild,

And called him murdered Connel's
child.

Soon died the nurse ; the clan be-
lieved

What from their chieftain they re-
ceived. 4IQ

His purpose was that ne'er again

The boy should cross the Irish

main,
But, like his mountain sires, enjoy
The woods and wastes of Clande-
boy.
Then on the land wild troubles

came,
And stronger chieftains urged a

claim,
And wrested from the old man's

hands
His native towers, his father's

lands.
Unable then amid the strife
To guard young Redmond's rights

or life, 420

Late and reluctant he restores
The infant to his native shores,
With goodly gifts and letters

stored,
With many a deep conjuring word,
To Mortham and to Rokeby's lord.
Naught knew the clod of Irish

earth,
Who was the guide, of Redmond's

birth,
But deemed his chief's commands

were laid
On both, by both to be obeyed. 429
How he was wounded by the way
I need not, and I list not say." —

XVI

' " A wondrous tale ! and, grant it

true,
What," Wycliffe answered, "might

I do?
Heaven knows, as willingly as

now
I raise the bonnet from my brow,
Would I my kinsman's manors

fair
Restore to Mortham or his heir ;
But Mortham is distraught —

O'Neale
Has drawn for tyranny his steel,
Malignant to our rightful cause
And trained in Rome's delusive

laws. 44 1

Hark thee apart ! " They whis-
pered long,

CANTO SIXTH

375

Till Denzil's voice grew bold and

strong :
" My proofs ! I never will," he said,
"Show mortal man wheje they

are laid.
Nor hope discovery to foreclose
By giving me to feed the crows ;
For I have mates at large who

know
Where I am wont such toys to

stow.
Free me from peril and from

band, 45°

These tablets are at thy com-
mand ;
Nor were it hard to form some

train,
To wile old Mortham o'er the

main.
Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand
Should wrest from thine the good-

ly land."
"I like thy wit," said Wycliffe,

"well;
But here in hostage shalt thou

dwell.
Thy son, unless my purpose err,
May prove the trustier messenger.
A scroll to Mortham shall he bear
From me, and fetch these tokens

rare. 461

Gold shalt thou have, and that

good store,
And freedom, his commission o'er ;
But if his faith should chance to

fail,
The gibbet frees thee from the

jail."

xvn

'Meshed in the net himself had

twined,
What subterfuge could Denzil

find?
He told me with reluctant sigh
That hidden here the tokens lie,
Conjured my swift return and aid,
By all he scoffed and disobeyed, 471
And looked as if the noose were

tied
And I the priest who left his side.

This scroll for Mortham Wycliffe

gave,
Whom I must seek by Greta's

wave,
Or in the hut where chief he hides,
Where Thorsgill's forester re-
sides. —
Thence chanced it, wandering in

the glade,
That he descried our ambus-
cade. — 479
I was dismissed as evening fell,
And reached but now this rocky

cell.'
' Give Oswald's letter.' — Bertram

read,
And tore it fiercely shred by

shred : —
' All lies and villany ! to blind
His noble kinsman's generous

mind,
And train him on from day to day,
Till he can take his life away. —
And now, declare thy purpose,

youth,
Nor dare to answer, save the

truth ;
If aught I mark of Denzil's art, 490
I '11 tear the secret from thy
heart ! ' —

XVIII

4 It needs not. I renounce,' he

said,
' My tutor and his deadly trade.
Fixed was my purpose to declare
To Mortham, Redmond is his heir ;
To tell him in what risk he stands,
And yield these tokens to his

hands.
Fixed was my purpose to atone,
Far as I may, the evil done ;
And fixed it rests — if I survive
This night, and leave this cave

alive.'— 501

4 And Denzil?' — ' Let them ply

the rack,
Even till his joints and sinews

crack !
If Oswald tear him limb from

limb,

376

ROKEBY

What ruth can Denzil claim from

him
Whose thoughtless youth he led

astray
And damned to this unhallowed

way?
He schooled me, faith and vows

were vain ;
Now let my master reap his

gain.' —
1 True,' answered Bertram, 4 't is

his meed; 510

There 's retribution in the deed.
But thou — thou art not for our

course,
Hast fear, hast pity, hast remorse ;
And he with us the gale who

braves
Must heave such cargo to the

waves,
Or lag with overloaded prore
While barks unburdened reach

the shore.'

XIX

He paused and, stretching him at

length,
Seemed to repose his bulky

strength. 519

Communing with his secret mind,
As half he sat and half reclined,
One ample hand his forehead

pressed,
And one was dropped across his

breast.
The shaggy eyebrows deeper came
Above his eyes of swarthy flame ;
His lip of pride awhile forbore
The haughty curve till then it

wore;
The unaltered fierceness of his

look
A shade of darkened sadness

took, —
For dark and sad a presage

pressed 530

Resistlessly on Bertram's breast,—
And when he spoke, his wonted

tone,
So fierce, abrupt, and briejf, was

gone.

His voice was steady, low, and

deep,
Like distant waves when breezes

sleep ;
And so#row mixed with Edmund's

fear,
Its low unbroken depth to hear.

' Edmund, in thy sad tale'I find
The woe that warped my patron's

mind;
'T would wake the fountains of

the eye 540

In other men, but mine are dry.
Mortham must never see the fool
That sold himself base Wycliffe's

tool,
Yet less from thirst of sordid gain
Than to avenge supposed disdain.
Say Bertram rues his fault — a

word
Till now from Bertram never

heard :
Say, too, that Mortham's lord he

prays
To think but on their former days ;
On Quariana's beach and rock, 550
On Cayo's bursting battle-shock,
On Darien's sands and deadly dew,
And on the dart Tlatzeca threw ; —
Perchance my patron yet may

hear
More that may grace his comrade's

bier.
My soul hath felt a secret weight,
A warning of approaching fate :
A priest had said, "Heturn, re-
pent ! "
As well to bid that rock be rent.
Firm as that flint I face mine

end ; 560

My heart may burst but cannot

bend.

XXI

• The dawning of my youth with

awe
And prophecy the Dalesmen saw ;
For over Redesdale it came,
As bodeful as their beacon-flame.

CANTO SIXTH

377

Edmund, thy years were scarcely

mine
When, challenging the Clans of

Tyne
To bring their best my brand to

prove.
O'er Hexham's altar hung my

glove ;
But Tynedale, nor in tower nor

town, 570

Held champion meet to take it

down.
My noontide India may declare ;
Like her fierce sun, I fired the air !
Like him, to wood and cave bade

fly

Her natives from mine angry eye.
Panama's maids shall long look

pale
"When Risingham inspires the tale ;
Chili's dark matrons long shall

tame
The froward child with Bertram's

name.
And now, my race of terror run, 580
Mine be the eve of tropic sun !
No pale gradations quench his

ray,
No twilight dews his wrath allay ;
With disk like battle-target red
He rushes to his burning bed,
Dyes the wide wave with bloody

light,
Then sinks at once — and all is

night. —

XXII

1 Now to thy mission, Edmund.

Fly,
Seek Mortham out, and bid him

hie
To Richmond where his troops are

laid, 590

And lead his force to Redmond's

aid.
Say till he reaches Eglistone
A friend will watch to guard his

son.
Now, fare - thee • well ; for night

draws on,
And I would rest me here alone.'

Despite his ill-dissembled fear,
There swam in Edmund's eye a

tear;
A tribute to the courage high
Which stooped not in extremity,
But strove, irregularly great, 600
To triumph o'er approaching fate !
Bertram beheld the dewdrop start,
It almost touched his iron heart :
'I did not think there lived,' he

said,
' One who would tear for Bertram

shed.'
He loosened then his baldric's

hold,
A buckle broad of massive gold ; —
'Of all the spoil that paid his

pains
But this with Risingham remains ;
And this, dear Edmund, thou shalt

take, 610

And wear it long for Bertram's

sake.
Once more — to Mortham speed

amain;
Farewell ! and turn thee not again.'

XXIII

The night has yielded to the morn,
And far the hours of prime are

worn.
Oswald, who since the dawn of

day
Had cursed his messenger's de-
lay,
Impatient questioned now his

train,
; Was Denzil's son returned

again?'
It chanced there answered of the

crew 620

A menial whom young Edmund

knew :
1 No son of Denzil this,' he said ;
'A peasant boy from Winston

glade,
For song and minstrelsy renowned
And knavish pranks the hamlets

round.'
1 Not Denzil's son ! — from Win.

ston vale 1 —

378

ROKEBY

Then it was false, that specious

tale;
Or worse — he hath despatched

the youth
To show to Mortham's lord its

truth.
Fool that I was ! — but 't is too

late ; — 630

This is the very turn of fate ! —
The tale, or true or false, relies
On Denzil's evidence ! — He dies !—
Ho ! Provost Marshal ! instantly
Lead Denzil to the gallows-tree !
Allow him not a parting word ;
Short be the shrift and sure the

cord !
Then let his gory head appall
Marauders from the castle-wall.
Lead forth thy guard, that duty

done, 640

With best despatch to Egli-

stone. -—
Basil, tell Wilfrid he must straight
Attend me at the castle-gate.'

XXIV

1 Alas ! ' the old domestic said,
And shook his venerable head,
1 Alas, my lord ! full ill to-day
May my young master brook the

way!
The leech has spoke with grave

alarm
Of unseen hurt, of secret harm,
Of sorrow lurking at the heart, 650
That mars and lets his healing

art.'
1 Tush ! tell not me ! — Komantic

boys
Pine themselves sick for airy toys,
I will find cure for Wilfrid soon ;
Bid him for Eglistone be boune,
And quick ! — I hear the dull

death-drum
Tell Denzil's hour of fate is come.5
He paused with scornful smile,

and then
Resumed his train of thought agen.
' Now comes my fortune's crisis

near ! 660

Entreaty boots not — instant fear,

Naught else, can bend Matilda's

pride
Or win her to be Wilfrid's bride.
But when she sees the scaffold

placed,
With axe and block and headsman

graced,
And when she deems that to deny
Dooms Redmond and Tier sire to

die,
She must give way. — Then, were

the line
Of Rokeby once combined with

mine,
I gain the weather-gage of fate !
If Mortham come, he comes too

late, 671

While I, allied thus and prepared,
Bid him defiance to his beard. —
If she prove stubborn, shall I

dare
To drop the axe ? — Soft ! pause

we there.
Mortham still lives — yon youth

may tell
His tale — and Fairfax loves him

well ; —
Else, wherefore should I now de-
lay
To sweep this Redmond from my

way?—
But she to piety perforce 680

Must yield. — Without there I

Sound to horse ! '

XXV

'T was bustle in the court below, —
1 Mount, and march forward ! '

Forth they go ;
Steeds neigh and trample all

around,
Steel rings, spears glimmer, trump-
ets sound. —
Just then was sung his parting

hymn ;
And Denzil turned his eyeballs

dim,
And, scarcely conscious what he

sees,
Follows the horsemen clown the

Tees;

CANTO SIXTH

\79

And scarcely conscious what be

hears, 690

The trumpets tingle in his ears.
O'er the long bridge they're

sweeping now,
The van is hid by greenwood

bough ;
But ere the rearward had passed j

o'er,
Guy Denzil heard and saw no

more !
One stroke upon the castle bell
To Oswald rung his dying knell.

XXVI

O, for that pencil, erst profuse
Of chivalry's emblazoned hues,
That traced of old in Woodstock
bower 700

The pageant of the Leaf and

Flower,
And bodied forth the tourney high
Held for the hand of Emily !
Then might I paint the tumult

broad
That to the crowded abbey flowed,
And poured, as with an ocean's

sound,
Into the church's ample bound !
Then might I show each varying

mien,
Exulting, woful, or serene ; 709
Indifference, with his idiot stare,
And Sympathy, with anxious air ;
Paint the dejected Cavalier,
Doubtful, disarmed, and sad of

cheer ;
And his proud foe, whose formal

eye
Claimed conquest now and mas-
tery;
And the brute crowd, whose envi-
ous zeal
Huzzas each turn of Fortune's

wheel,
And loudest shouts when lowest

lie
Exalted worth and station high. 719
Yet what may such a wish avail ?
'Tis mine to tell an onward tale,
Hurrying, as best I can, along

The hearers and the hasty song ; —

Like traveller when approaching
home,

Who sees the shades of evening
come,

And must not now his course de-
lay,

Or choose the fair but winding
way;

Nay, scarcely may his pace sus-
pend,

Where o'er his head the wildings
bend,

To bless the breeze that cools his
brow 730

Or snatch a blossom from the
bough.

XXYII

The reverend pile lay wild and

waste,
Profaned, dishonored, and defaced.
Through storied lattices no more
In softened light the sunbeams

pour,
Gilding the Gothic sculpture rich
Of shrine and monument and

niche.
The civil fury of the time
Made sport of sacrilegious crime ;
For dark fanaticism rent 740

Altar and screen and ornament,
And peasant hands the tombs o'er-

threw
Of Bowes, of Ptokeby, and Fitz-

Hugh,
And now was seen, unwonted

sight,
In holy walls a scaffold dight !
Where once the priest of grace di-
vine
Dealt to his flock the mystic sign.
There stood the block displayed,

and there
The headsman grim his hatchet

bare,
And for the word of hope and

faith 750

Resounded loud a doom of death.
Thrice the fierce trumpet's breath

was heard,

38o

ROKEBY

And echoed thrice the herald's

word,
Dooming, for breach of martial

laws
And treason to the Commons'

cause,
The Knight of Rokeby, and

O'Neale,
To stoop their heads to block and

steel.
The trumpets flourished high and

shrill,
Then was a silence dead and still ;
And silent prayers to Heaven

were cast, 760

And stifled sobs were burstingfast,
Till from the crowd begun to rise
Murmurs of sorrow or surprise,
And from the distant isles there

came
Deep-muttered threats with Wy.

cliffe's name.

XXVIII

But Oswald, guarded by his band,
Powerful in evil, waved his hand,
And bade sedition's voice be dead,
On peril of the murmurer's head.
Then first his glance sought Roke-

by's Knight, 770

Who gazed on the tremendous

sight
As calm as if he came a guest
To kindred baron's feudal feast,
As calm as if that trumpet-call
Were summons to the bannered

hall;
Firm in his loyalty he stood,
And prompt to seal it with his

blood.
With downcast look drew Oswald

nigh, —
He durst not cope with Rokeby's

eye! —
And said with low and faltering

breath, 780

* Thou know'st the terms of life

and death.'
The knight then turned and sternly

smiled i
' The maiden is mine only child,

Yet shall my blessing leave her

head
If with a traitor's son she wed.'
Then Redmond spoke : ' The life

of one
Might thy malignity atone,
On me be flung a double guilt !
Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine be

spilt ! ' •
Wycliffe had listened to his

suit, 790

But dread prevailed and he was

mute.

XXIX

And now he pours his choice of
fear

In secret on Matilda's ear ;

4 An union formed with me and
mine

Ensures the faith of Rokeby's line.

Consent, and all this dread array

Like morning dream shall pass
away;

Refuse, and by my duty pressed

I give the word — thou know'st
the rest.'

Matilda, still and motionless, 800

With terror heard the dread ad-
dress,

Pale as the sheeted maid who dies

To hopeless love a sacrifice ;

Then wrung her hands in agony,

And round her cast bewildered
eye,

Now on the scaffold glanced, and
now

On Wyciiffe's unrelenting brow.

She veiled her face, and with a
voice

Scarce audible, ' I make my choice !

Spare but their lives ! — for aught
beside 810

Let Wilfrid's doom my fate de-
cide.

He once was generous ! ' As she
spoke,

Dark Wyciiffe's joy in triumph
broke :

* Wilfrid, where loitered ye so late?

Why upon Basil rest thy weight? —

CANTO SIXTH

i8 1

Art spell-bound by enchanter's

wand ? —
Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded

hand ;
Thank her with raptures, simple

boy !
Should tears and trembling speak

thy joy ? '
1 0 hush, my sire ! To prayer and

tear 820

Of mine thou hast refused thine

ear ;
But now the awful hour draws

on
When truth must speak in loftier

tone.'

XXX

He took Matilda's hand: 'Dear

maid,
Couldst thou so injure me,' he said,
' Of thy poor friend so basely deem
As blend with him this barbarous

scheme ?
Alas ! my efforts made in vain
Might well have saved this added

pain.
But now, bear witness earth and

heaven 830

That ne'er was hope to mortal

given
So twisted with the strings of life
As this — to call Matilda wife !
I bid it now forever part,
And with the effort bursts my

heart.'
His feeble frame was worn so

low,
With wounds, wTith watching, and

with woe
That nature could no more sus-
tain
The agony of mental pain.
He kneeled— his lip her hand had

pressed, 840

Just then he felt the stern arrest.
Lower and lower sunk his head,—
They raised him, — but the life wras

fled!
Then first alarmed his sire and

train

Tried every aid, but tried in vain.
The soul, too soft its ills to bear,
Had left our mortal hemisphere,
And sought in better world the

meed
To blameless life by Heaven de-
creed. 849

XXXI

The wretched sire beheld aghast
With Wilfrid all his projects past,
All turned and centred on his

son,
On Wilfrid all — and he was gone.
' And I am childless nowr,' he said ;
1 Childless, through that relentless

maid!
A lifetime's arts in vain essayed
Are bursting on their artist's head !
Here lies my Wilfrid dead — and

there
Comes hated Mortham for his heir,
Eager to knit in happy band 860
With Rokeby's heiress Redmond's

hand.
And shall their triumph soar o'er

all
The schemes deep-laid to work

their fall?
No ! — deeds wThich prudence might

not dare
Appall not vengeance and despair.
The murderess weeps upon his

bier —
I'll change to real that feigned

tear!
They all shall share destruction's

shock ; —
Ho ! lead the captives to the block ! '
But ill his provost could divine 870
His feelings, and forbore the sign.
' Slave ! to the block ! — or I or

they
Shall face the judgment-seat this

day!'

XXXII

The outmost crowd have heard a

sound
Like horse's hoof on hardened

ground ;

382

ROKEBY

Nearer it came, and yet more

near, —
The very death's-men paused to

hear.
'T is in the churchyard now — the

tread
Hath waked the dwelling of the

dead ! 879

Fresh sod and old sepulchral stone
Return the tramp in varied tone.
All eyes upon the gateway hung,
When through the Gothic arch

there sprung
A horseman armed at headlong

speed —
Sable his cloak, his plume, his

steed.
Fire from the flinty floor was

spurned,
The vaults unwonted clang re-
turned ! —
One instant's glance around he

threw,
From saddlebow his pistol drew.
Grimly determined was his look !
His charger with the spurs he

strook— 891

All scattered backward as he

came,
For all knew Bertram Risingham !
Three bounds that noble courser

gave;
The first has reached the central

nave,
The second cleared the chancel

wide,
The third — he was at Wycliffe's

side.
Full levelled at the baron's head,
Rung the report — the bullet

sped — 899

And to his long account and last
Without a groan dark Oswald past !
All was so quick that it might

seem
A flash of lightning or a dream.

XXXIII

While yet the smoke the deed

conceals,
Bertram his ready charger wheels ;

But floundered on the pavement-
floor
The steed and down the rider

bore,
And, bursting in the headlong

sway,
The faithless saddle-girths gave

way.
'T was while he toiled him to be

freed, 910

And with the rein to raise the

steed,
That from amazement's iron trance
All Wycliffe's soldiers waked at

once.
Sword, halberd, musket-butt, their

blows
Hailed upon Bertram as he rose ;
A score of pikes with each a wound
Bore down and pinned him to the

ground ;
But still his struggling force he

rears,
' Gainst hacking brands and stab.

bing spears,
Thrice from assailants shook him

free, 920

Once gained his feet and twice his

knee.
By tenfold odds oppressed at

length,
Despite his struggles and his

strength,
He took a hundred mortal wounds
As mute as fox 'mongst mangling

hounds;
And when he died his parting

groan
Had more of laughter than of

moan!
They gazed as when a lion dies,
And hunters scarcely trust their

eyes,
But bend their weapons on the

slain 930

Lest the grim king should rouse

again !
Then blow and insult some re-
newed,
And from the trunk the head had

hewed,

CANTO SIXTH

383

But Basil's voice the deed forbade ;
A mantle o'er the corse he laid : —
' Fell as he was in act and mind,
He left no bolder heart behind :
Then give him, for a soldier meet
A soldier's cloak for winding
sheet.'

xxxiv
No more of death and dying

pang, 940

No more of trump and bugle clang,
Though through the sounding

woods there come
Banner and bugle, trump and

drum.
Armed with such powers as well

had freed
Young Redmond at his utmost

need,
And backed with such a band of

horse
As might less ample powers en-
force,
Possessed of every proof and sign
That gave an heir to Mortbam's

line, 949

And yielded to a father's arms
An image of his Edith's charms, —
Mortham is come, to hear and see
Of this strange morn the history.
^SYhat saw he? — not the church's

floor,
Cumbered with dead and stained

with gore ;
What heard he? — not the clamor-
ous crowd.
That shout their gratulations

loud :
Redmond he saw and heard alone,
Clasped him and sobbed, ' My son !

my son ! '

XXXV

This chanced upon a summer

morn, 96°

When yellow waved the heavy

corn:
But when brown August o'er the

land
Called forth the reaper's busy

band,
A gladsome sight the sylvan road
From Eglistone to Mortham

showed,
Awhile the hardy rustic leaves
The task to bind and pile the

sheaves,
And maids their sickles fling aside
To gaze on bridegroom and on

bride.
And childhood's wondering group

draws near, 970

And from the gleaner's hands the

ear
Drops while she folds them for a

prayer
And blessing on the lovely pair.
'Twas then the Maid of Rokeby

gave
Her plighted troth to Redmond

brave ;
And Teesdale can remember yet
How Fate to Virtue paid her

debt.
And for their troubles bade them

prove
A lengthened life of peace and

love.

Time and Tide had thus their
sway. 9S0

Yielding, like an April day,
Smiling noon for sullen morrow,
Years of joy for hours of sorrow !

3§4

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

OR
THE VALE OF SAINT JOHN

A LOVER'S TALE

INTRODUCTION

Come, Lucy ! while 't is morning
hour
The woodland brook we needs
must pass ;
So ere the sun assume his power
We shelter in our poplar bower,
Where dew lies long upon the
flower,
Though vanished from the velvet
grass.
Curbing the stream, this stony

ridge
May serve us for a sylvan bridge ;
For here compelled to disunite,
Round petty isles the runnels
glide, 10

And chafing off their puny spite,
The shallow murmurers waste
their might,
Yielding to footstep free and
light
A dry-shod pass from side to
side.

Nay, why this hesitating pause?—
And, Lucy, as thy step withdraws,
Why sidelong eye the streamlet's
brim?
Titania's foot without a slip,
Like thine, though timid, light,
and slim,
From stone to stone might safely
trip, 20

Nor risk the glow-worm clasp to
dip
That binds her slipper's silken rim.

Or trust thy lover's strength ; nor

fear
That this same stalwart arm of

mine,
Which could yon oak's prone

trunk uprear,
Shall shrink beneath the burden

dear
Of form so slender, light, and

fine.—
So — now, the danger dared at

last,
Look back and smile at perils past !

And now we reach the favorite
glade, 30

Paled in by copsewood, cliff, and
stone,
Where never harsher sounds in-
vade
To break affection's whispering
tone
Than the deep breeze that waves
the shade,
Than the small brooklet's feeble
moan.
Come! rest thee on thy wonted
seat ;
Mossed is the stone, the turf is
green,
A place where lovers best may
meet
Who would not that their love
be seen.
The boughs that dim the summer
sky 40

Shall hide us from each lurking spy
That fain would spread the in-
vidious tale,

INTRODUCTION

385

How Lucy of the lofty eye,

Too oft when through the splen-

Noble in birth, in fortunes high,

did hall, 70

She for whom lords and barons

The loadstar of each heart and

sigh,

eye,

Meets her poor Arthur in the

My fair one leads the glittering

dale.

ball,

Will her stolen glance on Ar-

thur fall

How deep that blush ! — how deep

With such a blush and such a

that sigh !

sigh!

And why does Lucy shun mine

Thou wouldst not yield for

eye?

wealth or rank

Is it because that crimson draws

The heart thy worth and

Its color from some secret

beauty won,

cause, 50

Nor leave me on this mossy

Some hidden movement of the

bank

breast,

To meet a rival on a throne :

She would not that her Arthur

Why then should vain repfnings

guessed?

rise,

0, quicker far is lovers' ken

That to thy lover fate denies 80

Than the dull glance of common

A nobler name, a wide domain,

men,

A baron's birth, a menial train,

And by strange sympathy can

Since Heaven assigned him for

spell

his part

The thoughts the loved one will

A lyre, a falchion, and a heart ?

not tell !

And mine in Lucy's blush saw met

The hue of pleasure and regret ;

My sword — its master must be

Pride mingled in the sigh her

dumb;

voice,

But when a soldier names my

And shared with Love the

name,

crimson glow, 60

Approach, my Lucy! fearless

Well pleased that thou art Ar-

come,

thur's choice,

Nor dread to hear of Arthur's

Yet shamed thine own is

shame.

placed so low :

My heart — mid all yon courtly

Thou turn' st thy self -confessing

crew

cheek,

Of lordly rank and lofty line, 90

As if to meet the breezes cool-

Is there to love and honor true,

ing;

That boasts a pulse so warm

Then, Lucy, hear thy tutor

as mine ?

speak,

They praised thy diamonds' lustre

For Love too has his hours of

rare —

schooling.

Matched with thine eyes, I

thought it faded ;

They praised the pearls that bound

Too oft my anxious eye has spied

thy hair —

That secret grief thou fain

I only saw the locks they

wouldst hide,

braided ;

The passing pang of humbled

They talked of wealthy dower and

pride ;

land,

386

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

And titles of high birth the
token —
I thought of Lucy's heart and
hand,
Nor knew the sense of what was
spoken. ioo

And yet, if ranked in Fortune's
roll,
I might have learned their choice
unwise
Who rate the dower above the
soul
And Lucy's diamonds o'er her
eyes.

VII

My lyre — it is an idle toy
That borrows accents not its
own,

Like warbler of Colombian sky
That sings but in a mimic tone.

Ne'er did it sound o'er sainted
well,

Nor boasts it aught of Border
spell; no

Its strings no feudal slogan pour,

Its heroes draw no broad clay-
more ;

No shouting clans applauses raise

Because it sung their fathers'
praise ;

On Scottish moor, or English down,

It ne'er was graced with fair re-
nown;

Nor won — best meed to minstrel
true —

One favoring smile from fair Buc-
cleuch!

By one poor streamlet sounds its
tone,

And heard by one dear maid
alone. 120

VIII

But, if thou bid'st, these tones

shall tell
Of errant knight, and damoselle ;
Of the dread knot a wizard tied
In punishment of maiden's pride,
In notes of marvel and of fear
That best may charm romantic

ear.

For Lucy loves — like Collins,

ill-starred name !
Whose lay's requital was that

tardy Fame,
Who bound no laurel round his

living head,
Should hang it o'er his monument
• when dead, — 130

For Lucy loves to tread enchanted

strand,
And thread like him the maze of

Fairy-land ;
Of golden battlements to view the

gleam,
And slumber soft by some Elysian

stream ;
Such lays she loves — and, such

my Lucy's choice,
What other song can claim her

Poet's voice ?

CANTO FIRST

Wheee is the maiden of mortal

strain
That may match with the Baron

of Triermain ?
She must be lovely and constant

and kind,
Holy and pure and humble of

mind, ,

Blithe of cheer and gentle of mood,
Courteous and generous and noble

of blood —
Lovely as the sun's first ray
When it breaks the clouds of an

April day ;
Constant and true as the widowed

dove,
Kind as a minstrel that sings of

love ; 10

Pure as the fountain in rocky cave
Where never sunbeam kissed the

wave ;
Humble as maiden that loves in

vain,
Holy as hermit's vesper strain ;
Gentle as breeze that but whispers

and dies,

CANTO FIRST

387

Yet blithe as the light leaves that

dance in its sighs ;
Courteous as monarch the morn he

is crowned,
Generous as spring - dews that

bless the glad ground ;
Noble her blood as the currents

that met
In the veins of the noblest Planta-

genet — 20

Such must her form be, her mood,

and her strain,
That shall match with Sir Roland

of Triermain.

Sir Roland de Vaux he hath laid

him to sleep,
His blood it was fevered, his

breathing was deep.
He had been pricking against the

Scot,
The foray was long and the skir-
mish hot ;
His dinted helm and his buckler's

plight
Bore token of a stubborn fight.
All in the castle must hold them

still, 29

Harpers must lull him to his rest
With the slow soft tunes he loves

the best
Till sleep sink down upon his

breast,
Like the dew on a summer hill.

It was the dawn of an autumn
day;

The sun was struggling with frost-
fog gray

That like a silvery crape was
spread

Round Skiddaw's dim and distant
head,

And faintly gleamed each painted
pane

Of the lordly halls of Triermain,
When that baron bold awoke. 40

Starting he woke and loudly did
call,

Rousing his menials in bower and
hall
While hastily he spoke.

' Hearken, my minstrels ! Which
of ye all

Touched his harp with that dying
fall,
So sweet, so soft, so faint,

It seemed an angel's whispered
call
To an expiring saint?

And hearken, my merry-men!
What time or where
Did she pass, that maid with her
heavenly brow, 50

With her look so sweet and her
eyes so fair,

And her graceful step and her an-
gel air,

And the eagle plume in her dark-
brown hair,
That passed from my bower e'en
now!'

Answered him Richard de Bret-

ville ; he
Was chief of the baron's min-
strelsy, —
4 Silent, noble chieftain, we

Have sat since midnight close,
When such lulling sounds as the

brooklet sings
Murmured from our melting
strings, 60

And hushed you to repose.
Had a harp-note sounded here,
It had caught my watchful ear,
Although it fell as faint and shy
As bashful maiden's half-formed
sigh
When she thinks her lover near.'
Answered Philip of Fasthwaite

tall;

He kept guard in the outer-hall,—

1 Since at eve our watch took post,

Not a foot has thy portal crossed ;

Else had I heard the steps,

though low 71

3«8

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

And light they fell as when earth

receives
In morn of frost the withered

leaves
That drop when no winds blow.'

*Then come thou hither, Henry,

my page,
Whom I saved from the sack of

Hermitage,
When that dark castle, tower, and

spire,
Hose to the skies a pile of fire,
And reddened all the Nine-stane

Hill,
And the shrieks of death, that

wildly broke 80

Through devouring flame and

smothering smoke,
Made the warrior's heart-blood

chill.
The trustiest thou of all my train,
My fleetest courser thou must

rein,
And ride to Lyulph's tower,
And from the Baron of Triermain

Greet well that sage of power.
He is sprung from Druid sires
And British bards that tuned their

lyres
To Arthur's and Pendragon's

praise, 90

And his who sleeps at Dunmail-

raise.
Gifted like his gifted race,
He the characters can trace
Graven deep in elder time
Upon Hellvellyn's cliffs sublime;
Sign and sigil well doth he know,
And can bode of weal and woe,
Of kingdoms' fall and fate of wars,
From mystic dreams and course

of stars.
He shall tell if middle earth 100
To that enchanting shape gave

birth,
Or if 't was but an airy thing
Such as fantastic slumbers bring,
Framed from the rainbow's vary-
ing dyes

Or fading tints of western skies.
For, by the blessed rood I swear,
If that fair form breathe vital

air,
No other maiden by my side
Shall ever rest De Vaux's bride ! '

VII

The faithful page he mounts his

steed, no

And soon he crossed green Irth-

ing's mead,
Dashed o'er Kirkoswald's verdant

plain,
And Eden barred his course in

vain.
He passed red Penrith's Table

Kound,
For feats of chivalry renowned,
Left Mayburgh's mound and

stones of power,
By Druids raised in magic hour,
And traced the Eamont's winding

way n8

Till Ulfo's lake beneath him lay.

VIII

Onward he rode, the pathway still
Winding betwixt the lake and hill ;
Till, on the fragment of a rock
Struck from its base by lightning
shock,
He saw the hoary sage :
The silver moss and lichen twined,
With fern and deer-hair checked
and lined,
A cushion fit for age ;
And o'er him shook the aspen-tree,
A restless rustling canopy.
Then sprung young Henry from
his selle 130

And greeted Lyulph grave,
And then his master's tale did
tell,
And then for counsel crave.
The man of years mused long and

deep,
Of time's lost treasures taking

keep,
And then, as rousing from a sleep,
His solemn answer gave.

CANTO FIRST

389

1 That maid is born of middle earth

And may of man be won,
Though there have glided since

her birth 140

Five hundred years and one.
But where 's the knight in all the

north,
That dare the adventure follow

forth,
So perilous to knightly worth,
In the valley of Saint John ?
Listen, youth, to what I tell,
And bind it on thy memory well ;
Nor muse that I commence the

rhyme
Far distant mid the wrecks of

time.
The mystic tale by bard and sage
Is handed down from Merlin's

age. 151

LYULPH'S TALE

'King Arthur has ridden from

merry Carlisle
When Pentecost was o'er :
He journeyed like errant-knight

the while,
And sweetly the summer sun did

smile
On mountain, moss, and moor.
Above his solitary track
Rose Glaramara's ridgy back,
Amid whose yawning gulfs the sun
Cast umbered radiance red and

dun, 160

Though never sunbeam could dis-
cern
The surface of that sable tarn,
In whose black mirror you may

spy
The stars while noontide lights

the sky.
The gallant king he skirted still
The margin of that mighty hill ;
Rock upon rocks incumbent hung,
And torrents, down the gullies

flung,
Joined the rude river that brawled

on,

Recoiling now from crag and

stone, 170

Now diving deep from human

ken,
And raving down its darksome

glen.
The monarch judged this desert

wild,
With such romantic ruin piled,
Was theatre by Nature's hand
For feat of high achievement

planned.

1 0, rather he chose, that monarch
bold,
On venturous quest to ride
In plate and mail by wood and

wold
Than, with ermine trapped and
cloth of gold, 180

In princely bower to bide ;
The bursting crash of a foeman's
spear,
As it shivered against his mail,
Was merrier music to his ear

Than courtier's whispered tale :
And the clash of Caliburn more

dear,
When on the hostile casque it
rung,
Than all the lays
To the monarch's praise
That the harpers of Reged sung.
He loved better to rest by wood or
river 191

Than in bower of his bride, Dame

Guenever,
For he left that lady so lovely of

cheer
To follow adventures of danger

and fear ;
And the frank-hearted monarch

full little did wot
That she smiled in his absence on
brave Lancelot.

XII

1 He rode till over down and dell
The shade more broad and deeper
fell;

390

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

And though around the moun-
tain's head
Flowed streams of purple and gold

and red, 200

Dark at the base, unblest by

beamt
Frowned the black rocks and

roared the stream.
With toil the king his way pur-
sued
By lonely Threlkeld's waste and

wood,
Till on his course obliquely shone
The narrow valley of Saint John,
Down sloping to the western sky
Where lingering sunbeams love to

lie.
Right glad to feel those beams

again,
The king drew up his charger's

rein; 210

With gauntlet raised he screened

his sight,
As dazzled with the level light,
And from beneath his glove of

mail
Scanned at his ease the lovely

vale,
While 'gainst the sun his armor

bright
Gleamed ruddy like the beacon's

light.

XIII

* Paled in by many a lofty hill,
The narrow dale lay smooth and

still,
And, down its verdant bosom led,
A winding brooklet found its
bed. 220

But midmost of the vale a mound
Arose with airy turrets crowned,
Buttress, and rampire's circling
bound,
And mighty keep and tower;
Seemed some primeval giant's

hand
The castle's massive walls had

planned,
A ponderous bulwark to with-
stand

Ambitious Nimrod's power.
Above the moated entrance slung,
The balanced drawbridge trem-
bling hung, 230
As jealous of a foe ;
Wicket of oak, as iron hard,
With iron studded, clenched, and

barred,
And pronged portcullis, joined to

guard
The gloomy pass below.
But the gray walls no banners

crowned,
Upon the watchtower's airy round
No warder stood his horn to

sound,
No guard beside the bridge was

found,
And where the Gothic gateway

frowned 240

Glanced neither bill nor bow.

XIV

1 Beneath the castle's gloomy pride,
In ample round did Arthur ride
Three times ; nor living thing he
spied,
Nor heard a living sound,
Save that, awakening from her

dream,
The owlet now began to scream
In concert with the rushing stream
That washed the battled mound.
He lighted from his goodly steed,
And he left him to graze on bank
and mead ; 251

And slowly he climbed the narrow

way
That reached the entrance grim

and gray,
And he stood the outward arch

below,
And his bugle-horn prepared to
blow
In summons blithe and bold,
Deeming to rouse from iron sleep
The guardian of this dismal keep,
Which well he guessed the hold
Of wizard stern, or goblin grim, 260
Or pagan of gigantic limb,
The tyrant of the wold.

CANTO FIRST

39i

' The ivory bugle's golden tip
Twice touched the monarch's man-
ly lip,
And twice his hand withdrew.—
Think not but Arthur's heart was

good!
His shield was crossed by the

blessed rood :
Had a pagan host before him

stood,
He had charged them through

and through ;
Yet the silence of that ancient

place 270

Sunk on his heart, and he paused

a space
Ere yet his horn he blew.
But, instant as its larum rung,
The castle gate was open flung,
Portcullis rose with crashing

groan
Full harshly up its groove of

stone ;
The balance-beams obeyed the

blast,
And down the trembling draw-
bridge cast ;
The vaulted arch before him lay
With naught to bar the gloomy

way, 280

And onward Arthur paced with

hand
On Catiburn's resistless brand.

XVI

4 A hundred torches flashing

bright
Dispelled at once the gloomy
night
That loured along the walls,
And showed the king's astonished
sight
The inmates of the halls.
Nor wizard stern, nor goblin grim,
Nor giant huge of form and limb,
Nor heathen knight, was there ;
But the cressets which odors flung
aloft 291

Showed by their yellow light and
soft

A band of damsels fair.
Onward they came, like summer

wave
That dances to the shore ;
An hundred voices welcome gave,

And welcome o'er and o'er!
An hundred lovely hands assail
The bucklers of the monarch's

mail,
And busy labored to unhasp 300
Rivet of steel and iron clasp.
One wrrapped him in a mantle fair,
And one flung odors on his hair ;
His short curled ringlets one

smoothed down,
One wreathed them with a myrtle

crown.
A bride upon her wedding-day
Was tended ne'er by troop so

gay.

XVII

' Loud laughed they all, — the king

in vain
With questions tasked the giddy

train ;
Let him entreat or crave or call,
'T was one reply — loud laughed

they all. 3 1 1

Then o'er him mimic chains they

fling
Framed of the fairest flowers of

spring ;
While some their gentle force

unite
Onward to drag the wondering

knight,
Some bolder urge his pace with

blows,
Dealt with the lily or the rose.
Behind him were in triumph borne
The warlike arms he late had

worn. 3 19

Four of the train combined to rear
The terrors of Tintadgel's spear ;
Two, laughing at their lack of

strength,
Dragged Caliburn in cumbrous

length ;
One, while she aped a martial

stride,

392

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

Placed on her brows the helmet's
pride ;

Then screamed 'twixt laughter
and surprise

To feel its depth o'erwhelm her
eyes.

With revel- shout and triumph-
song

Thus gayly marched the giddy
throng.

XVIII

* Through many a gallery and hall
They led, I ween, their royal

thrall; 331

At length, beneath a fair arcade
Their march and song at once

they staid.
The eldest maiden of the band —
The lovely maid was scarce
eighteen —
Raised with imposing air her hand,
And reverent silence did com-
mand
On entrance of their Queen,
And they were mute. — But as a

glance
They steal on Arthur's counte-
nance 340
Bewildered with surprise,
Their smothered mirth again 'gan

speak
In archly dimpled chin and cheek
And laughter-lighted eyes.

XIX

* The attributes of those high days
Now only live in minstrel-lays ;
For Nature, now exhausted, still
Was then profuse of good and

ill.
Strength was gigantic, valor high,
And wisdom soared beyond the

sky, 350

And beauty had such matchless

beam
As lights not now a lover's dream.
Yet e'en in that romantic age
Ne'er were such charms by

mortal seen
As Arthur's dazzled eyes engage,

When forth on that enchanted

stage
With glittering train of maid and
page
Advanced the castle's queen !
While up the hall she slowly
passed, 359

Her dark eye on the king she cast
That flashed expression strong ;
The longer dwelt that lingering

look,
Her cheek the livelier color took,
And scarce the shame-faced king
could brook
The gaze that lasted long.
A sage who had that look espied,
Where kindling passion strove
with pride,
Had whispered, " Prince, be-
ware!
From the chafed tiger rend the

prey,
Rush on the lion when at bay, 370
Bar the fell dragon's blighted way,
But shun that lovely snare ! "

'At once, that inward strife sup-
pressed,
The dame approached her warlike

guest,
With greeting in that fair degree
Where female pride and courtesy
Are blended with such passing art
As awes at once and charms the

heart.
A courtly welcome first she gave,
Then of his goodness 'gan to crave
Construction fair and true 381
Of her light maidens' idle mirth,
Who drew from lonely glens their

birth
Nor knew to pay to stranger worth

And dignity their due ;
And then she prayed that he would

rest
That night her castle's honored

guest.
The monarch meetly thanks ex-
pressed ;
The banquet rose at her behest,

CANTO SECOND

393

With lay and tale, and laugh and
jest, 390

Apace the evening flew.

XXI

• The lady sate the monarch by,

Now in her turn abashed and
shy,

And with indifference seemed to
hear

The toys he whispered in her
ear.

Her bearing modest was and fair,

Yet shadows of constraint were
there

That showed an over-cautious care
Some inward thought to hide ;

Oft did she pause in full reply, 400

And oft cast down her large dark
eye,

Oft checked the soft voluptuous
sigh
That heaved her bosom's pride.

Slight symptoms these, but shep-
herds know

How hot the mid-day sun shall
glow
From the mist of morning sky ;

And so the wily monarch guessed

That this assumed restraint ex-
pressed

More ardent passions in the breast
Than ventured to the eye. 410

Closer he pressed while beakers
rang,

While maidens laughed and min-
strels sang,
Still closer to her ear —

But why pursue the common tale ?

Or wherefore show how knights
prevail
When ladies dare to hear?

Or wherefore trace from what
slight cause

Its source one tyrant passion
draws,
Till, mastering all within,

Where lives the man that has not
tried 420

How mirth can into folly glide
And folly into sin ! »

CANTO SECOND
LYULPH'S TALE CONTINUED

' Another day, another day,
And yet another, glides away !
The Saxon stern, the pagan Dane,
Maraud on Britain's shores again.
Arthur, of Christendom the flower,
Lies loitering in a lady's bower;
The horn that foemen wont to fear
Sounds but to wake the Cumbrian

deer,
And Caliburn, the British pride,
Hangs useless by a lover's side. 10

' Another day, another day,
And yet another, glides away.
Heroic plans in pleasure drowned,
He thinks not of the Table Round ;
In lawless love dissolved his life,
He thinks not of his beauteous

wife :
Better he loves to snatch a flower
From bosom of his paramour
Than from a Saxon knight to wrest
The honors of his heathen crest;
Better to wreathe mid tresses

brown 21

The heron's plume her hawk struck

down
Than o'er the altar give to flow
The banners of a Paynim foe.
Thus week by week and day by

day
His life inglorious glides away ;
But she that soothes his dream

with fear
Beholds his hour of waking near.

'Much force have mortal charms
to stay 29

Our pace in Virtue's toilsome way ;

But Guendolen's might far out-
shine

Each maid of merely mortal line.

Her mother was of human birth,

Her sire a Genie of the earth,

394

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

In days of old deemed to preside
O'er lovers' wiles and beauty's

pride,
By youths and virgins worshipped

long
With festive dance and choral

song,
Till, when the cross to Britain

came, 39

On heathen altars died the flame.
Now, deep in Wastdale solitude,
The downfall of his rights he rued,
And born of his resentment heir,
He trained to guile that lady fair,
To sink in slothful sin and shame
The champions of the Christian

name.
Well skilled to keep vain thoughts

alive,
And all to promise, naught to give,
The timid youth had hope in store,
The bold and pressing gained no

more. 50

As wildered children leave their

home
After the rainbow's arch to roam,
Her lovers bartered fair esteem,
Faith, fame, and honor, for a

dream.

'Her sire's soft arts the soul to

tame
She practised thus — till Arthur

came;
Then frail humanity had part,
And all the mother claimed her

heart.
Forgot each rule her father gave,
Sunk from a princess to a slave, 60
Too late must Guendolen deplore,
He that has all can hope no more !
Now must she see her lover strain
At every turn her feeble chain,
Watch to new-bind each knot and

shrink
To view each fast-decaying link.
Art she invokes to Nature's aid,
Her vest to zone, her locks to braid ;
Each varied pleasure heard her

call,

The feast, the tourney, and the
ball : 70

Her storied lore she next applies,
Taxing her mind to aid her eyes ;
Now more than mortal wise and

then
In female softness sunk again :
Now raptured with each wish com-
plying,
With feigned reluctance now deny-
ing;
Each charm she varied to retain
A varying heart — and all in vain !

1 Thus in the garden's narrow
bound

Flanked by some castle's Gothic
round, 80

Fain would the artist's skill pro-
vide

The limits of his realms to hide.

The walks in labyrinths he twines,

Shade after shade with skill com-
bines

With many a varied flowery knot

And copse and arbor decks the
spot,

Tempting the hasty foot to stay

And linger on the lovely way —

Vain art ! vain hope ! 't is fruitless
all!

At length we reach the bounding
wall, 90

And, sick of flower and trim-
dressed tree,

Long for rough glades and forest
free.

1 Three summer months had scantly

flown
When Arthur in embarrassed

tone
Spoke of his liegemen and his

throne ;
Said all too long had been his stay,
And duties which a monarch sway,
Duties unknown to humbler men,
Must tear her knight from Guen-
dolen.

CANTO SECOND

395

She listened silently the while, ioo
Her mood expressed in bitter

smile ;
Beneath her eye must Arthur

quail
And oft resume the unfinished

tale,
Confessing by his downcast eye
The wrong he sought to*justify.
He ceased. A moment mute she

gazed,
And then her looks to heaven she

raised ;
One palm her temples veiled to

hide
The tear that sprung in spite of

pride ; 109

The other for an instant pressed
The foldings of her silken vest !

VII

1 At her reproachful sign and look,
The hint the monarch's conscience

took.
Eager he spoke — " No, lady, no !
Deem not of British Arthur so,
Nor think he can deserter prove
To the dear pledge of mutual love.
I swear by sceptre and by sword,
As belted knight and Britain's

lord, 119

That if a boy shall claim my care,
That boy is born a kingdom's heir ;
But, if a maiden Fate allows,
To choose that mate a fitting

spouse,
A summer-day in lists shall strive
My knights — the bravest knights

alive —
And he, the best and bravest tried,
Shall Arthur's daughter claim for

bride."
He spoke with voice resolved and

high —
The lady deigned him not reply.

VIII

4 At dawn of morn ere on the
brake 130

His matins did a warbler make
Or stirred his wing to brush away

A single dewdrop from the spray,
Ere yet a sunbeam through the

mist
The castle-battlements had kissed,
The gates revolve, the drawbridge

falls,
And Arthur sallies from the walls.
Doffed his soft garb of Persia's

loom,
And steel from spur to helmet

plume,
His Lybian steed full proudly

trode, 140

And joyful neighed beneath his

load.
The monarch gave a passing sigh
To penitence and pleasures by,
When, lo ! to his astonished ken
Appeared the form of Guendolen.

* Beyond the outmost wall she
stood,

Attired like huntress of the wood :

Sandalled her feet, her ankles
bare,

And eagle - plumage decked her
hair ;

Firm was her look, her bearing
bold, 150

And in her hand a cup of gold.

" Thou goest ! " she said, " and
ne'er again

Must we two meet in joy or pain.

Full fain would I this hour delay,

Though weak the wish — yet wilt
thou stay ?

No! thou look'st forward. Still
attend, —

Part we like lover and like friend."

She raised the cup — " Not this the
juice

The sluggish vines of earth pro-
duce;

Pledge we at parting in the
draught 160

Which Genii love ! " — she said
and quaffed ;

And strange unwonted lustres fly

From her flushed cheek and spar-
kling eye.

39^

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

* The courteous monarch bent him

low
And, stooping down from saddle-
bow,
Lifted the cup in act to drink.
A drop escaped the goblet's

brink -*-
Intense as liquid fire from hell,
Upon the charger's neck it fell.
Screaming with agony and fright,
He bolted twenty feet upright —
The peasant still can show the

dint 172

Where his hoofs lighted on the

flint. —
From Arthur's hand the goblet

flew,
Scattering a shower of fiery dew
That burned and blighted where

it fell !
The frantic steed rushed up the

dell,
As whistles from the bow the

reed;
Nor bit nor rein could check his

speed
Until he gained the hill ; 180
Then breath and sinew failed

apace,
And, reeling from the desperate

race,
He stood exhausted, still.
The monarch, breathless and

amazed,
Back on the fatal castle gazed —
Nor tower nor donjon could he

spy,
Darkening against the morning

sky;
But on the spot where once they

frowned
The lonely streamlet brawled

around
A tufted knoll, where dimly shone
Fragments of rock and rifted

stone. 191

Musing on this strange hap the

while,
The king wends back to fair Car-
lisle ;

And cares that cumber royal sway
Wore memory of the past away.

1 Full fifteen years and more were
sped,

Each brought new wreaths to
Arthur's head.

Twelve bloody fields with glory
fought

The Saxons to subjection brought :

Rython, the mighty giant, slain 200

By his good brand, relieved Bre-
tagne :

The Pictish Gillamore in fight

And Roman Lucius owned his
might ;

And wide were through the world
renowned

The glories of his Table Round.

Each knight who sought adven-
turous fame

To the bold court of Britain came,

And all who suffered causeless
wrong,

From tyrant proud or faitour
strong,

Sought Arthur's presence to com-
plain, 210

Nor there for aid implored in vain.

XII

1 For this the king with pomp and

pride
Held solemn court at Whitsun-
tide,
And summoned prince and peer,
All who owed homage for their

land,
Or who craved knighthood from

his hand,
Or who had succour to demand,

To come from far and near.
At such high tide were glee and

game
Mingled with feats of martial

fame, 220

For many a stranger champion

came
In lists to break a spear ;
And not a knight of Arthur's host,

CANTO SECOND

397

Save that he trode some foreign

coast,
But at this feast of Pentecost

Before him must appear.
Ah, minstrels ! when the Table

Round
Arose with all its warriors

crowned,
There was a theme for bards to

sound
In triumph to their string ! 230
Five hundred years are past and

gone,
But time shall draw his dying

groan
Ere he behold the British throne
Begirt with such a ring !

XIII

1 The heralds named the appointed

spot,
As Caerleon or Camelot,

Or Carlisle fair and free.

At Penrith now the feast was set,

And in fair Eamont's vale were

met

The flower of chivalry. 240

There Galahad sate with manly

grace,
Yet maiden meekness in his face ;
There Morolt of the iron mace,
And love-lorn Tristrem there ;
And Dinadam with lively glance,
And Lanval with the fairy lance,
And Mordred with his look
askance,
Brunor and Bevidere.
Why should I tell of numbers

more?
Sir Cay, Sir Bannier, and Sir
Bore, 250

Sir Carodac the keen,
The gentle Gawain's courteous

lore,
Hector de Mares and Pellinore,
And Lancelot, that evermore
Looked stolen-wise on the queen.

xrv
' When wine and mirth did most
abound

And harpers played their blithest

round,
A shrilly trumpet shook the

ground

And marshals cleared the ring ;

A maiden on a palfrey white, 260

Heading a band of damsels bright,

Paced through the circle to alight

And kneel before the king.
Arthur with strong emotion saw
Her graceful boldness checked by

awe,
Her dress like huntress of the

wold,
Her bow and baldric trapped with

gold,
Her sandalled feet, her ankles

bare,
And the eagle-plume that decked

her hair.
Graceful her veil she backward

flung — 270

The king, as from his seat he

sprung,
Almost cried, " Guendolen ! "
But 't was a face more frank and

wild,
Betwixt the woman and the child,
Where less of magic beauty smiled

Than of the race of men ;
And in the forehead's haughty

grace
The lines of Britain's royal race,
Pendragon's you might ken.

'Faltering, yet gracefully she

said — 280

" Great Prince ! behold an orphan

maid,
In her departed mother's name,
A father's vowed protection claim !
The vow was sworn in desert

lone
In the deep valley of Saint John."
At once the king the suppliant

raised,
And kissed her brow, her beauty

praised ;
His vow, he said, should well be

kept,

398

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

Ere in the sea the sun was

dipped,—
Then conscious glanced upon his

queen: 290

But she, unruffled at the scene
Of human frailty construed mild,
Looked upon Lancelot and smiled.

XVI

' " Up ! up ! each knight of gallant
crest
Take buckler, spear, and brand !
He that to-day shall bear him best

Shall win my Gyneth's hand.
And Arthur's daughter when a
bride
Shall bring a noble dower,
Both fair Strath-Clyde and Reged
wide, 300

And Carlisle town and tower."
Then might you hear each valiant
knight
To page and squire that cried,
" Bring my armor bright and my

courser wight ;
'T is not each day that a warrior's
might
May win a royal bride."
Then cloaks and caps of mainte-
nance
In haste aside they fling ;
The helmets glance and gleams
the lance,
And the steel-weaved hauberks
ring. 310

Small care had they of their peace-
ful array,
They might gather it that wolde ;
For brake and bramble glittered
gay
With pearls and cloth of gold.

XVII

* Within trumpet sound of the Ta-
ble Round,
Were fifty champions free,
And they all arise to fight that
prize,—
They all arise but three.
Nor love's fond troth nor wedlock's
oath

" One gallant could withhold, 320
For priests will allow of a broken
vow
For penance or for gold.
But sigh and glance from ladies
bright
Among the troop were thrown,
To plead their right and true-love
plight,
And plain of honor flown.
The knights they busied them so
fast
With buckling spur and belt
That sigh and look by ladies cast
Were neither seen nor felt. 330
From pleading or upbraiding
glance
Each gallant turns aside,
And only thought, " If speeds my
lance,
A queen becomes my bride !
She has fair Strath-Clyde and
Reged wide,
And Carlisle tower and town ;
She is the loveliest maid, beside,

That ever heired a crown."
So in haste their coursers they be-
stride
And strike their visors down. 340

XVIII

' The champions, armed in martial
sort,
Have thronged into the list,
And but three knights of Arthur's
court
Are from the tourney missed.
And still these lovers' fame sur-
vives
For faith so constant shown,—
There were two who loved their
neighbors' wives,
And one who loved his own.
The first was Lancelot de Lac,

The second Tristrem bold, 350
The third was valiant Carodac,

Who won the cup of gold,
What time, of all King Arthur's
crew —
Thereof came jeer and laugh —
He, as the mate of lady true,

CANTO SECOND

399

Alone the cup could quaff.
Though envy's tongue would fain
surmise
That, but for very shame,
Sir Carodac to fight that prize

Had given both cup and dame,
Yet, since but one of that fair
court 361

Was due to wedlock's shrine,
Brand him who will with base re-
port,
He shall be free from mine.

XIX

' Now caracoled the steeds in air,
Now plumes and pennons wan-
toned fair,
As all around the lists so wide
In panoply the champions ride.
King Arthur saw with startled

eye
The flower of chivalry march by,
The bulwark of the Christian
creed, 371

The kingdom's shield in hour of

need.
Too late he thought him of the woe
Might from their civil conflict flow ;
For well he knew they would not

part
Till cold was many a gallant heart.
His hasty vow he 'gan to rue,
And Gyneth then apart he drew ;
To her his leading-staff resigned,
But added caution grave and kind.

* " Thou see'st, my child, as pro-
mise-bound, 381
I bid the trump for tourney sound.
Take thou my warder as the queen
And umpire of the martial scene ;
But mark thou this : — as Beauty

bright
Is polar star to valiant knight,
As at her word his sword he draws,
His fairest guerdon her applause,
So gentle maid should never ask
Of knighthood vain and dangerous
task ; 390

And Beauty's eyes should ever be

Like the twin stars that soothe
the sea,

And Beauty's breath should whis-
per peace

And bid the storm of battle cease.

I tell thee this lest all too far

These knights urge tourney into
war.

Blithe at the trumpet let them go,

And fairly counter blow for
blow; —

No striplings these, who succor
need 399

For a razed helm or falling steed.

But, Gyneth, when the strife grows
warm

And threatens death or deadly
harm,

Thy sire entreats, thy king com-
mands,

Thou drop the warder from thy
hands.

Trust, thou thy father with thy
fate,

Doubt not he choose thee fitting
mate;

Nor be it said through Gyneth' s
pride

A rose of Arthur's chaplet died."

XXI

* A proud and discontented glow
O'ershadowed Gyneth's brow of

snow ; 410

She put the warder by,: —
" Reserve thy boon, my liege," she

said,
" Thus chaffered down and limited,
Debased and narrowed for a maid

Of less degree than I.
No petty chief but holds his heir
At a more honored price and rare

Than Britain's King holds me !
Although the sun-burned maid for

dower
Has but her father's rugged tower,
His barren hill and lee." 421
King Arthur swore, " By crown

and sword,
As belted knight and Britain's
lord,

400

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

That a whole summer's day should

strive
His knights, the bravest knights

alive! " —
"Kecall thine oath! and to her

glen
Poor Gyneth can return agen ;
Not on thy daughter will the stain
That soils thy sword and crown

remain.
But think not she will e'er be bride
Save to the bravest, proved and

tried; 431

Pendragon's daughter will not fear
For clashing sword or splintered

spear,
Nor shrink though blood should

flow;
And all too well sad Guendolen
Hath taught the faithlessness of

men
That child of hers should pity when
Their meed they undergo."

XXII

1 He frowned and sighed, the mon-
arch bold : —

" I 'give — what I may not with-
hold ; 440

For, not for danger, dread, or
death,

Must British Arthur break his
faith.

Too late I mark thy mother's art

Hath taught thee this relentless
part.

I blame her not, for she had wrong,

But not to these my faults be-
long.

Use then the warder as thou wilt ;

But trust me that, if life be spilt,

In Arthur's love, in Arthur's
grace,

Gyneth shall lose a daughter's
place." 450

With that he turned his head
aside,

Nor brooked to gaze upon her
pride,

As with the truncheon raised she
sate

The arbitress of mortal fate ;

Nor brooked to mark in ranks dis-
posed

How the bold champions stood op-
posed,

For shrill the trumpet-flourish fell

Upon his ear like passing bell !

Then first from sight of martial
fray

Did Britain's hero turn away. 460

XXIII

1 But Gyneth heard the clangor

high
As hears the hawk the partridge

cry.
0, blame her not ! the blood was

hers
That at the trumpet's summons

stirs ! —
And e'en the gentlest female eye
Might the brave strife of chivalry

Awhile untroubled view ;
So well accomplished was each

knight
To strike and to defend in fight,
Their meeting was a goodly sight
While plate and mail held true.
The lists with painted plumes were

strown, 472

Upon the wind at random thrown,
But helm and breastplate bloodless

shone,
It seemed their feathered crests

alone
Should this encounter rue.
And ever, as the combat grows,
The trumpet's cheery voice arose,
Like lark's shrill song the flourish

flows,
Heard while the gale of April

blows 480

The merry greenwood through.

xxrv

'But soon to earnest grew their

game,
The spears drew blood, the swords

struck flame,
And, horse and man, to ground

there came

CANTO SECOND

401

Knights who shall rise no
more !

Gone was the pride the war that
graced,

Gay shields were cleft and crests
defaced,

And steel coats riven and helms
unbraced,
And pennons streamed with
gore.

Gone too were fence and fair ar-
ray, 490

And desperate strength made
deadly way

At random through the bloody
fray,

And blows were dealt with head-
long sway,
Unheeding where they fell ;

And now the trumpet's clamors
seem

Like the shrill sea-bird's wailing
scream

Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfing
stream,
The sinking seaman's knell!

XXV

' Seemed in this dismal hour that

Fate
Would Camlan's ruin antedate, 500
And spare dark Mordred's crime ;
Already gasping on the ground
Lie twenty of the Table Round,

Of chivalry the prime.
Arthur in anguish tore away
From head and beard his tresses

gray,
And she, proud Gyneth, felt dis-
may
And quaked with ruth and fear ;
But still she deemed her mother's

shade
Hung o'er the tumult, and for-
bade 510
The sign that had the slaughter
staid,
And chid the rising tear.
Then Brunor, Taulas, Mador, fell,
Helias the White, and Lionel,
And many a champion more ;

Rochement and Dinadam are

down,
And Ferrand of the Forest Brown

Lies gasping in his gore.
Vanoc, by mighty Morolt pressed
Even to the confines of the list, 520
Young Vanoc of the beardless

face —
Fame spoke the youth of Merlin's

race —
O'erpowered at Gyneth' s footstool

bled,
His heart's-blood dyed her sandals

red.
But then the sky was overcast,
Then howled at once a whirlwind's

blast,
And, rent by sudden throes,
Yawned in mid lists the quaking

earth,
And from the gulf — tremendous

birth! —
The form of Merlin rose. 530

XXVI

' Sternly the Wizard Prophet eyed
The dreary lists with slaughter

dyed,
And sternly raised his hand : —
" Madmen," he said, " your strife

forbear !
And thou, fair cause of mischief,

hear
The doom thy fates demand !
Long shall close in stony sleep
Eyes for ruth that would not weep;
Iron lethargy shall seal 539

Heart that pity scorned to feel.
Yet, because thy mother's art
Warped thine unsuspicious heart,
And for love of Arthur's race
Punishment is blent with grace,
Thou shalt bear thy penance lone
In the valley of Saint John,
And this weird shall overtake

thee ;
Sleep until a knight shall wake

thee,
For feats of arms as far renowned
As warrior of the Table Round.
Long endurance of thy slumber

402

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

Well may teach the world to
number 552

All their woes from Gyneth's
pride,

When the Eed Cross champions
died."

XXVII

*As Merlin speaks, on Gyneth's

eye
Slumber's load begins to lie ;
Fear and anger vainly strive
Still to keep its light alive.
Twice with effort and with pause
O'er her brow her hand she

draws ; 560

Twice her strength in vain she

tries
From the fatal chair to rise ;
Merlin's magic doom is spoken,
Vanoc's death must now be wro-

ken.
Slow the dark-fringed eyelids fall,
Curtaining each azure ball,
Slowly as on summer eves
Violets fold their dusky leaves.
The weighty baton of command
Now bears down her sinking

hand, 570

On her shoulder droops her head ;
Net of pearl and golden thread
Bursting gave her locks to flow
O'er her arm and breast of snow.
And so lovely seemed she there,
Spell-bound in her ivory chair,
That her angry sire repenting
Craved stern Merlin for relenting,
And the champions for her sake
Would again the contest wake ; 580
Till in necromantic night
Gyneth vanished from their sight.

XXVIII

* Still she bears her weird alone
In the Valley of Saint John ;
And her semblance oft will seem,
Mingling in a champion's dream,
Of her weary lot to plain
And crave his aid to burst her

chain.
While her wondrous tale was new

Warriors to her rescue drew, 590
East and west,and south and north,
From the Liffy, Thames, and

Forth.
Most have sought in vain the glen,
Tower nor castle could they ken ;
Not at every time or tide,
Nor by every eye, descried.
Fast and vigil must be borne,
Many a night in watching worn,
Ere an eye of mortal powers
Can discern those magic towers.
Of the persevering few 601

Some from hopeless task with-
drew
When they read the dismal threat
Graved upon the gloomy gate.
Few have braved the yawning

door,
And those few returned no more.
In the lapse of time forgot,
Wellnigh lost is Gyneth's lot;
Sound her sleep as in the tomb
Till wakened by the trump of
doom.' 610

END OF LYULPH'S TALE

Here pause, my tale ; for all too

soon,
My Lucy, comes the hour of noon.
Already from thy lofty dome
Its courtly inmates 'gin to roam,
And each, to kill the goodly day
That God has granted them, his
way
Of lazy sauntering has sought ;
Lordlings and witlings not a
few,
Incapable of doing aught,
Yet ill at ease with naught to
do. 620

Here is no longer place for me ;
For, Lucy, thou wouldst blush to
see
Some phantom fashionably thin,
With limb of lath and kerchiefed

chin
And lounging gape or sneering
grin,

CANTO SECOND

403

Steal sudden on our privacy.
And how should I, so humbly

horn,
Endure the graceful spectre's

scorn ?
Faith ! ill, I fear, while conjuring

wand 629

Of English oak is hard at hand.

11
Or grant the hour be all too soon
For Hessian boot and pantaloon,
And grant the lounger seldom

strays
Beyond the smooth and gravelled

maze,
Laud we the gods that Fashion's

train
Holds hearts of more adventurous

strain.
Artists are hers who scorn to

trace
Their rules from Nature's bound-
less grace,
But their right paramount assert
To limit her by pedant art, 640
Damning whate'er of vast and fair
Exceeds a canvas three feet

square.
This thicket, for their gumption

fit,
May furnish such a happy bit.
Bards too are hers, wont to recite
Their own swreet lays by waxen

light.
Half in the salver's tingle drowned,
While the chasse-cafe glides

around ;
And such may hither secret stray
To labor an extempore : 650

Or sportsman with his boisterous

hollo
May here his wiser spaniel follow,
Or stage-struck Juliet may pre-
sume
To choose this bower for tiring-
room ;
And we alike must shun regard
From painter, player, sportsman,

bard.
Insects that skim in fashion's sky,

Wasp, blue-bottle, or butterfly,
Lucy, have all alarms for us, 659
For all can hum and all can buzz.

But 0, my Lucy, say how long
We still must dread this trifling

throng,
And stoop to hide with coward art
The genuine feelings of the heart !
No parents thine whose just com-
mand
Should rule their child's obedient

hand;
Thy guardians with contending

voice
Press each his individual choice.
And which is Lucy's ? — Can it be
That puny fop, trimmed cap-a-
pie, 670
Who loves in the saloon to show
The arms that never knew a foe ;
Whose sabre trails along the

ground,
Whose legs in shapeless boots are

drowned ;
A new Achilles, sure — the steel
Fled from his breast to fence his

heel;
One, for the simple manly grace
That wont to deck our martial
race, 678

Who comes in foreign trashery

Of tinkling chain and spur,
A walking haberdashery
Of feathers, lace, and fur :
In Rowley's antiquated phrase,
Horse-milliner of modern days ?

Or is it he, the wordy youth,
So early trained for states-
man's part,
Who talks of honor, faith and
truth,
As themes that he has got by
heart ;
Whose ethics Chesterfield can

teach,
Whose logic is from Single -
speech ; 690

404

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

Who scorns the meanest thought

to vent
Save in the phrase of Parliament ;
Who, in a tale of cat and mouse,
Calls 'order,' and 'divides the

house.'
Who ' craves permission to reply,'
Whose * noble friend is in his eye ; '
Whose loving tender some have

reckoned
A motion you should gladly

second ?

What, neither? Can there be a

third,
To such resistless swains pre-
ferred?— 700
O why, my Lucy, turn aside
With that quick glance of injured

pride ?
Forgive me, love, I cannot bear
That altered and resentful air.
Were all the wealth of Eussel

mine
And all the rank of Howard's

line,
All would I give for leave to dry
That dewdrop trembling in thine

eye.
Think not I fear such fops can

wile
From Lucy more than careless

smile; 710

But yet if wealth and high de-
gree
Give gilded counters currency,
Must I not fear when rank and

birth
Stamp the pure ore of genuine

worth ?
Nobles there are whose martial

fires
Rival the fame that raised their

sires,
And patriots, skilled through

storms of fate
To guide and guard the reeling

state.
Such, such there are. — If such

should come, 719

Arthur must tremble and be dumb,
Self -exiled seek some distant

shore,
And mourn till life and grief are

o'er.

What sight, what signal of alarm,
That Lucy clings to Arthur's arm ?
Or is it that the rugged way
Makes Beauty lean on lover's

stay?
O, no ! for on the vale and brake
Nor sight nor sounds of danger

wake,
And this trim sward of velvet

green
Were carpet for the Fairy Queen.
That pressure slight was but to

tell 73 x

That Lucy loves her Arthur well,
And fain would banish from his

mind
Suspicious fear and doubt unkind.

VII

But wouldst thou bid the demons

fly

Like mist before the dawning

sky,
There is but one resistless spell—
Say, wilt thou guess or must I

tell?
'Twere hard to name in minstrel

phrase 739

A landaulet and four blood-bays,
But bards agree this wizard band
Can but be bound in Northern

land.
'Tis there — nay, draw not back

thy hand ! —
'Tis there this slender finger

round
Must golden amulet be bound,
Which, blessed with many a holy

prayer,
Can change to rapture lovers'

care,
And doubt and jealousy shall

die,
And fears give place to ecstasy.

CANTO THIRD

405

VIII

Now, trust me, Lucy, all too long,
Has been thy lover's tale and
song. 751

0, why so silent, love, I pray ?
Have I not spoke the livelong day ?
And will not Lucy deign to say

One word her friend to bless ?
I ask but one — a simple sound,
Within three little letters bound —

O, let the word be YES !

CANTO THIRD

INTRODUCTION

Long loved, long wooed, and lately

won,
My life's best hope, and now mine

own!
Doth not this rude and Alpine glen
Recall our favorite haunts agen ?
A wild resemblance we can trace,
Though reft of every softer grace,
As the rough warrior's brow may

bear
A likeness to a sister fair.
Full well advised our Highland

host
That this wild pass on foot be
crossed, 10

While round Ben-Cruach's mighty

base
Wheel the slow steeds and linger-
ing chase.
The keen old carle, with Scottish

pride
He praised his glen and mountains

wide;
An eye he bears for nature's face,
Ay, and for woman's lovely grace.
Even in such mean degree we find
The subtle Scot's observing mind ;
For nor the chariot nor the train
Could gape of vulgar wonder gain,
But when old Allan would ex-
pound 21
Of Beal-na-paish the Celtic sound,
His bonnet doffed and.bow applied

His legend to my bonny bride ;
While Lucy blushed beneath his

eye,
Courteous and cautious, shrewd

and sly.

Enough of him. — Now, ere we

lose,
Plunged in the vale, the distant

views,
Turn thee, my love! look back

once more 29

To the blue lake's retiring shore.
On its smooth breast the shadows

seem
Like objects in a morning dream,
What time the slumberer is aware
He sleeps and all the vision 's air :
Even so on yonder liquid lawn,
In hues of bright reflection drawn,
Distinct the shaggy mountains lie,
Distinct the rocks, distinct the sky ;
The summer-clouds so plain we

note
That we might count each dappled

spot : 40

We gaze and we admire, yet know
The scene is all delusive show.
Such dreams of bliss would Arthur

draw
When first his Lucy's form he saw,
Yet sighed and sickened as he

drew,
Despairing they could e'er prove

true!

But, Lucy, turn thee now to view
Up the fair glen our destined
way:
The fairy path that we pursue, 49
Distinguished but by greener hue,

Winds round the purple brae,
While Alpine flowers of varied dye
For carpet serve or tapestry.
See how the little runnels leap
In threads of silver down the steep

To swell the brooklet's moan !
Seems that the Highland Naiad
grieves,

406

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

Fantastic while her crown she

weaves
Of rowan, birch, and alder leaves,
So lovely and so lone. 60

There's no illusion there; these

flowers,
That wailing brook, these lovely

bowers,
Are, Lucy, all our own ;
And, since thine Arthur called thee

wife,
Such seems the prospect of his life,
A lovely path on-winding still
By gurgling brook and sloping hill.
'T is true that mortals cannot tell
What waits them in the distant

dell;
But be it hap or be it harm, 70
We tread the pathway arm in arm.

And now, my Lucy, wot'st thou

why
I could thy bidding twice deny,
When twice you prayed I would

again
Resume the legendary strain
Of the bold knight of Triermain ?
At length yon peevish vow you

swore
That you would sue to me no more,
Until the minstrel fit drew near 79
And made me prize a listening ear.
But, loveliest, when thou first didst

pray
Continuance of the knightly lay,
Was it not on the happy day

That made thy hand mine own ?
When, dizzied with mine ecstasy,
Naught past, or present, or to be,
Could I or think on, hear, or see,

Save, Lucy, thee alone !
A giddy draught my rapture was
As ever chemist's magic gas. 90

Again the summons I denied
In yon fair capital of Clyde :
My harp — or let me rather choose
The good old classic form — my
Muse —

For harp 's an over - scutched

phrase,
Worn out by bards of modern

days —
My Muse, then— seldom will she

wake,
Save by dim wood and silent

lake ;
She is the wild and rustic maid
Whose foot unsandalled loves to

tread 100

Where the soft greensward is in-
laid
With varied moss and thyme ;
And, lest the simple lily-braid,
That coronets her temples fade,
She hides her still in greenwood

shade
To meditate her rhyme.

And now she comes ! The murmur

dear
Of the wild brook hath caught her

ear,
The glade hath won her eye ;
She longs to join with each blithe

rill no

That dances down the Highland

hill
Her blither melody.
And now my Lucy's way to cheer
She bids Ben-Cruach's echoes hear
How closed the tale my love

whilere
Loved for its chivalry.
List how she tells in notes of flame
'Child Roland to the dark tower

came ! ■

Bewcastle now must keep the
hold,
Speir-Adam's steeds must bide
in stall,
Of Hartley-burn the bowmen bold
Must only shoot from battled
wall;
And Liddesdale may buckle spur,

CANTO THIRD

407

And Teviot now may belt the
brand,
Tarras and Ewes keep nightly stir,
And Eskdale foray Cumberland.
Of wasted fields and plundered
flocks
The Borderers bootless may
• complain; 10

They lack the sword of brave De
Vaux,
There comes no aid from Trier-
main.
That lord on high adventure bound

Had wandered forth alone,
And day and night keeps watchful
round
In the valley of Saint John.

11
When first began his vigil bold
The moon twelve summer nights
was old
And shone both fair and full ;
High in the vault of cloudless
blue, 20

O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she
threw
Her light composed and cool.
Stretched on the brown hill's
heathy breast,
Sir Roland eyed the vale ;
Chief where, distinguished from

the rest,
Those clustering rocks upreared

their crest,
The dwelling of the fair distressed,

As told gray Lyulph's tale.
Thus as he lay, the lamp of night
Was quivering on his armor
bright 30

In beams that rose and fell,
And danced upon his buckler's

boss
That lay beside him on the moss
As on a crystal well.

in
Ever he watched and oft he

deemed,
While on the mound the moonlight

streamed,

It altered to his eyes ;
Fain would he hope the rocks 'gan

change
To buttressed walls their shape-
less range,
Fain think by transmutation
strange 40

He saw gray turrets rise.
But scarce his heart with hope

throbbed high
Before the wild illusions fly

Which fancy had conceived,
Abetted by an anxious eye

That longed to be deceived.
It was a fond deception all,
Such as in solitary hall

Beguiles the musing eye 49

When, gazing on the sinking fire,
Bulwark, and battlement, and
spire

In the red gulf we spy.
For, seen by moon of middle night,
Or by the blaze of noontide bright,
Or by the dawn of morning light,

Or evening's western flame,
In every tide, at every hour,
In mist, in sunshine, and in shower,

The rocks remained the same.

Oft has he traced the charmed
mound, 60

Oft climbed its crest or paced it
round,
Yet nothing might explore.
Save that the crags so rudely piled,
At distance seen, resemblance
wild
To a rough fortress bore.
Yet still his watch the warrior

keeps,
Feeds hard and spare, and seldom
sleeps,
And drinks but of the well ;
Ever by day he walks the hill, 69
And when the evening gale is chill

He seeks a rocky cell,
Like hermit poor to bid his bead,
And tell his Ave and his Creed,
Invoking every saint at need
For aid to burst his spell.

408

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

And now the moon her orb has hid
And dwindled to a silver thread,

Dim seen in middle heaven,
While o'er its curve careering fast
Before the fury of the blast 80
The midnight clouds are driven.
The brooklet raved, for on the hills
The upland showers had swoln the
rills
And down the torrents came ;
Muttered the distant thunder

dread,
And frequent o'er the vale was
spread
A sheet of lightning flame.
De Vaux within his mountain

cave —
No human step the storm durst

brave —
To moody meditation gave 90

Each faculty of soul,
Till, lulled by distant torrent sound
And the sad winds that whistled

round,
Upon his thoughts in musing
drowned
A broken slumber stole.

'Twas then was heard a heavy
sound —
Sound, strange and fearful there
to hear,
'Mongst desert hills where leagues
around
Dwelt but the gorcock and the
deer. 99

As, starting from his couch of fern,
Again he heard in clangor stern

That deep and solemn swell,
Twelve times in measured tone it

spoke,
Like some proud minster's pealing
clock
Or city's larum-bell.
What thought was Roland's first

when fell
In that deep wilderness the knell

Upon his startled ear ?
To slander warrior were I loath,

Yet must I hold my minstrel
troth— IIO

It was a thought of fear.

VII

But lively was the mingled thrill
That chased that momentary chill,
For Love's keen wish was there1,
And eager Hope, and Valor higb,
And the proud glow of Chivalry

That burned to do and dare.
Forth from the cave the warrior

rushed,
Long ere the mountain-voice was
hushed
That answered to the knell ; 120
For long and far the unwonted

sound,
Eddying in echoes round and
round,
Was tossed from fell to fell ;
And Glaramara answer flung,
And Grisdale - pike responsive

rung,
And Legbert heights their echoes
swung
As far as Derwent's dell.

VIII

Forth upon trackless darkness

gazed
The knight, bedeafened and
amazed.
Till all was hushed and still, 130
Save the swoln torrent's sullen

roar,
And the night -blast that wildly
bore
Its course along the hill.
Then on the northern sky there

came
A light as of reflected flame,

And over Legbert-head,
As if by magic art controlled,
A mighty meteor slowly rolled

Its orb of fiery red ;
Thou wouldst have thought some
demon dire 140

Came mounted on that car of fire

To do his errand dread.
Far on the sloping valley's course,

CANTO THIRD

409

On thicket, rock, and torrent

hoarse,
Shingle and Scrae, and Fell and

Force,
A dusky light arose :
Displayed, yet altered was the

scene ;
Dark rock, and brook of silver

sheen,
Even the gay thicket's summer

green,
In bloody tincture glows. 150

De Vaux had marked the sun-
beams set
At eve upon the coronet

Of that enchanted mound,
And seen but crags at random

flung,
That, o'er the brawling torrent
hung,
In desolation frowned.
What sees he by that meteor's

lour? —
A bannered castle, keep, and tower

Keturn the lurid gleam,
With battled walls and buttress
fast, 160

And barbican and ballium vast,
And airy flanking towers that cast

Their shadows on the stream.
'T is no deceit! distinctly clear
Crenell and parapet appear,
While o'er the pile that meteor
drear
Makes momentary pause ;
Then forth its solemn path it drew,
And fainter yet and fainter grew
Those gloomy towers upon the
view, 170

As its wild light withdraws.

Forth from the cave did Eoland

rush,
O'er crag and stream, through

brier and bush ;
Yet far he had not sped
Ere sunk was that portentous light
Behind the hills and utter night

Was on the valley spread.
He paused perforce and blew his

horn,
And, on the mountain - echoes
borne, 179

Was heard an answering sound,
A wild and lonely trumpet note,—
In middle air it seemed to float
High o'er the battled mound ;
And sounds were heard as when a

guard
Of some proud castle, holding
ward,
Pace forth their nightly round.
The valiant Knight of Triermain
Kung forth his challenge- blast
again,
But answer came there none ;
And mid the mingled wind and
rain 190

Darkling he sought the vale in
vain,
Until the dawning shone ;
And when it dawned that won-
drous sight
Distinctly seen by meteor light,

It all had passed away !
And that enchanted mount once

more
A pile of granite fragments bore
As at the close of day. i

Steeled for the deed, De Vaux's

heart
Scorned from his vent'rous quest

to part, 200

He walks the vale once more ;
But only sees by night or day
That shattered pile of rocks so

gray,
Hears but the torrent's roar :
Till when, through hills of azure

borne,
The moon renewed her silver horn,
Just at the time her waning ray
Had faded in the dawning day,

A summer mist arose ; 209

Adown the vale the vapors float,
And cloudy undulations moat
That tufted mound of mystic note,

4io

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

As round its base they close.
And higher now the fleecy tide
Ascends its stern and shaggy side,
Until the airy billows bide

The rock's majestic isle ;
It seemed a veil of filmy lawn,
By some fantastic fairy drawn

Around enchanted pile. 220

XII

The breeze came softly down the
brook,
And, sighing as it blew,
The veil of silver mist it shook
And to De Vaux's eager look

Renewed that wondrous view.
For, though the loitering vapor

braved
The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved

Its mantle's dewy fold ;
And still when shook that filmy

screen
Were towers and bastions dimly
seen, 230

And Gothic battlements between

Their gloomy length unrolled.
Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on

thine eye
Once more the fleeting vision
die! —
The gallant knight 'gan speed
As prompt and light as, when the

hound
Is opening and the horn is wound,

Careers the hunter's steed.
Down the steep dell his course
amain
Hath rivalled archer's shaft -,240
But ere the mound he could attain
The rocks their shapeless form re-
gain,
And, mocking loud his labor vain,

The mountain spirits laughed.
Far up the echoing dell was borne
Their wild unearthly shout of
scorn.

XIII

Wroth waxed the warrior. — 4 Am

I then
Fooled by the enemies of men,

Like a poor hind whose homeward

way
Is haunted by malicious fay ? 250
Is Triermain become your taunt,
De Vaux your scorn ? False fiends,

avaunt ! '
A weighty curtal-axe he bare ;
The baleful blade so bright and

square,
And the tough shaft of heben

wood,
Were oft in Scottish gore imbrued.
Backward his stately form he

drew,
And at the rocks the weapon

threw
Just where one crag's projected

crest
Hung proudly balanced o'er the

rest. 260

Hurled with main force the wea-
pon's shock
Rent a huge fragment of the rock.
If by mere strength, 't were hard

to tell,
Or if the blow dissolved some spell,
But down the headlong ruin came
With cloud of dust and flash of

flame.
Down bank, o'er bush, its course

was borne,
Crushed lay the copse, the earth

was torn,
Till staid at length the ruin dread
Cumbered the torrent's rocky bed,
And bade the waters' high-swoln

tide 271

Seek other passage for its pride.

XIV

When ceased that thunder Trier-
main

Surveyed the mound's rude front
again ;

And lo ! the ruin had laid bare,

Hewn in the stone, a winding stair

Whose mossed and fractured steps
might lend

The means the summit to ascend ;

And by whose aid the brave De
Vaux

CANTO THIRD

411

Began to scale these magic rocks,

And soon a platform won 281

Where, the wild witchery to close,

Within three lances' length arose

The Castle of Saint John !
No misty phantom of the air,
No meteor - blazoned show was

there ;
In morning splendor full and fair
The massive fortress shone.

Embattled high and proudly tow-
ered,

Shaded by ponderous flankers,
lowered 290

The portal's gloomy wray.

Though for six hundred years and
more

Its strength had brooked the tem-
pest's roar,

The scutcheoned emblems which
it bore
Had suffered no decay :

But from the eastern battlement

A turret had made sheer descent,

And, down in recent ruin rent,
In the mid torrent lay.

Else, o'er the castle's brow sub-
lime, 300

Insults of violence or of time
Unfelt had passed away.

In shapeless characters of yore,

The gate this stern inscription
bore :

XVI
INSCRIPTION

• Patience waits the destined day,
Strength can clear the cumbered

way.
Warrior, who hast waited long,
Firm of soul, of sinew strong,
It is given to thee to gaze
On the pile of ancient days. 310
Never mortal builder's hand
This enduring fabric planned ;
Sign and sigil, word of power,
From the earth raised keep and

tower.

View it o'er and pace it round,
Rampart, turret, battled mound.
Dare no more ! To cross the

gate
Were to tamper with thy fate ;
Strength and fortitude were vain,
View it o'er — and turn again.' 320

XVII

' That would I,' said the warrior

bold,
' If that my frame were bent and

old,
And my thin blood dropped slow

and cold
As icicle in thaw ;
But while my heart can feel it

dance
Blithe as the sparkling wine of

France,
And this good arm wields sword

or lance,
I mock these words of awe ! ■
He said ; the wicket felt the sway
Of his strong hand and straight

gave way, 330

And with rude crash and jarring

bray
The rusty bolts withdraw ;
But o'er the threshold as he strode
And forward took the vaulted

road,
An unseen arm with force amain
The ponderous gate flung close

again,
And rusted bolt and bar
Spontaneous took their place once

more
While the deep arch with sullen

roar
Returned their surly jar. 340
' Now closed is the gin and the

prey within,
By the Eood of Lanercost !
But he that would win the war-
wolf's skin
May rue him of his boast.'
Thus muttering on the warrior

went
By dubious light down steep de-
scent.

412

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

XVIII

Unbarred, unlocked, unwatched, a

port
Led to the castle's outer court :
There the main fortress, broad

and tall,
Spread its long range of bower

and hall 350

And towers of varied size,
Wrought with each ornament ex-
treme
That Gothic art in wildest dream

Of fancy could devise ;
But full between the warrior's

way
And the main portal arch there lay
An inner moat ;
Nor bridge nor boat
Affords De Vaux the means to

cross
The clear, profound, and silent

fosse. 360

His arms aside in haste he flings,
Cuirass of steel and hauberk rings,
And down falls helm and down the

shield,
Rough with the dints of many a

fleld.
Fair was his manly form and fair
His keen dark eye and close curled

hair,
When all unarmed save that the

brand
Of well-proved metal graced his

hand,
With naught to fence his daunt-
less breast 369
But the close gipon's under-vest,
Whose sullied buff the sable stains
Of hauberk and of mail retains, —
Roland De Vaux upon the brim
Of the broad moat stood prompt

to swim.

XIX

Accoutred thus he dared the tide,
And soon he reached the farther

side
And entered soon the hold,
And paced a hall whose walls so

wide

Were blazoned all with feats of
pride
By warriors done of old. 380

In middle lists they countered here
While trumpets seemed to blow ;

And there in den or desert drear
They quelled gigantic foe,

Braved the fierce griffon in his ire,

Or faced the dragon's breath of
fire.

Strange in their arms and strange
in face,

Heroes they seemed of ancient
race,

Whose deeds of arms and race
and name,

Forgotten long by later fame, 390
Were here depicted to appall

Those of an age degenerate

Whose bold intrusion braved their
fate
In this enchanted hall.

For some short space the ventur-
ous knight

With these high marvels fed his
sight,

Then sought the chamber's upper
end

Where three broad easy steps as-
cend
To an arched portal door,

In whose broad folding leaves of
state 400

Was framed a wicket window-
grate ;
And ere he ventured more,

The gallant knight took earnest
view

The grated wicket - window
through.

0, for his arms ! Of martial weed
Had never mortal knight such

need! —
He spied a stately gallery ; all
Of snow-white marble was the

wall,
The vaulting, and the floor; 409
And, contrast strange! on either

hand

CANTO THIRD

413

There stood arrayed in sable band

Four maids whom Afric bore ;
And each a Lybian tiger led,
Held by as bright and frail a
thread
As Lucy's golden hair.
For the leash that bound these
monsters dread
Was but of gossamer.
Each maiden's short barbaric

vest
Left all unclosed the knee and
breast
And limbs of shapely jet ; 420
White was their vest and turban's

fold,
On arms and ankles rings of gold

In savage pomp were set ;
A quiver on their shoulders lay,
And in their hand an assagay.
Such and so silent stood they
there
That Roland wellnigh hoped
He saw a band of statues rare,
Stationed the gazer's soul to scare ;
But when the wicket oped 430
Each grisly beast 'gan upward

draw,
Rolled his grim eye, and spread

his claw,
Scented the air, and licked his

jaw:
While these weird maids in Moor-
ish tongue
A wild and dismal warning sung.

XXI

* Rash adventurer, bear thee back !

Dread the spell of Dahomay !
Fear the race of Zaharak ;
Daughters of the burning day !

* When the whirlwind's gusts are

wheeling, 440

Ours it is the dance to braid ;
Zarah's sands in pillars reeling

Join the measure that we tread,
When the Moon has donned her
cloak
And the stars are red to see,

Shrill when pipes the sad Siroc,
Music meet for such as we.

1 Where the shattered columns lie,

Showing Carthage once had
been,
If the wandering Santon's eye 450

Our mysterious rites hath seen, —
Oft he cons the prayer of death,

To the nations preaches doom,
"AzraeFs brand hath left the
sheath !

Moslems, think upon the tomb ! "

' Ours the scorpion, ours the snake,

Ours the hydra of the fen,
Ours the tiger of the brake,

All that plague the sons of men.

Ours the tempest's midnight

wrack, 460

Pestilence that wastes by day —
Dread the race of Zaharak !

Fear the spell of Dahomay ! '

XXII

Uncouth and strange the accents
shrill
Rung those vaulted roofs among,

Long it was ere faint and still
Died the far-resounding song.

While yet the distant echoes roll,

The warrior communed with his
soul.
* When first I took this ventur-
ous quest, 470
I swore upon the rood

Neither to stop nor turn nor rest,
For evil or for good.

My forward path too well I ween

Lies yonder fearful ranks be-
tween;

For man unarmed 'tis bootless
hope

With tigers and with fiends to
cope —

Yet, if I turn, what waits me there

Save famine dire and fell de-
spair?—

Other conclusion let me try, 480

Since, choose howe'er I list, I die.

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

Forward lies faith and knightly

fame;
Behind are perjury and shame.
In life or death I hold my word ! '
With that he drew his trusty

sword,
Caught down a banner from the

wall,
And entered thus the fearful hall.

XXIII

On high each wayward maiden

threw
Her swarthy arm with wild hal-
loo ! 489
On either side a tiger sprung —
Against the leftward foe he flung
The ready banner to engage
With tangling folds the brutal

rage;
The right-hand monster in mid air
He struck so fiercely and so fair
Through gullet and through spinal

bone
The trenchant blade hath sheerly

gone.
His grisly brethren ramped and

yelled,
But the slight leash their rage

withheld,
Whilst 'twixt their ranks the dan-
gerous road 500
Firmly though swift the champion

strode.
Safe to the gallery's bound he

drew,
Safe passed an open portal

through ;
And when against pursuit he flung
The gate, judge if the echoes rung !
Onward his daring course he bore,
While, mixed with dying growl

and roar,
Wild jubilee and loud hurra
Pursued him on his venturous

way.

XXIV

'Hurra, hurra! Our watch is

done! 510

We hail once more the tropic sun.

Pallid beams of northern day,
Farewell, farewell ! Hurra, hurra !

1 Five hundred years o'er this cold

glen
Hath the pale sun come round

agen ;
Foot of man till now hath ne'er
Dared to cross the Hall of Fear.

' Warrior ! thou whose dauntless

heart
Gives us from our ward to part,
Be as strong in future trial 520
Where resistance is denial.

1 Now for Afric's glowing sky,
Zwenga wide and Atlas high,
Zaharak and Dahomay ! —
Mount the winds ! Hurra, hurra ! ■

xxv
The wizard song at distance died,

As if in ether borne astray,
While through waste halls and

chambers wide
The knight pursued his steady

way
Till to a lofty dome he came 530
That flashed with such a brilliant

flame
As if the wealth of all the world
Were there in rich confusion

hurled.
For here the gold in sandy heaps
With duller earth incorporate

sleeps ;
Was there in ingots piled, and

there
Coined badge of empery it bare ;
Yonder, huge bars of silver lay,
Dimmed by the diamond's neigh-
boring ray,
Like the pale moon in morning

day ; 540

And in the midst four maidens

stand,
The daughters of some distant

land.
Their hue was of the dark-red dye
That fringes oft a thunder sky ;

CANTO THIRD

415

Their hands palmetto baskets
bare,

And cotton fillets bound their hair ;

Slim was their form, their mien
was shy,

To earth they bent the humbled
eye,

Folded their arms, and suppliant
kneeled,

And thus their proffered gifts re-
vealed. 550

XXVI
CHORUS

1 See the treasures Merlin piled,
Portion meet for Arthur's child.
Bathe in Wealth's unbounded

stream,
Wealth that Avarice ne'er could

dream ! '

FIRST MAIDEN

* See these clots of virgin gold !
Severed from the sparry mould,
Nature's mystic alchemy

In the mine thus bade them lie ;
And their orient smile can win
Kings to stoop and saints to sin.'

SECOND MAIDEN

* See these pearls that long have

slept; 561

These were tears by Naiads wept
For the loss of Marinel.
Tritons in the silver shell
Treasured them till hard and

white
As the teeth of Amphitrite.'

THIRD MAIDEN

' Does a livelier hue delight?
Here are rubies blazing bright,
Here the emerald's fairy green,
And the topaz glows between ;
Here their varied hues unite
In the changeful chrysolite.' 572

FOURTH MAIDEN

1 Leave these gems of poorer shine,
Leave them all and look on mine !

While their glories I expand
Shade thine eyebrows with thy

hand.
Mid-day sun and diamond's blaze
Blind the rash beholder's gaze.'

CHORUS

1 Warrior, seize the splendid store ;
Would 'twere all our mountains
bore ! 580

We should ne'er in future story
Bead, Peru, thy perished glory ! '

xxvn

Calmly and unconcerned the

knight
Waved aside the treasures

bright —
' Gentle Maidens, rise, I pray !
Bar not thus my destined way.
Let these boasted brilliant toys
Braid the hair of girls and boys !
Bid your streams of gold expand
O'er proud London's thirsty land.
De Vaux of wealth saw never

need 591

Save to purvey him arms and

steed,
And all the ore he deigned to

hoard
Inlays his helm and hilts his

sword.'
Thus gently parting from their

hold,
He left unmoved the dome of gold.

XXVIII

And now the morning sun was

high,
De Vaux was weary, faint, and

dry;
When, lo! a plashing sound he

hears, 599

A gladsome signal that he nears

Some frolic water-run :
And soon he reached a courtyard

square
Where, dancing in the sultry air,
Tossed high aloft a fountain fair

Was sparkling in the sun.
On right and left a fair arcade

416

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

In long perspective view displayed
Alleys and bowers for sun or
shade :
But full in front a door,
Low-browed and dark, seemed as
it led 610

To the lone dwelling of the dead
Whose memory was no more.

XXIX

Here stopped De Vaux an instant's

space

To bathe his parched lips and face,

And marked with well-pleased

eye,

Refracted on the fountain stream,

In rainbow hues the dazzling beam

Of that gay summer sky.
His senses felt a mild control,
Like that which lulls the weary
soul, 620

From contemplation high
Relaxing, when the ear receives
The music that the greenwood
leaves
Make to the breezes' sigh.

XXX

And oft in such a dreamy mood

The half-shut eye can frame
Fair apparitions in the wood,
As if the Nymphs of field and
flood
In gay procession came. 629
Are these of such fantastic mould,
Seen distant down the fair ar-
cade,
These maids enlinked in sister-
fold,
Who, late at bashful distance

staid,
Now tripping from the green-
wood shade,
Nearer the musing champion draw
And in a pause of seeming awe
Again stand doubtful now ? —
Ah, that sly pause of witching

powers !
That seems to say, ' To please be
ours,
Be yours to tell us how.' 640

Their hue was of the golden glow
That suns of Candahar bestow,
O'er which in slight suffusion flows
A frequent tinge of paly rose ;
Their limbs were fashioned fair

and free
In nature's justest symmetry;
And, wreathed with flowers, with

odors graced,
Their raven ringlets reached the

waist : 648

In eastern pomp its gilding pale
The henna lent each shapely nail,
And the dark sumah gave the eye
More liquid and more lustrous dye.
The spotless veil of misty lawn,
In studied disarrangement drawn

The form and bosom o'er,
To win the eye or tempt the touch
For modesty showed all too

much —
Too much — yet promised more.

XXXI

' Gentle knight, awhile delay/
Thus they sung, 'thy toilsome

way, 660

While we pay the duty due
To our Master and to you.
Over Avarice, over Fear,
Love triumphant led thee here ;
Warrior, list to us, for we
Are slaves to Love, are friends to

thee.
Though no treasured gems have

we
To proffer on the bended knee,
Though we boast nor arm nor

heart
For the assagay or dart, 670

Swains allow each simple girl .
Ruby lip and teeth of pearl ;
Or, if dangers more you prize,
Flatterers find them in our eyes.

' Stay, then, gentle warrior, stay,
Rest till evening steal on day;
Stay, O, stay ! — in yonder bowers
We will braid thy locks with flow-
ers, 678
Spread the feast and fill the wine,

CANTO THIRD

417

Charm thy ear with sounds divine,
Weave our dances till delight 681
Yield to languor, day to night.
Then shall she you most approve
Sing the lays that best you love,
Soft thy mossy couch shall spread,
Watch thy pillow, prop thy head,
Till the weary night be o'er —
Gentle warrior, wouldst thou more ?
Wouldst thou more, fair warrior, —
she 689

Is slave to Love and slave to thee'

XXXII

0, do not hold it for a crime
In the bold hero of my rhyme,
For Stoic look
And meet rebuke
He lacked the heart or time ;
As round the band of sirens trip,
He kissed one damsel's laughing

lip,
And pressed another's proffered

hand,
Spoke to them all in accents bland,
But broke their magic circle

through ; 700

1 Kind maids,' he said, ■ adieu,

adieu !
My fate, my fortune, forward lies,'
He said and vanished from their

eyes;
But, as he dared that darksome

way,
Still heard behind their lovely lay :
1 Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart!
Go where the feelings of the heart
With the warm pulse in concord

move ;
Go where Virtue sanctions Love ! '

XXXIII

Downward De Vaux through
darksome ways 710

And ruined vaults has gone,
Till issue from their wildered
maze
Or safe retreat seemed none,
And e'en the dismal path he
strays
Grew worse as he went on.

For cheerful sun, for living air,
Foul vapors rise and mine-fires

glare,
Whose fearful light the dangers

showed

That dogged him on that dreadful

road. 719

Deep pits and lakes of waters dun

They showed, but showed not how

to shun.
These scenes of desolate despair,
These smothering clouds of poi-
soned air,
How gladly had De Vaux ex-
changed,
Though 't were to face yon tigers
ranged !
Xay, soothful bards have said,
So perilous his state seemed now
He wished him under arbor bough

With Asia's willing maid.
When, joyful sound! at distance
near 730

A trumpet fl ourished loud and clear,
And as it ceased a lofty lay
Seemed thus to chide his lagging
way.

XXXIV

* Son of Honor, theme of story,
Think on the reward before ye !
Danger, darkness, toil despise ;
'T is Ambition bids thee rise.

' He that would her heights ascend,
Many a weary step must wend ;
Hand and foot and knee he tries ;
Thus Ambition's minions rise. 741

' Lag not now, though rough the
way,

Fortune's mood brooks no delay ;

Grasp the boon that's spread be-
fore ye,

Monarch's power and Conqueror's
glory ! ■

It ceased. Advancing on the

sound,
A steep ascent the wanderer found,
And then a turret stair :

4i8

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

Nor climbed he far its steepy
round
Till fresher blew the air, 750
And next a welcome glimpse was

given
That cheered him with the light
of heaven.
At length his toil had won
A lofty hall with trophies dressed,
Where as to greet imperial guest
Four maidens stood whose crim-
son vest
Was bound with golden zone.

XXXV

Of Europe seemed the damsels all ;
The first a nymph of lively Gaul
Whose easy step and laughing eye
Her borrowed air of awe belie ;

The next a maid of Spain, 762
Dark-eyed, dark-haired, sedate yet

bold;
White ivory skin and tress of gold
Her shy and bashful comrade told

For daughter of Almaine.
These maidens bore a royal robe,
With crown, with sceptre, and
with globe,
Emblems of empery ;
The fourth a space behind them
stood, 770

And leant upon a harp in mood

Of minstrel ecstasy.
Of merry England she, in dress
Like ancient British Druidess,
Her hair an azure fillet bound,
Her graceful vesture swept the
ground,
And in her hand displayed
A crown did that fourth maiden

hold,
But unadorned with gems and
gold,
Of glossy laurel made. 780

XXXVI

At once to brave De Vaux knelt

down
These foremost maidens three,
And proffered sceptre, robe, and

crown,

Liegedom and seignorie

O'er many a region wide and fair,

Destined, they said, for Arthur's

heir ;

But homage would he none : —

1 Rather,' he said, 4 De Vaux would

ride,
A warden of the Border-side
In plate and mail than, robed in
pride, 790

A monarch's empire own ;
Rather, far rather, would he be
A free-born knight of England free

Than sit on despot's throne.'
So passed he on, when that fourth
maid,
As starting from a trance,
Upon the harp her finger laid ;
Her magic touch the chords
obeyed,
Their soul awaked at once ! 799

SONG OF THE FOURTH MAIDEN

4 Quake to your foundations deep,
Stately towers, and bannered keep,
Bid your vaulted echoes moan,
As the dreaded step they own.

' Fiends, that wait on Merlin's

spell,
Hear the foot-fall ! mark it well !
Spread your dusky wings abroad,
Boune ye for your homeward road !

' It is His, the first who e'er
Dared the dismal Hall of Fear ;
His, who hath the snares defied
Spread by Pleasure, Wealth, and
Pride. 81 1

' Quake to your foundations deep,
Bastion huge, and turret steep !
Tremble, keep ! and totter, tower !
This is Gyneth's waking hour.'

XXXVII

Thus while she sung the venturous

knight
Has reached a bower where milder

light

CANTO THIRD

419

Through crimson curtains fell ;
Such softened shade the hill re-
ceives,
Her purple veil when twilight
leaves 820

Upon its western swell.
That bower, the gazer to bewitch,
Had wondrous store of rare and
rich
As e'er was seen with eye ;
For there by magic skill, I wis,
Form of each thing that living is

Was limned in proper dye.
All seemed to sleep — the timid

hare
On form, the stag upon his lair,
The eagle in her eyrie fair 830

Between the earth and sky,
But what of pictured rich and

rare
Could win De Vaux's eye-glance,

where,
Deep slumbering in the fatal chair,

He saw King Arthur's child!
Doubt and anger and dismay
From her brow had passed away,
Forgot was that fell tourney-day,

For as she slept she smiled :
It seemed that the repentant Seer
Her sleep of many a hundred year
With gentle dreams beguiled. 842

XXXVIII

That form of maiden loveliness,
'Twixt childhood and 'twixt

youth,
That ivory chair, that sylvan dress,
The arms and ankles bare, express

Of Lyulph's tale the truth.
Still upon her garment's hem
Vanoc's blood made purple gem,
And the warder of command 850
Cumbered still her sleeping hand ;
Still her dark locks dishevelled

flow
From net of pearl o'er breast of

snow ;
And so fair the slumberer seems
That De Vaux impeached his

dreams,

Vapid all and void of might,
Hiding half her charms from sight.
Motionless awhile he stands,
Folds his arms and clasps his

hands,
Trembling in his fitful joy, 860
Doubtful how he should destroy

Long-enduring spell ;
Doubtful too, when slowly rise
Dark-fringed lids of Gyneth's eyes,

What these eyes shall tell. —
1 Saint George ! Saint Mary ! can

it be
That they will kindly look on

XXXIX

Gently, lo ! the warrior kneels,
Soft that lovely hand he steals,
Soft to kiss and soft to clasp — 870
But the warder leaves her grasp;
Lightning flashes, rolls the thun-
der!
Gyneth startles from her sleep,
Totters tower, and trembles keep,
Burst the castle-walls asutnder !
Fierce and frequent were the
shocks, —
Melt the magic halls away ; —
But beneath their mystic rocks,
In the arms of bold De Vaux

Safe the princess lay ; 880

Safe and free from magic power,
Blushing like the rose's flower

Opening to the day ;
And round the champion's brows

were bound
The crown that Druidess had
wound
Of the green laurel-bay.
And this was what remained of

all
The wealth of each enchanted
hall,
The Garland and the Dame :
But where should warrior seek
the meed 890

Due to high worth for daring
deed
Except from Love and Fame !

420

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN

CONCLUSION

My Lucy, when the maid is won
The minstrel's task, thou know'st,
is done;
And to require of bard
That to his dregs the tale should
run
Were ordinance too hard.
Our lovers, briefly be it said,
Wedded as lovers wont to wed,

When tale or play is o'er ;
Lived long and blest, loved fond

and true,
And saw a numerous race renew 10

The honors that they bore.
Know too that when a pilgrim

strays
In morning mist or evening maze

Along the mountain lone,
That fairy fortress often mocks
His gaze upon the castled rocks

Of the valley of Saint John ;
But never man since brave De
Vaux
The charmed portal won.
'T is now a vain illusive show 20
That melts whene'er the sunbeams
glow,
Or the fresh breeze hath blown.

But see, my love, where far below
Our lingering wheels are moving
slow,
The whiles, up-gazing still,

Our menials eye our steepy way,
Marvelling perchance what whim

can stay
Our steps when eve is sinking

gray
On this gigantic hill.
So think the vulgar — Life and

time 30

Ring all their joys in one dull

chime
Of luxury and ease ;
And O, beside these simple knaves,
How many better born are slaves

To such coarse joys as these,
Dead to the nobler sense that

glows
When nature's grander scenes un-
close !
But, Lucy, we will love them yet,
The mountain's misty coronet,

The greenwood and the wold ; 40
And love the more that of their

maze
Adventure high of other days

By ancient bards is told,
Bringing perchance, like my poor

tale,
Some moral truth in fiction's veil •.
Nor love them less that o'er the

hill
The evening breeze as now comes

chill ; -
My love shall wrap her warm,
And, fearless of the slippery way
While safe she trips the heathy

brae, 50

Shall hang on Arthur's arm.

CANTO FIRST 421

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

A POEM IN SIX CANTOS

The Scene of this Poem lies, at first, in the Castle of Artornish, on the coast
of Argyleshire ; and, afterwards, in the Islands of Skye and Arran, and upon
the coast of Ayrshire. Finally, it is laid near Stirling. The story opens in the
spring of the year 1307, when Bruce, who had been driven out of Scotland by the
English, and the Barons who adhered to that foreign interest, returned from
the Island of Rachrin on the coast of Ireland, again to assert his claims to the
Scottish crown. Many of the personages and incidents introduced are of his-
torical celebrity. The authorities used are chiefly those of the venerable
Lord Hailes, as well entitled to be called the restorer of Scottish history, as
Bruce the restorer of Scottish Monarchy ; and of Archdeacon Barbour ; a cor-
rect edition of whose Metrical History of Robert Bruce will soon, I trust, appear,
under the care of my learned friend, the Rev. Dr. Jamieson.

Abbotspord, 10^ December, 1814.

CANTO FIRST

Autumn departs — but still his mantle's fold
Rests on the groves of noble Somerville,
Beneath a shroud of russet drooped with gold
Tweed and his tributaries mingle still ;
Hoarser the wind and deeper sounds the rill,
Yet liugering notes of sylvan music swell,
The deep-toned cushat and the redbreast shrill;
And yet some tints of summer splendor tell
When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's western fell.

Autumn departs — from Gala's fields no more
Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer ;
Blent with the stream and gale that wafts it o'er,
No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear.
The last blithe shout hath died upon our ear,
And harvest-home hath hushed the clanging wain,
On the waste hill no forms of life appear,
Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train,
Some age- struck wanderer gleans few ears of scattered grain.

Deem'st thou these saddened scenes have pleasure still,

Lov'st thou through Autumn's fading realms to stray,

To see the heath-flower withered on the hill,

To listen to the woods' expiring lay,

To note the red leaf shivering on the spray,

To mark the last bright tints the mountain stain,

422

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

On the waste fields to trace the gleaner's way,
And moralize on mortal joy and pain ? —
O, if such scenes thou lov'st, scorn not the minstrel strain!

No ! do not scorn, although its hoarser note
Scarce with the cushat's homely song can vie,
Though faint its beauties as the tints remote 30

That gleam through mist in autumn's evening sky
And few as leaves that tremble, sear and dry,
"When wild November hath his bugle wound ;
Nor mock my toil — a lonely gleaner I
Through fields time-wasted, on sad inquest bound
Where happier bards of yore have richer harvest found.

So shalt thou list, and haply not unmoved,
To a wild tale of Albyn's warrior day ;
In distant lands, by the rough West reproved,
Still live some relics of the ancient lay. 4°

For, when on Coolin's hills the lights decay,
With such the Seer of Skye the eve beguiles ;
>T is known amid the pathless wastes of Reay,
In Harries known and in Iona's piles,
Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of the Isles.

4 Wake, Maid of Lorn ! ' the min-
strels sung. —
Thy rugged halls, Artornish, rung,
And the dark seas thy towers that

lave
Heaved on the beach a softer

wave, 49

As mid the tuneful choir to keep
The diapason of the deep.
Lulled were the winds on Innin-

more
And green Loch-Alline's woodland

shore,
As if wild woods and waves had

pleasure
In listing to the lovely measure.
And ne'er to symphony more sweet
Gave mountain echoes answer

meet
Since, met from mainland and from

isle,
Ross, Arran, Islay, and Argyle,
Each minstrel's tributary lay 60
Paid homage to the festal day.
Dull and dishonored were the

bard,

Worthless of guerdon and regard,
Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame,
Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim,
Who on that morn's resistless

call
Was silent in Artornish hall.

' Wake, Maid of Lorn ! ' — 't was

thus they sung,
And yet more proud the descant

rung,
4 Wake, Maid of Lorn ! high right

is ours 70

To charm dull sleep from Beauty's

bowers :
Earth, ocean, air, have naught so

shy
But owns the power of minstrelsy.
In Lettermore the timid deer
Will pause the harp's wild chime

to hear ;
Rude Heiskar's seal through

surges dark
Will long pursue the minstrel's

bark ;
To list his notes the eagle proud

CANTO FIRST

423

Will poise him on Ben-Cailliach's
cloud ;

Then let not maiden's ear dis-
dain 80

The summons of the minstrel train,

But while our harps wild music
make,

Edith of Lorn, awake, awake !

40 wake while Dawn with dewy
shine

Wakes Nature's charms to vie
with thine !

She bids the mottled thrush re-
joice

To mate thy melody of voice ;

The dew that on the violet lies

Mocks the dark lustre of thine
eyes;

But, Edith, wake, and all we see

Of sweet and fair shall yield to
thee!'— 91

* She comes not yet,' gray Ferrand

cried ;

* Brethren, let softer spell he tried,
Those notes prolonged, that sooth-

ing theme,
Which best may mix with Beauty's

dream,
And whisper with their silvery

tone
The hope she loves yet fears to

own.'
He spoke, and on the harp-strings

died
The strains of flattery and of

pride ;
More soft, more low, more tender

fell 100

The lay of love he bade them tell.

1 Wake, Maid of Lorn! the mo-
ments fly
Which yet that maiden - name
allow ;
Wake, Maiden, wake ! the hour is
nigh
When love shall claim a plighted
vow.

By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering
guest,
By Hope, that soon shall fears
remove,
We bid thee break the bonds of
rest,
And wake thee at the call of
Love!

' Wake, Edith, wake ! in yonder
bay no

Lies many a galley gayly man-
ned,
We hear the merry pibroch's play,
We see the streamers' silken
band.
What chieftain's praise these pi-
brochs swell,
What crest is on these banners
wove,
The harp, the minstrel, dare not
tell —
The riddle must be read by
Love.*

Retired her maiden train among,
Edith of Lorn received the song,
But tamed the minstrel's pride

had been 120

That had her cold demeanor seen ;
For not upon her cheek awoke
The glow of pride when Flattery

spoke,
Nor could their tenderest numbers

bring
One sigh responsive to the string.
As vainly had her maidens vied
In skill to deck the princely bride.
Her locks in dark-brown length

arrayed,
Cathleen of Ulne, t was thine to

braid ;
Young Eva with meet reverence

drew 130

On the light foot the silken shoe,
While on the ankle's slender round
Those strings of pearl fair Bertha

wound
That, bleached Lochryan's depths

within,

424

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

Seemed dusky still on Edith's skin.
But Einion, of experience old,
Had weightiest task — the man-
tle's fold
In many an artful plait she tied
To show the form it seemed to

hide,
Till on the floor descending rolled
Its waves of crimson blent with
gold. 141

O, lives there now so cold a maid,
Who thus in beauty's pomp ar-
rayed,
In beauty's proudest pitch of

power,
And conquest won — the bridal

hour —
With every charm that wins the

heart,
By Nature given, enhanced by

Art,
Could yet the fair reflection view
In the bright mirror pictured true,
And not one dimple on her cheek
A telltale consciousness be-
speak?— 151
Lives still such maid ? — Fair dam-
sels, say,
For further vouches not my lay
Save that such lived in Britain's

isle
When Lorn's bright Edith scorned
to smile.

VII

But Morag, to whose fostering

care
Proud Lorn had given his daugh-
ter fair,
Morag, who saw a mother's aid
By all a daughter's love repaid —
Strict was that bond, most kind of
all, 160

Inviolate in Highland hall —
Gray Morag sate a space apart,
In Edith's eyes to read her heart.
In vain the attendant's fond ap-
peal
To Morag's skill, to Morag's zeal ;

She marked her child receive their
care,

Cold as the image sculptured
fair —

Form of some sainted patroness —

Which cloistered maids combine
to dress ;

She marked — and knew her nurs-
ling's heart 170

In the vain pomp took little part.

Wistful awhile she gazed — then
pressed

The maiden to her anxious breast

In finished loveliness — and led

To where a turret's airy head,

Slender and steep and battled
round,

O'erlooked, dark Mull, thy mighty
Sound,

Where thwarting tides with min-
gled roar

Part thy swarth hills from Mor-
en's shore.

VIII

'Daughter,' she said, * these seas
behold, 180

Round twice a hundred islands
rolled,

From Hirt that hears their north-
ern roar

To the green Hay's fertile shore ;

Or mainland turn where many a
tower

Owns thy bold brother's feudal
power,

Each on its own dark cape re-
clined

And listening to its own wild wind,

From where Mingarry sternly
placed

O'erawes the woodland and the
waste,

To where Dunstaffnage hears the
raging 190

Of Connal with its rocks engaging.

Think'st thou amid this ample
round

A single brow but thine has
frowned,

To sadden this auspicious morn

CANTO FIRST

425

That bids the daughter of high

Lorn
Impledge her spousal faith to wed
The heir of mighty Somerled ?
Ronald, from many a hero sprung,
The fair, the valiant, and the

young,
Lord of the Isles, whose lofty

name 200

A thousand bards have given to

fame,
The mate of monarchs, and allied
On equal terms with England's

pride, —
From chieftain's tower to bonds-
man's cot,
Who hears the tale, and triumphs

not?
The damsel dons her best attire,
The shepherd lights his beltane

fire,
Joy! joy! each warder's horn hath

sung,
Joy! joy! each matin bell hath

rung ; 209

The holy priest says grateful mass,
Loud shouts each hardy galla-

glass,
No mountain den holds outcast

boor
Of heart so dull, of soul so poor,
But he hath flung his task aside,
And claimed this morn for holy-
tide;
Yet, empress of this joyful day,
Edith is sad while all are gay.'

Proud Edith's soul came to her

eye,
Resentment checked the struggling

sigh. 219

Her hurrying hand indignant dried
The burning tears of injured

pride —
* Morag, forbear ! or lend thy praise
To swell yon hireling harpers' lays ;
Make to yon maids thy boast of

power,
That they may waste a wondering

hour

Telling of banners proudly borne,
Of pealing bell and bugle horn,
Or, theme more dear, of robes of

price,
Crownlets and gauds of rare device.
But thou, experienced as thou art,
Think' st thou with these to cheat

the heart 23 1

That, bound in strong affection's

chain,
Looks for return and looks in vain ?
No! sum thine Edith's wretched

lot
In these brief words — He loves

her not !

' Debate it not — too long I strove
To call his cold observance love,
All blinded by the league that

styled
Edith of Lorn — while yet a child
She tripped the heath by Morag's

side — 240

The brave Lord Ronald's destined

bride.
Ere yet I saw him, while afar
His broadsword blazed in Scot-
land's war,
Trained to believe our fates the

same,
My bosom throbbed when Ronald's

name
Came gracing Fame's heroic tale,
Like perfume on the summer gale.
What pilgrim sought our halls nor

told
Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold ;
Who touched the harp to heroes'

praise 250

But his achievements swelled the

lays ?
Even Morag — not a tale of fame
Was hers but closed with Ronald's

name.
He came ! and all that had been

told
Of his high worth seemed poor and

cold,
Tame, lifeless, void of energy,
Unjust to Ronald and to me !

426

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

'Since then, what thought had

Edith's heart
And gave not plighted love its

part ! — 259

And what requital? cold delay —
Excuse that shunned the spousal

day.—
It dawns and Ronald is not

here! —
Hunts he Bentalla's nimble deer,
Or loiters he in secret dell
To bid some lighter love farewell,
And swear that though he may not

scorn
A daughter of the House of Lorn,
Yet, when these formal rites are

o'er,
Again they meet to part no more ? »

XII

* Hush, daughter, hush ! thy doubts

remove, 270

More nobly think of Ronald's love.
Look, where beneath the castle

gray
His fleet unmoor from Aros bay !
See'st not each galley's topmast

bend
As on the yards the sails ascend ?
Hiding the dark-blue land they

rise,
Like the white clouds on April

skies ;
The shouting vassals man the

oars,
Behind them sink Mull's mountain

shores,
Onward their merry course they

keep 280

Through whistling breeze and

foaming deep.
And mark the headmost, seaward

cast,
Stoop to the freshening gale her

mast,
As if she veiled its bannered pride
To greet afar her prince's bride !
Thy Ronald comes, and while in

speed
His galley mates the flying steed,

He chides her sloth ! ' — Fair Edith

sighed,
Blushed, sadly smiled, and thus

replied :

XIII

'Sweet thought, but vain! — No,

Morag! mark, 290

Type of his course, yon lonely bark,
That oft hath shifted helm and

sail
To win its way against the gale.
Since peep of morn my vacant

eyes
Have viewed by fits the course she

tries ;
Now, though the darkening scud

comes on,
And dawn's fair promises be gone,
And though the weary crew may

see
Our sheltering haven on their lee,
Still closer to the rising wind 300
They strive her shivering sail to

bind,
Still nearer to the shelves' dread

verge
At every tack her course they urge,
As if they feared Artornish more
Than adverse winds and breakers'

roar.'

XIV

Sooth spoke the maid. Amid the

tide

The skiff she marked lay tossing

sore,

And shifted oft her stooping side,

In weary tack from shore to

shore.
Yet on her destined course no
more 310

She gained of forward way
Than what a minstrel may com-
pare
To the poor meed which peasants
share
Who toil the livelong day ;
And such the risk her pilot
braves
That oft, before she wore,

CANTO FIRST

427

Her boltsprit kissed the broken

waves
Where in white foam the ocean
raves
Upon the shelving shore.
Yet, to their destined purpose
true, 32°

Undaunted toiled her hardy
crew,
Nor looked where shelter lay,
Nor for Artornish Castle drew,
Nor steered for Aros bay.

xv
Thus while they strove with wind

and seas,
Borne onward by the willing
breeze,
Lord Ronald's fleet swept by,
Streamered with silk and tricked

with gold,
Manned with the noble and the
bold
Of Island chivalry. 330

Around their prows the ocean

roars,
And chafes beneath their thousand
oars,
Yet bears them on their way :
So chafes the war-horse in his

might
That fieldward bears some valiant

knight,
Champs till both bit and boss are
white,
But foaming must obey.
On each gay deck they might be-
hold
Lances of steel and crests of gold,
And hauberks with their burnished
fold 340

That shimmered fair and free ;
And each proud galley as she

passed
To the wild cadence of the blast

Gave wilder minstrelsy.
Full many a shrill triumphant note
Saline and Scallastle bade float

Their misty shores around ;
And Morven's echoes answered
well, 348

And Duart heard the distant swell
Come down the darksome Sound.

XVI

So bore they on with mirth and

pride,
And if that laboring bark they

spied,
'T was with such idle eye
As nobles cast on lowly boor
When, toiling in his task obscure,

They pass him careless by.
Let them sweep on with heedless

eyes !
But had they known what mighty

prize
In that frail vessel lay,
The famished wolf that prowls the

wold 360

Had scathless passed the un-

guarded fold,
Ere, driftiug by these galleys bold,

Unchallenged were her way !
And thou, Lord Ronald, sweep

thou on
With mirth and pride and minstrel

tone!
But hadst thou known who sailed

so nigh,
Far other glance were in thine

eye !
Far other flush were on thy brow,
That, shaded by the bonnet, now
Assumes but ill the blithesome

cheer 370

Of bridegroom when the bride is

near!

XVII

Yes, sweep they on I — We will not

leave,
For them that triumph, those who

grieve.
With that armada gay
Be laughter loud and jocund shout,
And bards to cheer the wassail

rout
With tale, romance, and lay ;
And of wild mirth each clamorous

art,
Which, if it cannot cheer the heart,

428

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

May stupefy and stun its smart 380

For one loud busy day.
Yes, sweep they on! — But with
that skiff
Abides the minstrel tale,
Where there was dread of surge

and cliff,
Labor that strained each sinew
stiff.
And one sad maiden's wail.

XVIII

All day with fruitless strife they

toiled,
With eve the ebbing currents

boiled
More fierce from strait and lake ;
And midway through the channel

met 390

Conflicting tides that foam and

fret,
And high their mingled billows

jet,
As spears that in the battle set
Spring upward as they break.
Then too the lights of eve were

past,
And louder sung the western blast

On rocks of Inninmore ;
Rent was the sail, and strained

the mast,
And many a leak was gaping fast,
And the pale steersman stood

aghast 400

And gave the conflict o'er.

XIX

>T was then that One whose lofty

look
Nor labor dulled nor terror shook

Thus to the leader spoke : —
» Brother, how hop'st thou to

abide
The fury of this wildered tide,
Or how avoid the rock's rude side

Until the day has broke ?
Didst thou not mark the vessel

reel
With quivering planks and groan-
ing keel 410
At the last billow's shock?

Yet how of better counsel tell,
Though here thou see'st poor
Isabel

Half dead with want and fear ;
For look on sea, or look on land,
Or yon dark sky, on every hand

Despair and death are near.
For her alone I grieve — on me
Danger sits light by land and sea,

I follow where thou wilt ; 420
Either to bide the tempest's lour,
Or wend to yon unfriendly tower,
Or rush amid their naval power,
With war-cry wake their wassail-
hour,

And die with hand on hilt.'

That elder leader's calm reply

In steady voice was given,
' In man's most dark extremity

Oft succor dawns from heaven.

Edward, trim thou the shattered

sail, 430

The helm be mine, and down the

gale

Let our free course be driven ;

So shall we 'scape the western

bay,
The hostile fleet, the unequal fray ;
So safely hold our vessel's way

Beneath the castJe wall ;
For if a hope of safety rest,
'T is on the sacred name of guest,
Who seeks for shelter storm-dis-
tressed
Within a chieftain's hall. 440
If not — it best beseems our

worth,
Our name, our right, our lofty
birth,
By noble hands to fall.'

XXI

The helm, to his strong arm con-
signed,

Gave the reefed sail to meet the
wind,
And on her altered way

Fierce bounding forward sprung
the ship,

CANTO FIRST

429

Like greyhound starting from the
slip
To seize his flying prey.
Awaked before the rushing
prow 450

The mimic fires of ocean glow,

Those lightnings of the wave ;
Wild sparkles crest the broken

tides,
And flashing round the vessel's
sides
With elfish lustre lave,
While far behind their livid light
To the dark billows of the night

A gloomy splendor gave.
It seems as if old Ocean shakes
From his dark brow the lucid
flakes 460

In envious pageantry,
To match the meteor-light that
streaks
Grim Hecla's midnight sky.

XXII

Nor lacked they steadier light to

keep
Their course upon the darkened

deep;
Artornish, on her frowning steep

'Twixt cloud and ocean hung,
Glanced with a thousand lights of

glee,
And landward far and far to sea

Her festal radiance flung. 470
By that blithe beacon-light they
steered,
Whose lustre mingled well
With the pale beam that now ap-
peared,
As the cold moon her head up-
reared
Above the eastern felL

XXIII

Thus guided, on their course they

bore
Until they neared the mainland

shore,
When frequent on the hollow blast
Wild shouts of merriment were

cast,

And wind and wave and sea-birds'

cry 480

With wassail sounds in concert

vie,
Like funeral shrieks with revelry,

Or like the battle-shout
By peasants heard from cliffs on

high
When Triumph, Kage, and Agony

Madden the fight and rout.
Now nearer yet through mist and

storm
Dimly arose the castle's form

And deepened shadow made,
Far lengthened on the main be-
low, 490
Where dancing in reflected glow

A hundred torches played,
Spangling the wave with lights as

vain
As pleasures in this vale of pain,
That dazzle as they fade.

xxiv
Beneath the castle's sheltering lee
They staid their course in quiet

sea.
Hewn in the rock, a passage there
Sought the dark fortress by a

stair,
So strait, so high, so steep, 500
With peasant's staff one valiant

hand
Might well the dizzy pass have

manned
'Gainst hundreds armed with

spear and brand
And plunged them in the deep.
His bugle then the helmsman

wound :
Loud answered every echo round

From turret, rock, arid bay ;
The postern's hinges crash and

groan,
And soon the warder's cresset

shone
On those rude steps of slippery

stone, 510

To light the upward way.
' Thrice welcome, holy Sire ! ' he

said;

430

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

• Full long the spousal train have

staid.
And, vexed at thy delay,
Feared lest amidst these wildering

seas
The darksome night and freshen-
ing breeze
Had driven thy bark astray/ —

xxv

* Warder,' the younger stranger

said,
'Thine erring guess some mirth

had made
In mirthful hour ; but nights like

these, 520

When the rough winds wake west-
ern seas,
Brook not of glee. We crave some

aid
And needful shelter for this maid

Until the break of day ;
For to ourselves the deck's rude

plank
Is easy as the mossy bank

That 's breathed upon by May.
And for our storm-tossed skiff we

seek
Short shelter in this leeward

creek,
Prompt when the dawn the east

shall streak 530

Again to bear away.'
Answered the warder, 'In what

name
Assert ye hospitable claim?

Whence come or whither bound ?
Hath Erin seen your parting sails,
Or come ye on Norweyan gales ?
And seek ye England's fertile

vales,
Or Scotland's mountain ground ? '

XXVI

' Warriors — for other title none
For some brief space we list to

own, 540

Bound by a vow — warriors are

we;
In strife by land and storm by sea
We have been known to fame ;

And these brief words have import

dear,
When sounded in a noble ear,
To harbor safe and friendly cheer

That gives us rightful claim.
Grant us the trivial boon we seek,
And we in other realms will speak

Fair of your courtesy ; 550

Deny — and be your niggard hold
Scorned by the noble and the bold,
Shunned by the pilgrim on the
wold

And wanderer on the lea ! '

XXVII

'Bold stranger, no — 'gainst claim

like thine
No bolt revolves by hand of mine,
Though urged in tone that more

expressed
A monarch than a suppliant guest.
Be what ye will, Artornish Hall
On this glad eve is free to all. 560
Though ye had drawn a hostile

sword
'Gainst our ally, great England's

Lord,
Or mail upon your shoulders borne
To battle with the Lord of Lorn,
Or outlawed dwelt by greenwood

tree
With the fierce Knight of Ellers-

lie,
Or aided even the murderous

strife
When Comyn fell beneath the

knife
Of that fell homicide the Bruce,
This night had been a term of

truce. — • 570

Ho, vassals! give these guests

your care,
And show the narrow postern

stair.'

XXVIII

To land these two bold brethren

leapt —
The weary crew their vessel

kept —
And, lighted by the torches' flare

CANTO FIRST

431

That seaward flung their smoky

glare,
The younger knight that maiden
bare
Half lifeless up the rock ;
On his strong shoulder leaned her

head,
And down her long dark tresses
shed, 580

As the wild vine in tendrils spread
Droops from the mountain oak.
Him followed close that elder lord,
And in his hand a sheathed sword

Such as few arms could wield ;
But when he bouned him to such

task
Well could it cleave the strongest
casque
And rend the surest shield.

XXIX

The raised portcullis' arch they

pass,
The wicket with its bars of brass,
The entrance long and low, 591
Flanked at each turn by loop-holes

strait,
Where bowmen might in ambush

wait —
If force or fraud should burst the

gate —
To gall an entering foe.
But every jealous post of ward
Was now defenceless and un-
barred,
And all the passage free
To one low-browed and vaulted

room
Where squire and yeoman, page

and groom, 600

Plied their loud revelry.

XXX

And ' Rest ye here,' the warder

bade,
1 Till to our lord your suit is said. —
And, comrades, gaze not on the

maid
And on these men who ask our

aid,
As if ye ne'er had seen

A damsel tired of midnight bark
Or wanderers of a moulding stark

And bearing martial mien.'
But not for Eachin's reproof 610
Would page or vassal stand aloof,

But crowded on to stare,
As men of courtesy untaught,
Till fiery Edward roughly caught

From one the foremost there
His chequered plaid, and in its

shroud,
To hide her from the vulgar crowd,

Involved his sister fair.
His brother, as the clansman bent
His sullen brow in discontent, 620

Made brief and stern excuse :
'Vassal, were thine the cloak of

pall
That decks thy lord in bridal
hall,

*T were honored by her use.*

XXXI

Proud was his tone but calm ; his

eye
Had that compelling dignity,
His mien that bearing naught and
high,

Which common spirits fear ;
Needed nor word nor signal more,
Nod, wink, and laughter, all were
o'er ; 630

Upon each other back they bore

And gazed like startled deer.
But now appeared the seneschal,
Commissioned by his lord to call
The strangers to the baron's hall,

Where feasted fair and free
That Island Prince in nuptial tide
With Edith there his lovely bride,
And her bold brother by her side,
And many a chief, the flower and
pride 640

Of Western land and sea.

Here pause we, gentles, for a

space ;
And, if our tale hath won your

grace,
Grant us brief patience and again
We will renew the minstrel strain.

432

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

CANTO SECOND

Fill the bright goblet, spread

the festive board !
Summon the gay, the noble, and

the fair !
Through the loud hall in joyous

concert poured,
Let mirth and music sound the

dirge of Care !
But ask thou not if Happiness

be there,
If the loud laugh disguise con-
vulsive throe,
Or if the brow the heart's true

livery wear ;
Lift not the festal mask! —

enough to know,
No scene of mortal life but teems

with mortal woe.

With beakers' clang, with harpers'
lay, 10

With all that olden time deemed
gay,

The Island Chieftain feasted high ;

But there was in his troubled eye

A gloomy fire, and on his brow

Now sudden flushed and faded
now

Emotions such as draw their birth

From deeper source than festal
mirth.

By fits he paused, and harper's
strain

And jester's tale went round in
vain,

Or fell but on his idle ear 20

Like distant sounds which dream-
ers hear.

Then would he rouse him, and em-
ploy

Each art to aid the clamorous
joy,
And call for pledge and lay,

And for brief space of all the
crowd,

As he was loudest of the loud,
Seem gayest of the gay.

Yet naught amiss the bridal

throng
Marked in brief mirth or musing

long;
The vacant brow, the unlistening

ear, 30

They gave to thoughts of raptures

near,
And his fierce starts of sudden

glee
Seemed bursts of bridegroom's

ecstasy.
Nor thus alone misjudged the

crowd,
Since lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud,
And jealous of his honored line,
And that keen knight, De Argen-
tine—
From England sent on errand

high
The western league more firm to

tie —
Both deemed in Ronald's mood to

find 40

A lover's transport-troubled mind.
But one sad heart, one tearful eye,
Pierced deeper through the mys-
tery,
And watched with agony and fear
Her wayward bridegroom's varied

cheer.

She watched — yet feared to meet

his glance,
And he shunned hers ; — till when

by chance
They met, the point of foeman's

lance
Had given a milder pang !
Beneath the intolerable smart 50
He writhed ; — then sternly manned

his heart
To play his hard but destined

part,
And from the table sprang.
' Fill me the mighty cup, he said,
' Erst owned by royal Somerledl
Fill it, till on the studded brim
In burning gold the bubbles swim,

CANTO SECOND

433

And every gem of varied shine
Glow doubly bright in rosy wine !
To you, brave lord, and brother
mine, 60

Of Lorn, this pledge I drink —
The Union of Our House with
thine,
By this fair bridal-link ! '

1 Let it pass round ! ' quoth he of

Lorn,
4 And in good time — that winded
horn
Must of the abbot tell ;
The laggard monk is come at last.'
Lord Ronald heard the bugle-
blast,
And on the floor at random cast

The untasted goblet fell. 70

But when the warder in his ear
Tells other news, his blither cheer

Returns like sun of May
"When through a thunder-cloud it

beams ! —
Lord of two hundred isles, he
seems
As glad of brief delay
As some poor criminal might feel
When from the gibbet or the
wheel
Respited for a day.

'Brother of Lorn,' with hurried
voice 80

He said, * and you, fair lords, re-
joice !
Here, to augment our glee,

Come wandering knights from
travel far,

Well proved, they say, in strife of
war
And tempest on the sea.

Ho ! give them at your board such
place

As best their presences may grace,
And bid them welcome free I '

With solemn step and silver wand,

The seneschal the presence
scanned 90

Of these strange guests, and well

he knew
How to assign their rank its due ;

For though the costly furs
That erst had decked their caps

were torn,
And their gay robes were over-
worn,
And soiled their gilded spurs,
Yet such a high commanding grace
Was in their mien and in their face
As suited best the princely dais

And royal canopy ; 100

And there he marshalled them
their place,
First of that company.

VII

Then lords and ladies spake aside,
And angry looks the error chide
That gave to guests unnamed, un-
known,
A place so near their prince's
throne;
But Owen Erraught said,
1 For forty years a seneschal,
To marshal guests in bovver and
hall
Has been my honored trade, na
Worship and birth to me are

known,
By look, by bearing, and by tone,
Not by furred robe or broidered
zone ;
And 'gainst an oaken bough
I '11 gage my silver wand of state
That these three strangers oft
have sate
In higher place than now.'

VIII

' I too,' the aged Ferrand said,
' Am qualified by minstrel trade

Of rank and place to tell ; — 120
Marked ye the younger stranger's

eye,
My mates, how quick, how keen,
how high,

How fierce its flashes fell,
Glancing among the noble rout
As if to seek the noblest out,

434

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

Because the owner might not

brook
On any save his peers to look?

And yet it moves me more,
That steady, calm, majestic brow,
With which the elder chief even
now 130

Scanned the gay presence o'er,
Like being of superior kind,
In whose high-toned impartial

mind
Degrees of mortal rank and state
Seem objects of indifferent weight.
The lady too — though closely
tied
The mantle veil both face and
eye,
Her motions' grace it could not
hide,
Nor cloud her form's fair sym-
metry.'

Suspicious doubt and lordly scorn
Loured on the haughty front of

Lorn. 141

From underneath his brows of

pride
The stranger guests he sternly

eyed,
And whispered closely what the

ear
Of Argentine alone might hear ;

Then questioned, high and brief,
If in their voyage aught they knew
Of the rebellious Scottish crew
Who to Rath-Erin's shelter drew
With Carrick's outlawed Chief?
And if, their winter's exile o'er,
They harbored still by Ulster's

shore, 152

Or launched their galleys on the

main
To vex their native land again ?

That younger stranger, fierce and

high,
At once confronts the chieftain's

eye

With look of equal scorn :
1 Of re bels have we naught to show ;
But if of royal Bruce thou 'dst

know,
I warn thee he has sworn, 160
Ere thrice three days shall come

and go,
His banner Scottish winds shall

blow,
Despite each mean or mighty

foe,
From England's every bill and bow

To Allaster of Lorn.'
Kindled the mountain chieftain's

ire,
But Ronald quenched the rising

fire:
1 Brother, it better suits the time
To chase the night with Ferrand's

rhyme
Than wake midst mirth and wine

the jars 170

That flow from these unhappy

wars.'
'Content,' said Lorn; and spoke

apart
With Ferrand, master of his art,

Then whispered Argentine,
1 The lay I named will carry smart
To these bold strangers' haughty

heart,
If right this guess of mine.'
He ceased, and it was silence all
Until the minstrel waked the hall.

THE BROOCH OF LORN

'Whence the brooch of burning
gold 180

That clasps the chieftain's mantle-
fold,
Wrought and chased with rare de-
vice,
Studded fair with gems of price,
On the varied tartans beaming,
As, through night's pale rainbow

gleaming,
Fainter now, now seen afar,
Fitful shines the northern star ?

CANTO SECOND

435

1 Gem ! ne'er wrought on Highland

mountain,
Did the fairy of the fountain
Or the mermaid of the wave 190
Frame thee in some coral cave ?
Did, in Iceland's darksome mine,
Dwarf's swart hands thy metal

twine ?
Or, mortal-moulded, comest thou

here
From England's love or France's

fear?

XII
SONG CONTINUED

4 No ! — thy splendors nothing tell
Foreign art or faery spell.
Moulded thou for monarch's use,
By the overweening Bruce,
When the royal robe he tied 200
O'er a heart of wrath and pride ;
Thence in triumph wert thou torn
By the victor hand of Lorn !

'When the gem was won and

lost,
Widely was the war-cry tossed !
Rung aloud Bendourish fell,
Answered Douchart's sounding

dell,
Fled the deer from wild Teyndrum,
When the homicide o'ercome
Hardly 'scaped with scathe and

scorn, 210

Left the pledge with conquering

Lorn !

XIII
SONG CONCLUDED

'Vain was then the Douglas

brand,
Vain the Campbell's vaunted hand,
Vain Kirkpatrick's bloody dirk,
Making sure of murder's work;
Barendown fled fast away,
Fled the fiery De la Haye,
When this brooch triumphant

borne
Beamed upon the breast of Lorn.

1 Farthest fled its former lord, 220
Left his men to brand and cord,
Bloody brand of Highland steel,
English gibbet, axe, and wheel.
Let him fly from coast to coast,
Dogged by Comyn's vengeful

ghost,
While his spoils in triumph worn
Long shall grace victorious Lorn ! •

XIV

As glares the tiger on his foes,
Hemmed in by hunters, spears,

and bows, 229

And, ere he bounds upon the ring,
Selects the object of his spring,—
Now on the bard, now on his lord,
So Edward glared and grasped his

sword —
But stern his brother spoke, ' Be

still.
What ! art thou yet so wild of will,
After high deeds and sufferings

long,
To chafe thee for a menial's

song?—
Well hast thou framed, old man,

thy strains,
To praise the hand that pays thy

pains,
Yet something might thy song

have told 240

Of Lorn's three vassals, true and

bold,
Who rent their lord from Bruce's

hold
As underneath his knee he lay,
And died to save him in the fray.
I 've heard the Bruce's cloak and

clasp
Was clenched within their dying

grasp,
What time a hundred f oemen more
Rushed in and back the victor

bore,
Long after Lorn had left the strife,
Full glad to 'scape with limb and

life. — 250

Enough of this — and, minstrel,

hold
As minstrel-hire this chain of gold,

436

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

For future lays a fair excuse
To speak more nobly of the
Bruce.' —

'Now, by Columba's shrine, I
swear,

And every saint that's buried
there,

'T is he himself!' Lorn sternly
cries,

'And for my kinsman's death he
dies.'

As loudly Ronald calls, 4 Forbear !

Not in my sight while brand I
wear, 260

O'ermatched by odds, shall war-
rior fall,

Or blood of stranger stain my hall !

This ancient fortress of my race

Shall be misfortune's resting-
place,

Shelter and shield of the dis-
tressed,

No slaughter-house for ship-
wrecked guest'

1 Talk not to me,' fierce Lorn re-
plied,

4 Of odds or match ! — when Comyn
died,

Three daggers clashed within his
side ! 269

Talk not to me of sheltering hall,

The Church of God saw Comyn
fall!

On God's own altar streamed his
blood,

While o'er my prostrate kinsman
stood

The ruthless murderer — e'en as
now —

With armed hand and scornful
brow ! —

Up, all who love me ! blow on blow !

And lay the outlawed felons low ! '

XVI

Then up sprang many a mainland

lord,
Obedient to their chieftain's word.
Barcaldine's arm is high in air, 280

And Kinloch-Alline's blade is bare,
Black Murthok's dirk has left its

sheath,
And clenched is Dermid's hand of

death.
Their muttered threats of ven-

geance swell
Into a wild and warlike yell ;
Onward they press with weapons

high,
The affrighted females shriek and

fly,
And, Scotland, then thy brightest

ray 288

Had darkened ere its noon of

day,
But every chief of birth and fame
That from the Isles of Ocean came
At Ronald's side that hour with-
stood
Fierce Lorn's relentless thirst for

blood.

XVII

Brave Torquil from Dunvegan
high,

Lord of the misty hills of Skye,

Mac - Niel, wild Bara's ancient
thane,

Duart of bold Clan-Gillian's strain,

Fergus of Canna's castled bay,

Mac-Duffith, Lord of Colonsay,

Soon as they saw the broadswords
glance, 300

With ready weapons rose at once,

More prompt that many an ancient
feud,

Full oft suppressed, full oft re-
newed,

Glowed 'twixt the chieftains of
Argyle,

And many a lord of ocean's isle.

Wild was the scene — each sword
was bare,

Back streamed each chieftain's
shaggy hair,

In gloomy opposition set,

Eyes, hands, and brandished wea-
pons met ;

Blue gleaming o'er the social
board, 310

CANTO SECOND

437

Flashed to the torches many a

sword ;
And soon those bridal lights may

shine
On purple blood for rosy wine.

XVIII

While thus for blows and death

prepared,
Each heart was up, each weapon

bared,
Each foot advanced, — a surly

pause
Still reverenced hospitable laws.
All menaced violence, but alike
Reluctant each the first to strike —
For aye accursed in minstrel line
Is he wTho brawls mid song and

wine, 321

And, matched in numbers and in

might,
Doubtful and desperate seemed

the fight.
Thus threat and murmur died

away,
Till on the crowded hall there lay
Such silence as the deadly still
Ere bursts the thunder on the hill.
With blade advanced, each chief-
tain bold
Showed like the Sworder's form of

old, 329

As wanting still the torch of life
To wake the marble into strife.

XIX

That awful pause the stranger

maid
And Edith seized to pray for aid.
As to De Argentine she clung,
Away her veil the stranger flung,
And, lovely mid her wild despair,
Fast streamed her eyes, wide

flowed her hair :
'0 thou, of knighthood once the

flower,
Sure refuge in distressful hour,
Thou who in Judah well hast

fought 340

For our dear faith and oft hast

sought

Renown in knightly exercise
When this poor hand has dealt the

prize,
Say, can thy soul of honor brook
On the unequal strife to look,
When, butchered thus in peaceful

hall,
Those once thy friends, my bre-
thren, fall ! '
To Argentine she turned her word,
But her eye sought the Island

Lord.
A flush like evening's setting

flame 350

Glowed on his cheek ; his hardy

frame
As with a brief convulsion shook :
With hurried voice and eager look,
' Fear not,' he said, ' my Isabel !
What said I — Edith ! — all is

well —
Nay, fear not — I will well provide
The safety of my lovely bride —
My bride ? ' — but there the accents

clung
In tremor to his faltering tongue.

Now rose De Argentine to claim

The prisoners in his sovereign's
name 361

To England's crown, who, vassals
sworn,

'Gainst their liege lord had wea-
pon borne —

Such speech, I ween, was but to
hide

His care their safety to provide ;

For knight more true in thought
and deed

Than Argentine ne'er spurred a
steed —

And Ronald who his meaning
guessed

Seemed half to sanction the re-
quest. 369

This purpose fiery Torquil broke :

1 Somewhat we 've heard of Eng-
land's yoke,'

He said, ' and in our islands Fame

Hath wrhispered of a lawful claim

43»

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

That calls the Bruce fair Scotland's

lord,
Though dispossessed by foreign

sword.
This craves reflection — hut

though right
And just the charge of England's

Knight,
Let England's crown her rebels

seize
Where she has power ; — in towers

like these,
Midst Scottish chieftains sum-
moned here 380
To bridal mirth and bridal cheer,
Be sure, with no consent of mine
Shall either Lorn or Argentine
With chains or violence, in our

sight,
Oppress a brave and banished

knight.'

XXI

Then waked the wild debate again
With brawling threat and clamor

vain.
Vassals and menials thronging in
Lent their brute rage to swell the
din; 389

When far and wide a bugle-clang
From the dark ocean upward rang.
* The abbot comes ! ' they cry at

once,
'The holy man, whose favored
glance
Hath sainted visions known ;
Angels have met him on the way,
Beside the blessed martyr's bay,
And by Columba's stone.
His monks have heard their hymn-

ings high
Sound from the summit of Dun-Y,
To cheer his penance lone, 400
When at each cross, on girth and

wold —
Their number thrice a hundred-
fold-
His prayer he made, his beads he
told,
With Aves many a one —
He comes our feuds to reconcile,

A sainted man from sainted isle ;
We will his holy doom abide,
The abbot shall our strife decide.'

XXII

Scarcely this fair accord was o'er
When through the wide revolving
door 410

The black-stoled brethren wind ;
Twelve sandalled monks who re-
lics bore,
With many a torch-bearer before

And many a cross behind.
Then sunk each fierce uplifted

hand,
And dagger bright and flashing
brand
Dropped swiftly at the sight ;
They vanished from the Church-
man's eye,
As shooting stars that glance and
die
Dart from the vault of night. 420

XXIII

The abbot on the threshold stood,
And in his hand the holy rood ;
Back on his shoulders flowed his

hood,
The torch's glaring ray
Showed in its red and flashing

light
His withered cheek and amice

white,
His blue eye glistening cold and

bright,
His tresses scant and gray.
' Fair Lords,' he said, ■ Our Lady's

love,
And peace be with you from above,
And Benedicite!— 431

But what means this? — no peace

is here ! —
Do dirks unsheathed suit bridal

cheer?
Or are these naked brands
A seemly show for Churchman's

sight
When he comes summoned to

unite
Betrothed hearts and hands ? '

CANTO SECOND

4391

xxrv

Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal,
Proud Lorn first answered the ap-
peal:
4 Thou com'st, O holy man, 440
True sons of blessed church to

greet.
But little deeming here to meet

A wretch beneath the ban
Of Pope and Church for murder

done
Even on the sacred altar-stone — -
Well mayst thou wonder we should

know
Such miscreant here, nor lay him

low,
Or dream of greeting, peace, or

truce,
With excommunicated Bruce ! 449
Yet well I grant, to end debate,
Thy sainted voice decide his fate.'

XXV

Then Roland pled the stranger's

cause,
And knighthood's oath and honor's

laws ;
And Isabel on bended knee
Brought prayers and tears to back

the plea ;
And Edith lent her generous aid,
And wept, and Lorn for mercy

prayed.
1 Hence,' he exclaimed, ' degener-
ate maid !
Was 't not enough to Ronald's

bower 459

I brought thee, like a paramour,
Or bond-maid at her master's gate,
His careless cold approach to

wait?—
But the bold Lord of Cumberland,
The gallant Clifford, seeks thy

hand;
His it shall be — Nay, no reply !
Hence! till those rebel eyes be

dry.'
With grief the abbot heard and

saw,
Yet naught relaxed his brow of

awe.

XXVI

Then Argentine, in England's

name,
So highly urged his sovereign's

claim 470

He waked a spark that long sup-
pressed
Had smouldered in Lord Ronald's

breast ;
And now, as from the flint the

fire,
Flashed forth at once his generous

ire.
' Enough of noble blood,' he said,
' By English Edward had been

shed,
Since matchless Wallace first had

been
In mockery crowned with wreaths

of green,
And done to death by felon hand
For guarding well his father's

land. 480

Where 's Nigel Bruce ? and De la

Haye,
And valiant Seton — where are

they ?
Where Somerville, the kind and

free?
And Fraser, flower of chivalry ?
Have they not been on gibbet

bound,
Their quarters flung to hawk and

hound,
And hold we here a cold debate
To yield more victims to their

fate?
What ! can the English Leopard's

mood
Never be gorged with northern

blood ? 490

Was not the life of Athole shed
To soothe the tyrant's sickened

bed?
And must his word till dying day
Be naught but quarter, hang, and

slay ! —
Thou frown'st, De Argentine, —

my gage
Is prompt to prove the strife I

wage.'

440

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

XXVII

1 Nor deem/ said stout Dunvegan's

knight,
4 That thou shalt brave alone the

fight !
By saints of isle and mainland

both,
By Woden wild — my grandsire's

oath — 500

Let Eome and England do their

worst,
Howe'er attainted or accursed,
If Bruce shall e'er find friends

again
Once more to brave a battle-plain,
If Douglas couch again his lance,
Or Randolph dare another chance,
Old Torquil will not be to lack
With twice a thousand at his

back. —
Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold,
Good abbot ! for thou know'st of

old, 510

Torquil's rude thought and stub-
born will
Smack of the wild Norwegian still ;
Nor will I barter Freedom's cause
For England's wealth or Rome's

applause.*

XXVIII

The abbot seemed with eye severe
The hardy chieftain's speech to

hear;
Then on King Robert turned the

monk,
But twice his courage came and

sunk,
Confronted with the hero's look ;
Twice fell his eye, his accents

shook ; 520

At length, resolved in tone and

brow,
Sternly he questioned him — * And

thou,
Unhappy ! what hast thou to plead,
Why I denounce not on thy deed
That awful doom which canons

tell
Shuts paradise and opens hell ;
Anathema of power so dread,

It blends the living with the dead,
Bids each good angel soar away
And every ill one claim his prey ;
Expels thee from the church's

care 53 1

And deafens Heaven against thy

prayer ;
Arms every hand against thy life,
Bans all who aid thee in the strife,
Nay, each whose succor, cold and

scant,
With meanest alms relieves thy

want;
Haunts thee while living, — and

when dead
Dwells on thy yet devoted head,
Rends Honor's scutcheon from thy

hearse, 539

Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse,
And spurns thy corpse from hal-
lowed ground,
Flung like vile carrion to the

hound :
Such is the dire and desperate

doom
For sacrilege, decreed by Rome ;
And such the well-deserved meed
Of thine unhallowed, ruthless

deed.'

XXIX

1 Abbot ! ' the Bruce replied, * thy

charge
It boots not to dispute at large.
This much, howe'er, I bid thee

know,
No selfish vengeance dealt the

blow, 550

For Comyn died his country's foe.
Nor blame I friends whose ill-
timed speed
Fulfilled my soon-repented deed,
Nor censure those from whose

stern tongue
The dire anathema has rung.
I only blame mine own wild ire,
By Scotland's wrongs incensed to

fire.
Heaven knows my purpose to

atone,
Far as I may, the evil done,

CANTO SECOND

441

And hears a penitent's appeal 560
From papal curse and prelate's

zeal.
My first and dearest task achieved,
Fair Scotland from her thrall re-
lieved,
Shall many a priest in cope and

stole
Say requiem for Red Comyn's soul,
While I the blessed cross advance
And expiate this unhappy chance
In Palestine with sword and lance.
But, while content the Church

should know
My conscience owns the debt I

owe, 570

Unto De Argentine and Lorn
The name of traitor I return,
Bid them defiance stern and high,
And give them in their throats the

lie!
These brief words spoke, I speak

no more.
Do what thou wilt ; my shrift is

o'er.'

XXX

Like man by prodigy amazed,
Upon the king the abbot gazed ;
Then o'er his pallid features

glance
Convulsions of ecstatic trance. 580
His breathing came more thick

and fast,
And from his pale blue eyes were

cast
Strange rays of wild and wander-
ing light ;
Uprise his locks of silver white,
Flushed is his brow, through every

vein
In azure tide the currents strain,
And undistinguished accents broke
The awful silence ere he spoke.

XXXI

'De Bruce! I rose with purpose
dread 589

To speak my curse upon thy head,
And give thee as an outcast o'er
To him who burns to shed thy
gore; —

But, like the Midianite of old
Who stood on Zophim, Heaven-
controlled,
I feel within mine aged breast
A power that will not be repressed.
It prompts my voice, it swells my

veins,
It burns, it maddens, it con-
strains ! —
De Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow
Hath at God's altar slain thy

foe:
O'ermastered yet by high behest,
I bless thee, and thou shalt be
blessed ! ■ 602

He spoke, and o'er the astonished

throng
Was silence, awful, deep, and long.

XXXII

Again that light has fired his eye,
Again his form swells bold and

high,
The broken voice of age is gone,
'T is vigorous manhood's lofty

tone :
1 Thrice vanquished on the battle-
plain,
Thy followers slaughtered, fled, or
ta'en, 610

A hunted wanderer on the wild,
On foreign shores a man exiled,
Disowned, deserted, and dis-
tressed,
I bless thee, and thou shalt be

blessed !
Blessed in the hall and in the field,
Under the mantle as the shield.
Avenger of thy country's shame,
Restorer of her injured fame,
Blessed in thy sceptre and thy

sword,
De Bruce, for Scotland's rightful
lord, 620

Blessed in thy deeds and in thy

fame,
What lengthened honors wait thy

name !
In distant ages sire to son
Shall tell thy tale of freedom
won,

442

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

And teach his infants in the use
Of earliest speech to falter Bruce.
Go, then, triumphant ! sweep along
Thy course, the theme of many a

song !
The Power whose dictates swell

my breast
Hath blessed thee, and thou shalt

be blessed ! — 630

Enough — my short-lived strength

decays,
And sinks the momentary blaze. —
Heaven hath our destined purpose

broke,
Not here must nuptial vow be

spoke ;
Brethren, our errand here is o'er,
Our task discharged. — Unmoor,

unmoor ! '
His priests received the exhausted

monk,
As breathless in their arms he

sunk.
Punctual his orders to obey,
The train refused all longer stay,
Embarked, raised sail, and bore

away. 64 1

CANTO THIRD

Hast thou not marked when
o'er thy startled head

Sudden and deep the thunder-
peal has rolled,

How, when its echoes fell, a si-
lence dead

Sunk on the wood, the meadow,
and the wold ?

The rye-grass shakes not on the
sod-built fold,

The rustling aspen's leaves are
mute and still,

The wall-flower waves not on
the ruined hold,

Till, murmuring distant first,
then near and shrill,
The savage whirlwind wakes and
sweeps the groaning hill.

ii
Artornish ! such a silence sunk 10
Upon thy halls, when that gray

monk
His prophet-speech had spoke ;
And his obedient brethren's sail
Was stretched to meet the south-
ern gale
Before a whisper woke.
Then murmuring sounds of doubt

and fear,
Close poured in many an anxious

ear,
The solemn stillness broke ;
And still they gazed with eager

guess
Where in an oriel's deep recess 20
The Island Prince seemed bent to

press
What Lorn, by his impatient cheer
And gesture fierce, scarce deigned

to hear.

in
Starting at length with frowning

look,
His hand he clenched, his head he

shook,
And sternly flung apart :
1 And deem'st thou me so mean of

mood
As to forget the mortal feud,
And clasp the hand with blood

imbrued 29

From my dear kinsman's heart?
Is this thy rede ? — a due return
For ancient league and friendship

sworn !
But well our mountain proverb

shows
The faith of Islesmen ebbs and

flows.
Be it even so — believe ere^ long
He that now bears shall wreak the

wrong. —
Call Edith — call the Maid of

Lorn!
My sister, slaves! — for further

scorn,
Be sure nor she nor I will stay. —
Away, Pe Argentine, away ! — 40

CANTO THIRD

443

We nor ally nor brother know
In Bruce' s friend or England's
foe.'

But who the chieftain's rage can

tell
When, sought from lowest dun-
geon cell

To highest tower the castle round,

No Lady Edith was there found !

He shouted, ' Falsehood ! — treach-
ery!—

Revenge and blood ! — a lordly
meed

To him that will avenge the deed !

A baron's lands ! ' — His frantic
mood 50

Was scarcely by the news with-
stood

That Morag shared his sister's
flight,

And that in hurry of the night,

'Scaped noteless and without re-
mark,

Two strangers sought the abbot's
bark. —

4 Man every galley ! — fly — pur-
sue!

The priest his treachery shall rue !

Ay, and the time shall quickly
come

When we shall hear the thanks
that Rome

Will pay his feigned prophecy ! ' 60

Such was fierce Lorn's indignant
cry;

And Cormac Doil in haste obeyed,

Hoisted his sail, his anchor
weighed —

For, glad of each pretext for spoil,

A pirate sworn was Cormac Doil.

But others, lingering, spoke apart,

'The maid has given her maiden
heart
To Ronald of the Isles,

And, fearful lest her brother's
word 69

Bestow her on that English lord,
She seeks Iona's piles,

And wisely deems it best to dwell

A votaress in the holy cell
Until these feuds so fierce and
fell
The abbot reconciles.'

As, impotent of ire, the hall

Echoed to Lorn's impatient call —

' My horse, my mantle, and my
train !

Let none who honors Lorn re-
main ! ' —

Courteous but stern, a bold re-
quest 80

To Bruce De Argentine ex-
pressed :

'Lord Earl,' he said, 'I cannot
chuse

But yield such title to the Bruce,

Though name and earldom both
are gone

Since he braced rebel's armor
on —

But, earl or serf — rude phrase
was thine

Of late, and launched at Argen-
tine;

Such as compels me to demand

Redress of honor at thy hand.

We need not to each other tell 90

That both can wield their weapons
well ;
Then do me but the soldier grace
This glove upon thy helm to place
Where we may meet in fight ;
And I will say, as still I 've said,
Though by ambition far misled,
Thou art a noble knight.'

'And I,' the princely Bruce re-
plied,

'Might term it stain on knight-
hood's pride

That the bright sword of Argen-
tine 100

Should in a tyrant's quarrel shine ;
But, for your brave request,

Be sure the honored pledge you
gave

In every battle-field shall wave

444

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

Upon my helmet-crest ;
Believe that if my hasty tongue
Hath done thine honor causeless
wrong,
It shall be well redressed.
Not dearer to my soul was glove
Bestowed in youth by lady's love
Than this which thou hast
given ! in

Thus then my noble foe I greet ;
Health and high fortune till we
meet,
And then — what pleases Hea-
ven.'

VII

Thus parted they — for now, with

sound
Like waves rolled back from rocky

ground,
The friends of Lorn retire ;
Each mainland chieftain with his

train
Draws to his mountain towers

again,
Pondering how mortal schemes

prove vain 120

And mortal hopes expire.
But through the castle double

guard
By Ronald's charge kept wakeful

ward,
Wicket and gate were trebly

barred
By beam and bolt and chain ;
Then of the guests in courteous

sort
He prayed excuse for mirth broke

short,
And bade them in Artornish fort

In confidence remain.
Now torch and menial tendance

led 130

Chieftain and knight to bower and

bed,
And beads were told and Aves

said,
And soon they sunk away
Into such sleep as wont to shed
Oblivion on the weary head
After a toilsome day.

VIII

But soon uproused, the monarch

cried
To Edward slumbering by his
side,
' Awake, or sleep for aye !
Even now there jarred a secret
door — 140

A taper-light gleams on the floor —

Up, Edward ! up, I say !
Some one glides in like midnight

ghost —
Nay, strike not! 'tis our noble

host/
Advancing then his taper's flame,
Ronald stept forth, and with him
came
Dunvegan's chief — each bent

the knee
To Bruce in sign of fealty

And proffered him his sword,

And hailed him in a monarch's

style 150

As king of mainland and of isle

And Scotland's rightful lord.

' And O,' said Ronald, ' Owned of

Heaven !
Say, is my erring youth forgiven,
By falsehood's arts from duty
driven,
Who rebel falchion drew,
Yet ever to thy deeds of fame,
Even while I strove against thy
claim,
Paid homage just and true ?'—
4 Alas ! dear youth, the unhappy
time,' 160

Answered the Bruce, * must bear
the crime
Since, guiltier far than you,
Even I '—he paused; for Falkirk's

woes
Upon his conscious soul arose.
The chieftain to his breast he

pressed,
And in a sigh concealed the rest.

They proffered aid by arms and

might
To repossess him in his right ;

CANTO THIRD

445

But well their counsels must be

weighed
Ere banners raised and musters

made, 170

For English hire and Lorn's in-
trigues
Bound many chiefs in southern

leagues.
In answer Bruce his purpose bold
To his new vassals frankly told :
1 The winter worn in exile o'er,
I longed for Carrick's kindred

shore.
I thought upon my native Ayr
And longed to see the burly fare
That Clifford makes, whose lordly

call
Now echoes through my father's

hall. 180

But first my course to Arran led
Where valiant Lennox gathers

head,
And on the sea by tempest tossed,
Our barks dispersed, our purpose

crossed,
Mine own, a hostile sail to shun,
Far from her destined course had

run,
When that wise will which masters

ours
Compelled us to your friendly

towers.'

Then Torquil spoke: 'The time
craves speed ! 189

We must not linger in our deed,

But instant pray our sovereign
liege

To shun the perils of a siege.

The vengeful Lorn with all his
powers

Lies but too near Artornish tow-
ers,

And England's light-armed vessels
ride

Not distant far the waves of Clyde,

Prompt at these tidings to unmoor,

And sweep each strait and guard
each shore. 198

Then, till this fresh alarm pass by,

Secret and safe my liege must lie
In the far bounds of friendly Skye,
Torquil thy pilot and thy guide.' —
'Not so, brave chieftain,' Ronald

cried ;
' Myself will on my sovereign wait,
And raise in arms the men of

Sleate,
Whilst thou, renowned where

chiefs debate,
Shalt sway their souls by council

sage
And awe them by thy locks of

age.' —
' And if my words in weight shall

fail,
This ponderous sword shall turn

the scale.' 210

'The scheme,' said Bruce, Con-
tents me well ;

Meantime, 't were best that Isabel

For safety with my bark and crew

Again to friendly Erin drew.

There Edward too shall with her
wend,

In need to cheer her and defend

And muster up each scattered
friend.'

Here seemed it as Lord Ronald's
ear

Would other counsel gladlier hear ;

But, all achieved as soon as
planned, 220

Both barks, in secret armed and
manned,
From out the haven bore ;

On different voyage forth they ply,

This for the coast of winged Skye
And that for Erin's shore.

XII

With Bruce and Ronald bides the

tale. —
To favoring winds they gave the

sail
Till Mull's dark headlands scarce

they knew
And Ardnamurchan's hills were

blue.

446

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

But then the squalls blew close

and hard, 230

And, fain to strike the galley's

yard
And take them to the oar,
With these rude seas in weary

plight
They strove the livelong day and

night,
Nor till the dawning had a sight

Of Skye's romantic shore.
Where Coolin stoops him to the

west,
They saw upon his shivered crest

The sun's arising gleam ;
But such the labor and delay, 240
Ere they were moored in Scavigh

bay —
For calmer heaven compelled to

stay —
He shot a western beam.
Then Ronald said, 'If true mine

eye,
These are the savage wilds that

lie
North of Strathnardill and Dun-

skye ;
No human foot comes here,
And, since these adverse breezes

blow,
If my good liege love hunter's

bow,
What hinders that on land we

go 250

And strike a mountain-deer ?
Allan, my page, shall with us

wend;
A bow full deftly can he bend,
And, if we meet a herd, may

send
A shaft shall mend our cheer.'
Then each took bow and bolts in

hand,
Their row-boat launched and leapt

to land,
And left their skiff and train,
Where a wild stream with head-
long shock
Came brawling down its bed of

rock 260

To mingle with the main.

XIII

Awhile their route they silent
made,
As men who stalk for mountain-
deer,
Till the good Bruce to Ronald
said,—
'Saint Mary! what a scene is
here !
I 've traversed many a mountain-
strand,
Abroad and in my native land,
And it has been my lot to tread
Where safety more than pleasure

led;
Thus, many a waste I >ve wandered
o'er, 270

Clomb many a crag, crossed many
a moor,
But, by my halidQme,
A scene so rude, so wild as this,
Yet so sublime in barrenness,
Ne'er did my wandering footsteps
press
Where'er I happed to roam.'

XIV

No marvel thus the monarch

spake ;

For rarely human eye has known

A scene so stern as that dread

lake

With its dark ledge of barren

stone. 280

Seems that primeval earthquake's

sway
Hath rent a strange and shattered
way
Through the rude bosom of the
hill,
And that each naked precipice,
Sable ravine, and dark abyss,

Tells of the outrage still.
The wildest glen but this can show
Some touch of Nature's genial

glow;
On high Benmore green mosses

grow,
And heath-bells bud in deep Glen-
croe, 290

And copse on Cruchan-Ben ;

CANTO THIRD

447

But here, — above, around, below,

On mountain or in glen,
Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor

flower,
Nor augbt of vegetative power,

The weary eye may ken.
For all is rocks at random thrown,
Black waves, bare crags, and banks
of stone,
As if were here denied
The summer sun, the spring's
sweet dew 300

That clothe with many a varied
hue
The bleakest mountain-side.

And wilder, forward as they wound,
Were the proud cliffs and lake pro.

found.
Huge terraces of granite black
Afforded rude and cumbered track ;

For from the mountain hoar,
Hurled headlong in some night of

fear,
When yelled the wolf and fled the
deer, 309

Loose crags had toppled o'er ;
And some, chance-poised and bal-
anced, lay
So that a stripling arm might sway

A mass no host could raise,
In Nature's rage at random thrown
Yet trembling like the Druid's
stone
On its precarious base.
The evening mists with ceaseless

change
Now clothed the mountains' lofty
range,
Now left their foreheads bare,
And round the skirts their. mantle
furled, 320

Or on the sable waters curled,
Or on the eddying breezes whirled,

Dispersed in middle air.
And oft condensed at once they

lower
When, brief and fierce, the moun-
tain shower
Pours like a torrent down,

And when return the sun's glad

beams,
Whitened with foam a thousand

streams
Leap from the mountain's crown.

XVI

' This lake,' said Bruce, 4 whose bar-
riers drear 330
Are precipices sharp and sheer,
Yielding no track for goat or

deer
Save the black shelves we tread,
How term you its dark waves ? and

how
Yon northern mountain's pathless

brow,
And yonder peak of dread
That to the evening sun uplifts
The griesly gulfs and slaty rifts
Which seam its shivered

head ? ' —
'Coriskin call the dark lake's

name, 340

Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim,
From old Cuchullin, chief of fame.
But bards, familiar in our isles
Rather with Nature's frowns than

smiles,
Full oft their careless humors

please
By sportive names from scenes

like these.
I would old Torquil were to show
His Maidens with their breasts of

snow,
Or that my noble liege were nigh
To hear his Nurse sing lullaby ! —
The Maids — tall cliffs with break-
ers white, 351
The Nurse — a torrent's roaring

might —
Or that your eye could see the

mood
Of Corryvrekin's whirlpool rude,
When dons the Hag her whitened

hood—
'T is thus our islesmen's fancy

frames
For scenes so stern fantastic

names.'

448

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

XVII

Answered the Bruce, 'And musing

mind
Might here a graver moral find.
These mighty cliffs that heave on

high 360

Their naked brows to middle

sky,
Indifferent to the sun or snow,
Where naught can fade and naught

can blow,
May they not mark a monarch's

fate, —
Raised high mid storms of strife

and state,
Beyond life's lowlier pleasures

placed,
His soul a rock, his heart a waste ?
O'er hope and love and fear aloft
High rears his crowned head — But

SOft ! 369

Look, underneath yon jutting crag
Are hunters and a slaughtered

stag.
Who may they be? But late you

said
No steps these desert regions

tread?' —

XVIII

4 So said I — and believed in sooth,'
Honald replied, ' I spoke the truth.
Yet now I spy, by yonder stone,
Five men — they mark us and

come on ;
And by their badge on bonnet

borne
I guess them of the land of Lorn,
Foes to my liege.' — 'So let it

be; 380

I 've faced worse odds than five to

three —
But the poor page can little aid ;
Then be our battle thus arrayed,
If our free passage they contest ;
Cope thou with two, I '11 match

the rest.' —
'Not so, my liege — for, by my

life,
This sword shall meet the treble

strife ;

My strength, my skill in arms,

more small,
And less the loss should Ronald

fall.
But islesmen soon to soldiers

grow, 390

Allan has sword as well as bow,
And were my monarch's order

given,
Two shafts should make our num-
ber even.' —
' No ! not to save my life ! ' he

said;
'Enough of blood rests on my

head
Too rashly spilled — we soon shall

know,
Whether they come as friend or

foe.'

XIX

Nigh came the strangers and more

nigh ; —
Still less they pleased the mon-
arch's eye.
Men were they all of evil mien, 400
Down-looked, unwilling to be seen ;
They moved with half-resolved

pace,
And bent on earth each gloomy

face.
The foremost two were fair ar-

• rayed
With brogue and bonnet, trews

and plaid,
And bore the arms of mountain-
eers,
Daggers and broadswords, bows

and spears.
The three that lagged small space

behind
Seemed serfs of more degraded

kind ;
Goat-skins or deer-hides o'er them

cast 410

Made a rude fence against the

blast ;
Their arms and feet and heads

were bare,
Matted their beards, unshorn their

hair ;

CANTO THIRD

449

For arms the caitiffs bore in hand
A club, an axe, a rusty brand.

Onward still mute, they kept the

track ;
'Tell who ye be, or else stand

back,'
Said Bruce ; ' in deserts when they

meet,
Men pass not as in peaceful street'
Still at his stern command they

stood, 42°

And proffered greeting brief and

rude,
But acted courtesy so ill
As seemed of fear and not of will.
'Wanderers we are, as you may

be;
Men hither driven by wind and sea,
Who, if you list to taste our cheer,
Will share with you this fallow

deer.' —
1 If from the sea, where lies your

bark?' —
1 Ten fathom deep in ocean dark !
Wrecked yesternight : but w7e are

men 430

Who little sense of peril ken.
The shades come down — the day

is shut —
Will you go with us to our

hut?' —
1 Our vessel wTaits us in the bay ;
Thanks for your proffer — have

good-day.' —
' Was that your galley, then, which

rode
Not far from shore when evening

glowed ? ' —
' It was,' — ' Then spare your need-
less pain,
There will she now be sought in

vain.
We saw her from the mountain

head 440

When, with Saint George's blazon

red
A southern vessel bore in sight,
And yours raised sail and took to

flight.' —

XXI

1 Now, by the rood, unwelcome

news ! '
Thus with Lord Ronald communed

Bruce ;
1 Nor rests there light enough to

show
If this their tale be true or no.
j The men seem bred of churlish

kind,
i Yet mellow nuts have hardest

rind ;
j We will go with them —food and

fire 450

And sheltering roof our wants re-

quire.
Sure guard 'gainst treachery will

we keep,
And watch by turns our comrades'

sleep. —
Good fellows, thanks ; your guests

we '11 be.
And well will pay the courtesy.
Come, lead us where your lodging

lies —
Nay, soft! we mix not compa-
nies. —
ShowT us the path o'er crag and

stone,
And we will follow you;— lead

on/

XXII

They reached the dreary cabin,

made 460

Of sails against a rock displayed,

And there on entering found
A slender boy, whose form and

mien
111 suited with such savage scene,
In cap and cloak of velvet green,

Low7 seated on the ground.
His garb was such as minstrels

wear,
Dark was his hue, and dark his

hair,
His youthful cheek was marred by

care,
His eyes in sorrow drowned. 470
' Whence this poor boy ? ' — As

Ronald spoke,

45°

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

The voice his trance of anguish

broke ;
As if awaked from ghastly dream,
He raised his head with start and

scream,
And wildly gazed around ;
Then to the wall his face he turned,
And his dark neck with blushes

burned.

XXIII

* Whose is the boy ? ' again he said,
'By chance of war our captive

made;
He may be yours, if you should

hold 480

That music has more charms than

gold;
For, though from earliest child-
hood mute,
The lad can deftly touch the lute,
And on the rote and viol play,
And well can drive the time away
For those who love such glee ;
For me the favoring breeze,

when loud
It pipes upon the galley's

shroud,
Makes blither melody.' —
'Hath he, then, sense of spoken

sound ?'— 490

'Ay; so his mother bade us

know,
A crone in our late shipwreck

drowned,
And hence the silly stripling's

woe.
More of the youth I cannot say,
Our captive but since yesterday ;
When wind and weather waxed so

grim,
We little listed think of him. —
But why waste time in idle words ?
Sit to your cheer — unbelt your

swords.'
Sudden the captive turned his

head, 500

And one quick glance to Ronald

sped.
It was a keen and warning look,
And well the chief the signal took.

XXIV

1 Kind host,' he said, * our needs re-
quire
A separate board and separate

fire;
For know that on a pilgrimage
Wend I, my comrade, and this

page.
And, sworn to vigil and to fast
Long as this hallowed task shall

last,
We never doff the plaid or

sword, 510

Or feast us at a stranger's board,
And never share one common

sleep,
But one must still his vigil keep.
Thus, for our separate use, good

friend,
We '11 hold this hut's remoter

end.' —
' A churlish vow,' the elder said,
1 And hard, methinks, to be obeyed.
How say you, if, to wreak the

scorn
That pays our kindness harsh re-
turn,
We should refuse to share our

meal?'— 520

' Then say we that our swords are

steel !
And our vow binds us not to

fast
Where gold or force may buy re-
past.' —
Their host's dark brow grew keen

and fell,
His teeth are clenched, his features

swell ;
Yet sunk the felon's moody ire
Before Lord Ronald's glance of

fire,
Nor could his craven courage brook
The monarch's calm and dauntless

look.
With laugh constrained — * Let

every man 530

Follow the fashion of his clan!
Each to his separate quarters

keep,
And feed or fast, or wake or sleep;

CAXTO THIRD

45*

XXV

Tlieir fire at separate distance

burns,
By turns they eat, keep guard by

turns ;
For evil seemed that old man's

eye,
Dark and designing, fierce yet shy.
Still he avoided forward look,
But slow and circumspectly took
A circling, never-ceasing glance,
By doubt and cunuing marked at

once, 541

Which shot a mischief -boding

ray
From under eyebrows shagged and

gray.
The younger, too, who seemed his

son,
Had that dark look the timid

shun;
The half-clad serfs behind them

sate,
And scowled a glare twixt fear

and hate —
Till all, as darkness onward crept.
Couched down, and seemed to

sleep or slept.
Nor he, that boy, whose powerless

tongue 550

Must trust his eyes to wail his

wrong,
A longer watch of sorrow made,
But stretched his limbs to 3lumber

laid.

XXVI

Not in his dangerous host confides

The king, but wary watch pro-
vides.

Ronald keeps ward till midnight
past,

Then wakes the king, young Allan
last;

Thus ranked, to give the youthful
page

The rest required by tender age.

What is Lord Ronald's wakeful
thought 560

To chase the languor toil had
brought ? —

For deem not that he deigned to

throw
Much care upon such coward

foe —
J He thinks of lovely Isabel
! When at her foeman's feet she fell,
Nor less when, placed in princely

selle,
She glanced on him with favoring

eyes
At Woodstock when he won the

prize.
Nor, fair in joy, in sorrow fair, 569
In pride of place as mid despair,
Must she alone engross his care.
His thoughts to his betrothed

bride,
To Edith, turn — 0, how decide,
When here his love and heart are

given,
And there his faith stands plight

to Heaven !
No drowsy ward 't is his to keep.
For seldom lovers long for sleep.
Till sung his midnight hymn the

owl,
Answered the dog-fox with his

howl,
Then waked the king — at his re-
quest, 580
Lord Ronald stretched himself to

rest.

XXVII

What spell was good King Rob-
ert's, say,
To drive the weary night away ?
His was the patriot's burning

thought

Of freedom's battle bravely fought.

I Of castles stormed, of cities freed.

j Of deep design and daring deed,

Of England's roses reft and torn,

I And Scotland's cross in triumph

worn,

| Of rout and rally, war and truce,—

I As heroes think, so thought the

Bruce. 591

No marvel, mid such musings high

Sleep shunned the monarch's

thoughtful eye.

452

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

Now over Coolin's eastern head
The grayish light begins to spread,
The otter to his cavern drew,
And clamored shrill the wakening

mew;
Then watched the page — to need-
ful rest
The king resigned his anxious
breast.

XXVITI

To Allan's eyes was harder task
The weary watch their safeties

ask. 601

He trimmed the fire and gave to

shine
With bickering light the splintered

pine;
Then gazed awhile where silent

laid
Their hosts were shrouded by the

plaid.
But little fear waked in his mind,
For he was bred of martial kind,
And, if to manhood he arrive,
May match the boldest knight

alive.
Then thought he of his mother's

tower, 610

His little sister's greenwood

bower,
How there the Easter - gambols

pass,
And of Dan Joseph's lengthened

mass.
But still before his weary eye
In rays prolonged the blazes die —
Again he roused him — on the lake
Looked forth where now the twi-
light-flake
Of pale cold dawn began to wake.
On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay

furled,
The morning breeze the lake had

curled, 620

The short dark waves, heaved to

the land,
With ceaseless plash kissed cliff

or sand ; —
It was a slumbrous sound — he

turned

To tales at which his youth had

burned,
Of pilgrim's path by demon

crossed,
Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost,
Of the wild witch's baneful cot,
And mermaid's alabaster grot,
Who bathes her limbs in sunless

well
Deep in Strathaird's enchanted

cell. 630

Thither in fancy rapt he flies,
And on his sight the vaults arise ;
That hut's dark walls he sees no

more,
His foot is on the marble floor,
And o'er his head the dazzling

spars
Gleam like a firmament of stars ! —
Hark ! hears he not the sea-nymph

speak
Her anger in that thrilling

shriek ! —
No! all too late, with Allan's

dream
Mingled the captive's warning

scream. 640

As from the ground he strives to

start,
A ruffian's dagger finds his heart !
Upwards he casts his dizzy eyes —
Murmurs his master's name — and

dies!

XXIX

Not so awoke the king ! his hand

Snatched from the flame a knotted
brand,

The nearest weapon of his wrath ;

With this he crossed the murder-
er's path
And venged young Allan well !

The spattered brain and bubbling
blood 650

Hissed on the half -extinguished
wood,
The miscreant gasped and fell!

Nor rose in peace the Island Lord ;

One caitiff died upon his sword,

And one beneath his grasp lies
prone

CANTO THIRD

453

In mortal grapple overthrown.
But while Lord Ronald's dagger

drank
The life-blood from his panting

flank,
The father-ruffian of the band
Behind him rears a coward hand ! —
O for a moment's aid, 66 1

Till Bruce, who deals no double

blow,
Dash to the earth another foe,

Above his comrade laid ! —
And it is gained — the captive

sprung
On the raised arm and closely

clung,
And, ere he shook him loose,
The mastered felon pressed the

ground,
And gasped beneath a mortal

wound, 669

While o'er him stands the Bruce.

XXX

1 Miscreant ! while lasts thy flitting

spark,
Give me to know the purpose

dark
That armed thy hand with mur-
derous knife
Against offenceless stranger's

life?' —
' Xo stranger thou ! ' with accent

fell,
Murmured the wretch ; ' I know

thee well,
And know thee for the foeman

sworn
Of my high chief, the mighty

Lorn.' —
4 Speak yet again, and speak the

truth
For thy soul's sake ! —from whence

this youth? 680

His country, birth, and name de-
clare,
And thus one evil deed repair.' —
' Vex me no more ! — my blood

runs cold —
Xo more I know than I have

told.

We found him in a bark we sought
With different purpose — and I

thought ' —
Fate cut him short; in blood and

broil,
As he had lived, died Cormac Doil.

XXXI

1 Then resting on his bloody blade,
The valiant Bruce to Ronald said,
1 Xow shame upon us both ! — that

boy 691

Lifts his mute face to heaven
And clasps his hands, to testify
His gratitude to God on high

For strange deliverance given.
His speechless gesture thanks

hath paid,
Which our free tongues have left

unsaid ! '
He raised the youth with kindly

word,
But marked him shudder at the

sword :
He cleansed it from its hue of

death, 700

And plunged the weapon in its

sheath.
' Alas, poor child ! unfitting part
Fate doomed when with so soft a

heart
And form so slight as thine
She made thee first a pirate's

slave,
Then in his stead a patron gave

Of wayward lot like mine ;
A landless prince, whose wander-
ing life
Is but one scene of blood and

strife —
Yet scant of friends the Bruce

shall be, 710

But he '11 find resting-place for

thee. —
Come, noble Ronald! o'er the

dead
Enough thy generous grief is paid,
And well has Allan's fate been

wroke ;
Come, wend we hence — the day

has broke.

454

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

Seek we our bark — I trust the

tale
Was false that she had hoisted

sail/

XXXII

Yet, ere they left that charnel-cell,
The Island Lord bade sad fare-
well
To Allan : ' Who shall tell this

tale,' 720

He said, * in halls of Donagaile ?
O, who his widowed mother tell
That, ere his bloom, her fairest

fell?—
Rest thee, poor youth ! and trust

my care
For mass and knell and funeral

prayer ;
While o'er those caitiffs where

they lie
The wolf shall snarl, the raven

cry!'
And now the eastern mountain's

head
On the dark lake threw lustre red ;
Bright gleams of gold and purple

streak 730

Ravine and precipice and peak—
So earthly power at distance

shows ;
Reveals his splendor, hides his

woes.
O'er sheets of granite, dark and

broad,
Rent and unequal, lay the road.
In sad discourse the warriors

wind,
And the mute captive moves be-
hind.

CANTO FOURTH

Stranger ! if e'er thine ardent
step hath traced

The northern realms of ancient
Caledon,

Where the proud Queen of Wil-
derness hath placed

By lake and cataract her lonely

throne,
Sublime but sad delight thy soul

hath known,
Gazing on pathless glen and

mountain high,
Listing where from the cliffs the

torrents thrown
Mingle their echoes with the

eagle's cry,
And with the sounding lake and

with the moaning sky.

Yes ! 't was sublime, but sad. —
The loneliness 10

Loaded thy heart, the desert
tired thine eye ;

And strange and awful fears be-
gan to press

Thy bosom with a stern solem-
nity.

Then hast thou wished some
woodman's cottage nigh,

Something that showed of life,
though low and mean ;

Glad sight, its curling wreath of
smoke to spy,

Glad sound, its cock's blithe
carol would have been,
Or children whooping wild beneath
the willows green.

Such are the scenes where sav-
age grandeur wakes

An awful thrill that softens into
sighs ; 20

Such feelings rouse them by dim
Rannoch's lakes,

In dark Glencoe such gloomy
raptures rise :

Or farther, where beneath the
northern skies

Chides wild Loch-Eribol his cav-
erns hoar —

But, be the minstrel judge, they
yield the prize

Of desert dignity to that dread
shore
That sees grim Coolin rise and
hears Coriskin roar.

CANTO FOURTH

455

Through such wild scenes the
champion passed,

When bold halloo and bugle-blast

Upon the breeze came loud and
fast. 30

' There,' said the Bruce, ■ rung Ed-
ward's horn !

What can have caused such brief
return?

And see, brave Ronald, — see him
dart

O'er stock and stone like hunted
hart,

Precipitate, as is the use,

In war or sport, of Edward Bruce.

He marks us, and his eager cry

Will tell his news ere he be nigh.'

Loud Edward shouts, 'What
make ye here, 39

Warring upon the mountain-deer,
When Scotland wants her king?

A bark from Lennox crossed our
track,

With her in speed I hurried back,
These joyful news to bring —

The Stuart stirs in Teviotdale,

And Douglas wakes his native
vale ;

Thy storm-tossed fleet hath won
its way

With little loss to Brodick-Bay,

And Lennox with a gallant band

Waits but thy coming and com-
mand 50

To waft them o'er to Carrick
strand.

There are blithe news ! — but mark
the close !

Edward, the deadliest of our foes,

As with his host he northward
passed,

Hath on the borders breathed his
last'

Still stood the Bruce — his steady

cheek
Was little wont his joy to speak,

But then his color rose : —
'Now, Scotland! shortly shalt thou

see,
With God's high will, thy children
free 60

And vengeance on thy foes !
Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs,
Bear witness with me, Heaven, be-
longs
My joy o'er Edward's bier ;
I took my knighthood at his hand,
And lordship held of him and land,

And well may vouch it here,
That, blot the story from his page
Of Scotland ruined in his rage,
You read a monarch brave and
sage 70

And to his people dear.' —
' Let London's burghers mourn her

lord
And Croydon monks his praise re-
cord,'
The eager Edward said ;
' Eternal as his own, my hate
Surmounts the bounds of mortal
fate
And dies not with the dead !
Such hate was his on Sol way's

strand
When vengeance clenched his pal-
sied hand, 79
Thatpointed yetto Scotland's land,

As his last accents prayed
Disgrace and curse upon his heir
If he one Scottish head should

spare
Till stretched upon the bloody lair

Each rebel corpse was laid !
Such hate was his when his last

breath
Renounced the peaceful house of

death,
And bade his bones to Scotland's

coast
Be borne by his remorseless host,
As if his dead and stony eye 90
Could still enjoy her misery !
Such hate was his — dark, deadly,

long;
Mine — as enduring, deep, and
strong ! ' —

456

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

'Let women, Edward, war with

words,
With curses monks, but men with

swords :
Nor doubt of living foes to sate
Deepest revenge and deadliest

hate.
Now to the seal Behold the

beach,
And see the galley's pendants

stretch
Their fluttering length down favor-
ing gale ! ioo
Aboard, aboard ! and hoist the

sail,
Hold we our way for Arran first,
Where meet in arms our friends

dispersed ;
Lennox the loyal, De la Haye,
And Boyd the bold in battle

fray.
I long the hardy band to head,
And see once more my standard

spread.—
Does noble Ronald share our

course,
Or stay to raise his island

force ? ' —
4 Come weal, come woe, by Bruce1 s

side,' no

Replied the chief, ' will Ronald

bide.
And since two galleys yonder ride,
Be mine, so please my liege, dis-
missed
To wake to arms the clans of

Uist,
And all who hear the Minche's

roar
On the Long Island's lonely shore,
The nearer Isles with slight

delay
Ourselves may summon in our

way;
And soon on Arran's shore shall

meet 119

With Torquil's aid a gallant fleet,
If aught avails their chieftain's

hest
Among the islesmen of the west.'

Thus was their venturous council

said.
But, ere their sails the galleys

spread,
Coriskin dark and Coolin high
Echoed the dirge's doleful cry.
Along that sable lake passed

slow —
Fit scene for such a sight of woe —
The sorrowing islesmen as they

bore 129

The murdered Allan to the shore.
At every pause with dismal shout
Their coronach of grief rung out,
And ever when they moved again
The pipes resumed their clamor-

ous strain,
And with the pibroch's shrilling

wail
Mourned the young heir of Dona-

gaile.
Round and around, from cliff and

cave
His answer stern old Coolin gave,
Till high upon his misty side
Languished the mournful notes

and died. 140

For never sounds by mortal made
Attained his high and haggard

head,
That echoes but the tempest's

moan
Or the deep thunder's rending

groan.

VII

Merrily, merrily bounds the bark,
. She bounds before the gale,
The mountain breeze from Ben-na-
darch
Is joyous in her sail !
With fluttering sound like laughter
hoarse
The cords and canvas strain, 150
The waves, divided by her force,
In rippling eddies chased her
course,
As if they laughed again.
Not down the breeze more blithely
flew,

CANTO FOURTH

457

Skimming the wave, the light sea-
mew
Than the gay galley bore

Her course upon that favoring
wind,

And Coolin's crest has sunk be-
hind
And Slapin's caverned shore.

'T was then that warlike signals
wake 1 60

Dunscaith's dark towers and Eis-
ord's lake,

And soon from Cavilgarrigh's head

Thick wraaths of eddying smoke
were spread ;

A summons these of war and
wrath

To the brave clans of Sleat and
Strath,
And ready at the sight

Each warrior to his weapon
sprung

And targe upon his shoulder flung,
Impatient for the fight.

Mac-Kinnon's chief, in warfare
gray, 170

Had charge to muster their array

And guide their barks to Brodick-
Bay.

VIII

Signal of Ronald's high command,
A beacon gleamed o'er sea and

land
From Canna's tower, that, steep

and gray,
Like falcon -nest o'erhangs the

bay.
Seek not the giddy crag to climb
To view the turret scathed by

time;
It is a task of doubt and fear
To aught but goat or mountain-
deer. 180
But rest thee on the silver

beach
And let the aged herdsman teach

His tale of former day ;
His cur's wild clamor he shall

chide,
And for thy seat by ocean's side

His varied plaid display ;
Then tell how with their chief.

tain came
In ancient times a foreign dame
To yonder turret gray.
Stern was her lord's suspicious
mind 190

Who in so rude a jail confined

So soft and fair a thrall !
And oft when moon on ocean slept
That lovely lady sate and wept

Upou the castle- wall,
And turned her eye to southern

climes,
And thought perchance of happier

times,
And touched her lute by fits, and

sung
Wild ditties in her native tongue.
And still, when on the cliff and
bay 200

Placid and pale the moonbeams
play
And every breeze is mute,
Upon the lone Hebridean's ear
Steals a strange pleasure mixed

with fear,
While from that cliff he seems to
hear
The murmur of a lute
And sounds as of a captive lone
That mourns her woes in tongue

unknown.—
Strange is the tale— -but all too

long
Already hath it staid the song-
Yet who may pass them by, 211
That crag and tower in ruins gray,
Nor to their hapless tenant pay
The tribute of a sigh?

Merrily, merrily bounds the bark

O'er the broad ocean driven,
Her path by Ronin's mountains
dark
The steersman's hand hath
given.
And Ronin's mountains dark have
sent
Their hunters to the shore, 220

458

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

And each his ashen bow unbent,
And gave his pastime o'er,

And at the Island Lord's command

For hunting spear took warrior's
brand.

On Scooreigg next a warning light

Summoned her warriors to the
fight;

A numerous race ere stern Mac-
Leod

O'er their bleak shores in ven-
geance strode,

When all in vain the ocean-cave

Its refuge to his victims gave. 230

The chief, relentless in his wrath,

With blazing heath blockades the
path;

In dense and stifling volumes
rolled,

The vapor filled the caverned
hold!

The warrior. threat, the infant's
plain,

The mother's screams, were heard
in vain ;

The vengeful chief maintains his
fires

Till in the vault a tribe expires !

The bones which strew that cav-
ern's gloom 239

Too well attest their dismal doom.

Merrily, merrily goes the bark
On a breeze from the northward
free,
So shoots through the morning
sky the lark,
Or the swan through the sum-
mer sea.
The shores of Mull on the east-
ward lay,
And Ulva dark and Colonsay,
And all the group of islets gay

That guard famed Staff a round.
Then all unknown its columns

rose
Where dark and undisturbed re-
pose 250
The cormorant had found,
And the shy seal had quiet home

And weltered in that wondrous

dome
Where, as to shame the temples

decked
By skill of earthly architect,
Nature herself, it seemed, would

raise
A minster to her Maker's praise !
Not for a meaner use ascend
Her columns or her arches bend ;
Nor of a theme less solemn tells
That mighty surge that ebbs and

swells, 261

And still, between each awful

pause,
From the high vault an answer

draws
In varied tone prolonged and high
That mocks the organ's melody.
Nor doth its entrance front in

vain
To old Iona's holy fane,
That Nature's voice might seem

to say,
1 Well hast thou done, frail child

of clay !
Thy humble powers that stately

shrine 270

Tasked high and hard — but wit-
ness mine I *

Merrily, merrily goes the bark,
Before the gale she bounds ;
So darts the dolphin from the
shark,
Or the deer before the hounds.
They left Loch-Tua on their lee,
And they wakened the men of the
wild Tiree,
And the chief of the sandy Coll ;
They paused not at Columba's

isle,
Though pealed the bells from the
holy pile 280

With long and measured toll ;
No time for matin or for mass,
And the sounds of the holy sum-
mons pass
Away in the billows' roll.
Lochbuie's fierce and warlike lord

CANTO FOURTH

459

Their signal saw and grasped his

sword,
And verdant Islay called her host,
And the clans of Jura's rugged

coast
Lord Ronald's call obey,
And Scarba's isle, whose tortured

shore 290

Still rings to Corrievreken's roar,

And lonely Colonsay; —
Scenes sung by him who sings no

more!
His bright and brief career is

o'er,
And mute his tuneful strains ;
Quenched is his lamp of varied

lore
That loved the light of song to

pour ;
A distant and a deadly shore
Has Leydex's cold remains !

XII

Ever the breeze blows merrily, 300
But the galley ploughs no more

the sea.
Lest, rounding wild Cantyre, they

meet
The southern foeman's watchful

fleet,
They held unwonted way;
Up Tarbat's western lake they

bore,
Then dragged their bark the isth-
mus o'er,
As far as Kilmaconnel's shore

Upon the eastern bay.
It was a wondrous sight to see 309
Topmast and pennon glitter free,
High raised above the greenwood

tree,
As on dry land the galley moves
By cliff and copse and alder groves.
Deep import from that selcouth

sign
Did many a mountain seer divine,
For ancient legends told the Gael
That when a royal bark should

sail
O'er Kilmaconnel moss
Old Albyn should in fight prevail,

And every foe should faint and
quail 320

Before her silver Cross.

XIII

Now launched once more, the in-
land sea
They furrow with fair augury,

And steer for Arran's isle :
The sun, ere yet he sunk behind
Ben-Ghoil, 'the Mountain of the

Wind,'
Gave his grim peaks a greeting
kind,
And bade Loch Ranza smile.
Thither their destined course they

drew ;
It seemed the isle her monarch
knew, 330

So brilliant was the landward view,

The ocean so serene ;
Each puny wave in diamonds

rolled
O'er the calm deep where hues of
gold
With azure strove and green.
The hill, the vale, the tree, the

tower,
Glowed with the tints of evening's
hour,
The beach was silver sheen,
The wind breathed soft as lover's
sigh, 339

And oft renewed seemed oft to
die,
With breathless pause between.
O, who with speech of war and

woes
Would wish to break the soft re-
pose
Of such enchanting scene?

XIV

Is it of war Lord Ronald speaks?
The blush that dyes his manly

cheeks,
The timid look, and downcast eye,
And faltering voice the theme

deny.
And good King Robert's brow

expressed

460

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

He pondered o'er some high re-
quest, 350
As doubtful to approve ;
Yet in his eye and lip the while,
Dwelt the half-pitying glance

and smile
Which manhood's graver mood
beguile
When lovers talk of love.
Anxious his suit Lord Ronald pled ;
'And for my bride betrothed,' he

said,
'My liege has heard the rumor

spread
Of Edith from Artornish fled.
Too hard her fate — I claim no
right 360

To blame her for her hasty flight ;
Be joy and happiness her lot ! —
But she hath fled the bridal-knot,
And Lorn recalled his promised

plight
In the assembled chieftains'
sight. —
When, to fulfil our fathers' band
I proffered all I could — my
hand —
I wTas repulsed with scorn ;
Mine honor I should ill assert,
And worse the feelings of my
heart, 370

If I should play a suitor's part
Again to pleasure Lorn.'

4 Young Lord,' the royal Bruce re-
plied,
* That question must the Church

decide;
Yet seems it hard, since rumors

state
Edith takes Clifford for her mate,
The very tie which she hath broke
To thee should still be binding

yoke.
But, for my sister Isabel— 379 1
The mood of woman who can tell ?
I guess the Champion of the Rock, !
Victorious in the tourney shock,
That knight unknown to whom the
prize

She dealt, — had favor in her eyes ;
But since our brother Nigel's fate,
Our ruined house and hapless state,
From worldly joy and hope es-
tranged,
J Much is the hapless mourner

changed.
' Perchance,' here smiled the noble

King,
I 'This tale may other musings
bring. 39o

; Soon shall we know — yon moun-
tains hide
I The little convent of Saint Bride ;
! There, sent by Edward, she must
stay
Till fate shall give more prosper-
ous day ;
And thither will I bear thy suit,
Nor will thine advocate be mute.'

XVI

As thus they talked in earnest

mood,
That speechless boy beside them

stood.
He stooped his head against the

mast,
And bitter sobs came thick and

fast, 400

A grief that would not be repressed
But seemed to burst his youthful

breast.
His hands against his forehead

held
As if by force his tears repelled,
But through his fingers long and

slight
Fast trilled the drops of crystal

bright.
Edward, who walked the deck

apart,
First spied this conflict of the

heart.
Thoughtless as brave, with blunt-

ness kind
He sought to cheer the sorrower's

mind; 410

By force the slender hand he drew
From those poor eyes that streamed

with dew.

CANTO FOURTH

461

As in his hold the stripling strove —
'T was a rough grasp, though

meant in love —
Away his tears the warrior swept,
And bade shame on him that he

wept.
'I would to Heaven thy helpless

tongue
Could tell me who hath wrought

thee wrong !
For, were he of our crew the best,
The insult went not unredressed.
Come, cheer thee ; thou art now of

age 421

To be a warrior's gallant page ;
Thou shalt be mine! — a palfrey

fair
O'er hill and holt my boy shall

bear,
To hold my bow in hunting grove,
Or speed on errand to my love ;
For well I wot thou wilt not tell
The temple where my wishes

dwell.'

xvit

Bruce interposed, 'Gay Edward,
no, 429

This is no youth to hold thy bow,
To fill thy goblet, or to bear
Thy message light to lighter fair.
Thou art a patron all too wild
And thoughtless for this orphan

child.
See'st thou not how apart he steals,
Keeps lonely couch, and lonely

meals ?
Fitter by far in yon calm cell
To tend our sister Isabel,
With father Augustine to share
The peaceful change of convent
prayer, 440

Than wander wild adventures

through
With such a reckless guide as

you.' —
' Thanks, brother ! ' Edward an-
swered gay,
4 For the high laud thy words con-
vey!
But we may learn some future day,

If thou or I can this poor boy
Protect the best or best employ.
Meanwhile, our vessel nears the

strand ;
Launch we the boat and seek the

land.'

XVIII

To land King Robert lightly

spruug, 450

And thrice aloud his bugle rung
With note prolonged aud varied

strain
Till bold Ben-Ghoil replied again.
Good Douglas theu and De la

Haye
Had in a glen a hart at bay,
And Lennox cheered the laggard

hounds,
When waked that horn the green-
wood bounds.
4 It is the foe ! • cried Boyd, who

came
In breathless haste with eye of

flame, — 459

' It is the foe ! — Each valiant lord
Fling by his bow and grasp his

sword ! '
4 Not so,' replied the good Lord

James,
'That blast no English bugle

claims.
Oft have I heard it fire the fight,
Cheer the pursuit, or stop the

flight.
Dead were my heart and deaf mine

ear,
If Bruce should call nor Douglas

hear !
Each to Loch Eanza's margin

spring :
That blast was winded by the

king ! '

XIX

Fast to their mates the tidings
spread, 470

And fast to shore the warriors
sped.

Bursting from glen and greenwood
tree,

462

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

High waked their loyal jubilee !
Around the royal Bruce they

crowd,
And clasped his hands, and wept

aloud.
Veterans of early fields were there,
Whose helmets pressed their hoary

hair,
Whose swords and axes bore a

stain
From life-blood of the red-haired

Dane ;
And boys whose hands scarce

brooked to wield 480

The heavy sword or bossy shield.
Men too were there that bore the

scars
Impressed in Albyn's woful wars,
At Falkirk's fierce and fatal fight,
Teyndrum's dread rout, and Meth-

ven's flight ;
The might of Douglas there was

seen,
There Lennox with his graceful

mien;
Kirkpatrick, Closeburn's dreaded

Knight ;
The Lindsay, fiery, fierce, and

light ; 489

The heir of murdered De la Haye,
And Boyd the grave, and Seton

gay.
Around their king regained they

pressed,
Wept, shouted, clasped him to

their breast.
And young and old, and serf and

lord,
And he who ne'er unsheathed a

sword,
And he in many a peril tried,
Alike resolved the brunt to bide,
And live or die by Bruce's side !

O War! thou hast thy fierce de-
light,

Thy gleams of joy, intensely
bright ! 500

Such gleams as from thy polished
shield

Fly dazzling o'er the battle-field !

Such transports wake, severe and
high,

Amid the pealing conquest cry;

Scarce less, when after battle lost

Muster the remnants of a host,

And as each comrade's name they
tell

Who in the well-fought conflict
fell,

Knitting stern brow o'er flashing
eye, 509

Vow to avenge them or to die ! —

Warriors ! — and where are war-
riors found,

If not on martial Britain's ground?

And who, when waked with note
of fire,

Love more than they the British
lyre? —

Know ye not, — hearts to honor
dear!

That joy, deep-thrilling, stern, se-
vere,

At which the heartstrings vibrate
high,

And wake the fountains of the eye?

And blame ye then the Bruce if
trace

Of tear is on his manly face 520

When, scanty relics of the train

That hailed at Scone his early
reign,

This patriot band around him
hung,

And to his knees and bosom
clung? —

Blame ye the Bruce? — His bro-
ther blamed.

But shared the weakness, while
ashamed

With haughty laugh his head he
turned,

And dashed away the tear he
scorned.

XXI

'T is morning, and the convent bell
Long time had ceased its matin
knell 530

Within thy walls, Saint Bride !

CANTO FOURTH

463

An aged sister sought the cell
Assigned to Lady Isabel,

And hurriedly she cried,
4 Haste, gentle Lady, haste ! —

there waits
A noble stranger at the gates ;
Saint Bride's poor votaress ne'er

has seen
A knight of such a princely mien ;
His errand, as he bade me tell,
Is with the Lady Isabel.' 540

The princess rose, — for on her

knee
Low bent she told her rosary, —
'Let him by thee his purpose

teach ;
I may not give a stranger

speech.' —
* Saint Bride forefend, thou royal

maid ! '
The portress crossed herself and

said,
1 Not to be Prioress might I
Debate his will, his suit deny.'—
'Has earthly show then, simple

fool,
Power o'er a sister of thy rule ? 550
And art thou, like the worldly

train,
Subdued by splendors light and

vain ? '

XXII

1 No, lady ! in old eyes like mine,
Gauds have no glitter, gems no

shine ;
Nor grace his rank attendants

vain,
One youthful page is all his train.
It is the form, the eye, the word,
The bearing of that stranger lord ;
His stature, manly, bold, and tall,
Built like a castle's battled wall,
Yet moulded in such just degrees,
His giant- strength seems light-
some ease. 562
Close as the tendrils of the vine
His locks upon his forehead twine,
Jet-black save where some touch

of gray
Has ta'en the youthful hue away.

Weather and war their rougher

trace
Have left on that majestic face ; —
But 't is his dignity of eye ! 569
There, if a suppliant, would I

fly,
Secure, mid danger, wrongs, and

grief,
Of sympathy, redress, relief—
That glance, if guilty, would I

dread
More than the doom that spoke me

dead !'
4 Enough, enough,' the Princess

cried,
( 'T is Scotland's hope, her joy,

her pride !
To meaner front was ne'er as-
signed
Such mastery o'er the common

mind —
Bestowed thy high designs to

aid,
How long, 0 Heaven ! how long

delayed!— 580

Haste, Mona, haste, to introduce
My darling brother, royal Bruce ! ■

XXIII

They met like friends who part in

pain,
And meet in doubtful hope again.
But when subdued that fitful swell,
The Bruce surveyed the humble

cell —
' And this is thine, poor Isabel ! —
That pallet-couch and naked wall,
For room of state and bed of pall ;
For costly robes and jewels rare,
A string of beads and zone of

hair: 591

And for the trumpet's sprightly

call
To sport or banquet, grove or hall,
The bell's grim voice divides thy

care,
'Twixt hours of penitence and

prayer ! —
0 ill for thee, my royal claim
From the First David's sainted

name!

464

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

0 woe for thee, that while he

sought
His right, thy brother feebly
fought ! '

XXIV

4 Now lay these vain regrets aside,
And be the unshaken Bruce ! ' she

cried; 60 1

' For more I glory to have shared
The woes thy venturous spirit

dared,
When raising first thy valiant band
In rescue of thy native land,
Than had fair Fortune set me

down
The partner of an empire's crown.
And grieve not that on pleasure's

stream
No more I drive in giddy dream,
For Heaven the erring pilot

knew, 610

And from the gulf the vessel drew,
Tried me with judgments stern

and great,
My house's ruin, thy defeat,
Poor Nigel's death, till tamed I own
My hopes are fixed on Heaven

alone ;
Nor e'er shall earthly prospects

win
My heart to this vain world of

sin.'

xxv

1 Nay, Isabel, for such stern choice
First wilt thou wait thy brother's

voice; 619

Then ponder if in convent scene

No softer thoughts might inter-
vene —

Say they were of that unknown
knight,

Victor in Woodstock's tourney,
fight -

Nay, if his name such blush you
owe,

Victorious o'er a fairer foe ! '

Truly his penetrating eye

Hath caught that blush's passing
dye,—

Like the last beam of evening
thrown

On a white cloud, — just seen and
gone.

Soon with calm cheek and steady
eye 630

The princess made composed re-
ply :

4 1 guess my brother's meaning
well;

For not so silent is the cell

But we have heard the islemen all

Arm in thy cause at Ronald's call,

And mine eye proves that knight
unknown

And the brave Island Lord are
one.

Had then his suit been earlier
made,

In his own name with thee to
aid —

But that his plighted faith for-
bade — 640

I know not — But thy page so
near? —

This is no tale for menial's ear.'

XXVI

Still stood that page, as far apart
As the small cell would space

afford ;
With dizzy eye and bursting heart
He leant his weight on Bruce's

sword,
The monarch's mantle too he bore,
And drew the fold his visage o'er.
' Fear not for him — in murderous

strife,'
Said Bruce, * his warning saved my

life ; 650

Full seldom parts he from my side,
And in his silence I confide,
Since he can tell no tale again.
He is a boy of gentle strain,
And I have purposed he shall

dwell
In Augustine the chaplain's cell
And wait on thee, my Isabel.—
Mind not his tears ; I 've seen

them flow,
As in the thaw dissolves the snow.

CANTO FOURTH

465

'T is a kind youth, but fanciful, 660
Unfit against the tide to pull,
And those that with the Bruce

would sail
Must learn to strive with stream

and gale.
But forward, gentle Isabel —
My answer for Lord Ronald tell.'

XXVII

' This answer be to Ronald given —
The heart he asks is fixed on

heaven.
My love was like a summer flower
That withered in the wintry hour,
Born but of vanity and pride, 670
And with these sunny visions

died.
If further press his suit— then

say
He should his plighted troth obey,
Troth plighted both with ring and

word,
And sworn on crucifix and

sword. —
O, shame thee, Robert! I have

seen
Thou hast a woman's guardian

been !
Even in extremity's dread hour,
When pressed on thee the South-
ern power,
And safety, to all human sight, 6S0
Was only found in rapid flight,
Thou heard' st a wretched female

plain
In agony of travail-pain,
And thou didst bid thy little band
Upon the instant turn and stand,
And dare the worst the foe might

do
Rather than, like a knight un-
true,
Leave to pursuers merciless
A woman in her last distress.
And wilt thou now deny thine

aid 690

To an oppressed and injured maid,
Even plead for Ronald's perfidy
And press his fickle faith on

me ? —

So witness Heaven, as true I vow,
Had I those earthly feelings now
Which could my former bosom

move
Ere taught to set its hopes above,
I 'd spurn each proffer he could

bring
Till at my feet he laid the ring,
The ring and spousal contract

both, 700

And fair acquittal of his oath,
By her who brooks his perjured

scorn,
The ill-requited Maid of Lorn ! '

XXVIII

With sudden impulse forward
sprung

The page and on her neck he
hung ;

Then, recollected instantly,

His head he stooped and bent his
knee,

Kissed twice the hand of Isabel,

Arose, and sudden left the cell. —

The princess, loosened from his
hold, 710

Blushed angry at his bearing bold ;
But good King Robert cried,

'Chafe not — by signs he speaks
his mind,

He heard the plan my care de-
signed,
Nor could his transports hide. —

But, sister, now bethink thee well;

No easy choice the convent cell ;

Trust, I shall play no tyrant part,

Either to force thy hand or heart,

Or suffer that Lord Ronald scorn

Or wrong for thee the Maid of Lorn.

But think, — not long the time has
been, 722

That thou wert wont to sigh un-
seen,

And wouldst the ditties best ap-
prove

That told some lay of hapless love.

Now are thy wishes in thy power,

And thou art bent on cloister
bower !

O, if our Edward knew the change.

466

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

How would his busy satire range,
With many a sarcasm varied

still 730

On woman's wish and woman's

will ! » —

XXIX

' Brother, I well believe,' she said,
' Even so would Edward's part be

played.
Kindly in heart, in word severe,
A foe to thought and grief and

fear,
He holds his humor uncontrolled ;
But thou art of another mould.
Say then to Ronald, as I say,
Unless before my feet he lay
The ring which bound the faith he

swore, 740

By Edith freely yielded o'er,
He moves his suit to me no more.
Nor do I promise, even if now
He stood absolved of spousal vow,
That I would change my purpose

made
To shelter me in holy shade. —
Brother, for little space, farewell !
To other duties warns the bell.'

XXX

■ Lost to the world,' King Robert

said,
When he had left the royal
maid, 750

' Lost to the world by lot severe,
O, what a gem lies buried here,
Nipped by misfortune's cruel frost,
The buds of fair affection lost ! —
But what have I with love to do ?
Far sterner cares my lot pursue.
Pent in this isle we may not lie,
Nor would it long our wants sup-
ply.
Right opposite, the mainland tow-
ers
Of my own Turnberry court our
powers— 760

Might not my father's beadsman

hoar,
Cuthbert, who dwells upon the
shore,

Kindle a signal-flame to show
The time propitious for the blow ?
It shall be so — some friend shall

bear
Our mandate with despatch and

care;
Edward shall find the messenger.
That fortress ours, the island fleet
May on the coast of Carrick
meet. — 769

0 Scotland ! shall it e'er be mine
To wreak thy wrongs in battle-
line,
To raise my victor-head, and see
Thy hills, thy dales, thy people

free, —
That glance of bliss is all I crave
Betwixt my labors and my grave ! '
Then down the hill he slowly went,
Oft pausing on the steep descent,
And reached the spot where his

bold train
Held rustic camp upon the plain.

CANTO FIFTH

On fair Loch-Ranza streamed

the early day,
Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke

are upward curled
From the lone hamlet which her

inland bay
And circliug mountains sever

from the world.
And there the fisherman his sail

unfurled,
. The goat-herd drove his kids to

steep Ben-Ghoil,
Before the hut the dame her spin-
dle twirled,
Courting the sunbeam as she

plied her toil, —
For, wake where'er he may, man

wakes to care and coil.

But other duties called each
convent maid, 10

Roused by the summons of the
moss-grown bell ;

CANTO FIFTH

467

Sung were the matins and the
mass was said,

And every sister sought her sep-
arate cell,

Such was the rule, her rosary to
tell.

And Isabel has knelt in lonely
prayer ;

The sunbeam through the nar-
row lattice fell

Upon the snowy neck and long
dark hair,
As stooped her gentle head in
meek devotion there.

She raised her eyes, that duty

done,
When glanced upon the pavement

stone, 20

Gemmed and enchased, a golden

ring,
Bound to a scroll with silken

string,
With few brief words inscribed to

tell,
' This for the Lady Isabel.'
Within the writing farther bore,
'T was with this ring his plight he

swore,
With this his promise I restore ;
To her who can the heart com-
mand
Well may I yield the plighted

hand.
And 0, for better fortune born, 30
Grudge not a passing sigh to

mourn
Her who was Edith once of Lorn ! '
One single flash of glad surprise
Just glanced from Isabel's dark

eyes,
But vanished in the blush of shame
That as its peuance instant came.
' O thought unworthy of my race !
Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and

base,
A moment's throb of joy to own
That rose upon her hopes o'er-

thrown ! — 40

Thou pledge of vows too well be-
lieved,

Of man ingrate and maid deceived,

Think not thy lustre here shall
gain

Another heart to hope in vain !

For thou shalt rest, thou tempting
gaud,

Where worldly thoughts are over-
awed,

And worldly splendors sink de-
based.'

Then by the cross the ring she
placed.

Next rose the thought, — its owner

far,
How came it here through bolt

and bar?— 50

But the dim lattice is ajar.
She looks abroad, — the morning

dew
A light short step had brushed

anew,
And there were footprints seen
On the carved buttress rising

still,
Till on the mossy window-sill

Their track effaced the green.
The ivy twigs were torn and

frayed,
As if some climber's steps to

aid.—
But who the hardy messenger 60
Whose venturous path these signs

infer? —
' Strange doubts are mine ! — Mona,

draw nigh ; —
Naught 'scapes old Mona's curious

eye —
What strangers, gentle mother,

say,
Have sought these holy walls to-
day?'
4 Xone, lady, none of note or name ;
Only your brother's foot-page came
At peep of dawn — I prayed him

pass
To chapel where they said the

mass ;
But like an arrow he shot by. 70
And tears seemed bursting from

his eye.'

468

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

The truth at once on Isabel
As darted by a sunbeam fell ;

* 'T is Edith's self ! — her speech-

less woe,
Her form, her looks, the secret

show ! —
Instant, good Mona, to the bay,
And to my royal brother say,
I do conjure him seek my cell
With that mute page he loves so

well.'
1 What ! know'st thou not his war-
like host 80
At break of day has left our

coast?
My old eyes saw them from the

tower.
At eve they couched in greenwood

bower,
At dawn a bugle signal made
By their bold lord their ranks ar-
rayed ;
Up sprung the spears through

bush and tree,
No time for benedicite !
Like deer that, rousing from their

lair,
Just shake the dewdrops from

their hair 89

And toss their armed crest aloft,
Such matins theirs ! ' — ' Good

mother, soft —
Where does my brother bend his

way ? ' —

* As I have heard, for Brodick-Bay,
Across the isle — of barks a score
Lie there, 'tis said, to waft them

o'er,
On sudden news, to Carrick

shore.' —
'If such their purpose, deep the

need,'
Said anxious Isabel, * of speed !
Call Father Augustine, good

dame.' — 99

The nun obeyed, the father came.

* Kind father, hie without delay
Across the hills to Brodick-Bay.

This message to the Bruce be

given ;
I pray him, by his hopes of Hea-
ven,
That till he speak with me he

stay!
Or, if his haste brook no delay,
That he deliver on my suit
Into thy charge that stripling

mute.
Thus prays his sister Isabel
For causes more than she may

tell— no

Away, good father! and take

heed
That life and death are on thy

speed.'
His cowl the good old priest did

on,
Took his piked staff and sandalled

shoon,
And, like a palmer bent by eld,
O'er moss and moor his journey

held.

Heavy and dull the foot "of age,

And rugged was the pilgrimage ;

But none were there beside whose
care

Might such important message
bear. 120

Through birchen copse he wan-
dered slow,

Stunted and sapless, thin and low ;

By many a mountain stream he
passed,

From the tall cliffs in tumult cast,

Dashing to foam their waters dun

And sparkling in the summer sun.

Kound his gray head the wild cur-
lew

In many a fearless circle flew.

O'er chasms he passed where frac-
tures wide 129

Craved wary eye and ample stride ;

He crossed his brow beside the
stone

Where Druids erst heard victims
groan,

And at the cairns upon the wild

CANTO FIFTH

469

O'er many a heathen hero piled,

He breathed a timid prayer for
those

Who died ere Shiloh's sun arose.

Beside Macfarlane's Cross he
staid,

There told his hours within the
shade

And at the stream his thirst al-
layed.

Thence onward journeying slowly
still, 14°

As evening closed he reached the
hill

Where, rising through the wood-
land green,

Old Brodick's Gothic towers were
seen.

From Hastings late, their English
lord,

Douglas had won them by the
sword.

The sun that sunk behind the isle

Now tinged them with a parting
smile.

YII

But though the beams of light de-
cay
'T was bustle all in Brodick-Bay.
The Bruce's followers crowd the
shore, 150

And boats and barges some un-
moor,
Some raise the sail, some seize

the oar ;
Their eyes oft turned where glim-
mered far
What might have seemed an early

star
On heaven's blue arch save that

its light
Was all too flickering, fierce, and
bright.
Far distant in the south the ray
Shone pale amid retiring day,

But as, on Carrick shore, 159
Dim seen in outline faintly blue,
The shades of evening closer
drew,
It kindled more and more.

The monk's slow steps now press

the sands,
And now amid a scene he stands
Full strange to churchman's
eye;
Warriors, who, arming for the

fight,
Kivet and clasp their harness

light,
And twinkling spears, and axes
bright,
And helmets flashing high.
Oft too with unaccustomed ears
A language much unmeet be
hears, 171

While, hastening all on board,
As stormy as the swelling surge
That mixed its roar, the leaders

urge
Their followers to the ocean
verge
With many a haughty word.

Y1II

Through that wild throng the

father passed
And reached the royal Bruce at

last.
He leant against a stranded boat
That the approaching tide must

float, 180

And counted every rippling wave
As higher yet her sides they lave,
And oft the distant fire he eyed,
And closer yet his hauberk tied,
And loosened in its sheath his

brand.
Edward and Lennox were at hand,
Douglas and Ronald had the care
The soldiers to the barks to

share. —
The monk approached and homage

paid ;
' And art thou come,' King Robert

said, 190

' So far to bless us ere we part ? '—
' My liege, and with a loyal heart ! —
But other charge I have to tell,' —
And spoke the best of Isabel.
' Now by Saint Giles,' the monarch

cried,

470

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

'This moves me much! — this

morning tide
I sent the stripling to Saint Bride
With my commandment there to

bide.'
* Thither he came the portress

showed,
But there, my liege, made brief

abode.' — 200

"T was 1/ said Edward, 'found

employ
Of nobler import for the boy.
Deep pondering in my anxious

mind
A fitting messenger to find
To bear thy written mandate o'er
To Cuthbert on the Carrick shore,
I chanced at early dawn to pass
The chapel gate to snatch a mass.
I found the stripling on a tomb
Low-seated, weeping for the doom
That gave his youth to convent

gloom. 2 1 1

I told my purpose and his eyes
Flashed joyful at the glad sur-
prise.
He bounded to the skiff, the sail
Was spread before a prosperous

gale,
And well my charge he hath

obeyed ;
For see ! the ruddy signal made
That Clifford with his merry-men

all
Guards carelessly our father's

hall.'

'0 wild of thought and hard of

heart ! ' 220

Answered the monarch, 'on a

part
Of such deep danger to employ
A mute, an orphan, and a boy !
Unfit for flight, unfit for strife,
Without a tongue to plead for life !
Now, were my right restored by

Heaven,
Edward, my crown I would have

given

Ere, thrust on such adventure wild,

I perilled thus the helpless child.'

Offended half and half submiss,—

' Brother and liege, of blame like
this,' 231

Edward replied, ' I little dreamed.

A stranger messenger, I deemed,

Might safest seek the beadsman's
cell

Where all thy squires are known
so well.

Noteless his presence, sharp his
sense,

His imperfection his defence.

If seen, none can his errand guess ;

If ta'en, his words no tale ex-
press—

Methinks, too, yonder beacon's
shine 240

Might expiate greater fault than
mine.'

' Rash,' said King Robert, ' was
the deed —

But it is done. Embark with
speed ! —

Good father, say to Isabel

How this unhappy chance befell ;

If well we thrive on yonder shore,

Soon shall my care her page re-
store.

Our greeting to our sister bear,

And think of us in mass and
prayer.'

'Ay!' said the priest, ' while this
poor hand 250

Can chalice raise or cross com-
mand,

While my old voice has accents'
use,

Can Augustine forget the Bruce ! '

Then to his side Lord Ronald
pressed,

And whispered, 'Bear thou this
request,

That when by Bruce's side I fight

For Scotland's crown and free-
dom's right,

The princess grace her knight to
bear

CANTO FIFTH

471

Some token of her favoring care ;
It shall be shown where England's

best 260

May shrink to see it on my crest.
And for the boy — since weightier

care
For royal Bruce the times prepare,
The helpless youth is Ronald's

charge,
His couch my plaid, his fence my

targe.'
He ceased; for many an eager

hand
Had urged the barges from the

strand.
Their number was a score and ten,
They bore thrice threescore chosen

men.
With such small force did Bruce

at last 270

The die for death or empire cast !

XII

Now on the darkening main afloat,

Ready and manned rocks every
boat;

Beneath their oars the ocean's
might

Was dashed to sparks of glimmer-
ing light.

Faint and more faint, as off they
bore,

Their armor glanced against the
shore,

And, mingled with the dashing
tide,

Their murmuring voices distant
died. —

' God speed them ! ' said the priest,
as dark 280

On distant billows glides each
bark ;

4 0 Heaven ! when swords for free-
dom shine

And monarch's right, the cause is
thine !

Edge doubly every patriot blow !

Beat down the banners of the foe !

And be it to the nations known,

That victory is from God alone ! '

As up the hill his path he drew.

He turned his blessings to renew,
Oft turned till on the darkened

coast 290

All traces of their course were

lost;
Then slowly bent to Brodick

tower
To shelter for the evening hour.

XIII

In night the fairy prospects sink
Where Cumray's isles with ver-
dant link
Close the fair entrance of the

Clyde ;
The woods of Bute, no more de-
scried,
Are gone — and on the placid

sea
The rowers ply their task with

glee,
While hands that knightly lances

bore 300

Impatient aid the laboring oar.
The half-faced moon shone dim

and pale,
And glanced against the whitened

sail;
But on that ruddy beacon-light
Each steersman kept the helm

aright,
And oft, for such the king's com-
mand,
That all at once might reach the

strand,
From boat to boat loud shout and

hail
Warned them to crowd or slacken

sail.
South and by west the armada

bore, 310

And near at length the Carrick

shore.
As less and less the distance

grows,
High and more high the beacon

rose :
The light that seemed a twinkling

star
Now blazed portentous, fierce, and

far.

472

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

Dark -red the heaven above it
glowed,

Dark-red the sea beneath it flowed,

Red rose the rocks on ocean's
brim,

In blood-red light her islets swim ;

Wild scream the dazzled sea-fowl
gave, 320

Dropped from their crags on plash-
ing wave.

The deer to distant covert drew,

The black-cock deemed it day and
crew.

Like some tall castle given to
flame,

O'er half the land the lustre came.

4 Now, good my liege and brother
sage,

What think ye of mine elfin
page ? ' —

' Row on ! ' the noble king replied,

' We '11 learn the truth whate'er
betide ;

Yet sure the beadsman and the
child 330

Could ne'er have waked that bea-
con wild.'

XIV

With that the boats approached

the land,
But Edward's grounded on the

sand ;
The eager knight leaped in the

sea
Waist-deep and first on shore was

he,
Though every barge's hardy band
Contended which should gain the

land,
When that strange light, which

seen afar
Seemed steady as the polar star,
Now, like a prophet's fiery chair,
Seemed travelling the realms of

air. 341

Wide o'er the sky the splendor

glows
As that portentous meteor rose ;
Helm, axe, and falchion glittered

bright,

And in the red and dusky light

His comrade's face each warrior
saw,

Nor marvelled it was pale with
awe.

Then high in air the beams were
lost,

And darkness sunk upon the
coast. —

Ronald to Heaven a prayer ad-
dressed, 350

And Douglas crossed his daunt-
less breast;

' Saint James protect us ! ' Lennox
cried,

But reckless Edward spoke aside,

' Deem'st thou, Kirkpatrick, in
that flame

Red Comyn's angry spirit came,

Or would thy dauntless heart en-
dure

Once more to make assurance
sure ? »

* Hush ! ' said the Bruce ; * we soon
shall know

If this be sorcerer's empty show

Or stratagem of southern foe. 360

The moon shines out — upon the
sand

Let every leader rank his band.'

Faintly the moon's pale beams

supply
That ruddy light's unnatural dye ;
The dubious cold reflection lay
On the wet sands and quiet bay.
Beneath the rocks King Robert

drew
His scattered files to order due,
Till shield compact and serried

spear
In the cool light shone blue and

clear. 370

Then down a path that sought the

tide
That speechless page was seen to

glide ;
He knelt him lowly on the sand,
And gave a scroll to Robert's

hand,

CANTO FIFTH

473

4 A torch,' the monarch cried,

* What, ho !
Now shall we Cuthbert's tidings

know.'
But evil news the letters bear,
The Clifford's force was strong and

ware,
Augmented too, that very morn,
By mountaineers who came with

Lorn. 380

Long harrowed by oppressor's

hand,
Courage and faith had fled the

land,
And over Carrick, dark and deep,
Had sunk dejection's iron sleep. —
Cuthbert had seen that beacon

flame,
Unwitting from what source it

came.
Doubtful of perilous event,
Edward's mute messenger he sent,
If Bruce deceived should venture

o'er, 389

To warn him from the fatal shore.

XVI

As round the torch the leaders

crowd,
Bruce read these chilling news

aloud.
'What counsel, nobles, have we

now ? —
To ambush us in greenwood bough,
And take the chance which fate

may send
To bring our enterprise to end ?
Or shall we turn us to the main
As exiles, and embark again ? '
Answered fierce Edward, 'Hap

what may ;
In Carrick Carrick's lord must

stay. 400

I would not minstrels told the tale
Wildfire or meteor made us quail.'
Answered the Douglas, * If my

liege
May win yon walls by storm or

siege,
Then were each brave and patriot

heart

Kindled of new for loyal part.'
Answered Lord Ronald, ' Not for

shame
Would I that aged Torquil came
And found, for all our empty boast,
Without a blow we fled the coast.
I will not credit that this land, 411
So famed for warlike heart and

hand,
The nurse of Wallace and of Bruce,
Will long with tyrants hold a

truce.'
' Prove we our fate — the brunt

we '11 bide ! '
So Boyd and Haye and Lennox

cried ;
So said, so vowed the leaders all ;
So Bruce resolved: 'And in my

hall
Since the bold Southern make their

home,
The hour of payment soon shall

come, 420

When with a rough and rugged

host
Clifford may reckon to his cost.
Meantime, through well-known

bosk and dell
I'll lead where we may shelter

well.'

XVII

Now ask you whence that won-

drous light,
Whose fairy glow beguiled their

sight? —
It ne'er was known — yet gray-
haired eld
A superstitious credence held
That never did a mortal hand
Wake its broad glare on Carrick

strand ; 430

Nay, and that on the selfsame

night
When Bruce crossed o'er still

gleams the light.
Yearly it gleams o'er mount and

moor
And glittering wave and crin>

soned shore —
But whether beam celestial, lent

474

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

By Heaven to aid the king's de-
scent,
Or fire hell-kindled from beneath
To lure him to defeat and death,
Or were it but some meteor strange
Of such as oft through midnight
range, 44o

Startling the traveller late and

lone,
I know not — and it ne'er was
known.

XVIII

Now up the rocky pass they drew,
And Ronald, to his promise true,
Still made his arm the stripling's

stay,
To aid him on the rugged way.
4 Now cheer thee, simple Amadine !
Why throbs that silly heart of

thine ? ' —
That name the pirates to their

slave —
In Gaelic 't is the Changeling—

gave— 450

1 Dost thou not rest thee on my

arm ?
Do not my plaid-folds hold thee

warm ?
Hath not the wild bull's treble hide
This targe for thee and me sup-
plied ?
Is not Clan-Colla's sword of steel?
And, trembler, canst thou terror

feel?
Cheer thee, and still that throbbing

heart ;
From Ronald's guard thou shalt

not part' —
O ! many a shaft at random sent
Finds mark the archer little

meant ! 460

And many a word at random

spoken
May soothe or wound a heart

that 's broken !
Half soothed, half grieved, half

terrified,
Close drew the page to Ronald's

side ;
A wild delirious thrill of joy

Was in that hour of agony,

As up the steepy pass he strove,

Fear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love !

XIX

The barrier of that iron shore,
The rock's steep ledge, is now

climbed o'er ; 470

And from the castle's distant wall,
From tower to tower the warders

call:
The sound swings over land and

sea,
And marks a watchful enemy. —
They gained the Chase, a wide do-

main
Left for the castle's sylvan reign —
Seek not the scene ; the axe, the

plough,
The boor's dull fence, have marred

it now,
But then soft swept in velvet green
The plain with many a glade be-
tween, 480
Whose tangled alleys far invade
The depth of the brown forest

shade.
Here the tall fern obscured the

lawn,
Fair shelter for the sportive fawn ;
There, tufted close with copse-
wood green,
Was many a swelling hillock seen;
And all around was verdure meet
For pressure of the fairies' feet.
The glossy holly loved the park,
The yew-tree lent its shadow dark,
And many an old oak, worn and

bare, 491

With all its shivered boughs was

there.
Lovely between, the moonbeams

fell
On lawn and hillock, glade and

dell.
The gallant monarch sighed to see
These glades so loved in childhood

free,
Bethinking that as outlaw now
He ranged beneath the forest

bough.

CANTO FIFTH

475

Fast o'er the moonlight Chase they

sped.
Well knew the band that measured

tread 500

When, in retreat or in advance,
The serried warriors move at once ;
And evil were the luck if dawn
Descried them on the open lawn.
Copses they traverse, brooks they

cross,
Strain up the bank and o'er the

moss.
From the exhausted page's brow
Cold drops of toil are streaming

now;
With effort faint and lengthened

pause,
His weary step the stripling draws.
' Nay, droop not yet ! ' the warrior

said ; 5 1 x

1 Come, let me give thee ease and

aid!
Strong are mine arms, and little

care
A weight so slight as thine to

bear. —
What ! wilt thou not ? — capricious

boy! —
Then thine own limbs and strength

employ.
Pass but this night and pass thy

care,
I '11 place thee with a lady fair,
Where thou shalt tune thy lute to

tell
flow Ronald loves fair Isabel ! ' 520
Worn out, disheartened, and dis-
mayed,
Here Amadine let go the plaid ;
His trembling limbs their aid re-
fuse,
He sunk among the midnight

dews!

XXI

What may be done ? — the night is

gone —
The Bruce's band moves swiftly

on —
Eternal shame if at the brunt

Lord Ronald grace not battle's

front ! —
4 See yonder oak within whose

trunk 529

Decay a darkened cell hath sunk ;
Enter and rest thee there a space,
Wrap in my plaid thy limbs, thy

face.
I will not be, believe me, far,
But must not quit the ranks of

war.
Well will I mark the bosky

bourne,
And soon, to guard thee hence, re-
turn. —
Nay, weep not so, thou simple boy !
But sleep in peace and wake in

joy.'
In sylvan lodging close bestowed,
He placed the page, and onward

strode 540

With strength put forth o'er moss

and brook,
And soon the marching band o'er-

took.

XXII

Thus strangely left, long sobbed

and wept
The page till wearied out he slept —
A rough voice waked his dream —

' Nay, here,
Here by this thicket passed the

deer —
Beneath that oak old Ryno staid —
What have we here ? — A Scottish

plaid
And in its folds a stripling laid? —
Come forth ! thy name and busi-
ness tell! 550
What, silent? — then I guess thee

well,
The spy that sought old Cuthbert's

cell,
Wafted from Arran yester morn —
Come, comrades, we will straight

return.
Our Lord may choose the rack

should teach
To this young lurcher use of

speech.

476

THE LOkD OF THE ISLES

Thy bow-string, till I bind him

fast.' —
4 Nay, but he weeps and stands

aghast ;
Unbound we'll lead him, fear it

not;
'T is a fair stripling, though a

Scot' 560

The hunters to the castle sped, ,
And there the hapless captive led.

XXIII

Stout Clifford in the castle-court
Prepared him for the morning

sport ;
And now with Lorn held deep dis-
course,
Now gave command for hound

and horse.
War-steeds and palfreys pawed

the ground,
And many a deer-dog howled

around.
To Amadine Lorn's well-known

word
Replying to that Southern lord, 570
Mixed with his clanging din, might

seem
The phantasm of a fevered dream.
The tone upon his ringing ears
Came like the sounds which fancy

hears
When in rude waves or roaring

winds
Some words of woe the muser finds,
Until more loudly and more near
Their speech arrests the page's

ear.

XXIV

' And was she thus,' said Clifford,
Most?

The priest should rue it to his
cost ! 580

What says the monk ? ' — 4 The
holy sire

Owns that in masquer's quaint
attire

She sought his skiff disguised, un-
known

To all except to him alone.

But, says the priest, a bark from

Lorn
Laid them aboard that very morn,
And pirates seized her for their

prey.
He proffered ransom gold to pay
And they agreed — but ere told

o'er,
The winds blow loud, the billows

roar ; 59o

They severed and they met no

more.
He deems — such tempests vexed

the coast —
Ship, crew, and fugitive were lost.
So let it be, with the disgrace
And scandal of her lofty race !
Thrice better she had ne'er been

born
Than brought her infamy on

Lorn ! >

XXV

Lord Clifford now the captive

spied; —
' Whom, Herbert, hast thou there ? '

he cried.
1 A spy we seized within the

Chase, 600

A hollow oak his lurking-place.' —
4 What tidings can the youth af-
ford?'—
4 He plays the mute.' — 4 Then

noose a cord —
Unless brave Lorn reverse the

doom
For his plaid's sake.'— 4Clan-Col-

la's loom,'
Said Lorn, whose careless glances

trace
Rather the vesture than the face,
4 Clan-Colla's dames such tartans

twine ;
Wearer nor plaid claims care of

mine.
Give him, if my advice you crave,
His own scathed oak ; and let him

wave 6u

In air unless, by terror wrung,
A frank confession find his

tongue. —

CANTO FIFTH

477

Nor shall he die without his rite ;
Thou, Angus Roy, attend the sight,
And give Clan-Colla's dirge thy

breath
As they convey him to his

death.' —
1 O brother ! cruel to the last ! '
Through the poor captive's bosom

passed
The thought, but, to his purpose

true, 620

He said not, though he sighed

' Adieu ! '

XXVI

And will he keep his purpose still

In sight of that last closing ill,

When one poor breath, one single
word,

May freedom, safety, life, afford ?

Can he resist the instinctive call

For life that bids us barter all? —

Love, strong as death, his heart
hath steeled,

His nerves hath strung — he will
not yield !

Since that poor breath, that little
word, 630

May yield Lord Ronald to the
sword. —

Clan-Colla's dirge is pealing wide,

The griesly headsman 's by his
side ;

Along the greenwood Chase they
bend,

And now their march has ghastly
end!

That old and shattered oak be-
neath,

They destine for the place of
death.

What thoughts are his, while all
in vain

His eye for aid explores the plain ?

What thoughts, wrhile with a dizzy
ear 640

He hears the death-prayer mut-
tered near ?

And must he die such death ac-
curst,

Or will that bosom-secret burst?

Cold on his brow breaks terror's
dew,

His trembling lips are livid blue ;

The agony of parting life

Has naught to match that mo-
ment's strife !

XXVII

But other witnesses are nigh,
Who mock at fear, and death defy !
Soon as the dire lament was
played 650

It waked the lurking ambuscade.
The Island Lord looked forth and

spied
The cause, and loud in fury cried,
' By Heaven, they lead the page to

die,
And mock me in his agony !
They shall aby it! ' — On his arm
Bruce laid strong grasp, 'They

shall not harm
A ringlet of the stripling's hair ;
But till I give the word forbear.
Douglas, lead fifty of our force 660
Up yonder hollow water-course,
And couch thee midway on the

wold,
Between the flyers and their hold :
A spear above the copse displayed,
Be signal of the ambush made. —
Edward, with forty spearmen

straight
Through yonder copse approach

the gate,
And when thou hear'st the battle-
din
Rush forward and the passage win,
Secure the drawTbridge, storm the
port, 670

And man and guard the castle-
court. —
The rest move slowly forth with

me,
In shelter of the forest tree,
Till Douglas at his post I see.'

XXVIII

Like war-horse eager to rush on,
Compelled to wait the signal
blown,

478

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

Hid, and scarce hid, by greenwood

Before, behind, around it came !

bough,

Half-armed, surprised, on every

Trembling with rage stands Eonald

side

now,

Hemmed in, hewed down, they

And in his grasp his sword gleams

bled and died.

blue,

Deep in the ring the Bruce en-

Soon to be dyed with deadlier

gaged,

hue. — 680

And fierce Clan-Colla's broadsword

Meanwhile the Bruce with steady

raged !

eye

Full soon the few who fought were

Sees the dark death-train moving

sped,

by,

Nor better was their lot who fled

And heedful measures oft the

And met mid terror's wild career

space

The Douglas's redoubted spear!

The Douglas and his band must

Two hundred yeomen on that

trace,

morn 711

Ere they can reach their destined

The castle left, and none return.

ground.

Now sinks the dirge's wailing

XXX

sound,

Not on their flight pressed Ron-

Now cluster round the direful

ald's brand,

tree

A gentler duty claimed his hand.

That slow and solemn company,

He raised the page where on the

While hymn mistuned and mut-

plain

tered prayer

His fear had sunk him with the

The victim for his fate pre-

slain:

pare! — 690

And twice that morn surprise well

What glances o'er the greenwood

near

shade ?

Betrayed the secret kept by fear ;

The spear that marks the ambus-

Once when with life returning

cade ! —

came

4 Now, noble chief ! I leave thee

To the boy's lip Lord Ronald's

loose ;

name, 720

Upon them, Ronald ! ' said the

And hardly recollection drowned

Bruce.

The accents in a murmuring

sound ;

XXIX

And once when scarce he could re-

* The Bruce ! the Bruce ! ' to well-

sist

known cry

The chieftain's care to loose the

His native rocks and woods re-

vest

ply.

Drawn tightly o'er his laboring

1 The Bruce ! the Bruce ! ' in that

breast.

dread word

But then the Bruce's bugle blew,

The knell of hundred deaths was

For martial work was yet to do.

heard.

The astonished Southern gazed at

XXXI

first

A harder task fierce Edward waits.

Where the wild tempest was to

Ere signal given the castle gates

burst 700

His fury had assailed ; 730

That waked in that presaging

Such was his wonted reckless

name.

mood,

CANTO FIFTH

479

Yet desperate valor oft made

good,
Even by its daring, venture rude
Where prudence might have

failed.
Upon the bridge his strength he

threw,
And struck the iron chain in two,

By which its planks arose ;
The warder next his axe's edge
Struck down upon the threshold-
ledge,
'Twixt door and post a ghastly

wedge ! 74o

The gate they may not close.
Well fought the Southern in the

fray,
Clifford and Lorn fought well that

day,
But stubborn Edward forced his

way
Against a hundred foes.
Loud came the cry, ' The Bruce !

the Bruce ! '
No hope or in defence or truce,—

Fresh combatants pour in ;
Mad with success and drunk with

gore,
They drive the struggling foe

before 750

And ward on ward they win.
Unsparing was the vengeful

sword,
And limbs were lopped and life-
blood poured,
The cry of death ana conflict

roared,
And fearful was the din !
The startling horses plunged and

flung,
Clamored the dogs till turrets rung,

Nor sunk the fearful cry
Till not a foeman was there found
Alive save those who on the

ground 760

Groaned in their agony !

XXXII

The valiant Clifford is no more ;
On Ronald's broadsword streamed
his gore.

But better hap had he of Lorn,
Who, by the foeman backward

borne,
Yet gained with slender train the

port
Where lay his bark beneath the

fort,
And cut the cable loose.
Short were his shrift in that de-
bate,
That hour of fury and of fate, 770

If Lorn encountered Bruce !
Then long and loud the victor

shout
From turret and from tower rung

out,
The rugged vaults replied ;
And from the donjon tower on

high
The men of Carrick may descry
Saint Andrew's cross in blazonry
Of silver waving wide !

XXXIII

The Bruce hath won his father's
hall! —

1 Welcome, brave friends and com-
rades all, 780
Welcome to mirth and joy !

The first, the last, is welcome here,

From lord and chieftain, prince
and peer,
To this poor speechless boy,

Great God! once more my sire's
abode

Is mine — behold the floor I trode
In tottering infancy !

And there the vaulted arch whose
sound

Echoed my joyous shout and
bound

In boyhood, and that rung around
To youth's unthinking glee ! 791

0, first to thee, all-gracious Hea-
ven,

Then to my friends, my thanks be
given ! ' —

He paused a space, his brow he
crossed —

Then on the board his sword he
tossed,

480

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

Yet steaming hot; with Southern

CANTO SIXTH

gore

From hilt to point 't was crimsoned

o'er.

0 who that shared them ever

shall forget

XXXIV

The emotions of the spirit-rous-

4 Bring here,' he said, * the mazers

ing time,

four

When breathless in the mart the

My noble fathers loved of yore.

couriers met

Thrice let them circle round the

Early and late, at evening and

board, 800

at prime ;

The pledge, fair Scotland's rights

When the loud cannon and the

restored !

merry chime

And he whose lip shall touch the

Hailed news on news, as field on

wine

field was won,

Without a vow as true as mine,

When Hope, long doubtful,

To hold both lands and life at

soared at length sublime,

naught

And our glad eyes, awake as

Until her freedom shall be

day begun,

bought, —

Watched Joy's broad banner rise

Be brand of a disloyal Scot

to meet the rising sun !

And lasting infamy his lot !

Sit, gentle friends ! our hour of glee

0 these were hours when thrill-

Is brief, we '11 spend it joyously !

ing joy repaid 10

Blithest of all the sun's bright

A long, long course of darkness,

beams, 810

doubts, and fears !

When betwixt storm and storm he

The heart-sick faintness of the

gleams.

hope delayed,

Well is our country's work begun,

The waste, the woe, the blood-

But more, far more, must yet be

shed, and the tears,

done.

That tracked with terror twenty

Speed messengers the country

rolling years,

through ;

All was forgot in that blithe

Arouse old friends and gather

jubilee !

new ;

Her downcast eye even pale
Affliction rears,

Warn Lanark's knights to gird

their mail,

To sigh a thankful prayer amid

Rouse the brave sons of Teviot-

the glee

dale,

That hailed the Despot's fall, and

Let Ettrick's archers sharp their

peace and liberty !

darts,

The fairest forms, the truest

Such news o'er Scotland's hills

hearts !

triumphant rode

Call all, call all ! from Reedswair

When 'gainst the invaders turned

Path 820

the battle's scale, 20

To the wild confines of Cape-

When Bruce's banner had vic-

Wrath ;

torious flowed

Wide let the news through Scot-

O'er Loudoun's mountain and in

land ring, —

Ury's vale ;

The Northern Eagle claps his

When English blood oft deluged

wing ! '

Douglas-dale,

CANTO SIXTH

481

And fiery Edward routed stout

Saint John,
When Randolph's war - cry

swelled the southern gale,
And many a fortress, town, and

tower was won,
And Fame still sounded forth fresh

deeds of glory done.

11
Blithe tidings flew from baron's

tower
To peasant's cot, to forest-bower,
And waked the solitary cell 30
Where lone Saint Bride's recluses

dwell.
Princess no more, fair Isabel,
A votaress of the order now,
Say, did the rule that bid thee

wear
Dim veil and woollen scapulare,
And reft thy locks of dark-brown

hair,
That stern and rigid vow,
Did it condemn the transport high
Which glistened in thy watery

eye
When minstrel or when palmer

told 40

Each fresh exploit of Bruce the

bold? —
And whose the lovely form that

shares
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy

prayers ?
No sister she of convent shade ;
So say these locks in lengthened

braid,
So say the blushes and the sighs,
The tremors that unbidden rise,
When, mingled with the Bruce's

fame,
The brave Lord Ronald's praises

came.

Believe, his father's castle won 50
And his bold enterprise begun,
That Bruce's earliest cares restore
The speechless page to Arran's
shore :

Nor think that long the quaint dis-
guise

Concealed her from a sister's
eyes ;

And sister-like in love they dwell

In that lone convent's silent cell.

There Bruce's slow assent allows

Fair Isabel the veil and vows ;

And there, her sex's dress re-
gained, 60

The lovely Maid of Lorn re-
mained,

Unnamed, unknown, while Scot-
land far

Resounded with the din of war ;

And many a month and many a
day

In calm seclusion wore away.

These days, these months, to years
had worn

When tidings of high weight were
borne
To that lone island's shore ;

Of all the Scottish conquests made

By the First Edward's ruthless
blade 70

His son retained no more,

Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's
towers,

Beleaguered by King Robert's
powers ;
And they took term of truce,

If England's King should not re-
lieve

The siege ere John the Baptist's
eve,
To yield them to the Bruce.

England was roused — on every
side

Courier and post and herald hied
To summon prince and peer, 80

At Berwick-bounds to meet their
liege,

Prepared to raise fair Stirling's
siege
With buckler, brand, and spear.

The term was nigh — they mus-
tered fast,

By beacon and by bugle-blast

482

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

Forth marshalled for the field ;
There rode each knight of noble

name,
There England's hardy archers

came,
The land they trode seemed all on

flame 89

With banner, blade, and shield !

And not famed England's powers

alone,
Renowned in arms, the summons

own;
For Neustria's knights obeyed,
Gascogne hath lent her horsemen

good,
And Cambria, but of late subdued,
Sent forth her mountain-multitude,
And Connoght poured from waste

and wood
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre

rude
Dark Eth O'Connor swayed.

Right to devoted Caledon 100

The storm of war rolls slowly on
With menace deep and dread ;
So the dark clouds with gathering

power
Suspend awhile the threatened

shower,
Till every peak and summit lower

Round the pale pilgrim's head.
Not with such pilgrim's startled

eye
King Robert marked the tempest

nigh !
Resolved the brunt to bide,
His royal summons warned the

land no

That all who owned their king's

command
Should instant take the spear and

brand
To combat at his side.
O, who may tell the sons of fame
That at King Robert's bidding

came
To battle for the right !
From Cheviot to the shores of

Ross,

From Solway-Sands to Marshal's-

Moss,
All bouned them for the fight.
Such news the royal courier tells
Who came to rouse dark Arran's

dells; I2i

But farther tidings must the ear
Of Isabel in secret hear.
These in her cloister walk next

morn
Thus shared she with the Maid of

Lorn : —

' My Edith, can I tell how dear
Our intercourse of hearts sincere

Hath been to Isabel ? —
Judge then the sorrow of my heart
When I must say the words, We

part ! 130

The cheerless convent-cell
Was not, sweet maiden, made for

thee ;
Go thou where thy vocation free

On happier fortunes fell.
Nor, Edith, judge thyself betrayed,
Though Robert knows that Lorn's

high maid
And his poor silent page wrere one.
Versed in the fickle heart of man,
Earnest and anxious hath he

looked
How Ronald's heart the message

brooked 140

That gave him with her last fare-

well
The charge of Sister Isabel,
To think upon thy better right
And keep the faith his promise

plight.
Forgive him for thy sister's sake
At first if vain repinings wake —
Long since that mood is gone :
Now dwells he on thy juster claims,
And oft his breach of faith he

blames— 149

Forgive him for thine own ! » —

VII

1 No ! never to Lord Ronald's bower
Will I again as paramour ' —

CANTO SIXTH

483

1 Nay, hush thee, too impatient

maid,
Until my final tale be said ! —
The good King Robert would en-
gage
Edith once more his elfin page,
By her own heart and her own eye
Her lover's penitence to try— 158
Safe in his royal charge and free,
Should such thy final purpose be,
Again unknown to seek the cell,
And live and die with Isabel.'
Thus spoke the maid — King Rob-
ert's eye
Might have some glance of policy ;
Dun staff nage had the monarch

ta'en,
And Lorn had owned King Rob-
ert's reign ;
Her brother had to England fled,
And there in banishment was dead ;
Ample, through exile, death, and

flight,
O'er tower and land was Edith's
right; 170

This ample right o'er tower and

land
Were safe in Ronald's faithful
hand.

VIII

Embarrassed eye and blushing
cheek

Pleasure and shame and fear be-
speak !

Yet much the reasoning Edith
made :

'Her sister's faith she must up-
braid,

Who gave such secret, dark and
dear,

In counsel to another's ear.

Why should she leave the peaceful
cell? —

How should she part with Isa-
bel?— 180

How wear that strange attire
agen ? —

How risk herself midst martial
men ? —

And how be guarded on the way?—

At least she might entreat delay.'
Kind Isabel with secret smile
Saw and forgave the maiden's wile,
Reluctant to be thought to move
At the first call of truant love.

0, blame her not ! — when zephyrs

wake
The aspen's trembling leaves must

shake; 190

When beams the sun through

April's shower
It needs must bloom, the violet

flower ;
And Love, howe'er the maiden

strive,
Must with reviving hope revive !
A thousand soft excuses came
To plead his cause 'gainst virgin

shame.
Pledged by their sires in earliest

youth,
He had her plighted fafth and

truth —
Then, 't was her liege's strict com-

mand,
And she beneath his royal hand 200
A ward in person and in land : —
And, last, she was resolved to

stay
Only brief space— one little day —
Close hidden in her safe disguise
From all, but most from Ronald's

eyes —
But once to see him more ! — nor

blame
Her wish — to hear him name her

name ! —
Then to bear back to solitude
The thought he had his falsehood

rued!
But Isabel, who long had seen 210
Her pallid cheek and pensive

mien,
And well herself the cause might

know,
Though innocent, of Edith's woe,
Joyed, generous, that revolving

time
Gave means to expiate the crime.

4§4

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

High glowed her bosom as she
said,

4 Well shall her sufferings be re-
paid ! \

Now came the parting hour — a
band

From Arran's mountains left the
land ;

Their chief, Fitz-Louis, had the
care 220

The speechless Amadine to bear

To Bruce with honor, as behoved

To page the monarch dearly loved.

The king had deemed the maiden
bright

Should reach him long before the
fight,

But storms and fate her course de-
lay:

It was on eve of battle-day

When o'er the Gillie' s-hill she
rode.

The landscape like a furnace
glowed, 229

And far as e'er the eye was borne

The lances waved like autumn-
corn.

In battles four beneath their
eye

The forces of King Robert lie.

And one below the hill was laid,

Reserved for rescue and for aid ;

And three advanced formed va-
ward-line,

'Twixt Bannock's brook and Nini-
an's shrine.

Detached was each, yet each so
nigh

As well might mutual aid supply.

Beyond, the Southern host ap-
pears, 240

A boundless wilderness of spears,

Whose verge or rear the anxious
eye

Strove far, but strove in vain, to

spy.
Thick flashing in the evening beam,
Glaives, lances, bills, and banners

gleam ;

And where the heaven joined with

the hill,
Was distant armor flashing still,
So wide, so far, the boundless host
Seemed in the blue horizon lost.

Down from the hill the maiden

passed, 250

At the wild show of war aghast ;
And traversed first the rearward

host,
Reserved for aid where needed

most.
The men of Carrick and of Ayr,
Lennox and Lanark too, were

there,
And all the western land ;
With these the valiant of the Isles
Beneath their chieftains ranked

their files

In many a plaided band. 259

There in the centre proudly raised,

The Bruce's royal standard blazed,

And there Lord Ronald's banner

bore
A galley driven by sail and oar.
A wild yet pleasing contrast made
Warriors in mail and plate arrayed,
With the plumed bonnet and the

plaid

By these Hebrideans worn ;

But 0, unseen for three long years,

Dear was the garb of mountaineers

To the fair Maid of Lorn ! 270

For one she looked — but he was

far
Busied amid the ranks of war —
Yet with affection's troubled eye
She marked his banner boldly fly,
Gave on the countless foe a glance,
And thought on battle's desperate

chance.

XII

To centre of the vaward-line

Fitz-Louis guided Amadine.

Armed all on foot, that host- ap-
pears

A serried mass of glimmering
spears. 280

CANTO SIXTH

485

There stood the Marchers' warlike

band,
The warriors there of Lodon's

land;
Ettrick and Liddell bent the yew,
A band of archers fierce though

few;
The men of Nith and Annan's vale,
And the bold Spears of Teviot-

dale ; —
The dauntless Douglas these obey,
And the young Stuart's gentle

sway.
Northeastward by Saint Ninian's

shrine,
Beneath fierce Randolph's charge,

combine 290

The warriors whom the hardy

North
From Tay to Sutherland sent forth.
The rest of Scotland's war-array
With Edward Bruce to westward

lay,
Where Bannock with his broken

bank
And deep ravine protects their

flank.
Behind them, screened by shelter-
ing wopd,
The gallant Keith, Lord Marshal,

stood :
His men-at-arms bare mace and

lance,
And plumes that wave and helms

that glance. 300

Thus fair divided by the king,
Centre and right and leftward wing
Composed his front; nor distant

far
Was strong reserve to aid the war.
And 't was to front of this array
Her guide and Edith made their

way.

XIII

Here must they pause ; for, in ad-
vance
As far as one might pitch a lance,
The monarch rode along the van,
The foe's approaching force to
scan, 310

His line to marshal and to range,
And ranks to square, and fronts

to change.
Alone he rode — from head to

heel
Sheathed in his ready arms of

steel ;
Nor mounted yet on war-horse

wight,
But, till more near the shock of

fight,
Reining a palfrey low and light.
A diadem of gold was set
Above his bright steel basinet,
And clasped within its glittering

twine 320

Was seen the glove of Argentine ;
Truncheon or leading staff he

lacks,
Bearing instead a battle-axe.
He ranged his soldiers for the

fight
Accoutred thus, in open sight
Of either host. — Three bowshots

far,
Paused the deep front of England's

war,
And rested on their arms awhile,
To close and rank their warlike

file,
And hold high council if that night
Should view the strife or dawning

light. 33'

XIV

O, gay yet fearful to behold,

Flashing with steel and rough
with gold,
And bristled o'er with bills and
spears,

With plumes and pennons waving
fair,

Was that bright battle-front ! for
there
Rode England's king and peers :

And who, that saw that monarch
ride,

His kingdom battled by his side,

Could then his direful doom fore-
tell!— 340

Fair was his seat in knightly selle,

486

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

And in his sprightly eye was set
Some spark of the Plantagenet.
Though light and wandering was

his glance,
It flashed at sight of shield and

lance.
1 Know'st thou,' he said, ■ De Ar.

gentine,
Yon knight who marshals thus

their line ? ' —
4 The tokens on his helmet tell
The Bruce, my liege : I know him

well.' —

* And shall the audacious traitor

brave 350

The presence where our banners
wave?' —

1 So please my liege,' said Argen-
tine,

' Were he but horsed on steed like
mine,

To give him fair and knightly
chance,

I would adventure forth my
lance.' —

* In battle-day,' the king replied,

* Nice tourney rules are set aside. —
Still must the rebel dare our wrath ?
Set on him — Sweep him from our

path ! '
And at King Edward's signal soon
Dashed from the ranks Sir Henry

Boune. 361

Of Hereford's high blood he came,
A race renowned for knightly fame.
He burned before his monarch's

eye
To do some deed of chivalry.
He spurred his steed, he couched

his lance,
And darted on the Bruce at once.
As motionless as rocks that bide
The wrath of the advancing tide,
The Bruce stood fast. — Each

breast beat high 370

And dazzled was each gazing

eye —
The heart had hardly time to

think,

The eyelid scarce had time to

wink,
While on the king, like flash of

flame,
Spurred to full speed the war-horse

came !
The partridge may the falcon

mock,
If that slight palfrey stand the

shock —
But, swerving from the knight's

career,
Just as they met, Bruce shunned

the spear.
Onward the baffled warrior bore
His course — but soon his course

was o'er!— 381

High in his stirrups stood the

king,
And gave his battle-axe the swing.
Right on De Boune the whiles he

passed
Fell that stern dint — the first —

the last ! —
Such strength upon the blow was

put
The helmet crashed like hazel-
nut ;
The axe -shaft with its brazen

clasp
Was shivered to the gauntlet

grasp.
Springs from the blow the startled

horse, 390

Drops to the plain the lifeless

corse ;
First of that fatal field, how soon,
How sudden, fell the fierce De

Boune !

xvi

One pitying glance the monarch

sped
Where on the field his foe lay

dead;
Then gently turned his palfrey's

head,
And, pacing back his sober way,
Slowly he gained his own array.
There round their king the leaders

crowd,

CAXTO SIXTH

487

And blame his recklessness aloud

That risked 'gainst each adventu-
rous spear 401

A life so valued and so dear.

His broken weapon's shaft sur-
veyed

The king, and careless answer
made,

' My loss may pay my folly's tax ;

I 've broke my trusty battle-axe.'

'T was then Fitz-Louis bending
low

Did Isabel's commission show ;

Edith disguised at distance stands,

And hides her blushes with her
hands. 410

The monarch's brow has changed
its hue,

Away the gory axe he threw,

While to the seeming page he
drew,
Clearing war's terrors from his
eye.

Her hand with gentle ease he took

With such a kind protecting look
As to a weak and timid boy

Might speak that elder brother's
care

And elder brother's love were
there.

XVII

1 Fear not,' he said, ' young Ama-

dine ! ' 420

Then whispered, ' Still that name

be thine.
Fate plays her wonted fantasy,
Kind Amadine, with thee and me,
And sends thee here in doubtful

hour.
But soon we are beyond her

power ;
For on this chosen battle-plain,
Victor or vanquished. I remain.
Do thou to yonder hill repair ;
The followers of our host are

there,
And all who may not weapons

bear.— 430

Fitz-Louis, have him in thy care-
Joyful we meet, if all go well ;

If not, in Arran's holy cell
Thou must take part with Isa-
bel;
For brave Lord Ronald too hath

sworn,
Not to regain the Maid of Lorn —
The bliss on earth he covets most —
Would he forsake his battle-post,
Or shun the fortune that may fall
To Bruce, to Scotland, and to all. —
But, hark ! some news these trum-
pets tell; 441
Forgive my haste — farewell ! —

farewell ! '
And in a lower voice he said,
' Be of good cheer — farewell,
sweet maid ! '

XVIII

1 What train of dust, with trumpet-
sound

And glimmering spears, is wheel-
ing round

Our leftward flank?' — the mon-
arch cried

To Moray's Earl who rode beside.

' Lo ! round thy station pass the
foes!

Randolph, thy wreath hath lost a
rose.' 450

The Earl his visor closed, and said

' My wreath shall bloom, or life
shall fade. —

Follow, my household! ' and they
go

Like lightning on the advancing
foe.

" My liege,' said noble Douglas
then,

1 Earl Eandolph has but one to ten :

Let me go forth his band to aid ! ' —

' Stir not. The error he hath made,

Let him amend it as he may ;

I will not weaken mine array.' 460

Then loudly rose the conflict-cry,

And Douglas's brave heart swelled
high, —

' My liege,' he said, ' with patient
ear

I must not Moray's death-knell
hear : ' —

4-88

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

1 Then go — but speed thee back
again/

Forth sprung the Douglas with his
train :'/...'

But when they won a rising hill

He bade his followers hold them
still. —

1 See, see! the routed Southern fly !

The Earl hath won the victory. 470

Lo ! where yon steeds run master-
less,

His banner towers above the press.

Rein up ; our presence would im-
pair

The fame we come too late to
share.*

Back to the host the Douglas rode,

And soon glad tidings are abroad

That, Dayncourt by stout Ran-
dolph slain,

His followers fled with loosened
rein. —

That skirmish closed the busy day,

And couched in battle's prompt
array, 480

Each army on their weapons lay.

XIX

It was a night of lovely June,
High rode in cloudless blue the

moon,
Demayet smiled beneath her ray ;
Old Stirling's towers arose in light,
And, twined in links of silver

bright,
Her winding river lay.
Ah ! gentle planet ! other sight
Shall greet thee, next returning

night, 489

Of broken arms and banners tore,
And marshes dark with human

gore,
And piles of slaughtered men and

horse,
And Forth that floats the frequent

corse,
And many a wounded wretch to

plain
Beneath thy silver light in vain !
But now from England's host the

cry

Thou hear'st of wassail revelry,
While from the Scottish legions

pass
The murmured prayer, the early

mass! —
Here, numbers had presumption

given ; 5oo

There, bands o'er-matched sought

aid from Heaven.

On Gillie's-hill, whose height com-
mands
The battle-field, fair Edith stands
With serf and page unfit for war,
To eye the conflict from afar.
O, with what doubtful agony
She sees the dawning tint the

sky! —
Now on the Ochils gleams the sun,
And glistens now Demayet dun :
Is it the lark that carols shrill,
Is it the bittern's early hum ?
No ! — distant, but increasing
still, 512

The trumpet's sound swells up
the hill,
With the deep murmur of the
drum.
Responsive from the Scottish host,
Pipe-clang and bugle-sound were

tossed,
His breast and brow each soldier
crossed
And started from the ground;
Armed and arrayed for instant

fight,
Rose archer, spearman, squire,
and knight, 520

And in the pomp of battle bright
The dread battalia frowned.

XXI

Now onward and in open view
The countless ranks of England

drew,
Dark rolling like the ocean-tide
When the rough west hath chafed

his pride,
And his deep roar sends challenge

wide

CANTO SIXTH

489

To all that bars his way !
In front the gallant archers trode,
The men-at-arms behind them

rode, 530

And midmost of the phalanx

broad
The monarch held his sway.
Beside him many a war-horse

fumes,
Around him waves a sea of

plumes,
Where many a knight in battle

known,
And some who spurs had first

braced on
And deemed that fight should see

them won,
King Edward's bests obey.
De Argentine attends his side,
With stout De Valence, Pem-
broke's pride, 540
Selected champions from the train
To wait upon his bridle-rein.
Upon the Scottish foe he gazed —
At once before his sight amazed

Sunk banner, spear, and shield ;
Each weapon-point is downward

sent,
Each warrior to the ground is bent.
1 The rebels, Argentine, repent !

For pardon they have kneeled.' —
'Ay! — but they bend to other

powers, 550

And other pardon sue than ours !
See where yon barefoot abbot

stands
And blesses them with lifted

hands !
Upon the spot where they have

kneeled
These men will die or win the

field.' —
1 Then prove we if they die or win !
Bid Gloster's Earl the fight begin.'

XXII

Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon

high
Just as the Northern ranks

arose,
Signal for England's archery 560

To halt and bend their bows.
Then stepped each yeoman forth

a pace,
Glanced at the intervening space,

And raised his left hand high ;
To the right ear the cords they

bring —
At once ten thousand bow-strings

ring,
Ten thousand arrows fly !
Nor paused on the devoted Scot
The ceaseless fury of their shot ;

As fiercely and as fast 570

Forth whistling came the gray-
goose wing
As the wild hailstones pelt and

ring
Adown December's blast.
Nor mountain targe of tough bull-
hide,
Nor lowland mail, that storm may

bide;
Woe, woe to Scotland's bannered

pride,
If the fell shower may last !
Upou the right behind the wood,
Each by his steed dismounted

stood
The Scottish chivalry ; — 580
With foot in stirrup, hand on mane,
Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce

restrain

His own keen heart, his eager train,

Until the archers gained the plain ;

Then,' Mount, ye gallants free ! '

He cried; and vaulting from the

ground
His saddle every horseman found.
On high their glittering crests they

toss,
As springs the wild-fire from the

moss;
The shield hangs down on every

breast, 590

Each ready lance is in the rest,

And loud shouts Edward Bruce,
'Forth, Marshal! on the peasant

foe !
We'll tame the terrors of their

bow,
And cut the bow-string loose I '

490

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

XXIII

Then spurs were dashed in

chargers' flanks,
They rushed among the archer

ranks,
No spears were there the shock to

let,
No stakes to turn the charge were

set,
And how shall yeoman's armor

slight 600

Stand the long lance and mace of

might ?
Or what may their short swords

avail
'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of

mail?
Amid their ranks the chargers

sprung,
High o'er their heads the weapons

swuug,
And shriek and groan and venge-
ful shout
Give note of triumph and of rout !
Awhile with stubborn hardihood
Their English hearts the strife

made good.
Borne down at length on every

side, 610

Compelled to flight they scatter

wide. —
Let stags of Sherwood leap for

glee,
And bound the deer of Dallom-

Lee!
The broken bows of Bannock's

shore
Shall in the greenwood ring no

more !
Round Wakefield's merry May-
pole now
The maids may twine the summer

bough,
May northward look with longing

glance
For those that wont to lead the

dance,
For the blithe archers look in

vain ! 620

Broken, dispersed, in flight o'er-

ta'en,

Pierced through, trode down, by

thousands slain,
They cumber Bannock's bloody

plain.

XXIV

The king with scorn beheld their

flight.
' Are these,' he said, * our yeomen

wight ?
Each braggart churl could boast

before
Twelve Scottish lives his baldric

bore!
Fitter to plunder chase or park
Than make a manly foe their

mark. —
Forward, each gentleman and

knight! 630

Let gentle blood show generous

might
And chivalry redeem the fight ! '
To rightward of the wild affray,
The field showed fair and level

way;
But in mid-space the Bruce's

care
Had bored the ground with many

a pit,
With turf and brushwood hidden

yet,
That formed a ghastly snare.
Rushing, ten thousand horsemen

came,
With spears in rest and hearts on

flame 640

That panted for the shock !
With blazing crests and banners

spread,
And trumpet- clang and clamor

dread,
The wide plain thundered to their

tread
As far as Stirling rock.
Down ! down ! in headlong over-
throw,
Horseman and horse, the foremost

go,
Wild floundering on the field !
The first are in destruction's

gorge,

CANTO SIXTH

49 1

Their followers wildly o'er them
urge ; — 650

The knightly helm and shield,

The mail, the acton, and the
spear,

Strong hand, high heart, are use-
less here !

Loud from the mass confused the
cry

Of dying warriors swells on high,

And steeds that shriek in agony !

They came like mountain-torrent
red

That thunders o'er its rocky bed ;

They broke like that same tor-
rent's wave

When swallowed by a darksome
cave. 660

Billows on billows burst and boil,

Maintaining still the stern turmoil,

And to their wild and tortured
groan

Each adds new terrors of his own !

xxv

Too strong in courage and in
might

Was England yet to yield the fight.
Her noblest all are here ;

Names that to fear were never
known,

Bold Norfolk's Earl De Brother-
ton, 669
And Oxford's famed De Vere.

There Gloster plied the bloody
sword,

And Berkley, Grey, and Hereford,
Bottetourt and Sanzavere,

Ross, Montague, and Mauley
came,

And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's
fame —

Names known too well in Scot-
land's war

At Falkirk, Methven, and Dunbar,

Blazed broader yet in after years

At Cressy red and fell Poitiers.

Pembroke with these and Argen-
tine 680

Brought up the rearward battle-
line.

With caution o'er the ground they

tread,
Slippery with blood and piled with

dead,
Till hand to hand in battle set,
The bills with spears and axes

met,
And, closing dark on every side,
Paged the full contest far and

wide.
Then was the strength of Douglas

tried,
Then proved was Randolph's gen-
erous pride,
And well did Stewart's actions

grace 690

The sire of Scotland's royal race !

Firmly they kept their ground ;

As firmly England onward pressed,

And down went many a noble

crest,
And rent was many a valiant

breast,
And Slaughter revelled round.

XXVI

Unflinching foot 'gainst foot was

set,
Unceasing blow by blow was met ;

The groans of those who fell
Were drowned amid the shriller

clang 700

That from the blades and harness

rang,
And in the battle-yell.
Yet fast they fell, unheard, forgot,
Both Southern fierce and hardy

Scot;
And 0, amid that waste of life
What various motives fired the

strife!
The aspiring noble bled for fame,
The patriot for his country's claim ;
This knight his youthful strength

to prove, 709

And that to win his lady's love ;
Some fought from ruffian thirst of

blood,
From habit some or hardihood.
But ruffian stern and soldier good,
The noble and the slave,

492

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

From various cause the same wild

road,
On the same bloody morning,

trode
To that dark inn, the grave !

XXVII

The tug of strife to flag begins,
Though neither loses yet nor wins.
High rides the sun, thick rolls the

dust, 720

And feebler speeds the blow and

thrust.
Douglas leans on his war-sword

now,
And Randolph wipes his bloody

brow;
Nor less had toiled each Southern

knight
From morn till mid-day in the

fight.
Strong Egremont for air must

gasp,
Beauchamp undoes his visor-clasp,
And Montague must quit his spear,
And sinks thy falchion, bold De

Vere !
The blows of Berkley fall less

fast, 730

And gallant Pembroke's bugle

blast
Hath lost its lively tone ;
Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-word,
And Percy's shout was fainter

heard, —
1 My merry-men, fight on ! '

XXVIII

Bruce, with the pilot's wary eye,
The slackening of the storm could

spy.
4 One effort more and Scotland's

free!
Lord of the Isles, my trust in

thee
Is firm as Ailsa Rock ; 740

Rush on with Highland sword and

targe,
I with my Carrick spearmen

charge ;
Now forward to the shock ! '

At once the spears were forward

thrown,
Against the sun the broadswords

shone ;
The pibroch lent its maddening

tone,
And loud King Robert's voice was

known —
' Carrick, press on — they fail, they

fail!
Press on, brave sons of Innisgail,
The foe is fainting fast ! 750
Each strike for parent, child, and

wife,
For Scotland, liberty, and life, —
The battle cannot last ! '

XXIX

The fresh and desperate onset bore
The foes three furlongs back and

more,
Leaving their noblest in their gore.

Alone, De Argentine
Yet bears on high his red-cross

shield,
Gathers the relics of the field,
Renews the ranks where they

have reeled, 760

And still makes good the line.
Brief strife but fierce his efforts

raise,
A bright but momentary blaze.
Fair Edith heard the Southern

shout,
Beheld them turning from the

rout,
Heard the wild call their trumpets

sent
In notes 'twixt triumph and la-
ment.
That rallying force, combined

anew,
Appeared in her distracted view

To hem the Islesmen round ; 770
' 0 God ! the combat they renew,

And is no rescue found !
And ye that look thus tamely on,
And see your native land o'er-

thrown,
O, are your hearts of flesh or

stone ? '

CANTO SIXTH

493

XXX

The multitude that watched afar,
Rejected from the ranks of war,
Had not unmoved beheld the fight
When strove the Bruce for Scot-
land's right ;
Each heart had caught the patriot

spark, 780

Old man and stripling, priest and

clerk,
Bondsman and serf ; even female

hand
Stretched to the hatchet or the

brand ;
But when mute Amadine they

heard
Give to their zeal his signal-word

A frenzy fired the throng ; —
' Portents and miracles impeach
Our sloth — the dumb our duties

teach —
And he that gives the mute his

speech
Can bid the weak be strong. 790
To us as to our lords are given
A native earth, a promised heaven ;
To us as to our lords belongs
The vengeance for our nation's

wrongs ;
The choice 'twixt death or free-
dom warms
Our breasts as theirs — To arms !

to arms ! '
To arms they flew, — axe, club, or

spear, —
And mimic ensigns high they rear,
And, like a bannered host afar,
Bear down on England's wearied

war. 800

XXXI

Already scattered o'er the plain,

Reproof, command, and counsel
vain,

The rearward squadrons fled
amain
Or made but doubtful stay ; —

But when they marked the seem-
ing show

Of fresh and fierce and marshalled
foe,

The boldest broke away.
O, give their hapless prince his

due!
In vain the royal Edward threw

His person mid the spears, 810
Cried, ■ Fight ! ' to terror and de-
spair,
Menaced and wept and tore his
hair,
And cursed their caitiff fears ;
Till Pembroke turned his bridle

rein
And forced him from the fatal

plain.
With them rode Argentine until
They gained the summit of the
hill,
But quitted there the train : —
1 In yonder field a gage I left,
I must not live of fame bereft ; 820

I needs must turn again.
Speed hence, my liege, for on your

trace
The fiery Douglas takes the chase,

I know his banner well.
God send my sovereign joy and

bliss,
And many a happier field than
this ! —
Once more, my liege, farewell ! '

XXXII

Again he faced the battle-field, —
Wildly they fly, are slain, or yield,
' Now then,' he said, and couched
his spear, 830

' My course is run, the goal is near ;
One effort more, one brave career,

Must close this race of mine.'
Then in his stirrups rising high,
He shouted loud his battle-cry,
1 Saint James for Argentine ! '
And of the bold pursuers four
The gallant knight from saddle

bore ;
But not unharmed — a lance's

point
Has found his breastplate's loos-
ened joint, 840
An axe has razed his crest ;
Yet still on Colon say's fierce lord,

494

THE LORD OF THE ISLES

Who pressed the chase with gory
sword,
He rode with spear in rest,
And through his bloody tartans
bored
And through his gallant breast.
Nailed to the earth, the moun-
taineer
Yet writhed him up against the
spear,
And swung his broadsword
round !
Stirrup, steel-boot, and cuish gave
way 850

Beneath that blow's tremendous
sway,
The blood gushed from the
wound ;
And the grim Lord of Colonsay

Hath turned him on the ground,
And laughed in death-pang that

his blade
The mortal thrust so well repaid.

XXXIII

Now toiled the Bruce, the battle

done,
To use his conquest boldly won ;
And gave command for horse and

spear
To press the Southron* s scattered

rear, 860

Nor let his broken force com-
bine,
When the war-cry of Argentine

Fell faintly on his ear ;
1 Save, save his life,' he cried, ' 0,

save
The kind, the noble, and the

brave ! '
The squadrons round free passage

gave,
The wounded knight drew near ;
He raised his red-cross shield no

more,
Helm, cuish, and breastplate

streamed with gore, 869

Yet, as he saw the king advance,
He strove even then to couch his

lance —
The effort was in vain !

The spur-stroke failed to rouse the

horse ;
Wounded and weary, in mid course

He stumbled on the plain.
Then foremost was the generous

Bruce
To raise his head, his helm to

loose; —
' Lord Earl, the day is thine !
My sovereign's'charge and adverse

fate
Have made our meeting all too

late ; 880

Yet this may Argentine
As boon from ancient comrade

crave —
A Christian's mass, a soldier's

grave.'

XXXIV

Bruce pressed his dying hand — its

grasp
Kindly replied ; but, in his clasp,

It stiffened and grew cold —
' And, O farewell ! ' the victor cried,
' Of chivalry the flower and pride,

The arm in battle bold,
The courteous mien, the noble

race, 890

The stainless faith, the manly

face ! —
Bid Ninian's convent light their

shrine
For late-wake of De Argentine.
O'er better knight on death-bier

laid
Torch never gleamed nor mass

was said ! '

XXXV

Nor for De Argentine alone

Through Ninian's church these
torches shone

And rose the death-prayer's awful
tone.

That yellow lustre glimmered pale

On broken plate and bloodied
mail, 900

Rent crest and shattered coro-
net,

Of baron, earl, and banneret ;

CANTO SIXTH

495

And the best names that England

knew
Claimed in the death-prayer dis-
mal due.
Yet mourn not, Land of Fame !
Though ne'er the Leopards on thy

shield
Retreated from so sad a field

Since Norman William came.

Oft may thine annals justly boast

Of battles stern by Scotland lost ;

Grudge not her victory 911

When for her freeborn rights she

strove ;
Eights dear to all who freedom
love,
To none so dear as thee !

xxxvi

Tarn we to Bruce whose curious

ear
Must from Fitz-Louis tidings hear ;
With him a hundred voices tell
Of prodigy and miracle,

* For the mute page had spoke.' —
' Page ! ' said Fitz-Louis, ' rather

say Q20

An angel sent from realms of day

To burst the English yoke.
I saw his plume and bonnet drop
When hurrying from the mountain

top;

A lovely brow, dark locks that

wave,
To his bright eyes new lustre gave,
A step as light upon the green,
As if his pinions waved unseen ! '
' Spoke he with none ? ' — ' With

none — one word
Burst when he saw the Island

Lord 930

Returning from the battle-field.' —
' What answer made the chief ? ' —

1 He kneeled,
Durst not look up, but muttered

low
Some mingled sounds that none

might know,
And greeted him 'twixt joy and

fear
As being of superior sphere.'

XXXVII

Even upon Bannock's bloody plain
Heaped then with thousands of the

slain,
Mid victor monarch's musings

high,
Mirth laughed in good King Rob-
ert's eye : — 940
1 And bore he such angelic air,
Such noble front, such waving

hair?
Hath Ronald kneeled to him ? ' he

said;
' Then must we call the church to

aid —
Our will be to the abbot known
Ere these strange news are wider

blown,
To Cambuskenneth straight he

pass
And deck the church for solemn

mass,
To pay for high deliverance given
A nation's thanks to gracious

Heaven. 950

Let him array besides such state,
As should on princes' nuptials

wait.
Ourself the cause, through for-
tune's spite,
That once broke short that spousal

rite,
Ourself will grace with early morn
The bridal of the Maid of Lorn.'

CONCLUSION

Go forth, my Song, upon thy

venturous way ;
Go boldly forth; nor yet thy

master blame
Who chose no patron for his

humble lay,
And graced thy numbers with no

friendly name
Whose partial zeal might smooth

thy path to fame.
There teas — and 0, how many

sorrows crowd
Into these two brief words ! —

there was a claim

496

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

By generous friendship given —
had fate allowed,
It well had bid thee rank the
proudest of the proud !

All angel now — yet little less

than all
While still a pilgrim in our world

below !
What 'vails it us that patience

to recall

Which hid its own to soothe all

other woe ;
What 'vails to tell how Virtue's

purest glow
Shone yet more lovely in a form

so fair :
And, least of all, what 'vails the

world should know
That one poor garland, twined

to deck thy hair,
Is hung upon thy hearse to droop

and wither there !

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

Though Valois braved young Edward's gentle hand,

And Albert rushed on Henry's way-worn band,

With Europe's chosen sons, in arms renowned,

Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they looked,

Nor Audley's squires nor Mowbray's yeomen brooked, —

They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound.

Akensidb.

TO
HER GRACE

THE

DUCHESS OF WELLINGTON

PRINCESS OF WATERLOO

&C, &C, &C,
THE FOLLOWING VERSES
ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY
THE AUTHOR

It may be some apology for the imperfections of this poem, that it was com-
posed hastily, and during a short tour upon the Continent, when the Author's
labors were liable to frequent interruption ; but its best apology is, that it was
written for the purpose of assisting the Waterloo Subscription.

Abbotspobd, 1815.

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

497

Fair Brussels, thou art far be-

hind,
Though, lingering on the morning
wind,
We yet may hear the hour
Pealed over orchard and canal,
With voice prolonged and mea-
sured fall,
From proud Saint Michael's
tower ;
Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us

now,
Where the tall beeches' glossy
bough
For many a league around,
With birch and darksome oak be-
tween, IO
Spreads deep and far a pathless
screen
Of tangled forest ground.
Stems planted close by stems defy
The adventurous foot— the curi-
ous eye
For access seeks in vain ;
And the brown tapestry of leaves,
Strewed on the blighted ground,
receives
Nor sun nor air nor rain.
No opening glade dawns on our

way,
No streamlet glancing to the ray

Our woodland path has crossed ;
And the straight causeway which
we tread 22

Prolongs a line of dull arcade,
Unvarying through the unvaried
shade
Until in distance lost.

A brighter, livelier scene suc-
ceeds ;

Iu groups the scattering wood re-
cedes,

Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny
meads,
And corn-fields glance between ;

The peasant at his labor blithe 30

Plies the hooked staff and short-
ened scythe : —

But when these ears were
green,
Placed close within destruction's

scope,
Full little was that rustic's hope

Their ripening to have seen !
And, lo ! a hamlet and its fane : —
Let not the gazer with disdain

Their architecture view;
For yonder rude ungraceful shrine
And disproportioned spire are
thine, 40

Immortal Waterloo !

Fear not the heat, though full and

high
The sun has scorched the autumn

sky,
And scarce a forest straggler now
To shade us spreads a greenwood

bough ;
These fields have seen a hotter

day
Than e'er was fired by sunny ray.
Yet one mile on — yon shattered

hedge
Crests the soft hill whose long

smooth ridge
Looks on the field below, 50
And sinks so gently on the dale
That not the folds of Beauty's veil

In easier curves can flow.
Brief space from thence the

ground again
Ascending slowly from the plain

Forms an opposing screen,
Which with its crest of upland

ground
Shuts the horizon all around.
The softened vale between
Slopes smooth and fair for cours-
er's tread ; 60
Not the most timid maid need

dread
To give her snow-white palfrey

head
On that wide stubble-ground :
Nor wood nor tree nor bush are

there,
Her course to intercept or scare,

498

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

Nor fosse nor fence are found,
Save where from out her shattered

bowers
Rise Hougomont's dismantled

towers.

Now, see'st thou aught in this lone

scene
Can tell of that which late hath

been?— 70

A stranger might reply,
* The bare extent of stubble-plain ;
Seems lately lightened of its grain
And yonder sable tracks remain
Marks of the peasant's ponderous

wain
When harvest home was nigh.
On these broad spots of trampled

ground
Perchance the rustics danced such

round
As Teniers loved to draw ;
And where the earth seems

scorched by flame, 80

To dress the homely feast they

came,
And toiled the kerchiefed village

dame
Around her fire of straw.*

Sodeem'stthou — so each mortal

deems
Of that which is from that which
seems: —
But other harvest here
Than that which peasant's scythe

demands
Was gathered in by sterner hands,
With bayonet, blade, and spear.
No vulgar crop was theirs to reap,
No stinted harvest thin and cheap !
Heroes before each fatal sweep 92

Fell thick as ripened grain ;
And ere the darkening of the

day,
Piled high as autumn shocks there

lay
The ghastly harvest of the fray,
The corpses of the slain.

Ay, look again — that line so black
And trampled marks the biv-
ouac,
Yon deep-graved ruts the artil-
lery's track, 1 00
So often lost and won;
And close beside the hardened

mud
Still shows where, fetlock-deep in

blood,
The fierce dragoon through bat-
tie's flood
Dashed the hot war-horse on.
These spots of excavation tell
The ravage of the bursting shell —
And feel'st thou not the tainted

steam
That reeks against the sultry
beam 109

From yonder trenched mound?
The pestilential fumes declare
That Carnage has replenished
there
Her garner-house profound.

VII

Far other harvest-home and feast

Than claims the boor from scythe
released
On these scorched fields were
knownj!

Death hovered o'er the maddening
rout,

And in the thrilling battle-shout

Sent for the bloody banquet out
A summons of his own. 120

Through rolling smoke the De-
mon's eye

Could well each destined guest
espy,

Well could his ear in ecstasy
Distinguish every tone

That filled the chorus of the fray—

From cannon -roar and trumpet-
bray,

From charging squadrons' wild
hurra,

From the wild clang that marked
their way,—
Down to the dying groan

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

499

And the last sob of life's decay 130
When breath was all but flown.

VIII

Feast on, stern foe of mortal life,
Feast on ! — but think not that a

strife
With such promiscuous carnage
rife
Protracted space may last ;
The deadly tug of war at length
Must limits find in human strength,
And cease when these are past.
Vain hope ! — that morn's o'er-

clouded sun
Heard the wild shout of fight be-
gun 140
Ere he attained his height,
And through the war-smoke vol-

umed high
Still peals that unremitted cry,

Though now he stoops to night.
For ten long hours of doubt and

dread,
Fresh succors from the extended

head
Of either hill the contest fed ;

Still down the slope they drew,
The charge of columns paused

not,
Nor ceased the storm of shell and
shot; 150

For all that war could do
Of skill and force was proved that

day,
And turned not yet the doubtful
fray
On bloody Waterloo.

Pale Brussels ! then what thoughts

were thine,
When ceaseless from the distant

line
Continued thunders came !
Each burgher held his breath to

hear
These forerunners of havoc near,
Of rapine and of flame. 160

What ghastly sights were thine to

meet,

When, rolling through thy stately

street,
The wounded showed their man-

gled plight
In token of the unfinished fight,
And from each anguish-laden wain
The blood-drops laid thy dust like

rain !
How often in the distant drum
Heard' st thou the fell invader

come,
While Ruin, shouting to his band,
Shook high her torch and gory-
brand ! — 170
Cheer thee, fair city ! From yon

stand
Impatient still his outstretched

hand
Points to his prey in vain,
While, maddening in his eager

mood
And all unwont to be withstood.
He fires the fight again.

' On ! On ! ♦ was still his stern ex-
claim ;
' Confront the battery's jaws of

flame !

Rush on the levelled gun ! 179

My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance !

Each Hulan forward with his lance,

My Guard — my chosen — charge

for France,
France and Napoleon ! '
Loud answered their acclaiming

shout,
Greeting the mandate which sent

out
Their bravest and their best to

dare
The fate their leader shunned to

share.
But He, his country's sword and

shield,
Still in the battle-front revealed
Where danger fiercest swept the

field, 190

Came like a beam of light,
| In action prompt, in sentence
1 brief—

500

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

' Soldiers, stand firm ! ' exclaimed
the chief,
4 England shall tell the fight ! '

On came the whirlwind -— like the
last

But fiercest sweep of tempest-
blast—

On came the whirlwind — steel-
gleams broke

Like lightning through the rolling
smoke ;
The war was waked anew,

Three hundred cannon - mouths
roared loud, 200

And from their throats with flash
and cloud
Their showers of iron threw.

Beneath their fire in full career

Rushed ou the ponderous cuiras-
sier,

The lancer couched his ruthless
spear,

And hurrying as to havoc near
The cohorts' eagles flew.

In one dark torrent broad and
strong

The advancing onset rolled along,

Forth harbiugered by fierce ac-
claim, 210

That from the shroud of smoke
and flame

Pealed wildly the imperial name.

XII

But on the British heart were lost

The terrors of the charging host :

For not an eye the storm that
viewed

Changed its proud glance of forti-
tude,

Nor was one forward footstep
staid,

As dropped the dying and the
dead.

Fast as their ranks the thunders
tear,

Fast they renewed each serried
square ; 220

And on the wounded and the slain

Closed their diminished files again,

Till from their line scarce spears'
lengths three

Emerging from the smoke they
see

Helmet and plume and panoply —
Then waked their fire at once !

Each musketeer's revolving knell,

As fast, as regularly fell,

As when they practise to display

Their discipline on festal day. 230
Then down went helm and lance,

Down were the eagle banners sent,

Down reeling steeds and riders
went,

Corselets were pierced and pen-
nons rent ;
And to augment the fray,

Wheeled full against their stagger-
ing flanks,

The English horsemen's foaming
ranks
Forced their resistless way.

Then to the musket-knell succeeds

The clash of swords, the neigh of
steeds 240

As plies the smith his clanging
trade,

Against the cuirass rang the
blade ;

And while amid their close array

The well-served cannon rent their
way,

And while amid their scattered
band

Raged the fierce rider's bloody
* brand,

Recoiled in common rout and fear

Lancer and guard and cuirassier,

Horsemen and foot, — a mingled
host,

Their leaders fallen, their stand-
ards lost. 250

XIII

Then, Wellington ! thy piercing

eye
This crisis caught of destiny —

The British host had stood
That morn 'gainst charge of sword

and lance

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

501

As their own ocean rocks hold

stance,
But when thy voice had said, ■ Ad-
vance ! '
They were their ocean's flood.—
O thou whose inauspicious aim
Hath wrought thy host this hour

of shame,
Think' st thou thy broken bands

will bide 260

The terrors of yon rushing tide ?
Or will thy chosen brook to feel
The British shock of levelled

steel ?
Or dost thou turn thine eye
Where coming squadrons gleam

afar,
And fresher thunders wake the

war,
And other standards fly?—
Think not that in yon columns file
Thy conquering troops from dis-
tant Dyle —
Is Blucher yet unknown? 270
Or dwells not in thy memory still,
Heard frequent in thine hour of ill,
What notes of hate and vengeance

thrill
In Prussia's trumpet tone? —
What yet remains ? — shall it be

thine
To head the relics of thy line

In one dread effort more ? —
The Roman lore thy leisure loved,
And thou canst tell what fortune

proved
That chieftain who of yore 2 So
Ambition's dizzy paths essayed,
And with the gladiators' aid
For empire enterprised —
He stood the cast his rashness

played,
Left not the victims he had made,
Dug his red grave with his own

blade,
And on the field he lost was laid,
Abhorred — but not despised.

XIV

But if revolves thy fainter thought
On safety — howsoever bought —

Then turn thy fearful rein and
ride, 291

Though twice ten thousand men
have died
On this eventful day,
To gild the military fame
Which thou for life in traffic tame

Wilt barter thus away.
Shall future ages tell this tale
Of inconsistence faint and frail ?
And art thou he of Lodi's bridge,
Marengo's field, and Wagram's
ridge ! 300

Or is thy soul like mountain-tide
That, swelled by winter storm and

shower,
Rolls down in turbulence of power

A torrent fierce and wide ;
Reft of these aids, a rill obscure,
Shrinking unnoticed, mean and
poor,
Whose channel shows displayed
The wrecks of its impetuous

course,
But not one symptom of the force
By which these wrecks were
made! 310

Spur on thy way ! — since now

thine ear
Has brooked thy veterans' wish to
hear,
Who as thy flight they eyed
Exclaimed— while tears of an-
guish came,
Wrung forth by pride and rage
and shame —
4 O, that he had but died ! '
But yet, to sum this hour of ill,
Look ere thou leavest the fatal
hill
Back on yon broken ranks —
Upon whose wild confusion gleams
The moon, as on the troubled
streams 321

When rivers break their banks,
And to the ruined peasant's eye
Objects half seen roll swiftly by,

Down the dread current hurled —
So mingle banner, wain, and gun,

502

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

Where the tumultuous flight rolls
on

Of warriors who when morn be-
gun
Defied a banded world.

XVI

List — frequent to the hurrying

rout, 330

The stern pursuers' vengeful

shout
Tells that upon their broken rear
Rages the Prussian's bloody spear.

So fell a shriek was none
When Beresina's icy flood
Reddened and thawed with flame

and blood
And, pressing on thy desperate

way,
Raised oft and long their wild

hurra
The children of the Don.
Thine ear no yell of horror cleft
So ominous when, all bereft 341
Of aid, the valiant Polack left —
Ay, left by thee — found soldier's

grave
In Leipsic's corpse -encumbered

wave.
Fate, in these various perils past,
Reserved thee still some future

cast;
On the dread die thou now hast

thrown
Hangs not a single field alone,
Nor one campaign — thy martial

fame,
Thy empire, dynasty, and name,

Have felt the final stroke ; 351
And now o'er thy devoted head
Thy last stern vial's wrath is shed,
The last dread seal is broke.

XVII

Since live thou wilt — refuse not

now
Before these demagogues to bow,
Late objects of thy scorn and hate,
Who shall thy once imperial fate
Make wordy theme of vain de-
bate. -—

Or shall we say thou stoop'st less

low 360

In seeking refuge from the foe,
Against whose heart in prosper-
ous life
Thine hand hath ever held the

knife ?
Such homage hath been paid
By Roman and by Grecian voice,
And there were honor in the

choice,
If it were freely made.
Then safely come — in one so

low, —
So lost, — we cannot own a foe ;
Though dear experience bid us

end, 370

In thee we ne'er can hail a

friend. —
Come, howsoe'er — but do not hide
Close in thy heart that germ of

pride
Ere while by gifted bard espied,

That ' yet imperial hope ; '
Think not that for a fresh re-

bound,
To raise ambition from the ground,

We yield thee means or scope.
In safety come — but ne'er again
Hold type of independent reign ;

No islet calls thee lord, 381

We leave thee no confederate

band,
No symbol of thy lost command,
To be a dagger in the hand
From which we wrenched the

sword.

XVIII

Yet, even in yon sequestered spot,
May worthier conquest be thy lot

Than yet thy life has known ;
Conquest uubought by blood or

harm,
That needs nor foreign aid nor

arm, 390

A triumph all thine own.
Such waits thee when thou shalt

control
Those passions wild, that stub-

born soul,

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

503

That marred thy prosperous

scene : —
Hear this — from no unmoved

heart.
Which sighs, comparing what

THOU ART

With what thou mightst have

BEEN I

XIX

Thou, too, whose deeds of fame

renewed
Bankrupt a nation's gratitude,
To thine own noble heart must
owe 400

More than the meed she can be-
stow.
For not a people's just acclaim,
Not the full hail of Europe's fame,
Thy prince's smiles, thy state's

decree,
The ducal rank, the gartered knee,
Not these such pure delight afford
As that, when hanging up thy

sword,
Well mayst thou think, ' This hon-
est steel
Was ever drawn for public weal;
And, such was rightful Heaven's
decree, 410

Ne'er sheathed unless with vic-
tory l '

Look forth once more with soft-
ened heart
Ere from the field of fame we

part ;
Triumph and sorrow border near,
And joy oft melts into a tear.
Alas ! what links of love that morn
Has War's rude hand asunder

torn !
For ne'er was field so sternly

fought,
And ne'er was conquest dearer

bought.
Here piled in common slaughter

sleep 420

Those whom affection long shall

weep :

Here rests the sire that ne'er shall
strain

His orphans to his heart again;

The son whom on his native shore

The parent's voice shall bless no
more ;

The bridegroom who has hardly
pressed

His blushing consort to his breast;

The husband whom through many
a year

Long love and mutual faith en-
dear.

Thou canst not name one tender
tie 430

But here dissolved its relics lie !

0, when thou see'st some mourn-
er's veil

Shroud her thin form and visage
pale,

Or mark'st the matron's bursting
tears

Stream when the stricken drum
she hears,

Or see'st how manlier grief sup-
pressed

Is laboring in a father's breast,—

With no inquiry vain pursue

The cause, but think on Waterloo !

XXI

Period of honor as of woes, 440
What bright careers 'twas thine

to close ! —
Marked on thy roll of blood what

names
To Briton's memory and to Fame's
Laid there their last immortal

claims !
Thou saw' st in seas of gore expire
Redoubted Picton's soul of fire —
Saw'st in the mingled carnage lie
All that of Poxsoxby could die —
De Lance y change Love's bridal-
wreath
For laurels from the hand of

Death — 450

Saw'st gallant Miller's failing

eye
Still bent where Albion's banners

fly.

5°4

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

And Cameron in the shock of

steel
Die like the offspring of Lochiel ;
And generous Gordon mid the

strife
Fall while he watched his leader's

life. —
Ah! though her guardian angel's

shield
Fenced Britain's hero through the

field,
Fate not the less her power made

known
Through his friends' hearts to

pierce his own ! 460

XXII

Forgive, brave dead, the imperfect

lay!
Who may your names, your num-
bers, say ?
What high-strung harp, what lofty

line,
To each the dear-earned praise

assign,
From high-born chiefs of martial

fame
To the poor soldier's lowlier name ;
Lightly ye rose that dawning day
From your cold couch of swamp

and clay,
To fill before the sun was low
The bed that morning cannot

know. — 470

Oft may the tear the green sod

steep,
And sacred be the heroes' sleep

Till time shall cease to run ;
And ne'er beside their noble grave
May Briton pass and fail to crave
A blessing on the fallen brave
Who fought with Wellington !

XXIII

Farewell, sad field ! whose blighted

face
Wears desolation's withering

trace ;
Long shall my memory retain 480
Thy shattered huts and trampled

grain,

With every mark of martial wrong,

That scathe thy towers, fair Hou-
gomont !

Yet though thy garden's green ar-
cade

The marksman's fatal post was
made,

Though on thy shattered beeches
fell

The blended rage of shot and
shell,

Though from thy blackened por-
tals torn

Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees
mourn,

Has not such havoc bought a
name 490

Immortal in the rolls of fame ?

Yes — Agincourt may be forgot,

And Cressy be an unknown spot,
And Blenheim's name be new ;

But still in story and in song,

For many an age remembered long,

Shall live the towers of Hougo-
mont
And Field of Waterloo.

CONCLUSION

Stern tide of human time ! that

know'st not rest,
But, sweeping from the cradle

to the tomb,
Bear'st ever downward on thy

dusky breast
Successive generations to their

doom ;
While thy capacious stream has

equal room
For the gay bark where Plea-
sure's streamers sport
And for the prison-ship of guilt

and gloom,
The fisher-skiff and barge that

bears a court,
Still wafting onward all to one

dark silent port ; — -

Stern tide of time ! through what
mysterious change 10

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

505

Of hope and fear have our frail

harks been driven !
For ne'er before vicissitude so

strange
Was to one race of Adam's off-
spring given.
And sure such varied change of

sea and heaven,
Such unexpected bursts of joy

and woe,
Such fearful strife as that where

we have striven,
Succeeding ages ne'er again shall

know
Until the awful term when thou

shalt cease to flow.

Well hast thou stood, my Coun-
try ! — the brave fight

Hast well maintained through
good report and ill : 20

In thy just cause and in thy na-
tive might,

And in Heaven's grace and jus-
tice constant still ;

Whether the banded prowess,
strength, and skill

Of half the world against thee
stood arrayed,

Or when with better views and
freer will

Beside thee Europe's noblest
drew the blade,
Each emulous in arms the Ocean
Queen to aid.

Well art thou now repaid —

though slowly rose,
And struggled long with mists

thy blaze of fame,
While like the dawn that in the

orient glows 30

On the broad wave its earlier

lustre came ;
Then eastern Egypt saw the

growing flame,

And Maida's myrtles gleamed
beneath its ray,

Where first the soldier, stung
with generous shame,

Rivalled the heroes of the wa-
tery way,
And washed in foemen's gore un-
just reproach away.

Now, Island Empress, wave thy

crest on high,
And bid the banner of thy Pa-
tron flow,
Gallant Saint George, the flower

of chivalry,
For thou hast faced like him a

dragon foe, 40

And rescued innocence from

overthrow,
And trampled down like him

tyrannic might,
And to the gazing world mayst

proudly show
The chosen emblem of thy

sainted knight,
Who quelled devouring pride and

vindicated right.

Yet mid the confidence of just

renown,
Renown dear-bought, but dear-
est thus acquired,
Write, Britain, write the moral

lesson down :
?T is not alone the heart with

valor fired,
The discipline so dreaded and

admired, 50

In many a field of bloody con-

quest known; —
Such may by fame be lured, by

gold be hired —
'T is constancy in the good cause

alone
Best justifies the meed thy valiant

sons have won.

506 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

A POEM IN SIX CANTOS

INTRODUCTION

There is a mood of mind we all have known
On drowsy eve or dark and lowering day,
When the tired spirits lose their sprightly tone
And naught can chase the lingering hours away.
Dull on our soul falls Fancy's dazzling ray,
And Wisdom holds his steadier torch in vain,
Obscured the painting seems, mistimed the lay,
Nor dare we of our listless load complain,
For who for sympathy may seek that cannot tell of pain ?

The jolly sportsman knows such drearihood 10

When bursts in deluge the autumnal rain,
Clouding that morn which threats the heath-cock's brood ;
Of such in summer's drought the anglers plain,
Who hope the soft mild southern shower in vain ;
But more than all the discontented fair,
Whom father stern and sterner aunt restrain
From county-ball or race occurring rare,
While all her friends around their vestments gay prepare.

Ennui ! — or, as our mothers called thee, Spleen !
To thee we owe full many a rare device ; — 20

Thine is the sheaf of painted cards, I ween,
The rolling billiard-ball, the rattling dice,
The turning-lathe for framing gimcrack nice ;
The amateur's blotched pallet thou mayst claim,
Retort, and air-pump, threatening frogs and mice —
Murders disguised by philosophic name —
And much of trifling grave and much of buxom game.

Then of the books to catch thy drowsy glance
Compiled, what bard the catalogue may quote !
Plays, poems, novels, never read but once ; — 30

But not of such the tale fair Edgeworth wrote.
That bears thy name and is thine antidote ;
And not of such the strain my Thomson sung,
Delicious dreams inspiring by his note,
What time to Indolence his harp he strung ; —
0, might my lay be ranked that happier list among !

Each hath his refuge whom thy cares assail.

For me, I love my study fire to trim,

And con right vacantly some idle tale,

Displaying on the couch each listless limb, 40

CANTO FIRST

507

Till on the drowsy page the lights grow dim
And doubtful slumber half supplies the theme ;
While antique shapes of knight and giant grim,
Damsel and dwarf, in long procession gleam,
And the romancer's tale becomes the reader's dream.

'T is thus my malady I well may bear,
Albeit outstretched, like Pope's own Paridel,
Upon the rack of a too-easy chair ;
And find to cheat the time a powerful spell
In old romaunts of errantry that tell,
Or later legends of the Fairy-folk,
Or Oriental tale of Afrite fell,
Of Genii, Talisman, and broad-winged Roc,
Though taste may blush and frown, and sober reason mock.

Oft at such season too will rhymes unsought
Arrange themselves in some romantic lay,
The which, as things unfitting graver thought,
Are burnt or blotted on some wiser day. —
These few survive — and, proudly let me say,
Court not the critic's smile nor dread his frown;
They well may serve to while an hour away,
Nor does the volume ask for more renown
Than Ennui's yawning smile, what time she drops it down.

CANTO FIRST

List to the valorous deeds that

were done
By Harold the Dauntless, Count

Witikind's son !

Count Witikind came of a regal

strain,
And roved with his Norsemen the

laud and the main.
Woe to the realms which he

coasted ! for there
Was shedding of blood and rend-
ing of hair,
Rape of maiden and slaughter of

priest,
Gathering of ravens and wolves to

the feast :
When he hoisted his standard

black,
Before him was battle, behind him

wrack, 10

And he burned the churches, that

heathen Dane,
To light his band to their barks

again.

11
On Erin's shores was his outrage

known,
The winds of France had his ban-

ners blown ;
Little was there to plunder, yet

still
His pirates had forayed on Scot-

tish hill :
But upon merry England's coast
More frequent he sailed, for he

won the most.
So wide and so far his ravage they

knew,
If a sail but gleamed white 'gainst

the welkin blue, 20

Trumpet and bugle to arms did

call,
Burghers hastened to man the

wall,

508

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

Peasants fled inland his fury to
'scape,

Beacons were lighted on headland
and cape,

Bells were tolled out, and aye as
they rung

Fearful and faintly the gray bro-
thers sung,

1 Bless us, Saint Mary, from flood
and from fire,

From famine and pest, and Count
Witikind's ire ! '

He liked the wealth of fair Eng-
land so well

That he sought in her bosom as
native to dwell. 30

He entered the Humber in fearful
hour

And disembarked with his Danish
power.

Three earls came against him with
all their train, —

Two hath he taken and one hath
he slain.

Count Witikind left the Humber 's
rich strand,

And he wasted and warred in
Northumberland.

But the Satfon king was a sire in
age,

Weak in battle, in council sage ;

Peace of that heathen leader he
sought,

Gifts he gave and quiet he bought ;

And the count took upon him the
peaceable style 41

Of a vassal and liegeman of Brit-
on's broad isle.

Time will rust the sharpest sword,
Time will consume the strongest

cord;
That which moulders hemp and

steel
Mortal arm and nerve must

feel.
Of the Danish band whom Count

Witikind led

Many waxed aged and many were

dead:
Himself found his armor full

weighty to bear,
Wrinkled his brows grew and

hoary his hair ; 50

He leaned on a staff when his step

went abroad,
And patient his palfrey when

steed he bestrode.
As he grew feebler, his wildness

ceased,
He made himself peace with pre-
late and priest,
Made his peace, and stooping his

head
Patiently listed the counsel they

said:
Saint Cuthbert's Bishop was holy

and grave,
Wise and good was the counsel he

gave.

' Thou hast murdered, robbed, and
spoiled,

Time it is thy poor soul were as-
soiled ; 60

Priests didst thou slay and
churches burn,

Time it is now to repentance to
turn ;

Fiends hast thou worshipped with
fiendish rite,

Leave now the darkness and wend
into light :

O, while life and space are given,

Turn thee yet, and think of Hea-
ven ! '

That stern old heathen his head
he raised,

And on the good prelate he stead-
fastly gazed ;

' Give me broad lands on the Wear
and the Tyne,

My faith I will leave and I'll
cleave unto thine.' 7°

Broad lands he gave him on Tyne
and Wear,

CANTO FIRST

509

To be held of the church by bridle
and spear,

Part of Monkwearmouth, of Tyne-
dale part,

To better his will and to soften his
heart :

Count Witikind was a joyful man,

Less for the faith than the lands
that he wan.

The high church of Durham is
dressed for the day,

The clergy are ranked in their sol-
emn array :

There came the count, in a bear-
skin warm,

Leaning on Hilda his concubine's
arm. 80

He kneeled before Saint Cuthbert's
shrine

With patience unwonted at rites
divine ;

He abjured the gods of heathen
race

And he bent his head at the font
of grace.

But such was the grisly old prose-
lyte's look,

That the priest who baptized him
grew pale and shook ;

And the old monks muttered be-
neath their hood,

1 Of a stem so stubborn can never
spring good ! '

VII

Up then arose that grim convert-

ite,
Homeward he hied him when

ended the rite ; 90

The prelate in honor will with him

ride
And feast in his castle on Tyne's

fair side.
Banners and banderols danced in

the wind,
Monks rode before them and spear-

meu behind ;
Onward they passed, till fairly did

shine
Pennon and cross on the bosom of

Tyne ;

And full in front did that fortress
lour

In darksome strength with its but-
tress and tower :

At the castle gate was young Har-
old there,

Count Witi kind's only offspring
and heir. 100

VIII

Young Harold was feared for his
hardihood,

His strength of frame and his fury
of mood.

Rude he was and wild to be-
hold,

Wore neither collar nor bracelet
of gold,

Cap of vair nor rich array,

Such as should grace that festal
day:

His doublet of bull's hide was all
unbraced,

Uncovered his head and his sandal
unlaced :

His shaggy black locks on his
brow hung low,

And his eyes glanced through
them a swarthy glow ; no

A Danish club in his hand he
bore,

The spikes were clotted with re-
cent gore ;

At his back a she-wolf and her
wolf-cubs twain,

In the dangerous chase that morn-
ing slain.

Eude was the greeting his father
he made,

None to the bishop, — while thus
he said : —

'What priest-led hypocrite art

thou
With thy humbled look and thy

monkish brow,
Like a shaveling who studies to

cheat his vow ?
Canst thou be Witikind the Waster

known, 120

5io

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

Royal Eric's fearless son,
Haughty Gunhilda's haughtier

lord,
Who won his bride by the axe and

sword ;
From the shrine of Saint Peter the

chalice who tore,
And melted to bracelets for Freya

and Thor ;
With one blow of his gauntlet who

burst the skull,
Before Odin's stone, of the Moun-
tain Bull ?
Then ye worshipped with rites

that to war-gods belong,
With the deed of the brave and

the blow of the strong ;
And now, in thine age to dotage

sunk, 130

Wilt thou patter thy crimes to a

shaven monk,
Lay down thy mail-shirt for cloth-
ing of hair, —
Fasting and scourge, like a slave,

wilt thou bear?
Or, at best, be admitted in slothful

bower
To batten with priest and with

paramour?
O, out upon thine endless shame !
Each Scald's high harp shall blast

thy fame,
And thy son will refuse thee a

father's name ! '

Ireful waxed old Witikind's look,
His faltering voice with fury

shook : — 140

1 Hear me, Harold of hardened

heart !
Stubborn and wilful ever thou

wert.
Thine outrage insane I command

thee to cease,
Fear my wrath and remain at

peace : —
Just is the debt of repentance I 've

paid,
Richly the church has a recom-
pense made,

And the truth of her doctrines I
prove with my blade,

But reckoning to none of my ac-
tions I owe,

And least to my son such account-
ing will show.

Why speak I to thee of repentance
or truth, 150

Who ne'er from thy childhood
knew reason or ruth?

Hence ! to the wolf and the bear
in her den ;

These are thy mates, and not ra-
tional men.'

Grimly smiled Harold and coldly

replied,
'We must honor our sires, if we

fear when they chide.
For me, I am yet what thy lessons

have made,
I was rocked in a buckler and fed

from a blade ;
An infant, was taught to clasp

hands and to shout
From the roofs of the tower when

the flame had broke out ;
In the blood of slain foemen my

finger to dip, 160

And tinge with its purple my

cheek and my lip. —
'T is thou know'st not truth, that

hast bartered in eld
For a price the brave faith that

thine ancestors held.
When this wolf ' — and the carcass

he flung on the plain •—
4 Shall awake and give food to her

nurslings again,
The face of his father will Harold

review;
Till then, aged heathen, young

Christian, adieu ! »

XII

Priest, monk, and prelate stood

aghast,
As through the pageant the

heathen passed.

CANTO FIRST

$ii

A cross-bearer out of his saddle

he flung, 170

Laid his hand on the pommel and

into it sprung.
Loud was the shriek and deep the

groan
When the holy sign on the earth

was thrown !
The fierce old count unsheathed

his brand,
But the calmer prelate stayed his

hand.
* Let him pass free ! — Heaven

knows its hour, —
But he must own repentance's

power,
Pray and weep, and penance

bear,
Ere he hold land by the Tyne and

the Wear.'
Thus in scorn and in wrath from

his father is gone t8o

Young Harold the Dauntless,

Count Witikind's son.

XIII

High was the feasting In Witi-
kind's hall,

Revelled priests, soldiers, and pa-
gans, and all ;

And e'en the good bishop was fain
to endure

The scandal which time and in-
struction might cure :

It were dangerous, he deemed, at
the first to restrain

In his wine and his wassail a half-
christened Dane.

The mead flowed around and the
ale was drained dry,

Wild was the laughter, the song,
and the cry ;

With Kyrie Eleison came clamor-
ously in igo

The war-songs of Danesmen, Nor-
weyan, and Finn,

Till man after man the contention
gave o'er,

Outstretched on the rushes that
strewed the hall floor ;

And the tempest within, having

ceased its wild rout,
Gave place to the tempest that

thundered without.

XIV

Apart from the wassail in turret
alone

Lay flaxen - haired Gunnar, old
Ermengarde's son ;

In the train of Lord Harold that
page was the first,

For Harold in childhood had Er-
mengarde nursed ;

And grieved was young Gunnar
his master should roam, 200

Unhoused and unfriended, an exile
from home.

He heard the deep thunder, the
plashing of rain,

He saw the red lightning through
shot-hole and pane ;

' And 0 ! ' said the page, * on the
shelterless wold

Lord Harold is wandering in dark-
ness and cold !

What though he was stubborn and
wayward and wild.

He endured me because I was
Ermengarde's child,

And often from dawn till the set
of the sun

In the chase by his stirrup un-
bidden I run ;

I would I were older, and knight-
hood could bear, 210

I would soon quit the banks of the
Tyne and the Wear :

For my mother's command with
her last parting breath

Bade me follow her nursling in life
and to death.

' It pours and it thunders, it light-
ens amain,

As if Lok the Destroyer had burst
from his chain !

Accursed by the church and ex.
pelled by his sire,

512

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

Nor Christian nor Dane give him
shelter or fire,

And this tempest what mortal may
houseless endure ?

Unaided, unmantled, he dies on
the moor !

Whatever comes of Gunnar, he tar-
ries not here.' 220

He leapt from his couch and he
grasped to his spear,

Sought the hall of the feast. Un-
disturbed by his tread,

The wassailers slept fast as the
sleep of the dead :

' Ungrateful and bestial ! ' his an-
ger broke forth,

* To forget mid your goblets the
pride of the North !

And you, ye cowled priests who
have plenty in store,

Must give Gunnar for ransom a
palfrey and ore.'

XVI

Then, heeding full little of ban or

of curse,
He has seized on the Prior of Jor-

vaux's purse :
Saint Meneholt's Abbot next morn-
ing has missed 23b
His mantle, deep furred from the

cape to the wrist :
The seneschal's keys from his belt

he has ta'en —
Well drenched on that eve was old

Hildebrand's brain —
To the stable-yard he made his way
And mounted the bishop's palfrey

gay,
Castle and hamlet behind him has

cast
And right on his way to the moor-
land has passed.
Sore snorted the palfrey, unused

to face
A weather so wild at so rash a

pace;
So long he snorted, so long he

neighed, 240

There answered a steed that was

bound beside,

And the red flash of lightning
showed there where lay

His master, Lord Harold, out-
stretched on the clay.

XVII

Up he started and thundered out,
1 Stand ! >

And raised the club in his deadly
hand.

The flaxen-haired Gunnar his pur-
pose told,

Showed the palfrey and proffered
the gold.

' Back, back, and home, thou sim-
ple boy !

Thou canst not share my grief or
joy:

Have I not marked thee wail and
cry 250

When thou hast seen a sparrow
die?

And canst thou, as my follower
should,

Wade ankle - deep through foe-
man's blood,

Dare mortal and immortal foe,

The gods above, the fiends below,

And man on earth, more hateful
still,

The very fountain-head of ill?

Desperate of life and careless of
death,

Lover of bloodshed and slaughter
and scathe,

Such must thou be with me to
roam, 260

And such thou canst not be —
back, and home ! '

XVIII

Young Gunnar shook like an aspen
bough,

As he heard the harsh voice and
beheld the dark brow,

And half he repented his purpose
and vow.

But now to draw back were boot-
less shame,

And he loved his master, so urged
his claim :

CANTO FIRST

5i3

* Alas ! if my arm and my courage

be weak,
Bear with me awhile for old Er-

mengarde's sake ;
Nor deem so lightly of Gunnar's

faith
As to fear he would break it for

peril of death. 270

Have I not risked it to fetch thee

this gold,
This surcoat and mantle to fence

thee from cold ?
And, did I bear a baser mind,
What lot remains if I stay be-
hind?
The priests' revenge, thy father's

wrath,
A dungeon, and a shameful death.'

XIX

"With gentler look Lord Harold

eyed
The page, then turned his head

aside ;
And either a tear did his eyelash

stain,
Or it caught a drop of the passing

rain. 280

'Art thou an outcast, then?'

quoth he ;
4 The meeter page to follow me.'
'T were bootless to tell what

climes they sought,
Ventures achieved, and battles

fought ;
How oft with few, how oft alone,
Fierce Harold's arm the field hath

won.
Men swore his eye, that flashed so

red
When each other glance was

quenched with dread,
Bore oft a light of deadly flame
That ne'er from mortal courage

came. 290

Those limbs so strong, that mood

so stern,
That loved the couch of heath and

fern,
Afar from hamlet, tower, and town,
More than to rest on driven down ;

That stubborn frame, that sullen

mood,
Men deemed must come of aught

but good ;
And they whispered the great

Master Fiend was at one
With Harold the Dauntless, Count

Witikind's son.

Years after years had gone and

fled,
The good old prelate lies lapped

in lead ; 300

In the chapel still is shown
His sculptured form on a marble

stone,
With staff and ring and scapu-

laire,
And folded hands in the act of

prayer.
Saint Cuthbert's mitre is resting

now
On the haughty Saxon, bold Aldin-

gar's brow ;
The power of his crosier he loved

to extend
O'er whatever would break or

whatever would bend ;
And now hath he clothed him in

cope and in pall,
And the Chapter of Durham has

met at his call. 310

'Aud hear ye not, brethren,' the

proud bishop said,
' That our vassal, the Danish Count

Witikind's dead?
All his gold and his goods hath he

given
To holy Church for the love of

Heaven,
And hath founded a chantry with

stipend and dole
That priests and that beadsmen

may pray for his soul :
Harold his son is wandering

abroad,
Dreaded by man and abhorred by

God;
Meet it is not that such should

heir

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

The lands of the Church on the

Then rears the ash his airy crest,

Tyne and the Wear, 320

Then shines the birch in silver

And at her pleasure her hallowed

vest,

hands

And the beech in glistening leaves

May now resume these wealthy

is drest,

lands.*

And dark between shows the oak's

proud breast

XXI

Like a chieftain's frowning

Answered good Eustace, a canon

tower;

old,—

Though a thousand branches join

1 Harold is tameless and furious

their screen, 10

and bold ;

Yet the broken sunbeams glance

Ever Renown blows a note of

between

fame

And tip the leaves with lighter

And a note of fear when she sounds

green,

his name :

With brighter tints the flower :

Much of bloodshed and much of

Dull is the heart that loves not

scathe

then

Have been their lot who have

The deep recess of the wildwood

waked his wrath.

glen,

Leave him these lands and lord-

Where roe and red-deer find shel-

ships still,

tering den

Heaven in its hour may change his

When the sun is in his power.

will; 330

But if reft of gold and of living

bare,

Less merry perchance is the fading

An evil counsellor is despair.'

leaf

More had he said, but the prelate

That follows so soon on the gath-

frowned,

ered sheaf

And murmured his brethren who

When the greenwood loses the

sate around,

name ; 20

And with one consent have they

Silent is then the forest bound,

given their doom

Save the redbreast's note and the

That the Church should the lands

rustling sound

of Saint Cuthbert resume.

Of frost-nipt leaves that are drop-

So willed the prelate ; and canon

ping round,

and dean

Or the deep-mouthed cry of the

Gave to his judgment their loud

distant hound

amen.

That opens on his game :

Yet then too I love the forest wide,

Whether the sun in splendor ride

CANTO SECOND

And gild its many-colored side,

Or whether the soft and silvery

haze

'Tis merry in greenwood — thus

In vapory folds o'er the landscape

runs the old lay —

strays, 30

In the gladsome month of lively

And half involves the woodland

May,

maze,

When the wild birds' song on stem

Like an early widow's veil,

and spray

Where wimpling tissue from the

Invites to forest bower ;

gaze

CANTO SECOND

515

The form half hides and half be-
trays
Of beauty wan and pale.

Fair Metelill was a woodland maid,
Her father a rover of greenwood

shade,
By forest statutes undismayed,

Who lived by bow and quiver ;
Well known was Wulfstane's

archery 40

By merry Tyne both on moor and

lea,
Through wooded Weardale's glens

so free,
Well beside Stanhope's wildwood

tree,
And well on Ganlesse river.
Yet free though he trespassed on

woodland game,
More known and more feared was

the wizard fame
Of Jutta of Kookhope, the Outlaw's

dame;
Feared when she frowned was her

eye of flame,
More feared when in wrath she

laughed ;
For then, 'twas said, more fatal

true 50

To its dread aim her spell-glance

flew
Than when from Wulfstane's

bended yew
Sprung forth the gray-goose

shaft.

Yet had this fierce and dreaded

pair,
So Heaven decreed, a daughter

fair;
None brighter crowned the bed,
In Britain's bounds, of peer or

prince,
Nor hath perchance a lovelier

since
In this fair isle been bred. 59
And naught of fraud or ire or ill
Was known to gentle Metelill,—

A simple maiden she ;
The spells in dimpled smile that

he,
And a downcast blush, and the

darts that fly
With the sidelong glance of a hazel
eye,
Were her arms and witchery.
So young, so simple was she yet,
She scarce could childhood's joys

forget,
And still she loved, in secret set

Beneath the greenwood tree, 70
To plait the rushy coronet
And braid with flowers her locks
of jet,
As when in infancy ; —
Yet could that heart so simple

prove
The early dawn of stealing love :

Ah ! gentle maid, beware !
The power who, now so mild a

guest,
Gives dangerous yet delicious zest
To the calm pleasures of thy

breast,
Will soon, a tyrant o'er the rest, 80
Let none his empire share.

One morn in kirtle green arrayed
Deep in the wood the maiden
strayed,

And where a fountain sprung
She sate her down unseen to thread
The scarlet berry's mimic braid,

And while the beads she strung,
Like the blithe lark whose carol

gay
Gives a good-morrow to the day,

So lightsomely she sung. 90

VI
SONG

' Lord William was born in gilded

bower,
The heir of Wilton's lofty tower;
Yet better loves Lord William now
To roam beneath wild Kookhope's

brow;

5i6

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

And William has lived where

ladies fair
With gawds and jewels deck their

hair,
Yet better loves the dewdrops still
That pearl the locks of Metelill.

* The pious palmer loves, I wis,
Saint Cuthbert's hallowed beads

to kiss ; ioo

But I, though simple girl I be,
Might have such homage paid to

me;
For did Lord William see me suit
This necklace of the bramble's

fruit,
He fain — but must not have his

will —
Would kiss the beads of Metelill.

' My nurse has told me many a tale,
How vows of love are weak and

frail ;
My mother says that courtly youth
By rustic maid means seldom

sooth. no

What should they mean ? it cannot

be
That such a warning 's meant for

me,
For naught— O, naught of fraud

or ill
Can William mean to Metelill ! '

VII

Sudden she stops — and starts to
feel

A weighty hand, a glove of steel,

Upon her shrinking shoulders
laid;

Fearful she turned, and saw dis-
mayed

A knight in plate and mail ar-
rayed,

His crest and bearing worn and
frayed, 120

His surcoat soiled and riven,

Formed like that giant race of
yore

Whose long-continued crimes out-
wore

The sufferance of Heaven.
Stern accents made his pleasure

known,
Though then he used his gentlest

tone :
'Maiden,' he said, * sing forth thy

glee.
Start not — sing on— it pleases

me.'

VIII

Secured within his powerful hold,
To bend her knee, her hands to

fold, 13o

Was all the maiden might ;
And ' O, forgive/ she faintly said,
' The terrors of a simple maid,

If thou art mortal wight !
But if — of such strange tales are

told —
Unearthly warrior of the wold,
Thou comest to chide mine accents

bold,
My mother, Jutta, knows the spell
At noon and midnight pleasing

well
The disembodied ear ; 140

O, let her powerful charms atone
For aught my rashness may have

done,
And cease thy grasp of fear/
Then laughed the knight — his

laughter's sound
Half in the hollow helmet drowned ;
His barred visor then he raised,
And steady on the maiden gazed.
He smoothed his brows, as best he

might,
To the dread calm of autumn

night, 149

When sinks the tempest roar,
Yet still the cautious fishers eye
The clouds and fear the gloomy

sky,
And haul their barks on shore.

4 Damsel/ he said, * be wise, and
learn

Matters of weight and deep con-
cern*

CANTO SECOND

517

From distant realms I come,
And wanderer long at length have

planned
In this my native Northern land

To seek myself a home. 159

Nor that alone — a mate I seek ;
She must be gentle, soft, and

meek, —
No lordly dame for me ;
Myself am something rough of

mood
And feel the fire of royal blood,
And therefore do not hold it good

To match in my degree.
Then, since coy maidens say my

face
Is harsh, my form devoid of grace,
For a fair lineage to provide 169
'T is meet that my selected bride

In lineaments be fair ;
I love thine well — till now I ne'er
Looked patient on a face of fear,
But now that tremulous sob and

tear
Become thy beauty rare.
One kiss— nay, damsel, coy it

not! —
And now go seek thy parents' cot,
And say a bridegroom soon I

come
To woo my love and bear her

home.'

Home sprung the maid without a

pause,

:8o

As leveret 'scaped from grey-
hound's jaws ;

But still she iocked, howe'er dis-
tressed,

The secret in her boding breast ;

Dreading her sire, who oft for-
bade

Her steps should stray to distant
glade.

Night came — to her accustomed
nook

Her distaff aged Jutta took,

And by the lamp's imperfect glow

Rough Wulfstane trimmed his
shafts and bow.

Sudden and clamorous from the

ground 190

Upstarted slumbering brach and

hound ;
Loud knocking next the lodge

alarms
And Wulfstane snatches at his

arms,
When open flew the yielding door
And that grim warrior pressed the

floor.

' All peace be here — What ! none
replies ?

Dismiss your fears and your sur-
prise.

'Tis I — that maid hath told my
tale, —

Or, trembler, did thy courage fail ?

It recks not — it is I demand 200

Fair Metelill in marriage band ;

Harold the Dauntless I, whose
name

Is brave men's boast and caitiffs'
shame.'

The parents sought each other's
eyes

With awe, resentment, and sur-
prise :

Wulfstane, to quarrel prompt, be-
gan

The stranger's size and thews to
scan;

But as he scanned his courage
sunk,

And from unequal strife he shrunk,

Then forth to blight and blemish
flies 210

The harmful curse from Jutta' s
eyes;

Yet, fatal howsoe'er, the spell

On Harold innocently fell !

And disappointment and amaze

Were in the witch's wildered
gaze.

XII

But soon the wit of woman woke,
And to the warrior mild she spoke :
1 Her child was all too young.' — 4 A
toy,

Si8

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

The refuge of a maiden coy/
Again, * A powerful baron's heir
Claims in her heart an interest
fair.* 221

* A trifle — whisper in his ear
That Harold is a suitor here ! ' —
Baffled at length she sought de-
lay:

* Would not the knight till morn-

ing stay ?
Late was the hour — he there

might rest
Till morn, their lodge's honored

guest.'
Such were her words— -her craft

might cast
Her honored guest should sleep

his last :
'No, not to-night — but soon,' he

swore, 230

' He would return, nor leave them

more.'
The threshold then his huge stride

crost,
And soon he was in darkness lost.

XIII

Appalled awhile the parents stood,
Then changed their fear to angry

mood,
And foremost fell their words of ill
On unresisting Metelill:
Was she not cautioned and forbid,
Forewarned, implored, accused,

and chid,
And must she still to greenwood

roam 240

To marshal such misfortune

home?
1 Hence, minion — to thy chamber

hence —
There prudence learn and peni-
tence.'
She went — her lonely couch to

steep
In tears which absent lovers

weep;
Or if she gained a troubled sleep,
Fierce Harold's suit was still the

theme
And terror of her feverish dream.

XIV

Scarce was she gone, her dame

and sire
Upon each other bent their ire ; 250
1 A woodsman thou and hast a

spear,
And couldst thou such an insult

bear ? '
Sullen he said, ' A man contends
With men, a witch with sprites and

fiends ;
Not to mere mortal wight belong
Yon gloomy brow and frame so

strong.
But thou — is this thy promise

fair,
That your Lord William, wealthy

heir
To Ulrick, Baron of Witton-le-

Wear,
Should Metelill to altar bear? 260
Do all the spells thou boast'st as

thine
Serve but to slay some peasant's

kine,
His grain in autumn's storms to

steep,
Or thorough fog and fen to sweep
And hag-ride some poor rustic's

sleep?
Is such mean mischief worth the

fame
Of sorceress and witch's name ?
Fame, which with all men's wish

conspires
With thy deserts and my desires,
To damn thy corpse to penal

fires? 270

Out on thee, witch ! aroint ! aroint !
What now shall put thy schemes

in joint?
What save this trusty arrow's

point,
From the dark dingle when it flies
And he who meets it gasps and

dies?'

xv
Stern she replied, 4 1 will not wage
War with thy folly or thy rage ;
But ere the morrow's sun be low,

CANTO SECOND

519

Wulf stane of Rookhope, thou shalt

know
If I can venge me on a foe. 280
Believe the while that whatsoe'er
I spoke in ire of bow and spear,
It is not Harold's destiny
The death of pilfered deer to die.
But he, and thou, and yon pale

moon —
That shall be yet more pallid

soon,
Before she sink behind the dell —
Thou, she, and Harold too, shall

tell
What Jutta knows of charm or

spell.'
Thus muttering, to the door she

bent 290

Her wayward steps and forth she

went,
And left alone the moody sire
To cherish or to slake his ire.

XVI

Far faster than belonged to age
Has Jutta made her pilgrimage.
A priest has met her as she passed,
And crossed himself and stood

aghast :
She traced a hamlet — not a cur
His throat would ope, his foot

would stir ;
By crouch, by trembling, and by

groan, 300

They made her hated presence

known !
But when she trode the sable fell,
Were wilder sounds her way to

tell, —
For far was heard the fox's yell,
The black-cock waked and faintly

crew,
Screamed o'er the moss the scared

curlew ;
Where o'er the cataract the oak
Lay slant, was heard the raven's

croak ;
The mountain-cat which sought

his prey
Glared, screamed, and started from

her way. 310

Such music cheered her journey

lone
To the deep dell and rocking

stone :
There with unhallowed hymn ot

praise
She called a god of heathen days.

XVII
INVOCATION

* From thy Pomeranian throne,
Hewn in rock of living stone,
Where, to thy godhead faithful

yet,

Bend Esthonian, Finn, and Lett,
And their swords in vengeance
whet, 319

That shall make thine altars wet,
Wet and red for ages more
With the Christian's hated gore, —
Hear me, Sovereign of the Kock !
Hear me, mighty Zernebock !

* Mightiest of the mighty known,
Here thy wonders have been

shown ;
Hundred tribes in various tongue
Oft have here thy praises sung ;
Down that stone with Runic

seamed
Hundred victims' blood hath

streamed! 330

Now one woman comes alone
And but wets it with her own,
The last, the feeblest of thy flock,—
Hear— and be present, Zernebock !

1 Hark ! he comes ! the night-blast

cold
Wilder sweeps along the wold ;
The cloudless moon grows dark

and dim,
And bristling hair and quaking

limb
Proclaim the Master Demon

nigh,—
Those who view his form shall

.die! 340

Lo ! I stoop and veil my head ;
Thou who ridest the tempest dread.

520

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

Shaking hill and rending oak —
Spare me ! spare me, Zernebock !

'He comes not yet! Shall cold

delay
Thy votaress at her need repay?
Thou— shall I call thee god or

fiend? —
Let others on thy mood attend
With prayer and ritual— Jutta's

arms
Are necromantic words and

charms; 350

Mine is the spell that uttered once
Shall wake thy Master from his

trance,
Shake his red mansion-house of

pain
And burst his seven-times-twisted

chain ! —
So! com'st thou ere the spell is

spoke ?
I own thy presence, Zernebock.' —

XVIII

* Daughter of dust,' the Deep Voice

said —
Shook while it spoke the vale for

dread,
Rocked on the base that massive

stone,
The evil Deity to own,— 360

* Daughter of dust ! not mine the

power
Thou seek'st on Harold's fatal

hour.
'Twixt heaven and hell there is a

strife
Waged for his soul and for his life,
And fain would we the combat

win
And snatch him in his hour of sin.
There is a star now rising red
That threats him with an influence

dread :
Woman, thine arts of malice whet,
To use the space before it set. 370
Involve him with the church in

strife,
Push on adventurous chance his

life;

Ourself will in the hour of need,
As best we may, thy counsels

speed.'
So ceased the Voice ; for seven

leagues round
Each hamlet started at the sound,
But slept again as slowly died
Its thunders on the hill's brown

side.

XIX

1 And is this all,' said Jutta stern,
1 That thou canst teach and I can

learn ? 380

Hence! to the land of fog and

waste,
There fittest is thine influence

placed,
Thou powerless, sluggish Deity !
But ne'er shall Briton bend the

knee
Again before so poor a god.'
She struck the altar with her rod ;
Slight was the touch as when at

need
A damsel stirs her tardy steed;
But to the blow the stone gave

place,
And, starting from its balanced

base, 390

Rolled thundering down the moon-
light dell,—
Reechoed moorland, rock, and fell;
Into the moonlight tarn it dashed,
Their shores the sounding surges

lashed,
And there was ripple, rage, and

foam;
But on that lake, so dark and lone,
Placid and pale the moonbeam

shone
As Jutta hied her home.

CANTO THIRD

Gray towers of Durham ! there

was once a time
I viewed your battlements with

such vague hope

CANTO THIRD

521

As brightens life in its first

dawning prime ;

Fair on the half-seen streams

Not that e'en then came within

the sunbeams danced,

fancy's scope

Betraying it beneath the wood-

A vision vain of mitre, throne, or

land bank,

cope;

And fair between the Gothic

Yet, gazing on the venerable hall,

turrets glanced 30

Her flattering dreams would in

Broad lights, and shadows fell

perspective ope

on front and flank,

Some reverend room, some pre-

Where tower and buttress rose

bendary's stall, —

in martial rank,

And thus Hope me deceived as she

And girdled in the massive don-

deceiveth all.

jon keep,

And from their circuit pealed

Well yet I love thy mixed and

o'er bush and bank

massive piles, 10

The matin bell with summons

Half church of God, half castle

long and deep,

'gainst the Scot,

And echo answered still with long-

And long to roam these vener-

resounding sweep.

able aisles,

With records stored of deeds

long since forgot ;

The morning mists rose from the

There might I share my Surtees'

ground,

happier lot,

Each merry bird awakened round

Who leaves at will his patrimo-

As if in revelry ;

nial field

Afar the bugle's clanging sound 40

To ransack every crypt and hal-

Called to the chase the lagging

lowed spot,

hound ;

And from oblivion rend the

The gale breathed soft and free,

spoils they yield,

And seemed to linger on its way

Restoring priestly chant and clang

To catch fresh odors from the

of knightly shield.

spray,

And waved it in its wanton play

Vain is the wish — since other

So light and gamesomely.

cares demand

The scenes which morning beams

Each vacant hour, and in another

reveal,

clime; 20

Its sounds to hear, its gales to

But still that northern harp in-

feel

vites my hand

In all their fragrance round him

Which tells the wonder of thine

steal, 49

earlier time ;

It melted Harold's heart of steel,

And fain its numbers would I

And, hardly wotting why,

now command

He doffed his helmet's gloomy

To paint the beauties of that

pride

dawning fair

And hung it on a tree beside,

When Harold, gazing from its

Laid mace and falchion by,

lofty stand

And on the greensward sate him

Upon the western heights of

down

Beaurepaire,

And from his dark habitual frown

Saw Saxon Eadmer's towers begirt

Relaxed his rugged brow —

by winding Wear,

Whoever hath the doubtful task

522

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

From that stern Dane a boon to
ask
Were wise to ask it now. 60

rv
His place beside young Gunnar

took
And marked his master's softening

look,
And in his eye's dark mirror spied
The gloom of stormy thoughts sub-
side,
And cautious watched the fittest

tide
To speak a warning word.
So when the torrent's billows

shrink,
The timid pilgrim on the brink
Waits long to see them wave and

sink
Ere he dare brave the ford, 70
And often after doubtful pause
His step advances or withdraws ;
Fearful to move the slumbering ire
Of his stern lord, thus stood the

squire
Till Harold raised his eye,
That glanced as when athwart the

shroud
Of the dispersing tempest-cloud
The bursting sunbeams fly.

1 Arouse thee, son of Ermengarde,
Offspring of prophetess and bard !
Take harp and greet this lovely

prime 81

With some high strain of Runic

rhyme,
Strong, deep, and powerful ! Peal

it round
Like that loud bell's sonorous

sound,
Yet wild by fits, as when the lay
Of bird and bugle hail the day.
Such was my grandsire Eric's

sport
When dawn gleamed on his martial

court.
Heymar the Scald with harp's

high sound

Summoned the chiefs who slept
around ; 9o

Couched on the spoils of wolf and
bear,

They roused like lions from their
lair,

Then rushed in emulation forth

To enhance the glories of the
north. —

Proud Eric, mightiest of thy race,

Where is thy shadowy resting-
place ?

In wild Valhalla hast thou quaffed

From foeman's skull metheglin
draught,

Or wanderest where thy cairn was
piled

To frown o'er oceans wide and
wild? 100

Or have the milder Christians
given

Thy refuge in their peaceful hea-
ven?

Where'er thou art, to thee are
known

Our toils endured, our trophies
won,

Our wars, our wanderings, and
our woes.'

He ceased, and Gunnar's song
arose.

SONG

1 Hawk and osprey screamed for joy
O'er the beetling cliffs of Hoy,
Crimson foam the beach o'er-

spread,
The heath was dyed with darker

red, no

When o'er Eric, Inguar's son,
Dane and Northman piled the

stone,
Singing wild the war-song stern,
" Rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn ! "

'Where eddying currents foam

and boil
By Bersa's burgh and Graemsay's

isle,

CANTO THIRD

523

The seaman sees a martial form
Half-mingled with the mist and

storm.
In anxious awe he bears away
To moor his bark in Stromna's

bay, 120

And murmurs from the bounding

stern,
" Kest thee, Dweller of the Cairn ! "

'What cares disturb the mighty

dead?
Each honored rite was duly paid ;
No daring hand thy helm unlaced,
Thy sword, thy shield, were near

thee placed ;
Thy flinty couch no tear profaned :
Without, with hostile blood 't was

stained ;
Within, 't was lined with moss and

fern, —
Then rest thee, Dweller of the

Cairn ! 130

'He may not rest: from realms

afar
Comes voice of battle and of war,
Of conquest wrought with bloody

hand
On Carmel's cliffs and Jordan's

strand,
When Odin's warlike son could

daunt
The turbaned race of Terma-

gaunt.'

VII

'Peace,' said the knight, 'the
noble Scald

Our warlike fathers' deeds re-
called,

But never strove to soothe the
son

With tales of what himself had
done. 140

At Odin's board the bard sits high

Whose harp ne'er stooped to flat-
tery,

But highest he whose daring lay

Hath dared unwelcome truths to
say.'

With doubtful smile young Gun-

nar eyed
His master's looks and naught re-
plied —
But well that smile his master led
To construe what he left unsaid.
1 Is it to me, thou timid youth,
Thou fear'st to speak unwelcome

truth ! 150

My soul no more thy censure

grieves
Than frosts rob laurels of their

leaves.
Say on — and yet — - beware the

rude
And wild distemper of my blood ;
Loath were I that mine ire should

wrong
The youth that bore my shield so

long,
And who, in service constant still,
Though weak in frame, art strong

in will.' —
' 0 ! ' quoth the page, ■ even there

depends
My counsel — there my warning

tends — 160

Oft seems as of my master's

breast
Some demon were the sudden

guest ;
Then at-the first misconstrued word
His hand is on the mace and

sword,
From her firm seat his wisdom

driven,
His life to countless dangers given.
O, would that Gunnar could suffice
To be the fiend's last sacrifice,
So that, when glutted with my

gore,
He fled and tempted thee no

more ! ' 170

VIII

Then waved his hand and shook

his head
The impatient Dane while thus he

said:
1 Profane not, youth — it is not

thine

524

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

To judge the spirit of our line —
The bold Berserkar's rage divine,
Through whose inspiring deeds

are wrought
Past human strength and human

thought.
When full upon his gloomy soul
The champion feels the influence

roll,
He swims the lake, he leaps the

wall — 1 80

Heeds not the depth, nor plumbs

the fall —
Unshielded, mailless, on he goes
Singly against a host of foes ;
Their spears he holds like with-
ered reeds,
Their mail like maiden's silken

weeds;
One 'gainst a hundred will he

strive,
Take countless wounds and yet

survive.
Then rush the eagles to his cry
Of slaughter and of victory, —
And blood he quaffs like Odin's

bowl, 190

Deep drinks his sword, — deep

drinks his soul ;
And all that meet him in his ire
He gives to ruin, rout, and fire ;
Then, like gorged lion, seeks some

den
And couches till he 's man agen. —
Thou know'st the signs of look

and limb
When 'gins that rage to over-
brim—
Thou know'st when I am moved

and why ;
And when thou see'st me roll mine

eye,
Set my teeth thus, and stamp my

fOOt, 200

Eegard thy safety and be mute ;
But else speak boldly out what-

e'er
Is fitting that a knight should

hear.
I love thee, youth. The lay has

power

Upon my dark and sullen hour ; —
So Christian monks are wont to

say
Demons of old were charmed

away;
Then fear not I will rashly deem
111 of thy speech, whate'er the

theme.'

As down some strait in doubt and

dread 210

The watchful pilot drops the lead,

And, cautious in the midst to

steer,
The shoaling channel sounds with

fear;
So, lest on dangerous ground he

swerved,
The page his master's brow ob-
served,
Pausing at intervals to fling
His hand on the melodious string,
And to his moody breast apply
The soothing charm of harmony,
While hinted half, and half ex-
prest, 220

This warning song conveyed the
rest. —

SONG

1 111 fares the bark with tackle
riven,

And ill when on the breakers
driven, —

111 when the storm-sprite shrieks
in air,

And the scared mermaid tears her
hair;

But worse when on her helm the
hand

Of some false traitor holds com-
mand.

' 111 fares the fainting palmer,

placed
Mid Hedron's rocks or Kana's

waste, —
111 when the scorching sun is

high, 230

CANTO THIRD

525

And the expected font is dry,—
Worse when his guide o'er sand

and heath,
The barbarous Copt, has planned

his death.

* 111 fares the knight with buckler

cleft,
And ill when of his helm bereft, —
111 when his steed to earth is flung,
Or from his grasp the falchion

wrung ;
But worse, of instant ruin token,
When he lists rede by woman

spoken.' —

4 How now, fond boy?— Canst
thou think 111,' 240

Said Harold, ' of fair Metelill?'

* She may be fair,' the page replied

As through the strings he
ranged, —
1 She may be fair ; but yet,' he cried,
And then the strain he
changed, —

SONG

* She may be fair,' he sang, ' but

yet
Far fairer have I seen
Than she, for all her locks of jet

And eyes so dark and sheen.
Were I a Danish knight in arms,
As one day I may be, 251

My heart should own no foreign
charms —
A Danish maid for me !

' I love my father's northern land,

Where the dark pine-trees grow,
And the bold Baltic's echoing
strand

Looks o'er each grassy oe.
I love to mark the lingering sun,

From Denmark loath to go,
And leaving on the billows bright,
To cheer the short-lived summer
night, 261

A path of ruddy glow.

'But most the northern maid I
love,
With breast like Denmark's
snow
And form as fair as Denmark's

pine,
Who loves with purple heath to
twine
Her locks of sunny glow ;
And sweetly blend that shade of
gold
With the cheek's rosy hue,
And Faith might for her mirror
hold 270

That eye of matchless blue.

1 'T is hers the manly sports to love

That southern maidens fear,
To bend the bow by stream and
grove,
And lift the hunter's spear.
She can her chosen champion's
flight
With eye undazzled see,
Clasp him victorious from the

strife,
Or on his corpse yield up her life, —
A Danish maid for me ! ' 280

Then smiled the Dane — * Thou

canst so well
The virtues of our maidens tell,
Half could I wish my choice had

been
Blue eyes, and hair of golden sheen,
And lofty soul ; — yet what of ill
Hast thou to charge on Metelill? '
4 Nothing on her,' young Gunnar

said,
* But her base sire's ignoble trade.
Her mother too — the general

fame
Hath given to Jutta evil name, 290
And in her gray eye is a flame
Art cannot hide nor fear can

tame. —
That sordid woodman's peasant

cot
Twice have thine honored foot-
steps sought,

526

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

And twice returned with such ill

rede
As sent thee on some desperate

deed.'

XII

* Thou errest ; Jutta wisely said,
He that comes suitor to a maid,
Ere linked in marriage, should

provide
Lands and a dwelling for his

bride — 300

My father's by the Tyne and Wear
I have reclaimed.' — 40, all too

dear
And all too dangerous the prize,
E'en were it won,' young Gunnar

cries ; —
*And then this Jutta's fresh de-
vice,
That thou shouldst seek, a heathen

Dane,
From Durham's priests a boon to

gain
When thou hast left their vassals

slain
In their own halls ! » — Flashed

Harold's eye,
Thundered his voice — * False

page, you lie! 310

The castle, hall and tower, is mine,
Built by old Witikind on Tyne.
The wild-cat will defend his den,
Fights for her nest the timid wren ;
And think' st thou I '11 forego my

right
For dread of monk or monkish

knight?—
Up and away, that deepening

bell
Doth of the bishop's conclave

tell.
Thither will I in manner due,
As Jutta bade, my claim to sue ; 320
And if to right me they are loath,
Then woe to church and chapter

both ! •
Now shift the scene and let the

curtain fall,
And our next entry be Saint Cuth-

bert's hall.

CANTO FOURTH

Full many a bard hath sung
the solemn gloom

Of the long Gothic aisle and
stone-ribbed roof,

O'er-canopying shrine and gor-
geous tomb,

Carved screen, and altar glim-
mering far aloof

And blending with the shade —
a matchless proof

Of high devotion, which hath
now waxed cold ;

Yet legends say that Luxury's
brute hoof

Intruded oft within such sacred
fold,
Like step of Bel's false priest
tracked in his fane of old.

Well pleased am I, howe'er, that

when the route 10

Of our rude neighbors whilome

deigned to come,
Uncalled and eke unwelcome, to

sweep out
And cleanse our chancel from

the rags of Borne,
They spoke not on our ancient

fane the doom
To which their bigot zeal gave

o'er their own,
But spared the martyred saint

and storied tomb,
Though papal miracles had

graced the stone,
And though the aisles still loved

the organ's swelling tone.

And deem not, though 't is now

my part to paint
A prelate swayed by love of

power and gold, 20

That all who wore the mitre of

our Saint
Like to ambitious Aldingar I

hold;
Since both in modern times and
• days of old

CANTO FOURTH

527

It sate on those whose virtues

might atone

The prelate was to speech ad-

Their predecessors' frailties

dressed,

trebly told :

Each head sunk reverent on

Matthew and Morton we as

each breast ;

such may own —

But ere his voice was heard —

And such — if fame speak truth —

without

the honored Barrington.

Arose a wild tumultuous shout,

Offspring of wonder mixed with

fear,
Such as in crowded streets we

But now to earlier and to ruder

times,

hear

As subject meet, I tune my rugged

Hailing the flames that, bursting

rhymes,

out,

Telling how fairly the chapter

Attract yet scare the rabble rout.

was met, 30

Ere it had ceased a giant hand 60

And rood and books in seemly

Shook oaken door and iron band

order set ;

Till oak and iron both gave

Huge brass-clasped volumes which

way,

the hand

Clashed the long bolts, the

Of studious priest but rarely

hinges bray,

scanned,

And, ere upon angel or saint they

Now on fair carved desk dis-

can call,

played,

Stands Harold the Dauntless in

'T was theirs the solemn scene to

aid.
O'erhead with many a scutcheon

midst of the hall.

graced

'Now save ye, my masters, both

And quaint devices interlaced,

rocket and rood,

A labyrinth of crossing rows,

From Bishop with mitre to deacon

The roof in lessening arches

with hood !

shows ;

For here stands Count Harold, old

Beneath its shade placed proud

Witikind's son,

and high 40

Come to sue for the lands which

With footstool and with canopy,

his ancestors won.'

Sate Aldingar — and prelate ne'er

The prelate looked round him with

More haughty graced Saint Cuth-

sore troubled eye, 70

bert's chair ;

Unwilling to grant yet afraid to

Canons and deacons were placed

deny;

below,

While each canon and deacon who

In due degree and lengthened row.

heard the Dane speak,

Unmoved and silent each sat

To be safely at home would have

there,

fasted a week : —

Like image in his oaken chair ;

Then Aldingar roused him and

Nor head nor hand nor foot they

answered again,

stirred,

' Thou suest for a boon which thou

Nor lock of hair nor tress of

canst not obtain ;

beard ;

The Church hath no fiefs for an

And of their eyes severe alone 50

unchristened Dane.

The twinkle showed they were

Thy father was wise, and his trea-

not stone.

sure hath given

528

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

That the priests of a chantry might

hymn him to heaven ;
And the fiefs which whilome he

possessed as his due
Have lapsed to the Church, and

been granted anew 80

To Anthony Conyers and Alberic

Vere,
For the service Saint Cuthbert's

blest banner to bear
When the bands of the North come

to foray the Wear ;
Then disturb not our conclave with

wrangling or blame,
But in peace and in patience pass

hence as ye came.'

Loud laughed the stern Pagan,
* They 're free from the care

Of fief and of service, both Con-
yers and Vere,—

Six feet of your chancel is all they
will need,

A buckler of stone and a corselet
of lead. —

Ho, Gunnar ! — the tokens ! ' — and,
severed anew, 90

A head and a hand on the altar he
threw.

Then shuddered with terror both
canon and monk,

They knew the glazed eye and the
countenance shrunk,

And of Anthony Conyers the half-
grizzled hair,

And the scar on the hand of Sir
Alberic Vere.

There was not a churchman or
priest that was there

But grew pale at the sight and be-
took him to prayer.

Count Harold laughed at their

looks of fear :
'Was this the hand should your

banner bear ?
Was that the head should wear

the casque 100

In battle at the Church's task?

Was it to such you gave the place
Of Harold with the heavy mace ?
Find me between the Wear and

Tyne
A knight will wield this club of

mine, —
Give him my fiefs, and I will say
There 's wit beneath the cowl of

gray.'
He raised it, rough with many a

stain
Caught from crushed skull and

spouting brain ; 109

He wheeled it that it shrilly sung
And the aisles echoed as it swung,
Then dashed it down with sheer

descent
And split King kOsric's monu-
ment. —
'How like ye this music? How

trow ye the hand
That can wield such a mace may

be reft of its land?
No answer?— I spare ye a space

to agree,
And Saint Cuthbert inspire you, a

saint if he be.
Ten strides through your chancel,

ten strokes on your bell,
And again I am with you — grave

fathers, farewell.'

VII

He turned from their presence, he

clashed the oak door, 120
And the clang of his stride died

away on the floor ;
And his head from his bosom the

prelate uprears
With a ghost-seer's look when the

ghost disappears :
1 Ye Priests of Saint Cuthbert, now

give me your rede,
For never of counsel had bishop

more need !
Were the arch-fiend incarnate in

flesh and in bone,
The language, the look, and the

laugh were his own.
In the bounds of Saint Cuthbert

there is not a knight

CANTO FOURTH

529

Dare confront in our quarrel yon

goblin in fight ;
Then rede me aright to his claim

to reply, 130

»T is unlawful to grant and 'tis

death to deny.'

VIII

On venison and malmsie that morn-
ing had fed
The Cellarer Vinsauf— 'twas thus

that he said :
' Delay till to-morrow the Chapter's

reply ;
Let the feast be spread fair and

the wine be poured high :
If he 's mortal he drinks, — if he

drinks, he is ours —
His bracelets of iron, — his bed

in our towers.'
This man had a laughing eye,
Trust not, friends, when such you

spy;
A beaker's depth he well could

drain, 140

Revel, sport, and jest amain —
The haunch of the deer and the

grape's bright dye
Never bard loved them better

than I ;
But sooner than Vinsauf filled me

my wine,
Passed me his jest, and laughed at

mine,
Though the buck were of Bear-
park, of Bourdeaux the vine,
With the dullest hermit I'd rather

dine
On an oaken cake and a draught

of the Tyne.

Walwayn the leech spoke next —

he knew
Each plant that loves the sun and

dew, 150

But special those whose juice can

gain
Dominion o'er the blood and brain ;
The peasant who saw him by pale

moonbeam

Gathering such herbs by bank and
stream

Deemed his thin form and sound-
less tread

Were those of wanderer from the
dead. —

' Vinsauf, thy wine,' he said, * hath
power,

Our gyves are heavy, strong our
tower ;

Yet three drops from this flask of
mine,

More strong than dungeons, gyves,
or wine, 160

Shall give him prison under ground

More dark, more narrow, more pro-
found.

Short rede, good rede, let Harold
have —

A dog's death and a heathen's
grave.1

I have lain on a sick man's bed,

Watching for hours for the leech's
tread,

As if I deemed that his presence
alone

Were of power to bid my pain be-
gone;

I have listed his words of comfort
given,

As if to oracles from heaven ; 170

I have counted his steps from my
chamber door,

And blessed them when they were
heard no more ; —

But sooner than Walwayn my sick
couch should nigh,

My choice were by leech-craft un-
aided to die.

1 Such service done in fervent zeal
The Church may pardon and con-
ceal,'
The doubtful prelate said, 'but

ne'er
The counsel ere the act should

hear. —
Anselm of Jarrow, advise us now,
The stamp of wisdom is on thy
brow ; 180

530

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

Thy days, thy nights, in cloister

pent,
Are still to mystic learning lent ; —
Anselm of Jarrow, in thee is my

hope,
Thou well mayst give counsel to

prelate or pope.'

Answered the prior — "T is wis-
dom's use
Still to delay what we dare not re-
fuse;
Ere granting the boon he comes

hither to ask,
Shape for the giant gigantic task ;
Let us see how a step so sounding

can tread
In paths of darkness, danger, and

dread ; 190

He may not, he will not, impugn

our decree
That calls but for proof of his

chivalry ;
And were Guy to return or Sir

Bevis the Strong,
Our wilds have adventure might

cumber them long —
The Castle of Seven Shields' —

' Kind Anselm, no more !
The step of the Pagan approaches

the door.'
The churchmen were hushed. — In

his mantle of skin
With his mace on his shoulder

Count Harold strode in,
There was foam on his lips, there

was fire in his eye,
For, chafed by attendance, his fury

was nigh. 200

* Ho ! Bishop,' he said, ' dost thou

grant me my claim ?
Or must I assert it by falchion and
flame?'

XII

* On thy suit, gallant Harold,' the

bishop replied,
In accents which trembled, 'we
may not decide

Until proof of your strength and

your valor we saw —
'T is not that we doubt them, but

such is the law.' —
1 And would you, Sir Prelate, have

Harold make sport
For the cowls and the shavelings

that herd in thy court?
Say what shall he do ? — From the

shrine shall he tear
The lead bier of thy patron and

heave it in air. 210

And through the long chancel

make Cuthbert take wing
With the speed of a bullet dis-
missed from the sling? ' —
' Nay, spare such probation,' the

cellarer said,
' From the mouth of our minstrels

thy task shall be read.
While the wine sparkles high in

the goblet of gold
And the revel is loudest, thy task

shall be told ;
And thyself, gallant Harold, shall,

hearing it, tell
That the bishop, his cowls, and his

shavelings, meant well.'

XIII

Loud revelled the guests and the

goblets loud rang,
But louder the minstrel, Hugh

Meneville, sang ; 220

And Harold, the hurry and pride

of whose soul,
E'en when verging to fury, owned

music's control,
Still bent on the harper his broad

sable eye,
And often untasted the goblet

passed by ;
Than wine or than wassail to him

was more dear
The minstrel's high tale of en-
chantment to hear ;
And the bishop that day might of

Vinsauf complain
That his art had but wasted his

wine-casks in vain.

CANTO FOURTH

53i

XIV

THE CASTLE OF THE SEVEN
SHIELDS

A BALLAD

The Druid Urien had daughters

seven,
Their skill could call the moon

from heaven ; 230

So fair their forms and so high

their fame
That seven proud kings for their

suitors came.

King Mador and Rhys came from

Powis and Wales,
Unshorn was their hair and un-

pruned were their nails ;
From Strath-Clyde was Ewain,

and Ewain was lame,
And the red-bearded Donald from

Galloway came.

Lot, King of Lodon, was hunch-
hacked from youth ;

Dunmail of Cumbria had never a
tooth ;

But Adolf of Bambrough, North-
umberland's heir,

Was gay and was gallant, was
young and was fair. 240

There was strife 'mongst the sis-
ters, for each one would have

For husband King Adolf, the gal-
lant and brave ;

And envy bred hate, and hate
urged them to blows,

When the firm earth was cleft and
the Arch-fiend arose !

He swore to the maidens their

wish to fulfil —
They swore to the foe they would

work by his will.
A spindle and distaff to each hath

he given,
* Now hearken my spell,' said the

Outcast of heaven.

'Ye shall ply these spindles at

midnight hour,
And for every spindle shall rise a

tower, 250

Where the right shall be feeble,

the wrong shall have power,
And there shall ye dwell with your

paramour.'

Beneath the pale moonlight they
sate on the wold,

And the rhymes which they chant-
ed must never be told ;

And as the black wool from the
distaff they sped,

With blood from their bosom they
moistened the thread.

As light danced the spindles be-
neath the cold gleam,

The castle arose like the birth of
a dream —

The seven towers ascended like
mist from the ground,

Seven portals defend them, seven
ditches surround. 260

Within that dread castle seven
monarchs were wed,

But six of the seven ere the morn-
ing lay dead ;

With their eyes all on fire and their
daggers all red,

Seven damsels surround the
Northumbrian's bed.

1 Six kingly bridegrooms to death

we have done,
Six gallant kingdoms King Adolf

hath won,
Six lovely brides all his pleasure

to do,
Or the bed of the seventh shall be

husbandless too.'

Well

the

chanced it that Adolf
night when he wed
Had confessed and had sained him
ere boune to his bed ; 270

532

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

He sprung from the couch and his
broadsword he drew,

And there the seven daughters of
Urien he slew.

The gate of the castle he bolted
and sealed,

And hung o'er each arch-stone a
crown and a shield ;

To the cells of Saint Dunstan then
wended his way,

And died in his cloister an ancho-
rite gray.

Seven monarchs' wealth in that
castle lies stowed,

The foul fiends brood o'er them
like raven and toad.

Whoever shall guesten these
chambers within,

From curfew till matins, that trea-
sure shall win. 280

But manhood grows faint as the
world waxes old !

There lives not in Britain a cham-
pion so bold,

So dauntless of heart, and so pru-
dent of brain,

As to dare the adventure that trea-
sure to gain.

The waste ridge of Cheviot shall
wave with the rye,

Before the rude Scots shall North-
umberland fly,

And the flint cliffs of Bambro'
shall melt in the sun,

Before that adventure be perilled
and won.

4 And is this my probation ? ' wild
Harold he said,

4 Within a lone castle to press a
lone bed ? — 290

Good even, my lord bishop,—
Saint Cuthbert to borrow,

The Castle of Seven Shields re-
ceives me to-morrow*'

CANTO FIFTH

Denmark's sage courtier to her
princely youth,

Granting his cloud an ousel or a
whale,

Spoke, though unwittingly, a par-
tial truth ;

For Fantasy embroiders Na-
ture's veil.

The tints of ruddy eve or dawn-
ing pale,

Of the swart thunder-cloud or
silver haze,

Are but the ground- work of the
rich detail

Which Fantasy with pencil wild
portrays,
Blending what seems and is in the
rapt muser's gaze.

Nor are the stubborn forms of

earth and stone 10

Less to the Sorceress's empire

given;
For not with unsubstantial hues

alone,
Caught from the varying surge

of vacant heaven,
From bursting sunbeam or from

flashing levin,
She limns her pictures: on the

earth, as air,
Arise her castles and her car is

driven ;
And never gazed the eye on

scene so fair,
But of its boasted charms gave

Fancy half the share.

Up a wild pass went Harold,

bent to prove,
Hugh Meneville, the adventure

of thy lay ; 20

Gunnar pursued his steps in

faith and love,
Ever companion of his master's

way.
Midward their path, a rock of

granite gray

CANTO FIFTH

533

From the adjoining cliff had

made descent,—
A barren mass — yet with her

drooping spray
Had a young birch-tree crowned

its battlement,
Twisting her fibrous roots through

cranny, flaw, and rent.

This rock and tree could Gun-

nar's thought engage
Till Fancy brought the tear-drop

to his eye,
And at his master asked the

timid page, 30

1 What is the emblem that a bard

should spy
In that rude rock and its green

canopy ? '
And Harold said, 'Like to the

helmet brave
Of warrior slain in fight it seems

to lie,
And these same drooping boughs

do o'er it wave
Not all unlike the plume his lady's

favor gave.'

1 Ah, no ! ' replied the page ; * the
ill-starred love

Of some poor maid is in the em-
blem shown,

Whose fates are with some hero's
interwove

And rooted on a heart to love
unknown : 40

And as the gentle dews of hea-
ven alone

Nourish those drooping boughs,
and as the scathe

Of the red lightning rends both
tree and stone,

So fares it with her unrequited
faith, —
Her sole relief is tears — her only
refuge death.'

* Thou art a fond fantastic boy,'
Harold replied, ' to females coy,
Yet prating still of love ; 48
Even so amid the clash of war

I know thou lov'st to keep afar,
Though destined by thy evil star

With one like me to rove,
Whose business and whose joys

are found
Upon the bloody battle-ground.
Yet, foolish trembler as thou art.
Thou hast a nook of my rude

heart,
And thou and I will never part ;
Harold would wrap the world in

flame
Ere injury on Gunnar came.' 59

The grateful page made no reply,
But turned to heaven his gentle

eye,
And clasped his hands, as one

who said,
1 My toils — my wanderings are

o'erpaid ! '
Then in a gayer, lighter strain,
Compelled himself to speech

again ;
And, as they flowed along,
His words took cadence soft and

slow,
And liquid, like dissolving snow,
They melted into song.

* What though through fields of
carnage wide 70

I may not follow Harold's stride,

Yet who with faithful Gunnar's
pride
Lord Harold's feats can see ?

And dearer than the couch of
pride

He loves the bed of gray wolf's
hide,

When slumbering by Lord Har-
old's side
In forest, field, or lea.'

'Break off!' said Harold, in a

tone
Where hurry and surprise were

shown, 79

534

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

With some slight touch of

fear,
* Break off, we are not here

alone ;
A palmer form comes slowly

on!
By cowl and staff and mantle

known,
My monitor is near.
Now mark him, Gunnar, heed-
fully;
He pauses by the blighted tree —
Dost see him, youth?— Thou

couldst not see
When in the vale of Galilee

I first beheld his form,
Nor when we met that other

while 90

In Cephalonia's rocky isle

Before the fearful storm,—
Dost see him now ? ' — The page,

distraught
With terror, answered, 4I see

naught,
And there is naught to see,
Save that the oak's scathed

boughs fling down
Upon the path a shadow brown
That, like a pilgrim's dusky

gown,
Waves with the waving tree.'

VII

Count Harold gazed upon the
oak 100

As if his eyestrings would have
broke,
And then resolvedly said,

'Be what it will yon phantom
gray —

Nor heaven nor hell shall ever
say

That for their shadows from his
way
Count Harold turned dis-
mayed :

I'll speak him, though his ac-
cents fill

My heart with that unwonted
thrill

Which vulgar minds call fear.
I will subdue it!' Forth he
strode, no

Paused where the blighted oak-

tree showed
Its sable shadow on the road,
And, folding on his bosom broad
His arms, said, ' Speak — I
hear.'

VIII

The Deep Voice said, ■ 0 wild of

will,
Furious thy purpose to fulfil —
Heart-seared and unrepentant

still,
How long, O Harold, shall thy

tread
Disturb the slumbers of the

dead?
Each step in thy wild way thou

makest, 120

The ashes of the dead thou

wakest ;
And shout in triumph o'er thy

path
The fiends of bloodshed and of

wrath.
In this thine hour, yet turn and

hear!
For life is brief and judgment

near.'

Then ceased the Voice. — The

Dane replied
In tones where awe and inborn

pride
For mastery strove, ' In vain ye

chide
The wolf for ravaging the flock,
Or with its hardness taunt the

rock, — 130

I am as they — my Danish strain
Sends streams of fire through

every vein.
Amid thy realms of goule and

ghost,
Say, is the fame of Eric lost,
Or Witikind's the Waster, known

CANTO FIFTH

535

Where fame or spoil was to be

won;
Whose galleys ne'er bore off a
shore
They left not black with
flame ? —
He was my sire, — and, sprung
of him, 139

That rover merciless and grim,
Can I be soft and tame ?
Part hence and with my crimes no

more upbraid me,
I am that Waster's son and am
but what he made me.'

The Phantom groaned ; — the
mountain shook around,

The fawn and wild-doe started at
the sound,

The gorse and fern did wildly
round them wave,

As if some sudden storm the im-
pulse gave.

4 All thou hast said is truth — yet
on the head

Of that bad sire let not the charge
be laid

That he, like thee, with unrelent-
ing pace 150

From grave to cradle ran the evil
race : —

Relentless in his avarice and ire,

Churches and towns he gave to
sword and fire ;

Shed blood like water, wasted
every land,

Like the destroying angel's burn-
ing brand;

Fulfilled whate'er of ill might be
invented,

Yes — all these things he did — he
did, but he repented !

Perchance it is part of his punish-
ment still

That his offspring pursues his ex-
ample of ill. 159

But thou, when thy tempest of
wrath shall next shake thee,

Gird thy loins for resistance, my
son, and awake thee ;

If thou yield 'st to thy fury, how

tempted soever,
The gate of repentance shall ope

for thee never ! '

' He is gone,' said Lord Harold and

gazed as he spoke ;
' There is naught on the path but

the shade of the oak.
He is gone whose strange presence

my feeling oppressed,
Like the night-hag that sits on the

slumberer's breast.
My heart beats as thick as a fugi-
tive's tread,
And cold dews drop from my brow

and my head.—
Ho! Gunnar, the flasket yon al-
moner gave; 170
He said that three drops would

recall from the grave.
For the first time Count Harold

owns leech-craft has power,
Or, his courage to aid, lacks the

juice of a flower ! '
The page gave the flasket, which

Walwayn had filled
With the juice of wild roots that

his heart had distilled —
So baneful their influence on all

that had breath,
One drop had been frenzy and two

had been death.
Harold took it, but drank not ; for

jubilee shrill
And music and clamor were heard

on the hill,
And down the steep pathway o'er

stock and o'er stone 180

The train of a bridal came blithe-

somely on ;
There was song, there was pipe,

there was timbrel, and still
The burden was, 4 Joy to the fair

Metelill ! '

XII

Harold might see from his high
stance,

Himself unseen, that train ad-
vance

536

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

With mirth and melody ; —
On horse and foot a mingled

throng,
Measuring their steps to bridal
song
And bridal minstrelsy;
And ever when the blithesome
rout 190

Lent to the song their choral

shout,
Redoubling echoes rolled about,
While echoing cave and cliff sent
out
The answering symphony
Of all those mimic notes which

dwell
In hollow rock and sounding dell.

XIII

Joy shook his torch above the

band,
By many a various passion

fanned; —
As elemental sparks can feed
On essence pure and coarsest

weed, 200

Gentle or stormy or refined,
Joy takes the colors of the mind.
Lightsome and pure but unre-

pressed,
He fired the bridegroom's gallant

breast ;
More feebly strove with maiden

fear,
Yet still joy glimmered through

the tear
On the bride's blushing cheek that

shows
Like dewdrop on the budding

rose;
While Wulfstane's gloomy smile

declared
The glee that selfish avarice

shared, 210

And pleased revenge and malice

high
Joy's semblance took in Jutta's

eye.
On dangerous adventure sped,
The witch deemed Harold with

the dead,

For thus that morn her demon

said : —
1 If, ere the set of sun, be tied
The knot 'twixt bridegroom and

his bride,
The Dane shall have no power of

ill
O'er William and o'er Metelill.'
And the pleased witch made an-
swer, ' Then 220
Must Harold have passed from

the paths of men !
Evil repose may his spirit have, —
May hemlock and mandrake find

root in his grave, —
May his death-sleep be dogged by

dreams of dismay,
And his waking be worse at the

answering day ! '

XIV

Such was their various mood of

glee
Blent in one shout of ecstasy.
But still when Joy is brimming

highest,
Of sorrow and misfortune nighest,
Of Terror with her ague cheek, 230
And lurking Danger, sages

speak : —
These haunt each path, but chief

they lay
Their snares beside the primrose

way. —
Thus found that bridal band their

path
Beset by Harold in his wrath.
Trembling beneath his maddening

mood,
High on a rock the giant stood ;
His shout was like the doom of

death
Spoke o'er their heads that passed

beneath.
His destined victims might not

spy 240

The reddening terrors of his eye,
The frown of rage that writhed

his face,
The lip that foamed like boar's in

chase j

CANTO FIFTH

537

But all could see — and, seeing, all
Bore back to shun the threatened

fall —
The fragment which their giant foe
Rent from the cliff and heaved to

throw.

xv
Backward they bore— yet are
there two
For battle who prepare :
No pause of dread Lord William
knew 250

Ere his good blade was bare ;
And Wulf stane bent his fatal yew,
But ere the silken cord he drew,
As hurled from Hecla's thunder
flew
That ruin through the air !
Full on the outlaw's front it came,
And all that late had human name,
And human face, and human

frame,
That lived and moved and had free

will
To choose the path of good or ill,
Is to its reckoning gone ; 261
And naught of Wulf stane rests be-
hind
Save that beneath that stone,
Half-buried in the dinted clay,
A red and shapeless mass there lay
Of mingled flesh and bone !

XVI

As from the bosom of the sky

The eagle darts amain,
Three bounds from yonder sum-
mit high
Placed Harold on the plain. 270
As the scared wild-fowl scream
and fly,
So fled the bridal train ;
As 'gainst the eagle's peerless

might
The noble falcon dares the fight,

But dares the fight in vain,
So fought the bridegroom; from

his hand
The Dane's rude mace has struck
his brand,

Its glittering fragments strew the
sand,
Its lord lies on the plain.
Now, Heaven! take noble Wil-
liam's part, 280
And melt that yet unmelted heart,
Or, ere his bridal hour depart,
The hapless bridegroom 's slain !

XVII

Count Harold's frenzied rage is

high,
There is a death-fire in his eye,
Deep furrows on his brow are

trenched,
His teeth are set, his hand is

clenched,
The foam upon his lip is white,
His deadly arm is up to smite !
But, as the mace aloft he swung,
To stop the blow young Gunnar

sprung, 291

Around his master's knees he

clung,
And cried, ' In mercy spare !
O, think upon the words of fear
Spoke by that visionary Seer,
The crisis he foretold is here, —

Grant mercy, — or despair ! '
This word suspended Harold's

mood,
Yet still with arm upraised he

stood,
And visage like the headsman's

rude 300

That pauses for the sign.
' O mark thee with the blessed

rood,'
The page implored. ' Speak word

of good,
Resist the fiend or be subdued ! ■

He signed the cross divine —
Instant his eye hath human

light,
Less red, less keen, less fiercely

bright ;
His brow relaxed the obdurate

frown,
The fatal mace sinks gently down,
He turns and strides away; 310
Yet oft, like revellers who leave

538

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

Unfinished feast, looks back to

grieve,
As if repenting the reprieve

He granted to his prey.
Yet still of forbearance one sign

hath he given,
And fierce Witikind's son made

one step towards heaven.

XVIII

But though his dreaded footsteps

part,
Death is behind and shakes his

dart ;
Lord William on the plain is lying,
Beside him Metelill seems dy-
ing!— 320
Bring odors — essences in haste *—
And lo ! a flasket richly chased, —
But Jutta the elixir proves
Ere pouring it for those she

loves —
Then Walwayn's potion was not

wasted,
For when three drops the hag had
tasted
So dismal was her yell,
Each bird of evil omen woke,
The raven gave his fatal croak,
And shrieked the night-crow from
the oak, 330

The screech-owl from the thicket
broke,
And fluttered down the dell !
So fearful was the sound and stern,
The slumbers of the full-gorged

erne
Were startled, and from furze and
fern
Of forest and of fell
The fox and famished wolf re-
plied —
For wolves then prowled the Che-
viot side —
From mountain head to mountain

head
The unhallowed sounds around
were sped ; 340

But when their latest echo fled
The sorceress on the ground lay
dead.

XIX

Such was the scene of blood and

woes
With which the bridal morn arose

Of William and of Metelill;
But oft, when dawning 'gins to

spread,
The summer morn peeps dim and

red
Above the eastern hill,
Ere, bright and fair, upon his road
The king of splendor walks

abroad; 350

So, when this cloud had passed

away,
Bright was the noontide of their day
And all serene its setting ray.

CANTO SIXTH

WELii do I hope that this my

minstrel tale
Will tempt no traveller from

southern fields,
Whether in tilbury, barouche, or

mail,
To view the Castle of these

Seven Proud Shields.
Small confirmation its condition

yields
To Meneville's high lay, — no

towers are seen
On the wild heath but those that

Fancy builds,
And, save a fosse that tracks the

moor with green,
Is naught remains to tell of what

may there have been.

And yet grave authors, with the
no small waste 10

Of their grave time, have digni-
fied the spot

By theories, to prove the fortress
placed

By Roman bands to curb the in-
vading Scot.

Hutchinson, Horseley, Camden,
I might quote,

CANTO SIXTH

539

But rather choose the theory

less civil
Of boors, who, origin of things

forgot,
Refer still to the origin of evil,
And for their master-mason choose

that master-fiend the Devil.

Therefore, I say, it was on fiend-
built towers
That stout Count Harold bent

his wondering gaze 20

When evening dew was on the

heather flowers,
And the last sunbeams made the

mountain blaze
And tinged the battlements of

other days
With the bright level light ere

sinking down.
Illumined thus, the dauntless

Dane surveys
The Seven Proud Shields that

o'er the portal frown,
And on their blazons traced high

marks of old renown.

A wolf North Wales had on his
armor-coat,

And Rhys of Powis-land a couch-
ant stag ;

Strath-Clwyd's strange emblem
was a stranded boat, 30

Donald of Galloway's a trotting
nag;

A corn -sheaf gilt was fertile
Lodon's brag ;

A dudgeon-dagger was by Dun-
mail worn ;

Northumbrian Adolf gave a sea-
beat crag

Surmounted by a cross — such
signs were borne
Upon these antique shields, all
wasted now and worn.

These scanned, Count Harold
sought the castle-door,

Whose ponderous bolts were
rusted to decay ;

Yet till that hour adventurous

knight forbore
The unobstructed passage to

essay. 40

More strong than armed ward-
ers in array,
And obstacle more sure than

bolt or bar,
Sate in the portal Terror and

Dismay,
While Superstition, who forbade

to war
With foes of other mould than

mortal clay,
Cast spells across the gate and

barred the onward way.

Vain now those spells ; for soon

with heavy clank
The feebly-fastened gate was in-
ward pushed,
And, as it oped, through that

emblazoned rank
Of antique shields the wind of

evening rushed 50

With sound most like a groan

and then was hushed.
Is none who on such spot such

sounds could hear
But to his heart the blood had

faster rushed ;
Yet to bold Harold's breast that

throb was dear —
It spoke of danger nigh, but had

no touch of fear.

Yet Harold and his page no

signs have traced
Within the castle that of danger

showed ;
For still the halls and courts

were wild and waste,
As through their precincts the

adventurers trode.
The seven huge towers rose

stately, tall, and broad, 60
Each tower presenting to their

scrutiny
A hall in which a king might

make abode,

540

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

And fast beside, garnished both
proud and high,
Was placed a bower for rest in
which a king might lie.

As if a bridal there of late had

been,
Decked stood the table in each

gorgeous hall ;
And yet it was two hundred

years, I ween,
Since date of that unhallowed

festival.
Flagons and ewers and standing

cups were all
Of tarnished gold or silver no-
thing clear, 70
With throne begilt and canopy

of pall,
And tapestry clothed the walls

with fragments sear —
Frail as the spider's mesh did that

rich woof appear.

In every bower, as round a

hearse, was hung
A dusky crimson curtain o'er

the bed,
And on each couch in ghastly

wise were flung
The wasted relics of a monarch

dead;
Barbaric ornaments around were

spread,
Vests twined with gold and

chains of precious stone,
And golden circlets, meet for

monarch's head ; 80

While grinned, as if in scorn

amongst them thrown,
The wearer's fleshless skull, alike

with dust bestrewn.

For these were they who,
drunken with delight,

On pleasure's opiate pillow laid
their head,

For whom the bride's shy foot-
step, slow and light,

Was changed ere morning to the

murderer's tread.
For human bliss and woe in the

frail thread
Of human life are all so closely

twined
That till the shears of Fate the

texture shred
The close succession cannot be

disjoined, 9o

Nor dare we from one hour judge

that which comes behind.

But where the work of ven-
geance had been done,

In that seventh chamber, was a
sterner sight,

There of the witch-brides lay
each skeleton,

Still in the posture as to death
when dight.

For this lay prone, by one blow
slain outright ;

And that, as one who struggled
long in dying ;

One bony hand held knife, as if
to smite ;

One bent on fleshless knees, as
mercy crying ;
One lay across the door, as killed
in act of flying. 100

The stern Dane smiled this char-
nel-house to see, —

For his chafed thought returned
toMetelill: —

And <Well,' he said, 'hath wo-
man's perfidy,

Empty as air, as water volatile,

Been here avenged. — The origin
of ill

Through woman rose, the Chris-
tian doctrine saith;

Nor deem I, Gunnar, that thy
minstrel skill

Can show example where a wo-
man's breath
Hath made a true-love vow, and
tempted kept her faith.'

CANTO SIXTH

54i

VII

What maid e'er showed such

The minstrel-boy half smiled,

constancy

half sighed, no

In plighted faith, like thine to

And his half-filling eyes he dried,

me?

And said, ■ The theme I should

But couch thee, boy ; the dark-

but wrong,

some shade

Unless it were my dying song —

Falls thickly round, nor be dis-

Our Scalds have said, in dying

mayed 140

hour

Because the dead are by.

The Northern harp has treble

They were as we; our little

power —

day

Else could I tell of woman's

O'erspent, and we shall be as

faith,

they.

Defying danger, scorn, and death.

Yet near me, Gunnar, be thou

Firm was that faith — as dia-

laid,

mond stone

Thy couch upon my mantle

Pure and unflawed — her love

made,

unknown 119

That thou mayst think, should

And unrequited ; firm and pure,

fear invade,

Her stainless faith could all en-

Thy master slumbers nigh.'

dure;

Thus couched they in that dread

From clime to clime, from place

abode,

to place,

Until the beams of dawning

Through want and danger and

glowed.

disgrace.

A wanderer's wayward steps

could trace.

An altered man Lord Harold

All this she did, and guerdon

rose, 150

none

When he beheld that dawn un-

Required save that her burial-

close —

stone

There 's trouble in his eyes,

Should make at length the secret

And traces on his brow and

known,

cheek

"Thus hath a faithful woman

Of mingled awe and wonder

done." —

speak :

Not in each breast such truth is

1 My page/ he said, 4 arise ; —

laid, 129

Leave we this place, my page.'

•But Eivir was a Danish maid.'

— No more

He uttered till the castle door

They crossed — but there he

VIII

paused and said,

1 Thou art a wild enthusiast,'

'My wildness hath awaked the

said

dead —

Count Harold, ' for thy Danish

Disturbed the sacred tomb ! 160

maid;

Methought this night I stood on

And yet, young Gunnar, I will

high

own

Where Hecla roars in middle

Hers were a faith to rest upon.

sky,

But Eivir sleeps beneath her

And in her caverned gulfs could

stone

spy

And all resembling her are gone.

The central place of doom ;

542

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

And there before my mortal
eye

Souls of the dead came flitting
by,

Whom fiends with many a fiend-
ish cry
Bore to that evil den !

My eyes grew dizzy and my
brain

Was wildered, as the elvish
train 170

With shriek and howl dragged
on amain
Those who had late been men.

* With haggard eyes and stream-
ing hair,
Jutta the Sorceress was there,
And there passed Wulfstane

lately slain,
All crushed and foul with bloody

stain. —
More had I seen, but that uprose
A whirlwind wild and swept the

snows ;
And with such sound as when

at need
A champion spurs his horse to

speed, 180

Three armed knights rush on

who lead
Caparisoned a sable steed.
Sable their harness, and there

came
Through their closed visors

sparks of flame.
The first proclaimed, in sounds

of fear,
" Harold the Dauntless, welcome

here ! "
The next cried, " Jubilee ! we 've

won
Count Witikind the Waster's

son ! "
And the third rider sternly

spoke,
" Mount, in the name of Zerne-

bock ! — 190

From us, O Harold, were thy

powers, —

Thy strength, thy dauntlessness,

are ours ;
Nor think, a vassal thou of hell,
With hell can strive." The fiend

spoke true !
My inmost soul the summons

knew,
As captives know the knell
That says the headsman's sword

is bare
And with an accent of despair
Commands them quit their

cell.
I felt resistance was in vain, 200
My foot had that fell stirrup

ta'en,
My hand was on the fatal mane,

When to my rescue sped
That palmer's visionary form,
And — like the passing of a

storm —
The demons yelled and fled !

1 His sable cowl flung back re-
vealed

The features it before concealed ;
And, Gunnar, I could find

In him whose counsels strove to
stay 210

So oft my course on wilful way
My father Witikind !

Doomed for his sins and doomed
for mine

A wanderer upon earth to pine

Until his son shall turn to grace

And smooth for him a resting-
place. —

Gunnar, he must not haunt in
vain

This world of wretchedness and
pain:

I '11 tame my wilful heart to live

In peace — to pity and forgive —

And thou, for so the Vision
said 221

Must in thy lord's repentance
aid.

Thy mother was a prophetess,

He said, who by her skill could
guess

CANTO SIXTH

543

How close the fatal textures

join
Which knit thy thread of life

with mine ;
Then dark he hinted of disguise
She framed to cheat too curious

eyes
That not a moment might divide
Thy fated footsteps from my

side. 230

Methought while thus my sire

did teach
I caught the meaning of his

speech,
Yet seems its purport doubtful

now.'
His hand then sought his

thoughtful brow —
Then first he marked, that in the

tower
His glove was left at waking

hour.

XII

Trembling at first and deadly

pale,
Had Gunnar heard the visioned

tale;
But when he learned the dubious

close
He blushed like any opening

rose, 240

And, glad to hide his tell-tale

cheek,
Hied back that glove of mail to

seek;
When soon a shriek of deadly

dread
Summoned his master to his aid.

XIII

What sees Count Harold in that

bower
So late his resting-place ? —
The semblance of the Evil

Power,
Adored by all his race !
Odin in living form stood there,
His cloak the spoils of Polar

bear ; 250

For plumy crest a meteor shed

Its gloomy radiance o'er his

head,
Yet veiled its haggard majesty
To the wild lightnings of his eye.
Such height was his as when in

stone
O'er Upsal's giant altar shown :

So flowed his hoary beard ;
Such was his lance of mountain-
pine,
So did his sevenfold buckler

shine :
But when his voice he reared,
Deep without harshness, slow

and strong, 261

The powerful accents rolled

along,
And while he spoke his hand

was laid
On captive Gunnar's shrinking

head.

xrv

1 Harold,' he said, * what rage is

thine
To quit the worship of thy line,
To leave thy Warrior-God ? —
With me is glory or disgrace,
Mine is the onset and the chase,
Embattled hosts before my face
Are withered by a nod. 271
Wilt thou then forfeit that high

seat
Deserved by many a dauntless

feat
Among the heroes of thy line,
Eric and fiery Thorarine? —
Thou wilt not. Only I can give
The joys for which the valiant

live,
Victory and vengeance — only I
Can give the joys for which they

die,
The immortal tilt — the banquet

full, 280

The brimming draught from foe-
man's skull.
Mine art thou, witness this thy

glove,
The faithful pledge of vassal's

love.'

544

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS

xv
1 Tempter,' said Harold, firm of

heart,
* I charge thee, hence ! whatever

thou art,
I do defy thee — and resist
The kindling frenzy of my

breast,
Waked by thy words; and of

my mail
Nor glove nor buckler, splent nor

nail,
Shall rest with thee— that youth

release, 290

And, God or Demon, part in

peace.'—
4Eivir,' the Shape replied, 'is

mine,
Marked in the birth-hour with

my sign.
Think'st thou that priest with

drops of spray
Could wash that blood-red mark

away?
Or that a borrowed sex and

name
Can abrogate a Godhead's

claim ? '
Thrilled this strange speech

through Harold's brain,
He clenched his teeth in high

disdain,
For not his new-born faith sub-
dued 300
Some tokens of his ancient

mood. —
* Now, by the hope so lately given
Of better trust and purer hea-
ven,
I will assail thee, fiend ! ' — Then

rose
His mace, and with a storm of

blows
The mortal and the demon close.

XVI

Smoke rolled above, fire flashed

around,
Darkened the sky and shook the

ground ;
But not the artillery of hell,

The bickering lightning, nor the

rock 3 x<>

Of turrets to the earthquake's

shock,
Could Harold's courage quell.
Sternly the Dane his purpose

kept,
And blows on blows resistless

heaped,
Till quailed that demon form,
And — for his power to hurt or

kill
Was bounded by a higher will —

Evanished in a storm.
Nor paused the Champion of the

North,
But raised and bore his Eivir

forth 320

From that wild scene of fiendish

strife
To light, to liberty, and life !

XVII

He placed her on a bank of

moss,
A silver runnel bubbled by,
And new-born thoughts his soul

engross,
And tremors yet unknown across

His stubborn sinews fly,
The while with timid hand the

dew
Upon her brow and neck he

threw,
And marked how life with rosy

hue 330

On her pale cheek revived anew

And glimmered in her eye.
Inly he said, 'That silken

tress —
What blindness mine that could

not guess !
Or how could page's rugged

dress
That bosom's pride belie?
O, dull of heart, through wild

and wave
In search of blood and death to

rave,
With such a partner nigh ! '

CANTO SIXTH

545

XVIII

Then in the mirrored pool he
peered, 340

Blamed his rough locks and
shaggy beard,

The stains of recent conflict
cleared, —
And thus the Champion proved

That he fears now who never
feared,
And loves who never loved.

And Eivir — life is 011 her cheek

And yet she will not move or
speak,
Nor will her eyelid fully ope ;

Perchance it loves, that half-
shut eye,

Through its long fringe, reserved
and shy, 350

Affection's opening dawn to
spy;

And the deep blush, which bids
its dye

O'er cheek and brow and bosom

fly,

Speaks shamefacedness and
hope.

XIX

But vainly seems the Dane to

seek
For terms his new-born love to

speak, —
For words, save those of wrath

and wrong,
Till now were strangers to his

tongue ;
So, when he raised the blushing

maid,
In blunt and honest terms he

said— 360

'T were well that maids, when

lovers woo,
Heard none more soft, were all

as true —
'Eivir! since thou for many a

day
Hast followed Harold's way-

ward way,
It is but meet that in the line
Of after-life I follow thine.
To-morrow is Saint Cuthbert's

tide,
And we will grace his altar's

side,
A Christian knight and Christian

bride ;
And of Witikind's son shall the

marvel be said 370

That on the same morn he was

christened and wed.'

CONCLUSION

And now, Ennui, what ails thee,

weary maid ?
And why these listless looks of

yawning sorrow ?
No need to turn the page as if 't

were lead,
Or fling aside the volume till to-
morrow. —
Be cheered — 't is ended — and I

will not borrow,
To try thy patience more, one

anecdote
From Bartholine or Perinskiold or

Snorro.
Then pardon thou thy minstrel,

who hath wrote
A tale six cantos long, yet scorned

to add a note.

546

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

THE DYING BAKD

Air—1 Daffy 'dz Gangwen.1

Dinas Emlinn, lament; for the

moment is nigh,
When mute in the woodlands thine

echoes shall die :
No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon

shall rave,
And mix his wild notes with the

wild dashing wave.

In spring and in autumn thy

glories of shade
Unhonored shall flourish, unhon-

ored shall fade ;
For soon shall be lifeless the eye

and the tongue
That viewed them with rapture,

with rapture that sung.

Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may

march in their pride,
And chase the proud Saxon from

Prestatyn's side ;
But where is the harp shall give

life to their name ?
And where is the bard shall give

heroes their fame ?

And 0, Dinas Emlinn ! thy daugh-
ters so fair,

Who heave the white bosom and
wave the dark hair ;

What tuneful enthusiast shall
worship their eye,

When half of their charms with
Cadwallon shall die ?

Then adieu, silver Teivi! I quit

thy loved scene
To join the dim choir of the bards

who have been ;
With Lewarch, and Meilor, and

Merlin the Old,
And sage Taliessin, high harping

to hold.

And adieu, Dinas Emlinn! still

green be thy shades,
Unconquered thy warriors and

matchless thy maids !
And thou whose faint warblings

my weakness can tell,
Farewell, my loved harp ! my last

treasure, farewell !

THE NORMAN HORSE-SHOE

Air — ' The War- Song of the Men of
Glamorgan.1

Red glows the forge in Striguil's

bounds,
And hammers din, and anvil

sounds,
And armorers with iron toil
Barb many a steed for battle's

broil.
Foul fall the hand which bends

the steel
Around the courser's thundering

heel,
That e'er shall dint a sable wound
On fair Glamorgan's velvet

ground !

From Chepstow's towers ere dawn

of morn
Was heard afar the bugle-horn,
And forth in banded pomp and

pride
Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride.
They swore their banners broad

should gleam
In crimson light on Rymny's

stream ;
They vowed Caerphili's sod should

feel
The Norman charger's spurning

heel.

And sooth they swore — the sun

arose,
And Rymny's wave with crimson

glows ;

THE PALMER

547

For Clare's red banner, floating

Till the shout and the groan and

wide,

the conflict's dread rattle,

Rolled down the stream to Severn's

And the chase's wild clamor,

tide!

came loading the gale.

And sooth they vowed— the tram-

Breathless she gazed on the wood-

pled green

lands so dreary ;

Showed where hot Neville's charge

Slowly approaching a warrior

had been :

was seen ;

In every sable hoof-tramp stood

Life's ebbing tide marked his foot-

A Norman horseman's curdling

steps so weary,

blood !

Cleft was his helmet and woe

was his mien.

Old Chepstow's brides may curse

the toil

'0, save thee, fair maid, for our

That armed stout Clare for Cam-

armies are flying !

brian broil ;

0, save thee, fair maid, for thy

Their orphans long the art may

guardian is low !

rue,

Deadly cold on yon heath thy

For Neville's warhorse forged the

brave Henry is lying,

shoe.

And fast through the woodland

No more the stamp of armed steed

approaches the foe.'

Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet

Scarce could he falter the tidings

mead ;

of sorrow,

Nor trace be there in early spring

And scarce could she hear them,

Save of the Fairies' emerald ring.

benumbed with despair :

And when the sun sunk on the

sweet lake of Toro,

Forever he set to the Brave and

THE MAID OF TORO

the Fair.

0, low shone the sun on the fair

lake of Toro,

And weak were the whispers

THE PALMER

that waved the dark wood,

All as a fair maiden, bewildered

' 0, open the door, some pity to

in sorrow,

show,

Sorely sighed to the breezes and

Keen blows the northern wind !

• wept to the flood.

The glen is white with the drifted

'0 saints, from the mansions of

snow,

bliss lowly bending !

And the path is hard to find.

Sweet Virgin, who hear est the

suppliant's cry !

1 No outlaw seeks your castle gate,

Now grant my petition in anguish

From chasing the king's deer,

ascending,

Though even an outlaw's wretched

My Henry restore or let Eleanor

state

die!'

Might claim compassion here.

All distant aDd faint were the

1 A weary Palmer, worn and weak,

sounds of the battle,

I wander for my sin ;

With the breezes they rise, with

0, open, for Our Lady's sake I

the breezes they fail,

A pilgrim's blessing win!

548

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

* I '11 give you pardons from the

Pope,
And reliques from o'er the sea,—
Or if for these you will not ope,
Yet open for charity.

4 The hare is crouching in her form,
The hart beside the hind ;

An aged man amid the storm,
No shelter can I find.

* You hear the Ettrick's sullen roar,

Dark, deep, and strong is he,
And I must ford the Ettrick o'er,
Unless you pity me.

* The iron gate is holted hard,

At which I knock in vain ;
The owner's heart is closer barred,
Who hears me thus complain.

4 Farewell, farewell ! and Mary
grant,

When old and frail you be,
You never may the shelter want

That's now denied to me.'

The ranger on his couch lay warm,
And heard him plead in vain ;

But oft amid December's storm
He '11 hear that voice again :

For lo ! when through the vapors
dank

Morn shone on Ettrick fair,
A corpse amid the alders rank,

The Palmer weltered there.

THE MAID OF NEIDPATH

O, lovers' eyes are sharp to
see,

And lovers' ears in hearing ;
And love in life's extremity

Can lend an hour of cheering.
Disease had been in Mary's bower,

And slow decay from mourning,
Though now she sits on Neidpath's
tower

To watch her love's returning.

All sunk and dim her eyes so
bright,

Her form decayed by pining,
Till through her wasted hand at
night

You saw the taper shining ;
By fits, a sultry hectic hue

Across her cheek was flying ;
By fits, so ashy pale she grew,

Her maidens thought her dying.

Yet keenest powers to see and hear

Seemed in her frame residing ;
Before the watch-dog pricked his
ear,
She heard her lover's riding ;
Ere scarce a distant form was
kenned,
She knew, and waved to greet
him;
And o'er the battlement did bend,
As on the wing to meet him.

He came — he passed — an heed-
less gaze,
As o'er some stranger glancing ;
Her welcome, spoke in faltering
phrase,
Lost in his courser's prancing —
The castle arch, whose hollow tone

Returns each whisper spoken,
Could scarcely catch the feeble
moan
Which told her heart was broken.

WANDERING WILLIE

All joy was bereft me the day
that you left me,
And climbed the tall vessel to
sail yon wide sea ;
0 weary betide it ! I wandered be-
side it,
And banned it for parting my
Willie and me.

Far o'er the wave hast thou fol-
lowed thy fortune,
Oft fought the squadrons of
France and of Spain ;

HEALTH TO LORD MELVILLE

549

Ae kiss of welcome 's worth twenty
at parting,
Now I hae gotten my Willie
again.

When the sky it was mirk, and the
winds they were wailing,
I sat on the beach wi' the tear
in my ee,
And thought o' the hark where my
Willie was sailing,
And wished that the tempest
could a' blaw on me.

Now that thy gallant ship rides at
her mooring,
Now that my wanderer 's in
safety at hame,
Music to me were the wildest
winds' roaring,
That e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove
the dark ocean faem.

WTien the lights they did blaze,
and the guns they did rattle,
And blithe was each heart for
the great victory,
In secret I wept for the dangers
of battle,
And thy glory itself was scarce
comfort to me.

But now shalt thou tell, while I
eagerly listen,
Of each bold adventure and
every brave scar ;
And trust me, I'll smile, though
my een they may glisten,
For sweet after danger's the
tale of the war.

And 0, how we doubt when there 's
distance 'tween lovers,
When there 's naething to speak
to the heart thro' the ee !
How often the kindest and warm-
est prove rovers,
And the love of the faithfullest
ebbs like the sea !

Till, at times — could I help it? —
I pined and I pondered

If love could change notes like
the bird on the tree —
Now I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes
may hae wandered ;
Enough, thy leal heart has been
constant to me.

Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea
and through channel,
Hardships and danger despising
for fame,
Furnishing story for glory's bright
annal,
Welcome, my wanderer, to
Jeanie and hame !

Enough now thy story in annals
of glory
Has humbled the pride of France,
Holland, and Spain ;
No more shalt thou grieve me, no
more shalt thou leave me,
I never will part with my Willie
again.

HEALTH TO LORD MELVILLE

Are — Carrickfergus.

Since here we are set in array
round the table,
Five hundred good fellows well
met in a hall,
Come listen, brave boys, and I'll
sing as I 'm able,
How innocence triumphed and
pride got a fall.
But push round the claret —
Come, stewards, don't spare
it—
With rapture you '11 drink to the
toast that I give ;
Here, boys,
Off with it merrily —
Melville for ever, and long may he
live!

What were the Whigs doing, when
boldly pursuing
Pitt banished Rebellion, gave
Treason a string;

550

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Why, they swore on their honor,
for Arthur O'Connor,
And fought hard for Despard
against country and king.
Well, then, we knew, boys,
Pitt and Melville were true
boys,
And the tempest was raised by the
friends of Reform.
Ah! woe!

Weep to his memory ;
Low lies the pilot that weathered
the storm !

And pray, don't you mind when
the Blues first were raising,
And we scarcely could think the
house safe o'er our heads ?
When villains and coxcombs,
French politics praising,
Drove peace from our tables and
sleep from our beds?
Our hearts they grew bolder
When, musket on shoulder,
Stepped forth our old Statesmen
example to give.
Come, boys, never fear,
Drink the Blue grenadier —
Here 's to old Harry, and long may
he live!

They would turn us adrift, though
rely, sir, upon it,
Our own faithful chronicles war-
rant us that
The free mountaineer and his
bonny blue bonnet
Have oft gone as far as the regu-
lar's hat.
We laugh at their taunting,
For all we are wanting
Is license our life for our country
to give.
Off with it merrily,
Horse, foot, and artillery,
Each loyal Volunteer, long may he
live !

'T is not us alone, boys — the Army
and Navy
Have each got a slap 'mid their
politic pranks ;

Cornwallis cashiered, that watched
winters to save ye,
And the Cape called a bauble
unworthy of thanks.
But vain is their taunt,
No soldier shall want
The thanks that his country to
valor can give :
Come, boys,
Drink it off merrily, —
Sir David and Popham, and long
may they live !

And then our revenue — Lord
knows how they viewed it,
While each petty statesman
talked lofty and big ;
But the beer-tax was weak, as if
Whitbread had brewed it,
And the pig-iron duty a shame
to a pig.
In vain is their vaunting,
Too surely there 's wanting
What judgment, experience, and
steadiness give :
Come, boys,
Drink about merrily, —
Health to sage Melville, and long
may he live !

Our King, too — our Princess — I
dare not say more, sir, —
May Providence watch them
with mercy and might !
While there 's one Scottish hand
that can wag a claymore, sir,
They shall ne'er want a friend to
stand up for their right.
Be damned he that dare not, —
For my part, I '11 spare not
To beauty afflicted a tribute to
give.
Fill it up steadily,
Drink it off readily —
Here 's to the Princess, and long
may she live !

And since we must not set Auld
Reekie in glory,
And make her brown visage as
light as her heart ;

SONG

551

Till each man illumine his own
upper story,
Nor law-book nor lawyer shall
force us to part.
In Grenville and Spencer,
And some few good men, sir,
High talents we honor, slight dif-
ference forgive ;
But the Brewer we '11 hoax,
Tallyho to the Fox,
And drink Melville forever, as long
as we live !

HUNTING SONG

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chase is here,
With hawk and horse and hunting.

spear !
Hounds are in their couples yell-
ing,
Hawks are whistling, horns are

knelling,
Merrily, merrily, mingle they,
4 Waken, lords and ladies gay.'

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
The mist has left the mountain

gray,
Springlets in the dawn are steam-
ing,
Diamonds on the brake are gleam-

ing:
And foresters have busy been
To track the buck in thicket

green;
Now we come to chant our lay,
4 Waken, lords and ladies gay.'

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the green-wood haste away ;
We can show you where he

lies,
Fleet of foot and tall of size ;
We can show the marks he

made,
When 'gainst the oak his antlers

frayed ;

You shall see him brought to bay,
1 Waken, lords and ladies gay.'

Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay !
Tell them youth and mirth aud glee
Run a course as well as we ;
Time, stern huntsman, who can

balk,
Stanch as hound and fleet as

hawk?
Think of this and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay.

SONG

say not, my love, with that
mortified air,
That your spring-time of plea-
sure is flown,
Nor bid me to maids that are
younger repair
For those raptures that still are
thine own.

Though April his temples may
wreathe with the vine,
Its tendrils in infancy curled,
'T is the ardor of August matures
us the wine
Whose life-blood enlivens the
world.

Though thy form that was fash-
ioned as light as a fay's
Has assumed a proportion more
round,
And thy glance that was bright as
a falcon's at gaze
Looks soberly now on the
ground, —

Enough, after absence to meet me
again
Thy steps still with ecstasy
move;
Enough, that those dear sober
glances retain
For me the kind language of
love,

55*

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

THE RESOLVE

No silken net so slightly wrought

Shall tangle me again :

IN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENG-

No more I '11 pay so dear for wit,

LISH POEM

I '11 live upon mine own,

Nor shall wild passion trouble it,—

My wayward fate I needs must

I '11 rather dwell alone.

plain,

Though bootless be the theme ;

And thus I '11 hush my heart to

I loved and was beloved again,

rest, —

Yet all was but a dream :

* Thy loving labor 's lost ;

For, as her love was quickly got,

Thou shalt no more be wildly blest,

So it was quickly gone ;

To be so strangely crost :

No more I '11 bask in flame so hot,

The widowed turtles mateless die,

But coldly dwell alone.

The phoenix is but one ;

They seek no loves — no more will

Not maid more bright than maid

I —

was e'er

I '11 rather dwell alone.'

My fancy shall beguile,

By flattering word or feigned tear,

By gesture, look, or smile ;

EPITAPH

No more I'll call the shaft fair

shot,

DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT IN

Till it has fairly flown,

LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL, AT

Nor scorch me at a flame so hot —

THE BURIAL-PLACE OF THE

I '11 rather freeze alone.

FAMILY OF MISS SEWARD

Each ambushed Cupid I '11 defy

Amid these aisles where once his

In cheek or chin or brow,

precepts showed

And deem the glance of woman's

The heavenward pathway which

eye

in life he trode,

As weak as woman's vow :

This simple tablet marks a Fa-

I '11 lightly hold the lady's heart,

ther's bier,

That is but lightly won ;

And those he loved in life in death

I '11 steel my breast to beauty's art,

are near ;

And learn to live alone.

For him, for them, a Daughter

bade it rise,

The flaunting torch soon blazes

Memorial of domestic charities.

out,

Still wouldst thou know why o'er

The diamond's ray abides ;

the marble spread

The flame its glory hurls about,

In female grace the willow droops

The gem its lustre hides ;

her head ;

Such gem I fondly deemed was

Why on her branches, silent and

mine,

unstrung,

And glowed a diamond stone,

The minstrel harp is emblematic

But, since each eye may see it

hung;

shine,

What poet's voice is smothered

I '11 darkling dwell alone.

here in dust

Till waked to join the chorus of

No waking dreams shall tinge my

the just, —

thought

Lo ! one brief line an answer sad

With dyes so bright and vain,

supplies,

THE POACHER

553

Honored, beloved, and mourned,

here Seward lies !
Her worth, her warmth of heart,

let friendship say, —
Go seek her genius in her living lay.

PROLOGUE

TO MISS BAILLIE'S PLAY OF * THE
FAMILY LEGEND '

'T is sweet to hear expiring Sum-
mer's sigh,

Through forests tinged with rus-
set, wail and die ;

'T is sweet and sad the latest notes
to hear

Of distant music, dying on the ear ;

But far more sadly sweet on for-
eign strand

We list the legends of our native
land,

Linked as they come with every
tender tie,

Memorials dear of youth and in-
fancy.

Chief thy wild tales, romantic

Caledon,
Wake keen remembrance in each

hardy son.
Whether on India's burning coasts

he toil
Or till Acadia's winter-fettered

soil,
He hears with throbbing heart and

moistened eyes,
And, as he hears, what dear illu-
sions rise !
It opens on his soul his native

dell,
The woods wild waving and the

water's swell ;
Tradition's theme, the tower that

threats the plain,
The mossy cairn that hides the

hero slain ;
The cot beneath whose simple

porch were told
By gray-haired patriarch the tales

of old,

The infant group that hushed their

sports the while,
And the dear maid who listened

with a smile.
The wanderer, while the vision

warms his brain,
Is denizen of Scotland once again.

Are such keen feelings to the

crowd confined,
And sleep they in the poet's gifted

mind?
O no! For she, within whose

mighty page
Each tyrant Passion shows his

woe and rage,
Has felt the wizard influence they

inspire,
And to your own traditions tuned

her lyre.
Yourselves shall judge — whoe'er

has raised the sail
By Mull's dark coast has heard

this evening's tale.
The plaided boatman, resting on

his oar,
Points to the fatal rock amid the

roar
Of whitening waves, and tells

whate'er to-night
Our humble stage shall offer to

your sight ;
Proudly preferred that first our

efforts give
Scenes glowing from her pen to

breathe and live ;
More proudly yet, should Caledon

approve
The filial token of a daughter's

love.

THE POACHER

WRITTEN IN IMITATION OF
CRABBE

Welcome, grave stranger, to our

green retreats
Where health with exercise and

freedom meets !

554

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Thrice welcome, sage, whose
philosophic plan

By nature's limits metes the rights
of man ;

Generous as he who now for free-
dom bawls,

Now gives full value for true In-
dian shawls :

O'er court, o'er custom-house, his
shoe who flings,

Now bilks excisemen and now
bullies kings.

Like his, I ween, thy comprehen-
sive mind

Holds laws as mouse-traps baited
for mankind : 10

Thine eye applausive each sly ver-
min sees,

That balks the snare yet battens
on the cheese ;

Thine ear has heard with scorn in-
stead of awe

Our buckskinned justices expound
the law,

Wire-draw the acts that fix for
wires the pain,

And for the netted partridge noose
the swain ;

And thy vindictive arm would fain
have broke

The last light fetter of the feudal
yoke,

To give the denizens of wood and
wild,

Nature's free race, to each her
free-born child. 20

Hence hast thou marked with
grief fair London's race,

Mocked with the boon of one poor
Easter chase,

And longed to send them forth as
free as when

Poured o'er Chantilly the Parisian
train,

When musket, pistol, blunderbuss,
combined,

And scarce the field-pieces were
left behind !

A squadron's charge each leveret's
heart dismayed,

On every covey fired a bold bri-
gade;

La Douce Humanite approved the
sport,

For great the alarm indeed, yet
small the hurt ; 30

Shouts patriotic solemnized the
day,

And Seine reechoed Vive la Li-
berie !

But mad Citoyen, meek Monsieur
again,

With some few added links re-
sumes his chain.

Then, since such scenes to France
no more are known,

Come, view with me a hero of
thine own,

One whose free actions vindicate
the cause

Of sylvan liberty o'er feudal laws.

Seek we yon glades where the

proud oak o'ertops
Wide-waving seas of birch and

hazel copse, 40

Leaving between deserted isles of

land
Where stunted heath is patched

with ruddy sand,
And lonely on the waste the yew

is seen,
Or straggling hollies spread a

brighter green.
Here, little worn and winding dark

and steep,
Our scarce marked path descends

yon dingle deep :
Follow — but heedful, cautious of

a trip —
In earthly mire philosophy may

slip.
Step slow and wary o'er that

swampy stream,
Till, guided by the charcoal's

smothering steam, 50

We reach the frail yet barricaded

door
Of hovel formed for poorest of the

poor;

THE POACHER

555

No hearth the fire, no vent the

smoke receives,
The walls are wattles and the

covering leaves ;
For, if such hut, our forest statutes

say,
Rise in the progress of one night

and day —
Though placed where still the Con-
queror's hest o'erawe,
And his son's stirrup shines the

badge of law —
The builder claims the unenviable

boon,
To tenant dwelling, framed as

slight and soon 60

As wigwam wild that shrouds the

native frore
On the bleak coast of frost-barred

Labrador.

Approach and through the un-
latticed window peep —

Nay, shrink not back, the inmate
is asleep ;

Sunk mid yon sordid blankets till
the sun

Stoop to the west, the plunderer's
toils are done.

Loaded and primed and prompt
for desperate hand,

Rifle and fowling-piece beside him
stand ;

While round the hut are in dis-
order laid

The tools and booty of his lawless
trade ; 70

For force or fraud, resistance or
escape,

The crow, the saw, the bludgeon,
and the crape.

His pilfered powder in yon nook
he hoards,

And the filched lead the church's
roof affords —

Hence shall the rector's congrega-
tion fret,

That while his sermon 's dry his
walls are wet.

The fish-spear barbed, the sweep-

ing net are there,
Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes,

and skins of hare,
Cordage for toils and wiring for

the snare.
Bartered for game from chase or

warren won, 80

Yon cask holds moonlight, run

when moon was none ;
And late-snatched spoils lie stowed

in hutch apart
To wait the associate higgler's

evening cart

Look on his pallet foul and mark
his rest :

What scenes perturbed are acting
in his breast !

His sable brow is wet and wrung
with pain,

And his dilated nostril toils in
vain;

For short and scant the breath
each effort draws,

And 'twixt each effort Nature
claims a pause.

Beyond the loose and sable neck-
cloth stretched, 90

His sinewy throat seems by con-
vulsion twitched,

While the tongue falters, as to
utterance loath,

Sounds of dire import — watch-
word, threat, and oath.

Though, stupefied by toil and
drugged with gin,

The body sleep, the restless guest
within

Now plies on wood and wold his
lawless trade,

Now in the fangs of justice wakes
dismayed. —

* Was that wild start of terror
and despair,

Those bursting eyeballs and that
wildered air,

Signs of compunction for a mur-
dered hare ? 100

SS<5

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Do the locks bristle and the eye-

The clown who robs the warren

brows arch

or excise

For grouse or partridge massacred

With sterner felons trained to act

in March ? >

more dread,

Even with the wretch by whom

No, scoffer, no! Attend, and

his fellow bled.

mark with awe,

Then, as in plagues the foul con-

There is no wicket in the gate of

tagions pass,

law!

Leavening and festering the cor-

He that would e'er so lightly set

rupted mass,

ajar

Guilt leagues with guilt while

That awful portal must undo each

mutual motives draw, 130

bar:

Their hope impunity, their fear

Tempting occasion, habit, passion,

the law :

pride,

Their foes, their friends, their ren-

Will join to storm the breach and

dezvous the same,

force the barrier wide.

Till the revenue balked or pilfered

game

That ruffian, whom true men

Flesh the young culprit, and ex-

avoid and dread,

ample leads

Whom bruisers, poachers, smug-

To darker villany and direr deeds.

glers, call Black Ned, no

Was Edward Mansell once ; — the

lightest heart

Wild howled the wind the forest

That ever played on holiday his

glades along,

part!

And oft the owl renewed her dis-

The leader he in every Christmas

mal song ;

game,

Around the spot where erst he felt

The harvest - feast grew blither

the wound,

when he came,

Ked William's spectre walked his

And liveliest on the chords the

midnight round.

bow did glance

When o'er the swamp he cast his

When Edward named the tune

blighting look, 140

and led the dance.

From the green marshes of the

Kind was his heart, his passions

stagnant brook

quick and strong,

The bittern's sullen shout the

Hearty his laugh, and jovial was

sedges shook !

his song;

The waning moon with storm-pre-

And if he loved a gun, his father

saging gleam

swore,

Now gave and now withheld her

1 'T was but a trick of youth would

doubtful beam ;

soon be o'er, 120

The old Oak stooped his arms,

Himself had done the same some

then flung them high,

thirty years before.'

Bellowing and groaning to the

troubled sky —

But he whose humors spurn

'T was then that, couched amid

law's awful yoke

the brushwood sear,

Must herd with those by whom

In Malwood-walk young Mansell

law's bonds are broke ;

watched the deer :

The common dread of justice soon

The fattest buck received his

allies

deadly shot —

ON THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE

557

The watchful keeper heard and
sought the spot. 150

Stout were their hearts, and stub-
born was their strife ;

O'erpowered at length the Outlaw
drew his knife.

Next morn a corpse was found
upon the fell —

The rest his waking agony may
tell!

THE BOLD DRAGOON

OR, THE PLAIN OF BADAJOS

'T was a Marshal of France, and

he fain would honor gain,
And he longed to take a passing
glance at Portugal from
Spain ;
With his flying guns this gal-
lant gay,
And boasted corps d'armee —
0, he feared not our dragoons with
their long swords boldly rid-
ing,
Whack, fal de ral, etc.

To Campo Mayor come, he had

quietly sat down,
Just a fricassee to pick while his
soldiers sacked the town,
When, t was peste ! morbleu !

mon General,
Hear the English bugle-call !
And behold the light dragoons
with their long swords boldly
riding,
Whack, fal de ral, etc.

Right about went horse and foot,

artillery and all,
And, as the devil leaves a house,
they tumbled through the
wall;
They took no time to seek the

door,
But, best foot set before —

O, they ran from our dragoons
with their long swords boldly
riding,
Whack, fal de ral, etc.

Those valiant men of France they

had scarcely fled a mile,
When on their flank there soused
at once the British rank and
file;
For Long, De Grey, and Otway

then
Ne'er minded one to ten,
But came on like light dragoons
with^their long.swords boldly
riding,
Whack, fal de ral, etc.

Three hundred British lads they

made three thousand reel,
Their hearts were made of English
oak, their swords of Sheffield
steel,
Their horses were in Yorkshire

bred,
And Beresford them led ;
So huzza for brave dragoons with
their long swords boldly rid-
ing,
Whack, fal de ral, etc.

Then here 's a health to Welling-
ton, to Beresford, to Long,
And a single word of Bonaparte
before I close my song :
The eagles that to fight he

brings
Should serve his men with
wings,
When they meet the bold dragoons
with their long swords boldly
riding,
Whack, fal de ral, etc.

ON THE MASSACRE OF
GLENCOE

' O, tell me, Harper, wherefore

flow
Thy wayward notes of wail and

woe

558

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Far down the desert of Glencoe,
Where none may list their mel-
ody?
Say, harp'st thou to the mists that

fly,
Or to the dun-deer glancing by,
Or to the eagle that from high
Screams chorus to thy min-
strelsy ? '

1 No, not to these, for they have

rest,—
The mist-wreath has the mountain-
crest,
The stag his lair, the erne her

nest,
Abode of lone security.
But those for whom I pour the

lay,
Not wild-wood deep nor mountain

gray,
Not this deep dell that shrouds

from day,
Could screen from treacherous

cruelty.

* Their flag was furled and mute

their drum,
The very household dogs were

dumb,
Unwont to bay at guests that come

In guise of hospitality.
His blithest notes the piper plied,
Her gayest snood the maiden

tied,
The dame her distaff flung aside
To tend her kindly housewifery.

' The hand that mingled in the meal
At midnight drew the felon steel,
And gave the host's kind breast to
feel
Meed for his hospitality !
The friendly hearth which warmed

that hand
At midnight armed it with the

brand
That bade destruction's flames ex-
pand
Their red and fearful blazonry.

4 Then woman's shriek was heard

in vain.
Nor infancy's unpitied plain,
More than the warrior's groan,

could gain
Respite from ruthless butchery !
The winter wind that whistled

shrill,
The snows that night that cloked

the hill,
Though wild and pitiless, had

still
Far more than Southern clem-

ency.

' Long have my harp's best notes

been gone,
Few are its strings and faint their

tone,
They can but sound in desert lone
Their gray - haired master's

misery.
Were each gray hair a minstrel

string,
Each chord should imprecations

fling,
Till startled Scotland loud should

ring,
" Revenge for blood and treach-
ery ! " ■

SONG

FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEET-
ING OF THE PITT CLUB OF
SCOTLAND

0, dread was the time, and more
dreadful the omen,
When the brave on Marengo lay
slaughtered in vain,
And beholding broad Europe
bowed down by her foemen,
Pitt closed in his anguish the
map of her reign !
Not the fate of broad Europe could
bend his brave spirit
To take for his country the safety
of shame ;

LINES

559

O, then in her triumph remember
his merit,
And hallow the goblet that flows
to his name.

Round the husbandman's head
while he traces the furrow
The mists of the winter may
mingle with rain,
He may plough it with labor and
sow it in sorrow,
And sigh while he fears he has
sowed it in vain ;
He may die ere his children shall
reap in their gladness,
But the blithe harvest -home
shall remember his claim ;
And their jubilee-shout shall be
softened with sadness,
While they hallow the goblet
that flows to his name.

Though anxious and timeless his
life was expended,
In toils for our country pre-
served by his care,
Though he died ere one ray o'er
the nations ascended,
To light the long darkness of
doubt and despair ;
The storms he endured in our Bri-
tain's December,
The perils his wisdom foresaw
and o'ercame,
In her glory's rich harvest shall
Britain remember,
And hallow the goblet that flows
to his name.

Nor forget His gray head who, all
dark in affliction,
Is deaf to the tale of our victo-
ries won,
And to sounds the most dear to
paternal affection,
The shout of his people ap-
plauding his Son ;
By his firmness unmoved in suc-
cess and disaster,
By his long reign of virtue, re-
member his claim !

With our tribute to Pitt join the
praise of his Master,
Though a tear stain the goblet
that flows to his name.

Yet again fill the wine-cup and
change the sad measure,
The rites of our grief and our
gratitude paid,
To our Prince, to our Heroes, de-
vote the bright treasure,
The wisdom that planned, and
the zeal that obeyed !
Fill Wellington's cup till it
beam like his glory,
Forget not our own brave Dal-
housie and Graeme ;
A thousand years hence hearts
shall bound at their story,
And hallow the goblet that flows
to their fame.

LINES

ADDRESSED TO RANALD MAC-
DONALD, ESQ., OF STAFFA

Staffa, sprung from high Mac-
donald

Worthy branch of old Clan-Ran-
ald!

Staffa ! king of all kind fellows !

Well befall thy hills and val-
leys,

Lakes and inlets, deeps and shal-
lows—

Cliffs of darkness, caves of won-
der,

Echoing the Atlantic thunder ;

Mountains which the gray mist
covers,

Where the Chieftain spirit hov-
ers,
Pausing while his pinions

quiver,
Stretched to quit our land for-
ever!
Each kind influence reign above
thee!

560

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Warmer heart 'twixt this and

Staffa
Beats not than in heart of

Staffa !

PHAROS LOQUITUR

Far in the bosom of the deep,
O'er these wild shelves my ,watch

I keep ;
A ruddy gem of changeful light,
Bound on the dusky brow of night,
The seaman bids my lustre hail,
And scorns to strike his timorous

sail.

LETTERS IN VERSE

ON THE VOYAGE WITH THE COM-
MISSIONERS OF NORTHERN
LIGHTS

To His Grace theDuke ofBuccleuch

Lighthouse Yacht in the sound of
Leewick, Zetland, 8th August, 1814.

Health to the chieftain from
his clansman true !

From her true minstrel, health to
fair Buccleuch !

Health from the isles where dewy
Morning weaves

Her chaplet with the tints that
Twilight leaves ;

Where late the sun scarce van-
ished from the sight,

And his bright pathway graced
the short-lived night,

Though darker now as autumn's
shades extend

The north winds whistle and the
mists ascend !

Health from the land where eddy-
ing whirlwinds toss

The storm-rocked cradle of the
Cape of Noss ; 10

On outstretched cords the giddy
engine slides,

His own strong arm the bold ad-
venturer guides,

And he that lists such desperate
feat to try

May, like the sea-mew, skim 'twixt
surf and sky,

And feel the mid-air gales around
him blow,

And see the billows rage five hun-
dred feet below.

Here, by each stormy peak and
desert shore,

The hardy islesman tugs the dar-
ing oar,

Practised alike his venturous
course to keep

Through the white breakers or the
pathless deep, 20

By ceaseless peril and by toil to
gain

A wretched pittance from the nig-
gard main.

And when the worn-out drudge old
ocean leaves,

What comfort greets him and what
hut receives ?

Lady ! the worst your presence ere
has cheered —

When want and sorrow fled as
you appeared —

Were to a Zetlander as the high
dome

Of proud Drumlanrig to my hum-
ble home.

Here rise no groves and here no
gardens blow,

Here even the hardy heath scarce
dares to grow ; 30

But rocks on rocks, in mist and
storm arrayed,

Stretch far to sea their giant co-
lonnade,

With many a cavern seamed, the
dreary haunt

Of the dun seal and swarthy cor-
morant.

Wild round their rifted brows,
with frequent cry

LETTERS IN VERSE

56l

As of lament, the gulls and gan-

nets fly,
And from their sable base with

sullen sound
In sheets of whitening foam the

waves rebound.

Yet even these coasts a touch of
envy gain

From those whose land has known
oppression's chain; 40

For here the industrious Dutch-
man comes once more

To moor his fishing craft by Bres-
say's shore,

Greets every former mate and
brother tar,

Marvels how Lerwick 'scaped the
rage of war,

Tells many a tale of Gallic out-
rage done,

And ends by blessing God and
Wellington.

Here too the Greenland tar, a
fiercer guest,

Claims a brief hour of riot, not of
rest ;

Proves each wild frolic that in wine
has birth,

And wakes the land with brawls
and boisterous mirth. 50

A sadder sight on yon poor ves-
sel's prow

The captive Norseman sits in si-
lent woe,

And eyes the flags of Britain as
they flow.

Hard fate of war, which bade her
terrors sway

His destined course and seize so
mean a prey,

A bark with planks so warped and
seams so riven

She scarce might face the gentlest
airs of heaven :

Pensive he sits, and questions oft
if none

Can list his speech and under-
stand his moan ;

In vain — no Islesman now can
use the tongue 60

Of the bold Norse from whom their
lineage sprung.

Not thus of old the Norsemen
hither came,

Won by the love of danger or of
fame j

On every storm-beat cape a shape-
less tower

Tells of their wars, their con-
quests, and their power ;

For ne'er for Grecia's vales nor
Latian land

Was fiercer strife than for this
barren strand ;

A race severe, the isle and ocean
lords

Loved for its own delight the strife
of swords ;

With scornful laugh the mortal
pang defied, 70

And blest their gods that they in
battle died.

Such were the sires of Zetland's
simple race,

And still the eye may faint resem-
blance trace

In the blue eye, tall form, propor-
tion fair,

The limbs athletic, and the long
light hair —

Such was the mien, as Scald and
Minstrel sings,

Of fair-haired Harold, first of Nor-
way's Kings; —

But their high deeds to scale these
crags confined,

Their only welfare is with waves
and wind.

Why should I talk of Mousa's
castle coast ? 80

Why of the horrors of the Sun-
burgh Post?

May not these bald disjointed lines
suffice,

Penned while my comrades whirl
the rattling dice —

While down the cabin skylight
lessening shine

562

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

The rays, and eve is chased with

mirth and wine ?
Imagined, while down Mousa's

desert bay
Our well-trimmed vessel urged her

nimble way,
While to the freshening breeze she

leaned her side,
And bade her bowsprit kiss the

foamy tide ?

Such are the lays that Zetland

Isles supply ; 90

Drenched with the drizzly spray

and dropping sky,
Weary and wet, a sea-sick min-
strel I.

W. Scott.

POSTSCRIPTUM

Kirkwall, Orkney, Aug. 13, 1814.

In respect that your Grace has
commissioned a Kraken,

You will please be informed that
they seldom are taken ;

It is January two years, the Zet-
land folks say,

Since they saw the last Kraken in
Scalloway bay ;

He lay in the offing a fortnight or
more,

But the devil a Zetlander put from
the shore,

Though bold in the seas of the
North to assail

The morse and the sea-horse, the
grampus and whale. 100

If your Grace thinks I 'm writing
the thing that is not,

You may ask at a namesake of
ours, Mr. Scott —

He 's not from our clan, though his
merits deserve it,

But springs, I 'm informed, from
the Scotts of Scotstarvet ; —

He questioned the folks who be-
held it with eyes,

But they differed confoundedly as

to its size.
For instance, the modest and diffi-
dent swore
That it seemed like the keel of a

ship and no more —
Those of eyesight more clear or of

fancy more high
Said it rose like an island 'twixt

ocean and sky — no

But all of the hulk had a steady

opinion
That 't was sure a live subject of

Neptune's dominion —
And I think, my Lord Duke, your

Grace hardly would wish,
To cumber your house, such a ket-
tle of fish.
Had your order related to night-
caps or hose
Or mittens of worsted, there 's

plenty of those.
Or would you be pleased but to

fancy a whale ?
And direct me to send it — by sea

or by mail ?
The season, I 'mtold, is nigh over,

but still
I could get you one fit for the lake

at Bowhill. 120

Indeed, as to whales, there 's no

need to be thrifty,
Since one day last fortnight two

hundred and fifty,
Pursued by seven Orkneymen's

boats and no more,
Betwixt Truffness and Luffness

were drawn on the shore !
You '11 ask if I saw this same

wonderful sight ;
I own that I did not, but easily

might —
For this mighty shoal of levia-
thans Jay
On our lee-beam a mile, in the loop

of the bay,
And the islesmen of Sanda were

all at the spoil,
And flinching— so term it — the

blubber to boil;— 130

SONGS AND VERSES FROM WAVERLEY 563

Ye spirits of lavender, drown the

The quintain was set, and the gar-

reflection

lands were made,

That awakes at the thoughts of

'Tis pity old customs should

this odorous dissection. —

ever decay ;

To see this huge marvel full fain

And woe be to him that was horsed

would we go,

on a jade,

But Wilson, the wind, and the

For he carried no credit away,

current said noe

away.

We have now got to Kirkwall, and

needs I must stare

We met a concert of fiddle-de-

When I think that in verse I have

dees ;

once called it fair :

We set them a-cockhorse, and

'Tis a base little borough, both

made them play

dirty and mean —

The winning of Bullen, and Upsey-

There is nothing to hear and

frees,

there 's naught to be seen,

And away to Tewin, away, away.!

Save a church where of old times

a prelate harangued,

There was ne'er a lad in all the

And a palace that 's built by an

parish

earl that was hanged. 140

That would go to the plough

But farewell to Kirkwall — aboard

that day ;

we are going,

But on his fore-horse his wench he

The anchor's a-peak and the

carries,

breezes are blowing;

And away to Tewin, away, away!

Our commodore calls all his band

to their places,

The butler was quick, and the ale

And 't is time to release you —

he did tap,

good-night to your Graces !

The maidens did make the cham-

ber full gay ;

The servants did give me a fud-

dling cup,

SONGS AND VERSES FROM

And I did carry 't away, away.

WAVERLEY

The smith of the town his liquor

so took,

That he was persuaded that the

'AND DID YE NOT HEAR OF A

ground looked blue ;

MIBTH BEFELL '

And I dare boldly be sworn on a

book,

To the tune of ■ / have been a Fiddler,'

Such smiths as he there 's but a

etc.

few.

And did ye not hear of a mirth

A posset was made, and the

befell

women did sip,

The morrow after a wedding

And simpering said, they could

day,

eat no more ;

And carrying a bride at home to

Full many a maiden was laid on

dwell ?

the lip, —

And away to Tewin, away,

I '11 say no more, but give o'er,

away!

give o'er.

564

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

* LATE, WHEN THE AUTUMN
EVENING FELL »

From chapter v.

Late, when the autumn evening

fell
On Mirkwood - Mere's romantic

dell,
The lake returned, in chastened

gleam,
The purple cloud , the golden beam :
Reflected in the crystal pool,
Headland and bank lay fair and

cool;
The weather-tinted rock and tower,
Each drooping tree, each fairy

flower,
So true, so soft, the mirror gave,
As if there lay beneath the wave,
Secure from trouble, toil, and care,
A world than earthly world more

fair.

But distant winds began to wake,
And roused the Genius of the

Lake !
He heard the groaning of the oak,
And donned at once his sable

cloak,
As warrior, at the battle cry,
Invests him with his panoply :
Then, as the whirlwind nearer

pressed,
He 'gan to shake his foamy crest
O'er furrowed brow and black-
ened cheek,
And bade his surge in thunder

speak.
In wild and broken eddies whirled,
Flitted that fond ideal world ;
And, to the shore in tumult tost,
The realms of fairy bliss were lost.

Yet, with a stern delight and

strange,
I saw the spirit-stirring change
As warred the wind with wave and

wood.

Upon the ruined tower I stood,
And felt my heart more strongly

bound,
Responsive to the lofty sound,
While, joying in the mighty roar,
I mourned that tranquil scene no

more.

So, on the idle dreams of youth
Breaks the loud trumpet-call of

truth,
Bids each fair vision pass away,
Like landscape on the lake that

lay,
As fair, as flitting, and as frail,
As that which fled the autumn

gale —
Forever dead to fancy's eye
Be each gay form that glided by,
While dreams of love and lady's

charms
Give place to honor and to arms !

4 THE knight 's to the moun-
tain'

From chapter ix.

The Knight 's to the mountain

His bugle to wind ;
The lady 's to greenwood

Her garland to bind.
The bower of Burd Ellen

Has moss on the floor,
That the step of Lord William

Be silent and sure.

'it >s up glembabchan's
braes i gaed '

From chapter xi.

It's up Glembarchan's braes I

gaed,
And o'er the bent of Killiebraid,

SONGS AND VERSES FROM WAVERLEY 565

And mony a weary cast I made
To cuittle the moor-fowl's tail.

If up a bonny black-cock should

spring,
To whistle him down wi' a slug in

his wing,
And strap him on to my lunzie

string,
Right seldom would I fail.

1 HIE AWAY, HIE AWAY '

From chapter xii.

Hie away, hie away,

Over bank and over brae,

Where the copsewood is the green-
est,

Where the fountains glisten sheen-
est,

Where the lady-fern grows strong-
est,

Where the morning dew lies long-
est,

Where the black-cock sweetest
sips it,

Where the fairy latest trips it :

Hie to haunts right seldom seen,

Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green,

Over bank and over brae,

Hie away, hie away.

ST. SWITHIN'S CHAIR

From chapter xiii.

On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere you

boune ye to rest,
Ever beware that your couch be

blessed ;
Sign it with cross, and sain it with

bead,
Sing the Ave and say the Creed.

For on Hallow - Mass Eve the

Night-Hag will ride,
And all her nine-fold sweeping on

by her side,
Whether the wind sing lowly or

loud,
Sailing through moonshine or

swathed in the cloud.

The Lady she sate in St. Swithin's

Chair,
The dew of the night has damped

her hair :
Her cheek was pale, but resolved

and high
Was the word of her lip and the

glance of her eye.

She muttered the spell of Swithin

bold,
When his naked foot traced the

midnight wold,
When he stopped the Hag as she

rode the night,
And bade her descend and her

promise plight.

He that dare sit on St. Swithin's

Chair
When the Night-Hag wings the

troubled air,
Questions three, when he speaks

the spell,
He may ask, and she must tell.

The Baron has been with King

Robert his liege,
These three long years in battle

and siege ;
News are there none of his weal

or his woe,
And fain the Lady his fate would

know.

She shudders and stops as the
charm she speaks ; —

Is it the moody owl that shrieks?

Or is that sound, betwixt laughter
and scream,

The voice of the Demon who
haunts the stream ?

566

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

The moan of the wind sunk silent

and low,
And the roaring torrent had ceased

to flow ;
The calm was more dreadful than

raging storm,
When the cold gray mist brought

the ghastly form !

VII

* YOUNG MEN WILL LOVE THEE
MORE FAIR AND MORE FAST '

From chapter xiv.

Young men will love thee more
fair and more fast !
Heard ye so merry the little bird
sing ?
Old men's love the longest will last,
And the throstle-cock's head is
under his wing.

The young man's wrath is like
light straw on fire ;
Heard ye so merry the little bird
sing ?
But like red-hot steel is the old
man's ire,
And the throstle-cock's head is
under his wing.

The young man will brawl at the
evening board ;
Heard ye so merry the little bird
sing?
But the old man will draw at the
dawning the sword,
And the throstle-cock 's head is
under his wing.

VIII
FLORA MACIVOR'S SONG

From chapter xxii.

There is mist on the mountain,
and night on the vale,

But more dark is the sleep of the

sons of the Gael.
A stranger commanded — it sunk

on the land,
It has frozen each heart and be-

numbed every hand !

The dirk and the target lie sordid
with dust,

The bloodless claymore is but red-
dened with rust ;

On the hill or the glen if a gun
should appear,

It is only to war with the heath-
cock or deer.

The deeds of our sires if our bards

should rehearse,
Let a blush or a blow be the meed

of their verse !
Be mute every string and be

hushed every tone
That shall bid us remember the

fame that is flown !

But the dark hours of night and

of slumber are past,
The morn on our mountains is

dawning at last ;
Glenaladale's peaks are illumed

with the rays,
And the streams of Glenfinnan

leap bright in the blaze.

0 high-minded Moray! — the ex-
iled—the dear ! —

In the blush of the dawning the
Standard uprear !

Wide, wide to the winds of the
north let it fly,

Like the sun's latest flash when
the tempest is nigh !

Ye sons of the strong, when that

dawning shall break,
Need the harp of the aged remind

you to wake ?
That dawn never beamed on your

forefathers' eye,
But it roused each high chieftain

to vanquish or die.

SONGS AND VERSES FROM WAVERLEY 567

0, sprung from the Kings who in

Islay kept state,
Proud chiefs of Clan-Ranald, Glen-

gary, and Sleat !
Combine like three streams from

one mountain of snow,
And resistless in union rush down

on the foe !

True son of Sir Evan, undaunted

Lochiel,
Place thy targe on thy shoulder

and burnish thy steel !
Rough Keppoch, give breath to

thy bugle's bold swell,
Till far Coryarrick resound to the

knell !

Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high

chief of Kintail,
Let the stag in thy standard bound

wild in the gale !
May the race of Clan-Gillian, the

fearless and free,
Remember Glenlivet, Harlaw, and

Dundee !

Let the clan of gray Fingon, whose

offspring has given
Such heroes to earth and such

martyrs to heaven,
Unite with the race of renowned

Rom More,
To launch the long galley and

stretch to the oar !

How Mac-Shimei will joy when

their chief shall display
The yew - crested bonnet o'er

tresses of gray !
How the race of wronged Alpine

and murdered Glencoe
Shall shout for revenge when they

pour on the foe !

Ye sons of brown Dermid, who

slew the wild boar,
Resume the pure faith of the great

Callum-More !

Mac-Niel of the Islands, and Moy
of the Lake,

For honor, for freedom, for ven-
geance awake !

Awake on your hills, on your is-
lands awake,

Brave sons of the mountain, the
frith, and the lake !

'Tis the bugle — but not for the
chase is the call ;

'T is the pibroch's shrill summons
— but not to the hall.

'Tis the summons of heroes for

conquest or death,
When the banners are blazing on

mountain and heath ;
They call to the dirk, the claymore,

and the targe,
To the march and the muster, the

line and the charge.

Be the brand of each chieftain like

Fin's in his ire !
May the blood through his veins

flow like currents of fire !
Burst the base foreign yoke as

your sires did of yore !
Or die like your sires, and endure

it no more !

TO AN OAK TREE

IN THE CHURCHYARD

HIGHLANDS OP SCOTLAND,

-, IN THE
SAID TO

MARK THE GRAVE OP CAPTAIN WOGAN,
KILLED IN 1649

From chapter xxix.

Emblem of England's ancient
faith,
Full proudly may thy branches
wave,
Where loyalty lies low in death,
And valor fills a timeless grave.

568

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

And thou, brave tenant of the
tomb!

Repine not if our clime deny,
Above thine honored sod to bloom,

The flowerets of a milder sky.

These owe their birth to genial
May;
Beneath a fiercer sun they pine,
Before the winter storm decay —
And can their worth be type of
thine ?

No ! for 'mid storms of Fate op-
posing,
Still higher swelled thy daunt-
less heart,
And, while Despair the scene was
closing,
Commenced thy brief but bril-
liant part.

'T was then thou sought'st on
Albyn's hill,
(When England's sons the strife
resigned,)
A rugged race resisting still,
And unsubdued, though unre-
fined.

Thy death's hour heard no kin-
dred wail,
No holy knell thy requiem rung ;
Thy mourners were the plaided
Gael,
Thy dirge the clamorous pibroch
sung.

Yet who, in Fortune's summer-
shine
To waste life's longest term
away,
Would change that glorious dawn
of thine
Though darkened ere its noon-
tide day ?

Be thine the Tree whose dauntless
boughs
Brave summer's drought and
winter's gloom !

Rome bound with oak her patriot's
brows,
As Albyn shadows Wogan's
tomb.

* WE ARE BOUND TO DRIVE THE
BULLOCKS '

From chapter xxxviii.

We are bound to drive the bul-
locks,
All by hollows, hirsts, and hillocks,
Through the sleet and through
the rain.
When the moon is beaming low
On frozen lake and hills of snow,
Bold and heartily we go,
And all for little gain.

* BUT FOLLOW, FOLLOW ME »

From chapter lxiii.

But follow, follow me,
While glow-worms light the lea,
I '11 show ye where the dead should
be —
Each in his shroud,
While winds pipe loud,
And the red moon peeps dim

through the cloud.
Follow, follow me :
Brave should he be
That treads by the night the dead
man's lea.

FOR A' THAT AN' A' THAT

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE

Though right be aft put down by
strength,

As mony a day we saw that,
The true and leilfu' cause at length

Shall bear the grie for a' that !

FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE

569

For a' that an' a' that,

Guns, guillotines, and a' that,
The Fleur-de-lis, that lost her
right,

Is queen again for a' that !

We '11 twine her in a friendly knot

With England's Rose, and a'
that;
The Shamrock shall not be forgot,

For Wellington made bra' that.
The Thistle, though her leaf be
rude,

Yet faith we '11 no misca' that,
She sheltered in her solitude

The Fleur-de-lis, for a' that.

The Austrian Vine, the Prussian
Pine,
(For Blucher's sake, hurra
that,)
The Spanish Olive, too, shall join,
And bloom in peace for a' that.
Stout Russia's Hemp, so surely
twined
Around our wreath we '11 draw
that,
And he that would the cord unbind,
Shall have it for his gra-vat !

Or, if to choke sae puir a sot,

Your pity scorn to thraw that,
The Devil's elbo' be his lot,

Where he may sit and claw that.
In spite of slight, in spite of might,

In spite of brags and a' that,
The lads that battled for the right,

Have won the day and a' that !

There 's ae bit spot I had forgot,

America they ca' that !
A coward plot her rats had got

Their father's flag to gnaw that:
Now see it fly top-gallant high,

Atlantic winds shall blaw that,
And Yankee loon, beware your
croun,
There 's kames in hand to claw
that!
For on the land, or on the sea,
. Where'er the breezes blaw that,

The British Flag shall bear the grie.
And win the day for a' that !

FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE

HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL
PROM THE GAELIC

Farewell, to Mackenneth, great

Earl of the North,
The Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel,

and Seaforth ;
To the Chieftain this morning his

course who began,
Launching forth on the billows his

bark like a swan.
For a far foreign land he has

hoisted his sail,
Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief

of Kintail !

O, swift be the galley and hardy

her crew,
May her captain be skilful, her

mariners true,
In danger undaunted, unwearied

by toil,
Though the whirlwind should rise

and the ocean should boil :
On the brave vessel's gunnel I

drank his bonail,
And farewell to Mackenzie, High

Chief of Kintail !

Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet
southland gale !

Like the sighs of his people, breathe
soft on his sail ;

Be prolonged as regret that his
vassals must know,

Be fair as their faith and sincere
as their woe :

Be so soft and so fair and so faith-
ful, sweet gale,

Wafting onward Mackenzie, High
Chief of Kintail!

Be his pilot experienced and trusty

and wise,
To measure the seas and to study

the skies :

570

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

May he hoist all his canvas from
streamer to deck,

But O ! crowd it higher when waft-
ing him back —

Till the cliffs of Skooroora and
Conan's glad vale

Shall welcome Mackenzie, High
Chief of Kintail !

IMITATION

OF THE PRECEDING SONG

So sung the old bard in the grief

of his heart
When he saw his loved lord from

his people depart.
Now mute on thy mountains, O

Albyn, are heard
Nor the voice of the song nor the

harp of the bard ;
Or its strings are but waked by the

stern winter gale,
As they mourn for Mackenzie, last

Chief of Kintail.

From the far Southland Border a

minstrel came forth,
And he waited the hour that some

bard of the north
His hand on the harp of the ancient

should cast,
And bid its wild numbers mix high

with the blast
But no bard was there left in the

land of the Gael
To lament for Mackenzie, last

Chief of Kintail.

4 And shalt thou then sleep,' did
the minstrel exclaim,

'Like the son of the lowly, un-
noticed by fame ?

No, son of Fitzgerald! in accents
of woe

The song thou hast loved o'er thy
coffin shall flow,

And teach thy wild mountains to
join in the wail

That laments for Mackenzie, last
Chief of Kintail.

' In vain, the bright course of thy
talents to wrong,

Fate deadened thine ear and im-
prisoned thy tongue ;

For brighter o'er all her obstruc-
tions arose

The glow of the genius they could
not oppose ;

And who in the land of the Saxon
or Gael

Might match with Mackenzie,
High Chief of Kintail?

1 Thy sons rose around thee in
light and in love,

All a father could hope, all a friend
could approve ;

What 'vails it the tale of thy sor-
rows to tell, —

In the spring-time of youth and of
promise they fell !

Of the line of Fitzgerald remains
not a male

To bear the proud name of the
Chief of Kintail.

' And thou, gentle dame, who must
bear to thy grief

For thy clan and thy country the
cares of a chief,

Whom brief rolling moons in six
changes have left,

Of thy husband and father and bre-
thren bereft,

To thine ear of affection how sad
is the hail

That salutes thee the heir of the
line of Kintail ! '

WAR-SONG OF LACHLAN

HIGH CHIEF OF MACLEAN
FROM THE GAELIC

A weary month has wandered

o'er
Since last we parted on the shore ;
Heaven! that I saw thee, love,

once more,

THE DANCE OF DEATH

$7*

Safe on that shore again ! —
>T was valiant Lachlan gave the

word:
Lachlan, of many a galley lord :
He called his kindred hands on
hoard,
And launched them on the
main.

Clan-Gillian is to ocean gone ,
Clan-Gillian, fierce in foray known ;
Rejoicing in the glory won

In many a bloody broil :
For wide is heard the thundering

fray,
The rout, the ruin, the dismay,
When from the twilight glens away

Clan-Gillian drives the spoil.

Woe to the hills that shall rebound

Our bannered bag-pipes' madden-
ing sound !

Clan-Gillian's onset echoing round,
Shall shake their inmost cell.

Woe to the bark whose crew shall
gaze

Where Lachlan' s silken streamer
plays !

The fools might face the lightning's
blaze
As wisely and as well !

SAINT CLOUD

Soft spread the southern summer
night
Her veil of darksome blue ;
Ten thousand stars combined to
light
The terrace of Saint Cloud.

The evening breezes gently sighed,
Like breath of lover true,

Bewailing the deserted pride
And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud.

The drum's deep roll was heard
afar,
The bugle wildly blew

Good-night to Hulan and Hussar
That garrison Saint Cloud.

The startled Naiads from the
shade
With broken urns withdrew,
And silenced was that proud cas-
cade,
The glory of Saint Cloud.

We sate upon its steps of stone,
Nor could its silence rue,

When waked to music of our own
The echoes of Saint Cloud.

Slow Seine might hear each lovely
note
Fall light as summer dew,
While through the moonless air
they float,
Prolonged from fair Saint Cloud.

And sure a melody more sweet

His waters never knew,
Though music's self was wont to
meet

With princes at Saint Cloud.

Nor then with more delighted ear
The circle round her drew

Than ours, when gathered round
to hear
Our songstress at Saint Cloud.

Few happy hours poor mortals
pass, —
Then give those hours their due,
And rank among the foremost
class
Our evenings at Saint Cloud.

THE DANCE OF DEATH

Night and morning were at meet-
ing
Over Waterloo ;
Cocks had sung their earliest greet-
ing;
Faint and low they crew,
For no paly beam yet shone

572

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

On the heights of Mount Saint

John;
Tempest - clouds prolonged the

sway
Of timeless darkness over day ;
Whirlwind, thunder - clap, and

shower
Marked it a predestined hour. 10
Broad and frequent through the

night
Flashed the sheets of levin-light ;
Muskets, glancing lightnings back,
Showed the dreary bivouac

Where the soldier lay,
Chill and stiff and drenched with

rain,
Wishing dawn of morn again,
Though death should come with

day.

'T is at such a tide and hour
Wizard, witch, and fiend have

power, 20

And ghastly forms through mist

and shower
Gleam on the gifted ken ;
And then the affrighted prophet's

ear
Drinks whispers strange of fate

and fear,
Presaging death and ruin near

Among the sons of men ; —
Apart from Albyn's war-array,
'T was then gray Allan sleepless

lay;
Gray Allan, who for many a day

Had followed stout and stern, 30
Where, through battle's rout and

reel,
Storm of shot and edge of steel,
Led the grandson of Lochiel,

Valiant Fassiefern.
Through steel and shot he leads

no more,
Low laid mid friends' and foe-
men's gore —
But long his native lake's wild

shore,
And Sunart rough, and high Ard-

gower,
And Morven long shall tell,

And proud Bennevis hear with
awe, 40

How upon bloody Quatre-Bras
Brave Cameron heard the wild
hurra
Of conquest as he fell.

Lone on the outskirts of the host,
The weary sentinel held post,
And heard through darkness far

aloof
The frequent clang of courser's

hoof,
Where held the cloaked patrol

their course
And spurred 'gainst storm the

swerving horse ;
But there are sounds in Allan's

ear 50

Patrol nor sentinel may hear,
And sights before his eye aghast
Invisible to them have passed,

When down the destined plain,
'Twixt Britain and the bands of

France,
Wild as marsh -borne meteor's

glance,
Strange phantoms wheeled a revel

dance
And doomed the future slain.
Such forms were seen, such sounds

were heard,
When Scotland's James his march

prepared 60

For Flodden's fatal plain;
Such, when he drew his ruthless

sword,
As Choosers of the slain, adored

The yet unchristened Dane.
An indistinct and phantom band,
They wheeled their ring -dance

hand in hand
With gestures wild and dread ;
The Seer, who watched them ride

the storm,
Saw through their faint and

shadowy form 69

The lightning's flash more red ;
And still their ghastly roundelay
Was of the coming battle-fray
And of the destined dead.

THE DANCE OF DEATH

573

SONG

Sons of the spear !

You feel us near

Wheel the wild dance

In many a ghastly dream ;

While lightnings glance

With fancy's eye

And thunders rattle loud,

Our forms you spy, 120

And call the brave

And hear our fatal scream.

To bloody grave,

With clearer sight

To sleep without a shroud.

Ere falls the night,

Just when to weal or woe

Our airy feet, 80

Your disembodied souls take

So light and fleet,

flight

They do not bend the rye

On trembling wing— each star-

That sinks its head when whirl-

tled sprite

winds rave,

Our choir of death shall know.

And swells again in eddying

wave

Wheel the wild dance

As each wild gust blows by;

While lightnings glance

But still the corn

And thunders rattle loud, 130

At dawn of morn

And call the brave

Our fatal steps that bore,

To bloody grave,

At eve lies waste,

To sleep without a shroud.

A trampled paste 90

Of blackening mud and gore.

Burst, ye clouds, in tempest

showers,

Wheel the wild dance

Redder rain shall soon be ours —

While lightnings glance

See the east grows wan —

And thunders rattle loud,

Yield we place to sterner game,

And call the brave

Ere deadlier bolts and direr

To bloody grave,

flame

To sleep without a shroud.

Shall the welkin's thunders

shame ;

Wheel the wild dance !

Elemental rage is tame 140

Brave sons of France, 99

To the wrath of man.

For you our ring makes room ;

Make space full wide

At morn, gray Allan's mates with

For martial pride,

awe

For banner, spear, and plume.

Heard of the visioned sights he

Approach, draw near,

saw,

Proud cuirassier S

The legend heard him say ;

Room for the men of steel !

But the Seer's gifted eye was

Through crest and plate

dim,

The broadsword's weight

Deafened his ear and stark his

Both head and heart shall feel.

limb,

Ere closed that bloody day —

Wheel the wild dance no

He sleeps far from his Highland

While lightnings glance

heath, —

And thunders rattle loud,

But often of the Dance of Death

And call the brave

His comrades tell the tale, 150

To bloody grave,

On picquet-post when ebbs the

To sleep without a shroud.

night,

574

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

And waning watch-fires glow less
bright,
And dawn is glimmering pale.

ROMANCE OF DUNOIS

FROM THE FRENCH

It was Dunois, the young and
brave, was bound for Pales-
tine,

But first he made his orisons be-
fore Saint Mary's shrine :

1 And grant, immortal Queen of
Heaven,' was still the sol-
dier's prayer,

' That I may prove the bravest
knight and love the fairest
fair.'

His oath of honor on the shrine he

graved it with his sword,
And followed to the Holy Land the

banner of his Lord ;
Where, faithful to his noble vow,

his war-cry filled the air,
'Be honored aye the bravest

knight, beloved the fairest

fair.'

They owed the conquest to his

arm, and then his liege-lord

said,
' The heart that has for honor

beat by bliss must be repaid.
My daughter Isabel and thou shall

be a wedded pair,
For thou art bravest of the brave,

she fairest of the fair.'

And then they bound the holy

knot before Saint Mary's

shrine
That makes a paradise on earth,

if hearts and hands combine ;
And every lord and lady bright

that were in chapel there
Cried, 'Honored be the bravest

knight, beloved the fairest

fair ! »

THE TROUBADOUR
FROM THE FRENCH

Glowing with love, on fire for
fame,
A Troubadour that hated sor-
row
Beneath his lady's window came,
And thus he sung his last good-
morrow :
' My arm it is my country's right,
My heart is in my true-love's
bower ;
Gayly for love and fame to fight
Befits the gallant Troubadour.'

And while he marched with helm
on head
And harp in hand, the descant
rung,
As, faithful to his favorite maid,
The minstrel-burden still he
sung :
1 My arm it is my country's right,

My heart is in my lady's bower ;
Resolved for love and fame to
fight,
I come, a gallant Troubadour,'

Even when the battle-roar was
deep,
With dauntless heart he hewed
his way,
Mid splintering lance and falchion-
sweep,
And still was heard his warrior-
lay:
' My life it is my country's right,

My heart is in my lady's bower ;
For love to die, for fame to fight,
Becomes the gallant Trouba-
dour.'

Alas ! upon the bloody field
He fell beneath the foeman's
glaive,
But still reclining on his shield,
Expiring sung the exulting
stave :
I ' My life it is my country's right,

SONG

575

My heart is in my lady's bower;
For love and fame to fall in fight
Becomes the valiant Trouba-
dour.'

FROM THE FRENCH

It chanced that Cupid on a sea-
son,
By Fancy urged, resolved to wed,
But could not settle whether Rea-
son
Or Folly should partake his bed.

What does he then? — Upon my
life,
'T was bad example for a deity —
He takes me Reason for a wife,
And Folly for his hours of gay-
ety.

Though thus he dealt in petty trea-
son,
He loved them both in equal
measure ;
Fidelity was born of Reason,
And Folly brought to bed of
Pleasure.

SONG

ON THE LIFTING OF THE BAN-
NER OF THE HOUSE OF BUC-
CLEUCH AT A GREAT FOOT-
BALL MATCH ON CAETEE-
HAUGH

From the brown crest of Newark
its summons extending,
Our signal is waving in smoke
and in flame ;
And each forester blithe, from his
mountain descending,
Bounds light o'er the heather to
join in the game.
Then up with the Banner, let
forest winds fan her,
She has blazed over Ettrick
eight ages and more ;

In sports we '11 attend her, in
battle defend her,
With heart and with hand,
like our fathers before.

When the Southern invader spread
waste and disorder,
At the glance of her crescents
he paused and withdrew,
For around them were marshalled
the pride of the Border,
The Flowers of the Forest, the
Bands of Buccleuch.

A stripling's weak hand to our
revel has borne her,
No mail-glove has grasped her,
no spearmen surround ;
But ere a bold foeman should
scathe or should scorn her
A thousand true hearts would
be cold on the ground.

We forget each contention of civil
dissension,
And hail, like our brethren,
Home, Douglas, and Car :
And Elliot and Pringle in pas-
time shall mingle,
As welcome in peace as their
fathers in war.

Then strip, lads, and to it, though
sharp be the weather,
And if by mischance you should
happen to fall,
There are worse things in life than
a tumble on heather,
And life is itself but a game at
foot-ball.

And when it is over we '11 drink a
blithe measure
To each laird and each lady that
witnessed our fun,
And to every blithe heart that took
part in our pleasure,
To the lads that have lost and
the lads that have won.

May the Forest still flourish, both
Borough and Landward,

S76

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

From the hall of the peer to the
herd's ingle-nook ;
And huzza! my brave hearts, for
Buccleuch and his stand-
ard,
For the King and the Country,
the Clan and the Duke !
Then up with the Banner, let
forest winds fan her,
She has blazed over Ettrick
eight ages and more ;
In sport we '11 attend her, in
battle defend her,
With heart and with hand,
like our fathers before.

SONGS FROM GUY MANNER-
ING

Published in 1815

k CANNY MOMENT, LUCKY FIT '

From chapter ill.

Canny moment, lucky fit ;

Is the lady lighter yet ?

Be it lad, or be it lass,

Sign wi' cross, and sain wi' mass.

Trefoil, vervain, John's-wort, dill,
Hinders witches of their will ;
Weel is them, that weel may
Fast upon St. Andrew's day.

Saint Bride and her brat,
Saint Colme and her cat,
Saint Michael and his spear,
Keep the house f rae reif and wear.

1 TWIST YE, TWINE YE ! EVEN SO '

From chapter iv.

Twist ye, twine ye ! even so,
Mingle shades of joy and woe,

Hope and fear and peace and

strife,
In the thread of human life.

While the mystic twist is spinning,
And the infant's life beginning,
Dimly seen through twilight bend-

ing,
Lo, what varied shapes attending !

Passions wild and follies vain,
Pleasures soon exchanged for

pain;
Doubt and jealousy and fear,
In the magic dance appear.

Now they wax and now they

dwindle,
Whirling with the whirling spindle,
Twist ye, twine ye ! even so,
Mingle human bliss and woe.

' WASTED, WEARY, WHEREFORE
STAY'

From chapter xxvii.

Wasted, weary, wherefore stay,
Wrestling thus with earth and

clay?
From the body pass away ; —
Hark ! the mass is singing.

From thee doff thy mortal weed,
Mary Mother be thy speed,
Saints to help thee at thy need; —
Hark ! the knell is ringing.

Fear not snow-drift drifting fast,
Sleet or hail or levin blast ;
Soon the shroud shall lap thee fast,
And the sleep be on thee cast
That shall ne'er know waking.

Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone,
Earth flits fast, and time draws

on,—
Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy
groan,
Day is near the breaking.

THE RETURN TO ULSTER

577

IV
4 DARK SHALL BE LIGHT '

From chapter xlix.

Dark shall be light,
And wrong done to right,
When Bertram's right and Ber-
tram's might
Shall meet on Ellangowan's height.

LULLABY OF AN INFANT
CHIEF

Air — ' Cadul gu lo '

O, hush thee, my babie, thy sire

was a knight,
Thy mother a lady both lovely and

bright;
The woods and the glens, from the

towrers which we see,
They all are belonging, dear babie,

to thee.
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo,
Oho ro, i ri ri, etc.

O, fear not the bugle, though loudly
it blows,

It calls but the warders that guard
thy repose ;

Their bows would be bended, then-
blades would be red,

Ere the step of a foeman draws
near to thy bed.
O ho ro, i ri ri, etc.

O, hush thee, my babie, the time

soon will come,
When thy sleep shall be broken

by trumpet and drum ;
Then hush thee, my darling, take

rest while you may,
For strife comes with manhood

and waking with day,
O ho ro, i ri ri, etc.

THE RETURN TO ULSTER

Once again, — but how changed
since my wanderings be-
gan —

I have heard the deep voice of the
Lagan and Bann,

And the pines of Clanbrassil re-
sound to the roar

That wearies the echoes of fair
Tullamore.

Alas! my poor bosom, and why
shouldst thou burn !

With the scenes of my youth can
its raptures return ?

Can I live the dear life of delusion
again,

That flowed when these echoes
first mixed with my strain ?

It was then that around me,
though poor and unknown,

High spells of mysterious enchant-
ment were thrown ;

The streams were of silver, of dia-
mond the dew,

The land was an Eden, for fancy
was new.

I had heard of our bards, and my
soul was on fire

At the rush of their verse and the
sweep of their lyre :

To me 't was not legend nor tale
to the ear,

But a vision of noontide, distin-
guished and clear.

Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the

call,
And renewed the wild pomp of

the chase and the hall ;
And the standard of Fion flashed

fierce from on high,
Like a burst of the sun when the

tempest is nigh.
It seemed that the harp of green

Erin once more
Could renew all the glories she

boasted of yore. —
Yet why at remembrance, fond

heart, shouldst thou burn?

573

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

They were days of delusion and
cannot return.

But was she, too, a phantom, the

maid who stood by,
And listed my lay while she turned

from mine eye ?
Was she, too, a vision, just glan-
cing to view,
Then dispersed in the sunbeam or

melted to dew ?
O, would it had been so! — O,

would that her eye
Had been but a star-glance that

shot through the sky,
And her voice that was moulded

to melody's thrill,
Had been but a zephyr that sighed

and was still !

O, would it had been so ! — not

then this poor heart
Had learned the sad lesson, to

love and to part ;
To bear unassisted its burden of

care,
While I toiled for the wealth I had

no one to share.
Not then had I said, when life's

summer was done
And the hours of her autumn were

fast speeding on,
' Take the fame and the riches ye

brought in your train,
And restore me the dream of my

springtide again.'

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN

Air — ' A Border Melody '

1 Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ?

Why weep ye by the tide ?
I '11 wed ye to my youngest son,

And ye sail be his bride :
And ye sail be his bride, ladie,

Sae comely to be seen ' —
But aye she loot the tears down
fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

1 Now let this wilfu' grief be done,

And dry that cheek so pale ;
Young Frank is chief of Errington

And lord of Langley-dale ;
His step is first in peaceful ha',

His sword in battle keen ' —
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

4 A chain of gold ye sail not lack,

Nor braid to bind your hair ;
Nor mettled hound, nor managed
hawk,

Nor palfrey fresh and fair ;
And you, the foremost o' them a',

Shall ride our forest queen.' —
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

The kirk was decked at morning-
tide,
The tapers glimmered fair ;
The priest and bridegroom wait
the bride,
And dame and knight are there.
They sought her baith by bower
and ha' ;
The ladie wTas not seen !
She 's o'er the Border and awa'
Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

PIBROCH OF DONALD DHL
Air— • Piobair of Donuil Dhuidh '

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,

Pibroch of Donuil,
Wake thy wild voice anew,

Summon Clan Conuil.
Come away, come away,

Hark to the summons !
Come in your war array,

Gentles and commons.

Come from deep glen and
From mountain so rocky,

The war-pipe and pennon
Are at Inverlochy.

Come every hill-plaid and
True heart that wears one,

MACGREGOR'S GATHERING

579

Come every steel blade and

Begins to bloom in purple light :

Strong hand that bears one.

The frost-wind soon shall sweep

away

Leave untended the herd,

That lustre deep from glen and

The flock without shelter ;

brae;

Leave the corpse uninterred,

Yet Nora ere its bloom be gone

The bride at the altar ;

May blithely wed the Earlie's

Leave the deer, leave the steer,

son.'

Leave nets and barges :

Come with your fighting gear,

* The swan,' she said, ' the lake's

Broadswords and targes.

clear breast

May barter for the eagle's nest ;

Come as the winds come when

The Awe's fierce stream may

Forests are rended ;

backward turn,

Come as the waves come when

Ben-Cruaichan fall and crush Kil-

Navies are stranded :

churn ;

Faster come, faster come,

Our kilted clans when blood is

Faster and faster,

high

Chief, vassal, page and groom,

Before their foes may turn and

Tenant and master.

fly;

But I, were all these marvels done,

Fast they come, fast they come ;

Would never wed the Earlie's

See how they gather !

son.'

Wide waves the eagle plume,

Blended with heather.

Still in the water-lily's shade

Cast your plaids, draw your blades,

Her wonted nest the wild-swan

Forward each man set !

made;

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,

Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as

Knell for the onset !

ever,

Still downward foams the Awe's

fierce river ;

NORA'S VOW

To shun the clash of foeman's
steel

Aie — ■ Cha teid mis a chaoidh '

No Highland brogue has turned

the heel ;

Hear what Highland Nora said,

But Nora's heart is lost and

' The Earlie's son I will not wed,

won —

Should all the race of nature die

She 's wedded to the Earlie's son !

And none be left but he and I.

For all the ^old, for all the gear,

And all the lands both far and
near,

MACGREGOR'S GATHERING

That ever valor lost or won,

Air — * ThairC a Grigalach '

I would not wed the Earlie's son.'

The moon 's on the lake and the

'A maiden's vows,' old Galium

mist 's on the brae,

spoke,

And the Clan has a name that is

1 Are lightly made and lightly

nameless by day ;

broke ;

Then gather, gather, gather,

The heather on the mountain's

Grigalach I

height

Gather, gather, gather, etc.

58o

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Our signal for fight, that from

monarchs we drew,
Must be heard but by night in our
vengeful haloo !
Then haloo, Grigalach ! haloo,

Grigalach !
Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach,
etc.

Glen Orchy's proud mountains,

Coalchurn and her towers,
Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer
are ours ;
We 're landless, landless, land-
less, Grigalach !
Landless, landless, landless,
etc.

But doomed and devoted by vassal

and lord,
MacGregor has still both his heart
and his sword !
Then courage, courage, cour-
age, Grigalach !
Courage, courage, courage, etc.

If they rob us of name and pursue

us with beagles,
Give their roofs to the flame and
their flesh to the eagles !
Then vengeance, vengeance,

vengeance, Grigalach!
Vengeance, vengeance, ven-
geance, etc.

While there 's leaves in the forest

and foam on the river,
MacGregor, despite them, shall
flourish forever!
Come then, Grigalach, come

then, Grigalach !
Come then, come then, come
then, etc.

Through the depths of Loch Ka-
trine the steed shall career,

O'er the peak of Ben-Lomond the
galley shall steer,

And the rocks of Craig-Royston
like icicles melt,

Ere our wrongs be forgot or our

vengeance unfelt.
Then gather, gather, gather,

Grigalach !
Gather, gather, gather, etc.

VERSES

COMPOSED FOB, THE OCCASION,
ADAPTED TO HAYDN'S AIR
'GOD SAVE THE EMPEROR
FRANCIS,' AND SUNG BY A SE-
LECT BAND AFTER THE DIN-
NER GIVEN BY THE LORD PRO-
VOST OF EDINBURGH TO THE
GRANDDUKE NICHOLAS OF
RUSSIA, AND HIS SUITE, 19TH
DECEMBER, 1816

God protect brave Alexander,
Heaven defend the noble Czar,
Mighty Russia's high Commander,
First in Europe's banded war ;
For the realms he did deliver
From the tyrant overthrown,
Thou, of every good the Giver,
Grant him long to bless his own !
Bless him, mid his land's disas-
ter
For her rights who battled brave ;
Of the land of f oemen master,
Bless him who their wrongs for-
gave.

O'er his just resentment victor,
Victor over Europe's foes,
Late and long supreme director,
Grant in peace his reign may

close.
Hail ! then, hail ! illustrious stran-
ger!
Welcome to our mountain strand
Mutual interests, hopes, and dan-
ger,
Link us with thy native land.
Freemen's force or false beguiling
Shall that union ne'er divide,
Hand in hand while peace is smil-
ing,
And in battle side by side.

VERSES FROM THE ANTIQUARY

S8i

VERSES FROM THE ANTI-
QUARY

Published in 1816

'he came, but valor had so
fired his eye '

From chapter vi.

He came — but valor had so fired

his eye,
And such a falchion glittered on

his thigh,
That, by the gods, with such a load

of steel,
I thought he came to murder —

not to heal.

' WHY SIT'ST THOU BY THAT
RUINED HALL '

From chapter x.

1 Why sit' st thou by that ruined
hall,
Thou aged carle so stern and
gray?
Dost thou its former pride recall,
Or ponder how it passed
away ? ' —

1 Know'st thou not me?' the Deep
Voice cried ;
'So long enjoyed, so oft mis-
used—
Alternate, in thy fickle pride,
Desired, neglected, and accused !

'Before my breath, like .blazing

flax,

Man and his marvels pass away !

And changing empires wane and

wax,

Are founded, flourish, and decay.

'Redeem mine hours— the space
is brief —

While in my glass the sand-
grains shiver,
And measureless thy joy or grief,

When Time and thou shalt part
forever ! '

EPITAPH

From chapter xi.

Heir lyeth John o' ye Girnell,
Erth has ye nit and heuen ye

kirnell.
In hys tyme ilk wyfe's hennis

clokit,
Ilka gud mannis herth wi» bairnis

was stokit,
He deled a boll o' bear in firlottis

fyve,
Four for ye halie kirke and ane

for puir mennis wyvis.

' THE HERRING LOVES THE
MERRY MOON-LIGHT »

From chapter xi.

The herring loves the merry
moon-light,
The mackerel loves the wind,
But the oyster loves the dredging
sang,
For they come of a gentle kind.

Now baud your tongue, baith wife
and carle,
And listen great and sma',
And I will sing of Glenallan's
Earl
That fought on the red Harlaw.

The cronach 's cried on Bennachie
And doun the Don and a',

And hieland and lawland may
mournfu' be
For the sair field of Harlaw. —

582

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

They saddled a hundred milk-
white steeds,
They hae bridled a hundred
black,
With a chafron of steel on each
horse's head,
And a good knight upon his
back.

They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,

A mile but barely ten,
When Donald came branking down
the brae

Wi' twenty thousand men.

Their tartans they were waving
wide,
Their glaives were glancing
clear,
The pibrochs rung frae side to
side,
Would deafen ye to hear.

The great Earl in his stirrups
stood,
That Highland host to see :
' Now here a knight that 's stout
and good
May prove a jeopardie ;

1 What would'stthou do, my squire
so gay,

That rides beside my reyne,—
Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day,

And I were Koland Cheyne ?

4 To turn the rein were sin and
shame,
To fight were wond'rous peril,—
What would ye do now, Koland
Cheyne,
Were ye Glenallan's Earl ? ' —

' Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide,
And ye were Koland Cheyne,

The spur should be in my horse's
side,
And the bridle upon his mane.

• If they hae twenty thousand
blades,
And we twice ten times ten,

Yet they hae but their tartan
plaids,
And we are mail-clad men.

' My horse shall ride through

ranks sae rude,

As through the moorland fern, —

Then ne'er let the gentle Norman

blude

Grow cauld for Highland kerne.'

He turned him right and round
again,
Said, * Scorn na at my mither ;
Light loves I may get a mony a
ane,
But minnie ne'er anither.'

THE SEAKCH AFTER HAP-
PINESS

OR, THE QUEST OF SULTAT N
SOLIMAUN

O, for a glance of that gay

Muse's eye
That lightened on Bandello's

laughing tale,
And twinkled with a lustre

shrewd and sly
When Giam Battista bade her

vision hail ! —
Yet fear not, ladies, the naive

detail
Given by the natives of that land

canorous ;
Italian license loves to leap the

pale,
We Britons have the fear of

shame before us,
And, if not wise in mirth, at least

must be decorous.

In the far eastern clime, no great
while since, io

Lived Sultaun Solimaun, a mighty
prince,

Whose eyes, as oft as they per-
formed their round,

Beheld all others fixed upon the
ground ;

THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS

;s3

Whose ears received the same un-
varied phrase,
'Sultaun! thy vassal hears and

he obeys ! '
All have their tastes — this may

the fancy strike
Of such grave folks as pomp and

grandeur like ;
For me, I love the honest heart

and warm
Of monarch who can amble round

his farm,
Or, when the toil of state no more

annoys, 20

In chimney corner seek domestic

joys —
I love a prince will bid the bottle

pass,
Exchanging with his subjects

glance and glass ;
In fitting time can, gayest of the

gay,
Keep up the jest and mingle in the

lay —
Such monarchs best our free-born

humors suit,
But despots must be stately, stern,

and mute.

This Solimaun Serendib had in

sway —
And where 's Serendib ? may some

critic say. —
Good lack, mine honest friend,

consult the chart, 30

Scare not my Pegasus before I

start !
If Rennell has it not, you '11 find

mayhap
The isle laid down in Captain

Sindbad's map —
Famed mariner, whose merciless

narrations
Drove every friend and kinsman

out of patience,
Till, fain to find a guest who

thought them shorter,
He deigned to tell them over to a

porter —
The last edition see, by Long and

Co.,

Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers
in the Row.

Serendib found, deem not my tale

a fiction — 40

This Sultaun, whether lacking

contradiction —
A sort of stimulant which hath its

uses
To raise the spirits and reform the

juices,
Sovereign specific for all sorts of

cures
In my wife's practice and perhaps

in yours —
The Sultaun lacking this same

wholesome bitter,
Or cordial smooth for prince's pal-
ate fitter —
Or if some Mollah had hag-rid his

dreams
With Degial, Ginnistan, and such

wild themes
Belonging to the Mollah's subtle

craft, 50

I wot not — but the Sultaun never

laughed,
Scarce ate or drank, and took a

melancholy
That scorned all remedy profane

or holy ;
In his long list of melancholies,

mad
Or mazed or dumb, hath Burton

none so bad.

Physicians soon arrived, sage,

ware, and tried,
As e'er scrawled jargon in a

darkened room ;
WTith heedful glance the Sultaun's

tongue they eyed,
Peeped in his bath and God knows

where beside,
And then in solemn accent spoke

their doom, 60

' His majesty is very far from

well.'
Then each to work with his

specific fell :

5§4

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

The Hakim Ibrahim instanter

Gave, like Sempronius, still their

brought

voice for war —

His unguent Mahazzim al Zer-

' The sabre of the Sultaun in its

dukkaut,

sheath

While Koompot, a practitioner

Too long has slept nor owned the

more wily,

work of death ; 9o

Relied on his Munaskif al fillfily.

Let the Tambourgi bid his signal

More and yet more in deep array

rattle,

appear,

Bang the loud gong and raise the

And some the front assail and

shout of battle !

some the rear ;

This dreary cloud that dims our

Their remedies to reinforce and

sovereign's day

vary

Shall from his kindled bosom flit

Came surgeon eke, and eke apoth-

away,

ecary ; 70

When the bold Lootie wheels his

Till the tired monarch, though of

courser round

words grown chary,

And the armed elephant shall

Yet dropt, to recompense their

shake the ground.

fruitless labor,

Each noble pants to own the glori-

Some hint about a bowstring or a

ous summons —

sabre.

And for the charges — Lo! your

There lacked, I promise you, no

faithful Commons ! •

longer speeches

The Riots who attended in their

To rid the palace of those learned

places —

leeches.

Serendib language calls a farmer

Riot — 100

Then was the council called — by

Looked ruefully in one another's

their advice —

faces,

They deemed the matter ticklish

From this oration auguring much

all and nice,

disquiet,

And sought to shift it off from

Double assessment, forage, and

their own shoulders —

free quarters ;

Tartars and couriers in all speed

And fearing these as Chinamen

were sent,

the Tartars,

To call a sort of Eastern Parlia-

Or as the whiskered vermin fear

ment 80

the mousers,

Of feudatory chieftains and free-

Each fumbled in the pocket of his

holders —

trousers.

Such have the Persians at this

very day,

And next came forth the reverend

My gallant Malcolm calls them

Convocation,

couroultai ; —

Bald heads, white beards, and

I 'm not prepared to show in this

many a turban green,

slight song

Imaum and Mollah there of every

That to Serendib the same forms

station,

belong —

Santon, Fakir, and Calendar

E'en let the learned go search, and

were seen. no

tell me if I 'm wrong.

Their votes were various — some

advised a mosque

The Omrahs, each with hand on

With fitting revenues should be

scimitar,

erected,

THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS

585

With seemly gardens and with gay
kiosque,
To recreate a band of priests se-
lected ;

Others opined that through the
realms a dole
Be made to holy men, whose
prayers might profit

The Sultaun's weal in body and in
soul.
But their long-headed chief, the
Sheik Ul-Sotit,

More closely touched the point; —
' Thy studious mood,'

Quoth he, ' O Prince ! hath thick-
ened all thy blood, 120

And dulled thy brain with labor
beyond measure ;

Wherefore relax a space and take
thy pleasure,

And toy with beauty or tell o'er
thy treasure ;

From all the cares of state, my
liege, enlarge thee,

And leave the burden to thy faith-
ful clergy.'

These counsels sage availed not a

whit,
Aud so the patient — as is not

uncommon
Where grave physicians lose their

time and wit —
Resolved to take advice of an old

woman ;
His mother she, a dame who once

was beauteous, 130

And still was called so by each

subject duteous.
Now, whether Fatima was witch

in earnest,
Or only made believe, I cannot

say —
But she professed to cure disease

the sternest,
By dint of magic amulet or lay ;
And, when all other skill in vain

was shown,
She deemed it fitting time to use

her own.

1 Sympathia magica hath wonders

done ' —
Thus did old Fatima bespeak her

son —
1 It works upon the fibres and the

pores, 140

And thus insensibly our health re-
stores,
And it must help us here. — Thou

must endure
The ill, my son, or travel for the

cure.
Search land and sea, and get

where'er you can
The inmost vesture of a happy

man,
I mean his shirt, my son; which,

taken warm
And fresh from off his back, shall

chase your harm,
Bid every current of your veins

rejoice,
And your dull heart leap light as

shepherd-boy's.'
Such was the counsel from his

mother came ; — 150

I know not if she had some under-
game,
As doctors, have, who bid their

patients roam
And live abroad when sure to die

at home ;
Or if she thought that, somehow or

another,
Queen-Regent sounded better than

Queen-Mother ;
But, says the Chronicle — who will

go look it —
That such was her advice— -the

Sultaun took it.

All are on board — the Sultaun and

his train,
In gilded galley prompt to plough

the main.
The old Rais was the first who

questioned, ' Whither ? ' 160
They paused — 'Arabia,' thought

the pensive prince,
1 Was called The Happy many ages

since —

586

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

For Mokha, Rais.' — And they

came safely thither.
But not in Araby with all her

balm,
Not where Judea weeps beneath

her palm,
Not in rich Egypt, not in Nubian

waste,
Could there the step of happiness

be traced.
One Copt alone professed to have

seen her smile,
When Bruce his goblet filled at

infant Nile :
She blessed the dauntless traveller

as he quaffed, 170

But vanished from him with the

ended draught.

'Enough of turbans,' said the

weary King,
'These dolimans of ours are not

the thing;
Try we the Giaours, these men of

coat and cap, I
Incline to think some of them must

be happy ;
At least, they have as fair a cause

as any can, »
They drink good wine and keep no

Ramazan.
Then north ward, ho ! ' — The vessel

cuts the sea,
And fair Italia lies upon her lee. —
But fair Italia, she who once un-
furled 180
Her eagle-banners o'er a conquered

world,
Long from her throne of domina-
tion tumbled,
Lay by her q uoudam vassals sorely

humbled ;
The Pope himself looked pensive,

pale, and lean,
And was not half the man he once

had been.
4 While these the priest and those

the noble fleeces,
Our poor old boot,' they said, ' is

torn to pieces.
Its tops the vengeful claws of

Austria feel,

And the Great Devil is rending toe

and heel.
If happiness you seek, to tell you

truly, i9o

We think she dwells with one

Giovanni Bulli;
A tramontane, a heretic — the

buck,
Poffaredio ! still has all the luck ;
By land or ocean never strikes his

flag-
And then — a perfect walking

money-bag.'
Off set our prince to seek John

Bull's abode,
But first took France — it lay upon

the road.

Monsieur Baboon after much late

commotion
Was agitated like a settling ocean,
Quite out of sorts and could not

tell what ailed him, 200

Only the glory of his house had

failed him ;
Besides, some tumors on his noddle

biding
Gave indication of a recent hiding.
Our prince, though Sultauns of

such things are heedless,
Thought it a thing indelicate and

needless
To ask if at that moment he was

happy.
And Monsieur, seeing that he was

comme ilfaut, a
Loud voice mustered up, for k Vive

le Roi! '
Then whispered, ' Ave you any

news of Nappy?'
The Sultaun answered him with a

cross question, — 210

' Pray, can you tell me aught of

one John Bull,
That dwells somewhere beyond

your herring-pool ? '
The query seemed of difficult di-
gestion,
The party shrugged and grinned

and took his snuff,
And found his whole good-breeding

scarce enough.

THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS

SS;

Twitching bis visage into as many

puckers
As damsels wont to put into their

tuckers —
Ere liberal Fashion damned both

lace and lawn,
And bade the veil of modesty be

drawn —
Replied the Frenchman after a

brief pause, 220

' Jean Bool ! — I vas not know him

— Yes, I vas —
I vas remember dat, von year or

two,
I saw him at von place called

Vaterloo —
Ma foi ! il s'est tres joliment battu,
Dat is for Englishman, — m'enten-

dez-vous?
But den he had wit him one damn

son-gun,
Rogue I no like — dey call him

Vellington.'
Monsieur's politeness could not i

hide his fret,
So Solimaun took leave and !

crossed the strait.

John Bull was in his very worst of

moods, 230

Raving of sterile farms and unsold

goods ;
His sugar-loaves and bales about

he threw,
And on his counter beat the devil's

tattoo.
His wars were ended and the vic-
tory won,
But then 't was reckoning-day with

honest John ;
And authors vouch, 't was still this

worthy's way,
' Never to grumble till he came to

pay;
And then he always thinks, his

temper 's such,
The work too little and the pay too

much/
Yet, grumbler as he is, so kind

and hearty 240

That when his mortal foe was on
the floor,

And past the power to harm his
quiet more,
Poor John had wellnigh wept
for Bonaparte !

Such was the wight whom Soli-
maun salamed,—

' And who are you,' John answered,
; and be d d ? '

4 A stranger, come to see the hap-
piest man—
So, signior, all avouch — in Fran-

gistan.'
4 Happy? my tenants breaking on

my hand;
Unstoeked my pastures and un-

tilled my land ;
Sugar and rum a drug, and mice

and moths 250

The sole consumers of my good

broadcloths —
Happy ? — Why, cursed war and

racking tax
Have left us scarcely raiment to

our backs.'
' In that case, signior, I may take

my leave ;
I came to ask a favor — but I

grieve ' —
' Favor ? ' said John, and eyed the

Sultaun hard,
1 It 's my belief you came to break

the yard ! —
But, stay, you look like some poor

foreign sinner —
Take that to buy yourself a shirt

and dinner.'
With that he chucked a guinea at

his head ; 260

But with due dignity the Sultaun

said,
1 Permit me, sir, your bounty to

decline ;
A shirt indeed I seek, but none of

thine.
Signior, I kiss your hands, so fare

you well.'
' Kiss and be d d,' quoth John,

' and go to hell ! '

588

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Next door to John there dwelt his

sister Peg,
Once a wild lass as ever shook a

leg
When the blithe bagpipe blew —

but, soberer now,
She doucely span her flax and

milked her cow.
And whereas erst she was a needy

slattern, 270

Nor now of wealth or cleanliness

a pattern,
Yet once a month her house was

partly swept,
And once a week a plenteous board

she kept.
And wrhereas, eke, the vixen used

her claws
And teeth of yore on slender

provocation,
She now was grown amenable to

laws,
A quiet soul as any in the na-
tion;
The sole remembrance of her war-
like joys
Was in old songs she sang to

please her boys.
John Bull, whom in their years of

early strife 280

She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish

life,
Now found the woman, as he said,

a neighbor,
Who looked to the main chance,

declined no labor,
Loved a long grace and spoke a

northern jargon,
And was d d close in making

of a bargain.

The Sultaun entered, and he made

his leg,
And with decorum curtsied sister

Peg —
She loved a book, and knew a thing

or two,
And guessed at once with whom

she had to do.
She bade him 'Sit into the fire,'

and took 290

Her dram, her cake, her kebbuck

from the nook ;
Asked him ' about the news from

Eastern parts :
And of her absent bairns, puir

Highland hearts !
If peace brought down the price

of tea and pepper,
And if the nitmugs were grown

ony cheaper; —
Were there nae speerings of our

Mungo Park —
Ye '11 be the gentleman that wants

the sark?
If ye wad buy a web 0' auld wife's

spinning,
I '11 warrant ye it 's a weel-wear-

ing linen.'

Then up got Peg and round the

house 'gan scuttle 300

In search of goods her customer

to nail,
Until the Sultaun strained his

princely throttle,
And holloed, 'Ma'am, that is

not what I ail.
Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this

snug glen?'
'Happy?' said Peg; 'What for

d'ye want to ken?
Besides, just think upon this by-

gane year,
Grain wadna pay the yoking of

the pleugh.'
' What say you to the present? ' —

' Meal 's sae dear,
To make their brose my bairns

have scarce aneugh.'
'The devil take the shirt,' said

Solimaun, 310

' I think my quest will end as it

, began. —
Farewell, ma'am ; nay, no cere-
mony, I beg ' —
' Ye '11 no be for the linen then?'

said Peg.

Now, for the land of verdant Erin
The Sultaun' s royal bark is steer-
ing,

LINES

5S9

The Emerald Isle where honest

Paddy dwells,
The cousin of John Bull, as story

tells.
For a long space had John, with

words of thunder,
Hard looks, and harder knocks,

kept Paddy under,
Till the poor lad, like boy that 's

flogged unduly, 320

Had gotten somewhat restive and

unruly.
Hard was his lot and lodging,

you '11 allow,
A wigwam that would hardly serve

a sow ,
His landlord, and of middle-men

two brace,
Had screwed his rent up to the

starving-place ;
His garment was a top-coat and

an old one,
His meal was a potato, and a cold

one;
But still for fun or frolic and all

that,
In the round world was not the

match of Pat.

The Sultaun saw him on a holi-
day, 330

Which is with Paddy still a jolly
day:

When mass is ended, and his load
of sins

Confessed, and Mother Church
hath from her binns

Dealt forth a bonus of imputed
merit,

Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim,
and spirit!

To jest, to sing, to caper fair and
free,

And dance as light as leaf upon
the tree.

4 By Mahomet,' said Sultaun Soli-
maun,

4 That ragged fellow is our very
man!

Rush in and seize him— do not do
him hurt, 340

But, will he nill he, let me have
his shin:

Shilela their plan was wellnigh

after balking —
Much less provocation will set it

a-walking —
But the odds that foiled Hercules

foiled Paddy Whack;
They seized, and they floored, and

they stripped him — Alack !
Up-bubboo ! Paddy had not — a

shirt to his back !
And the king, disappointed, with

sorrow and shame
Went back to Serendib as sad as

he came.

LINES
WRITTEN FOR MISS SMITH

When the lone pilgrim views afar
The shrine that is his guiding star,
With awe his footsteps print the

road
Which the loved saint of yore has

trod.
As near he draws and yet more

near,
His dim eye sparkles with a tear;
The Gothic fane's unwonted show,
The choral hymn, the tapers'

glow,
Oppress his soul ; while they de-
light
And chasten rapture with affright.
No longer dare he think his toil
Can merit aught his patron's smile ;
Too light appears the distant

way,
The chilly eve. the sultry day —
All these endured no favor claim,
But murmuring forth the sainted

name,
He lays his little offering down,
And only deprecates a frown.

We too who ply the Thespian
art
Oft feel such bodings of the heart,

590

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

And when our utmost powers are

strained
Dare hardly hope your favor

gained.
She who from sister climes has

sought
The ancient land wThere Wallace

fought —
Land long renowned for arms and

arts,
And conquering eyes and daunt-
less hearts —
She, as the flutterings here avow,
Feels all the pilgrim's terrors now ;
Yet, sure on Caledonian plain
The stranger never sued in vain.
'T is yours the hospitable task
To give the applause she dare not

ask;
And they who bid the pilgrim

speed,
The pilgrim's blessing be their

meed.

MR. KEMBLE'S FAREWELL
ADDRESS

ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE
EDINBURGH STAGE

As the worn war - horse, at the

trumpet's sound,
Erects his mane, and neighs, and

paws the ground —
Disdains the ease his generous

lord assigns,
And longs to rush on the embat-
tled lines,
So I, your plaudits ringing on

mine ear,
Can scarce sustain to think our

parting near ;
To think my scenic hour forever

past,
And that those valued plaudits are

my last.
Why should we part, while still

some powers remain,
That in your service strive not yet

in vain?

Cannot high zeal the strength of
youth supply,

And sense of duty fire the fading
eye;

And all the wrongs of age remain
subdued

Beneath the burning glow of grati-
tude ?

Ah, no ! the taper, wearing to its
close,

Oft for a space in fitful lustre
glows ;

But all too soon the transient
gleam is past,

It cannot be renewed, and will not
last;

Even duty, zeal, and gratitude can
wage

But short-lived conflict with the
frosts of age.

Yes ! It were poor, remembering
what I was,

To live a pensioner on your ap-
plause,

To drain the dregs of your endur-
ance dry,

And take, as alms, the praise I
once could buy ;

Till every sneering youth around
enquires,

' Is this the man who once could
please our sires ? '

And scorn assumes compassion's
doubtful mien,

To warn me off from the encum-
bered scene.

This must not be ; — and higher
duties crave

Some space between the theatre
and the grave,

That, like the Roman in the Capitol,

I may adjust my mantle ere I fall :

My life's brief act in public service
flown,

The last, the closing scene, must
be my own.

Here, then, adieu! while yet
some well-graced parts
May fix an ancient favorite in your
hearts,

SONG FROM ROB ROY

591

Not quite to be forgotten, even

when
You look on better actors, younger

men:
And if your bosoms own this

kindly debt
Of old remembrance, how shall

mine forget —
O, how forget ! — how oft I hither

came
In anxious hope, how oft returned

with fame !
How oft around your circle this

weak hand
Has waved immortal Shake-
speare's magic wand,
Till the full burst of inspiration

came,
And I have felt, and you have

fanned the flame !
By mem'ry treasured, while her

reign endures,
Those hours must live — and all

their charms are yours.

O favored Land! renowned for

arts and arms,
For manly talent, and for female

charms,
Could this full bosom prompt the

sinking line,
What fervent benedictions now

were thine !
But my last part is played, my

knell is rung,
When e'en your praise falls falter-
ing from my tongue ;
And all that you can hear, or I

can tell,
Is — Friends and Patrons, hail,

and FARE you well.

THE SUN UPON THE WEIRD-
LAW HILL

Air — ■ Rimhin aluin 'stu mo run '

The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill
In Ettrick's vale is sinking
swe'et :

The westland wind is hush and

stm,

The lake lies sleeping at my
feet.
Yet not the landscape to mine eye
Bears those bright hues that
once it bore,
Though evening with her richest
dye
Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's
shore.

With listless look along the plain
I see Tweed's silver current
glide,
And coldly mark the holy fane

Of Melrose rise in ruined pride.
The quiet lake, the balmy air,
The hill, the stream, the tower,
the tree —
Are they still such as once they
were,
Or is the dreary change in me ?

Alas! the warped and broken
board,
How can it bear the painter's
dye?
The harp of strained and tuneless
chord,
How to the minstrel's skill reply ?
To aching eyes each landscape
lowers,
To feverish pulse each gale
blows chill :
And Araby's or Eden's bowers
Were barren as this moorland
hill.

SONG FROM ROB ROY

Published in 1817

TO THE MEMORY OF EDWARD
THE BLACK PRINCE

O for the voice of that wild horn,
On Fontarabian echoes borne,
The dying hero's call,
That told imperial Charlemagne

592

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

How Paynim sons of swarthy
Spain
Had wrought his champion's
fall.

Sad over earth and ocean sounding,
And England's distant cliffs as-
tounding,
Such are the notes should say
How Britain's hope, and France's

fear,
Victor of Cressy and Poitier,
In Bourdeaux dying lay.

4 Raise my faint head, my squires,'

he said,
' And let the casement be display'd,

That I may see once more
The splendor of the setting sun
Gleam on thy mirror'd wave, Ga-
ronne,
And Blaye's empurpled shore.

4 Like me, he sinks to Glory's

sleep,
His fall the dews of evening steep,

As if in sorrow shed.
So soft shall fall the trickling tear,
When England's maids and ma-
trons hear
Of their Black Edward dead.

1 And though my sun of glory set,
Nor France nor England shall for-
. get
The terror of my name ;
And oft shall Britain's heroes rise,
New planets in these southern
skies,
Through clouds of blood and
flame.'

THE MONKS OF BANGOR'S
MARCH

Air — ' Ymdaith Mionge '

When the heathen trumpet's

clang
Round beleaguered Chester rang,

Veiled nun and friar gray
Marched from Bangor's fair Ab-

baye;
High their holy anthem sounds,
Cestria's vale the hymn rebounds,
Floating down the sylvan Dee,
O miserere, Domine !

On the long procession goes,
Glory round their crosses glows,
And the Virgin-mother mild
In their peaceful banner smiled ;
Who could think such saintly

band
Doomed to feel unhallowed hand ?
Such was the Divine decree,
O miserere. Domine I

Bands that masses only sung,
Hands that censers only swung,
Met the northern bow and bill,
Heard the war-cry wild and shrill :
Woe to Brockmael's feeble hand,
Woe to Olfrid's bloody brand,
Woe to Saxon cruelty,

0 miserere, Domine !

Weltering amid warriors slain,
Spurned by steeds with bloody

mane,
Slaughtered down by heathen

blade,
Bangor's peaceful monks are laid :
Word of parting rest unspoke,
Mass unsung and bread unbroke ;
For their souls for charity,

Sing, 0 miserere, Domine !

Bangor ! o'er the murder wail !
Long thy ruins told the tale,
Shattered towers and broken arch
Long recalled the woful march :
On thy shrine no tapers burn,
Never shall thy priests return ;
The pilgrim sighs and sings for
thee,
O miserere, Domine !

MACKRIMMON'S LAMENT

593

EPILOGUE TO THE APPEAL

SPOKEN BY MRS. HENRY SID-
DONS, FEB. 16, 1818

A cat of yore — or else old JEsop

lied —
Was changed into a fair and

blooming bride,
But spied a mouse upon her mar-
riage-day,
Forgot her spouse and seized upon

her prey ;
Even thus my bridegroom lawyer,

as you saw,
Threw off poor me and pounced

upon papa.
His neck from Hymen's mystic

knot made loose,
He twisted round my sire's the

literal noose.
Such are the fruits of our dramatic

labor
Since the New Jail became our

next-door neighbor.

Yes, times are changed ; for in

your father's age
The lawyers were the patrons of

the stage ;
However high advanced by future

fate,
There stands the bench [points to

the Pit] that first received

their weight.
The future legal sage 't was ours

to see
Doom though unwigged and plead

without a fee.

But now, astounding each poor
mimic elf,

Instead of lawyers comes the law
herself ;

Tremendous neighbor, on our right
she dwells,

Builds high her towers and exca-
vates her cells ;

While on the left she agitates the
town

With the tempestuous question,
Up or down?

'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis thus
stand we,

Law's final end and law's uncer-
tainty.

But, soft ! who lives at Rome the
Pope must flatter,

And jails and lawsuits are no jest-
ing matter.

Then — just farewell! We wait
with serious awe

Till your applause or censure gives
the law.

Trusting our humble efforts may
assure ye,

We hold you Court and Counsel,
Judge and Jury.

MACKRIMMON'S LAMENT

Am — ' Cha till mi tuille '

Macleod's wizard flag from the

gray castle sallies,
The rowers are seated, unmoored

are the galleys ;
Gleam war-axe and broadsword,

clang target and quiver,
As Mackrimmon sings, ' Farewell

to Dunvegan forever !
Farewell to each cliff on which

breakers are foaming ;
Farewell, each dark glen in which

red-deer are roaming ;
Farewell, lonely Skye, to lake,

mountain, and river ;
Macleod may return, but Mack-
rimmon shall never !

4 Farewell the bright clouds that
on Quillan are sleeping ;

Farewell the bright eyes in the
Dun that are weeping ;

To each minstrel delusion, fare-
well ! — and forever —

Mackrimmon departs, to return to
you never !

The Banshee's wild voice sings the
death-dirge before me,

594

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

The pall of the dead for a mantle

hangs o'er me ;
But my heart shall not flag and my

nerves shall not shiver,
Though devoted I go — to return

again never !

4 Too oft shall the notes of Mack-

rimmon's bewailing
Be heard when the Gael on their

exile are sailing ;
Dear land ! to the shores whence

unwilling we sever
Return — return — return shall we
never !
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin

tuille !
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin

tuille,
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin

tuille,
Gea thillis Macleod, cha till
Mackrimmon i ■

DONALD CAIRD 'S COME
AGAIN

Air — ' Malcolm Caird 's come again '

CHORUS

Donald Caird 's come again !
Donald Caird 's come again !
Tell the news in brugh and

glen,
Donald Caird 's come again !

Donald Caird can lilt and sing,
Blithely dance the Hieland fling,
Drink till the gudeman be blind,
Fleech till the gudewife be kind;
Hoop a leglin, clout a pan,
Or crack a pow wi' ony man ;
Tell the news in brugh and glen,
Donald Caird 's come again.

Donald Caird 's come again !

Tell the news in brugh and
glen,

Donald Caird 's come again.

Donald Caird can wire a maukin,
Kens the wiles o' dun-deer stauk-

in',
Leisters kipper, makes a shift
To shoot a muir-f owl in the drift ;
Water-bailiffs, rangers, keepers,
He can wauk when they are sleep-
ers;
Not for bountith or reward
Dare ye mell wi' Donald Caird.

Donald Caird 's come again !

Gar the bagpipes hum amain,

Donald Caird 's come again.

Donald Caird can drink a gill
Fast as hostler-wife can fill ;
Ilka ane that sells gude liquor
Kens how Donald bends a bicker ;
When he 's fou he 's stout and

saucy,
Keeps the cantle o' the cawsey ;
Hieland chief and Lawland laird
Maun gie room to Donald Caird !

Donald Caird \s come again !

Donald Caird 's come again !

Tell the news in brugh and
glen,

Donald Caird 's come again.

Steek the amrie, lock the kist,
Else some gear may weel be mist
Donald Caird finds orra things
Where Allan Gregor fand the

tings ;
Dunts of kebbuck, taits, o' woo,
Whiles a hen and whiles a sow,
Webs or duds f rae hedge or yard —
'Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird !

Donald Caird 's come again !

Dinna let the Shirra ken

Donald Caird 's come again.

On Donald Caird the doom was

stern,
Craig to tether, legs to aim ;
But Donald Caird wi' mickle study
Caught the gift to cheat the wud-
die;
Rings of aim, and bolts of steel,
Fell like ice frae hand and heel !

MADGE WILDFIRE'S SONGS

595

Watch the sheep in faulcl and glen,
Donald Caird 's come again !

Donald Caird 's come again !

Dinna let the Justice ken

Donald Caird 's come again.

MADGE WILDFIKE'S SONGS

FROM THE HEART OF MID-
LOTHIAN

When the gledd's in the blue
cloud,
The lav'rock lies still ;
When the hound's in the green-
wood,
The hind keeps the hill.

1 O sleep ye sound, Sir James,'
she said,
1 When ye suld rise and ride ?
There 's twenty men, wi' bow and
blade,
Are seeking where ye hide.'

I glance like the wildfire thro'

country and town ;
I'm seen on the causeway — I'm

seen on the down ;
The lightning that flashes so bright

and so free,
Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny

as me.

What did ye wi' the bridal ring —

bridal ring— bridal ring?
What did ye wi' your wedding

ring, ye little cutty quean,

O?
I gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a

sodger,
I gied it till a sodger, an auld true

love o' mine, O.

Good even, good fair moon, good

even to thee ;
I prithee, dear moon, now show to

The form and the features, the

speech and degree,
Of the man that true lover of mine

shall be.

It is the bonny butcher lad,
That wears the sleeves of blue ;

He sells the flesh on Saturday,
On Friday that he slew.

There 's a bloodhound ranging
Tinwald Wood,
There 's harness glancing sheen ;
There 's a maiden sits on Tinwald
brae,
And she sings loud between.

With my curtch on my foot, and
my shoe on my hand,

I glance like the wildfire through
brugh and through land.

In the bonnie cells of Bedlam,

Ere I was ane and twenty,
I had hempen bracelets strong,
And merry whips, ding-dong,
And prayer and fasting plenty.

I'm Madge of the country. I'm
Madge of the town,

And I'm Madge of the lad I am
blithest to own, —

The Lady of Beever in diamonds
may shine,

But has not a heart half so light-
some as mine.

I am Queen of the Wake, and I 'in

Lady of May,
And I lead the blithe ring round

the May-pole to-day ;
The wild-fire that flashes so fair

and so free
Was never so bright, or so bonnie

as me,

Our work is over — over now,
The goodman wipes his weary

brow,
The last long wain wends slow

away,
And we are free to sport and play.

596

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

The night comes on when sets the
sun,

And labor ends when day is done.

When Autumn's gone, and Win-
ter 's come.

We hold our jovial harvest-home.

When the fight of grace is

fought,—
When the marriage vest is

wrought, —
When Faith has chased cold Doubt

away —
And Hope but sickens at delay, —

When Charity, imprisoned here,
Longs for a more expanded sphere ;
Doff thy robes of sin and clay ;
Christian, rise, and come away.

Cauld is my bed, Lord Archibald,
And sad my sleep of sorrow ;

But thine sail be as sad and cauld,
My fause true-love ! to-morrow.

And weep ye not, my maidens free,
Though death your mistress bor-
row ;

For he for whom I die to-day,
Shall die for me to-morrow.

Proud Maisie is in the wood,

Walking so early ;
Sweet Kobin sits on the bush,

Singing so rarely.

1 Tell me, thou bonny bird,
When shall I marry me ? '

* When six braw gentlemen

Kirkward shall carry ye.'

* Who makes the bridal bed,

Birdie, say truly?'
1 The gray-headed sexton
That delves the grave duly.

'The glow-worm o'er grave and
stone

Shall light thee steady.
The owl from the steeple sing,

" Welcome, proud lady." '

THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH

'T was when among our linden-
trees
The bees had housed in
swarms —
And gray-haired peasants say that
these
Betoken foreign arms —

Then looked we down to Willi-
sow,

The land was all in flame ;
We knew the Archduke Leopold

With all his army came.

The Austrian nobles made their
vow,
So hot their heart and bold, io
' On Switzer carles we '11 trample
now,
And slay both young and old.'

With clarion loud and banner
proud,
From Zurich on the lake,
In martial pomp and fair ar-
ray
Their onward march they make.

' Now list, ye lowland nobles all —
Ye seek the mountain-strand,

Nor wot ye what shall be your
lot
In such a dangerous land. 20

' I rede ye, shrive ye of your
sins

Before ye farther go ;
A skirmish in Helvetian hills

May send your souls to woe.'

' But where now shall we find a
priest
Our shrift that he may hear?' —
' The Switzer priest has ta'en the
field,
He deals a penance drear.

' Right heavily upon your head
He '11 lay his hand of steel, 30

THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH

597

And with his trusty partisan
Your absolution deal.'

T was on a Monday morning then,

The corn was steeped in dew,
And merry maids had sickles ta'en,
When the host to Sempach drew.

The stalwart men of fair Lucerne,
Together have they joined ;

The pith and core of manhood
stern,
Was none cast looks behind. 40

It was the Lord of Hare-castle,
And to the Duke he said,

* Yon little band of brethren true
Will meet us undismayed.' —

' 0 Hare-castle, thou heart of hare ! '
Fierce Oxenstern replied. —

' Shalt see then how the game will
fare,'
The taunted knight replied.

There was lacing then of helmets
bright,
And closing ranks amain ; 50
The peaks they hewed from their
boot-points
Might well-nigh load a wain.

And thus they to each other said,
1 Yon handful down to hew

Will be no boastful tale to tell,
The peasants are so few.'

The gallant Swiss Confederates
there,

They prayed to God aloud,
And he displayed his rainbow fair

Against a swarthy cloud. 60

Then heart and pulse throbbed
more and more
With courage firm and high,
And down the good Confederates
bore
On the Austrian chivalry.

The Austrian Lion 'gan to growl
And toss his mane and tail,

And ball and shaft and crossbow-
bolt
Went whistling forth like hail.

Lance, pike, and halbert mingled
there, 69

The game was nothing sweet ;
The bough of many a stately tree

Lay shivered at their feet.

The Austrian men-at-arms stood
fast,
So close their spears they laid ;
It chafed the gallant Wlnkel-
reid,
Who to his comrades said —

' I have a virtuous wife at home,

A wife and infant son.;
I leave them to my country's
care, —

This field shall soon be won. 80

'These nobles lay their spears
right thick
And keep full firm array,
Yet shall my charge their order
break
And make my brethren way.'

He rushed against the Austrian
band,
In desperate career,
And with his body, breast, and
hand,
Bore down each hostile spear.

Four lances splintered on his crest,
Six shivered in his side ; 90

Still on the serried files he
pressed
He broke their ranks and died.

This patriot's self-devoted deed
First tamed the Lion's mood,

And the four Forest Cantons freed
From thraldom by his blood.

Eight where his charge had made
a lane
His valiant comrades burst,

598

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

With sword and axe and parti-
san,
And hack and stab and thrust, ioo

The daunted Lion 'gan to whine
And granted ground amain,

The Mountain Bull he bent his
brows,
And gored his sides again.

Then lost was banner, spear, and
shield
At Sempach in the flight,
The cloister vaults at Konig's
field
Hold many an Austrian knight.

It was the Archduke Leopold,
So lordly would he ride, 1 10

But he came against the Switzer
churls,
And they slew him in his pride.

The heifer said unto the bull,
4 And shall I not complain ?

There came a foreign nobleman
To milk me on the plain.

'One thrust of thine outrageous
horn
Has galled the knight so sore
That to the churchyard he is
borne,
To range our glens no
more.' 120

An Austrian noble left the stour,
And fast the flight 'gan take ;

And he arrived in luckless hour
At Sempach on the lake.

He and his squire a fisher called —
His name was Hans von Rot —

* For love or meed or charity,
Receive us in thy boat ! '

Their anxious call the fisher
heard,
And, glad the meed to win, 130

His shallop to the shore he steered
And took the flyers in.

And while against the tide and
wind

Hans stoutly rowed his way,
The noble to his follower signed

He should the boatman slay.

The fisher's back was to them
turned,

The squire his dagger drew,
Hans saw his shadow in the lake.

The boat he overthrew. 140

He whelmed the boat, and as they
strove
He stunned them with his oar,
' Now, drink ye deep, my gentle
sirs,
You '11 ne'er stab boatman
more.

' Two gilded fishes in the lake
This morning have I caught,

Their silver scales may much
avail,
Their carrion flesh is naught.'

It was a messenger of woe 149
Has sought the Austrian land :

' Ah ! gracious lady, evil news !
My lord lies on the strand.

1 At Sempach, on the battle-field,
His bloody corpse lies there,' —

1 Ah, gracious God ! ' the lady cried,
4 What tidings of despair ! '

Now would you know the minstrel
wight

Who sings of strife so stern,
Albert the Souter is he hight,

A burgher of Lucerne. 160

A merry man was he, I wot,
The night he made the lay,

Returning from the bloody spot
Where God had judged the day.

THE NOBLE xMORINGER 593

THE NOBLE MORINGER

AX ANCIENT BALLAD

O, will you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day,

It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he lay;

He halsed and kissed his dearest dame that was as sweet as May,

And said, ' Now, lady of my heart, attend the words I say.

' 'T is I have vowed a pilgrimage unto a distant shrine,
And I must seek Saint Thomas-land and leave the land that 's mine ;
Here shalt thou dwell the while in state, so thou wilt pledge thy fay
That thou for my return wilt wait seven twelvemonths and a day.'

Then out and spoke that lady bright, sore troubled in her cheer,
4 Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what order takest thou here ; 10
And who shall lead thy vassal band and hold thy lordly sway,
And be thy lady's guardian true when thou art far away ? '

Out spoke the noble Moringer, ' Of that have thou no care,
There 's many a valiant gentleman of me holds living fair ;
The trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals, and my state,
And be a guardian tried and true to thee, my lovely mate.

* As Christian-man, I needs must keep the vow which I have plight,
When I am far in foreign laud, remember thy true knight ;
And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for vain wrere sorrow now,
But grant thy Moringer his leave, since God hath heard his vow.' 20

It was the noble Moringer from bed he made him boune,
And met him there his chamberlain with ewer and with gown :
He flung the mantle on his back, 't was furred with miniver,
He dipped his hand in water cold and bathed his forehead fair.

4 Now hear,' he said, 4 Sir Chamberlain, true vassal art thou mine,
And such the trust that I repose in that proved worth of thine,
For seven years shalt thou rule my towers and lead my vassal train,
And pledge thee for my lady's faith till I return again.'

The chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily said he,

4 Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and take this rede from me ; 30

That woman's faith 's a brittle trust — Seven twelvemonths didst thou

say?
I '11 pledge me for no lady's truth beyond the seventh fair day.'

The noble baron turned him round, his heart was full of care,
His gallant esquire stood him nigh, he was Marstetten's heir, «
To whom he spoke right anxiously, 4 Thou trusty squire to me,
Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when I am o'er the sea ?

4 To watch and ward my castle strong, and to protect my land,
And to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal band ;

6oo MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

And pledge thee for my lady's faith till seven long years are gone,
And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by Saint John.' 4o

Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot, and young,
And readily he answer made with too presumptuous tongue :
' My noble lord, cast care away and on your journey wend,
And trust this charge to me until your pilgrimage have end.

' Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall be truly tried,

To guard your lands, and ward your towers, and with your vassals

ride;
And for your lovely lady's faith, so virtuous and so dear,

I '11 gage my head it knows no change, be absent thirty year.'

The noble Moringer took cheer when thus he heard him speak,

And doubt forsook his troubled brow and sorrow left his cheek ; 50

A long adieu he bids to all — hoists topsails and away,

And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelvemonths and a day.

It was the noble Moringer within an orchard slept,
When on the baron's slumbering sense a boding vision crept ;
And whispered in his ear a voice, 4 'T is time, Sir Knight, to wake,
Thy lady and thy heritage another master take.

' Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds another rein,

And stoop them to another's will thy gallant vassal train;

And she, the lady of thy love, so faithful once and fair,

This night within thy fathers' hall she weds Marstetten's heir.' 60

It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his beard,
O, would that I had ne'er been born ! what tidings have I heard !
To lose my lordship and my lands the less would be my care,
But, God ! that e'er a squire untrue should wed my lady fair.

' O good Saint Thomas, hear,' he prayed, ' my patron saint art thou,
A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my vow !
My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure of name,
And I am far in foreign land and must endure the shame.'

It was the good Saint Thomas then who heard his pilgrim's prayer.
And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'erpowered his care ; 70
He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretched beside a rill,
High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill.

The Moringer he started up as one from spell unbound,
And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all around ;

I I know my fathers' ancient towers, the mill, the stream I know,
Now blessed be my patron saint who cheered his pilgrim's woe ! »

He leant upon his pilgrim staff and to the mill he drew,

So altered was his goodly form that none their master knew ;

THE NOBLE MORIXGER 601

The baron to the miller said, ■ Good friend, for charity,

Tell a poor palmer in your land what tidings may there be ? ' So

The miller answered him again, ' He knew of little news,
Save that the lady of the land did a new bridegroom choose ;
Her husband died in distant land, such is the constant word,
His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy lord.

1 Of him I held the little mill which wins me living free,

God rest the baron in his grave, he still was kind to me !

And when Saint Martin's tide comes round and millers take their toll,

The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both cope and stole.'

It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began,
And stood before the bolted gate a woe and weary man ; go

' Now help me, every saint in heaven that can compassion take,
To gain the entrance of my hall this woful match to break.'

His very knock it sounded sad, his call was sad and slow,

For heart and head, and voice and hand, were heavy all with woe ;

And to the warder thus he spoke : ' Friend, to thy lady say,

A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves harbor for a day.

' I 've wandered many a weary step, my strength is well-nigh done,
And if she turn me from her gate I '11 see no morrow's sun ;
I pray for sweet Saint Thomas' sake a pilgrim's bed and dole,
And for the sake of Moringer's her once-loved husband's soul.' 100

It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame before,
' A pilgrim, worn and travel-toiled, stands at the castle-door;
And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, for harbor and for dole,
And for the sake of Moringer, thy noble husband's soul.'

The lady's gentle heart was moved, ' Do up the gate,' she said,
' And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet and to bed ;
And since he names my husband's name, so that he lists to stay,
These towers shall be his harborage a twelvemonth and a day.'

It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal broad,

It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold strode ; no

4 And have thou thanks, kind Heaven,' he said, 4 though from a man of

sin,
That the true lord stands here once more his castle-gate within.'

Then up the halls paced Moringer, his step was sad and slow ;
It sat full heavy on his heart none seemed their lord to know ;
He sat him on a lowly bench, oppressed with woe and wrong,
Short space he sat, but ne'er to him seemed little space so long.

Now spent was day and feasting o'er, and come was eveniug hour.
The time was nigh when new-made brides retire to nuptial bower ;

602 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

* Our castle's wont,' a bridesman said, ' hath been both firm and long
No guest to harbor in our halls till he shall chant a song.' 120

Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat by the bride,

* My merry minstrel folk,' quoth he, ' lay shalm and harp aside ;
Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the castle's rule to hold,
And well his guerdon will I pay with garment and with gold.'

' Chill flows the lay of frozen age,' 't was thus the pilgrim sung,

* Nor golden meed nor garment gay unlocks his heavy tongue ;
Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thine,
And by my side as fair a bride with all her charms was mine.

1 But time traced furrows on my face and I grew silver-haired, i2g

For locks of brown and cheeks of youth she left this brow and beard ;
Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread life's latest stage,
And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of frozen age.'

It was the noble lady there this woful lay that hears,

And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye was dimmed with tears ;

She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden beaker take,

And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her sake.

It was the noble Moringer that dropped amid the wine

A bridal ring of burning gold so costly and so fine :

Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you but the sooth,

'T was with that very ring of gold he pledged his bridal truth. 140

Then to the cupbearer he said, * Do me one kindly deed,
And should my better days return, full rich shall be thy meed ;
Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so gay,
And crave her of her courtesy to pledge the palmer gray.'

The cupbearer was courtly bred nor was the boon denied,
The golden cup he took again and bore it to the bride ;
1 Lady,' he said, ' your reverend guest sends this, and bids me pray
That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palmer gray.'

The ring hath caught the lady's eye, she views it close and near,
Then might you hear her shriek aloud, ' The Moringer is here ! ' 150
Then might you see her start from seat while tears in torrents

fell,
But whether 't was for joy or woe the ladies best can tell.

But loud she uttered thanks to Heaven and every saintly power
That had returned the Moringer before the midnight hour ;
And loud she uttered vow on vow that never was there bride
That had like her preserved her troth or been so sorely tried.

4 Yes, here I claim the praise,' she said, ' to constant matrons due,
Who keep the troth that they have plight so steadfastly and true ;

SONGS FROM THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR 603

For count the term howe'er you will, so that you count aright, 159
Seven twelvemonths and a day are out when bells toll twelve to-night.'

It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there he drew,

He kneeled before the Moringer, and down his weapon threw ;

1 My oath and knightly faith are broke,' these were the words he said,

' Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take thy vassal's head.'

The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud did say,

1 He gathers wisdom that hath roamed seven twelvemonths and a

day;
My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame speaks her sweet and fair,
I give her for the bride you lose and name her for my heir.

* The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, the old bridegroom the

old,
Whose faith was kept till term and tide so punctually were told ; 170
But blessings on the warder kind that oped my castle gate,
For had I come at morrow tide, I came a day too late.'

EPITAPH ON MRS. ERSKINE

Plain as her native dignity of

mind,
Arise the tomb of her we have re-

signed ;
Unflawed and stainless be the

marble scroll,
Emblem of lovely form and candid

soul. —
But, O, what symbol may avail to

tell
The kindness, wit, and sense we

loved so well!
What sculpture show the broken

ties of life,
Here buried with the parent,

friend, and wife !
Or on the tablet stamp each title

dear
By which thine urn, Euphemia,

claims the tear !
Yet taught by thy meek sufferance

to assume
Patience in anguish, hope beyond

the tomb,
Resigned, though sad, this votive

verse shall flow,
And brief, alas ! as thy brief span

below.

SONGS FROM THE BRIDE OF
LAMMERMOOR

LOOK NOT THOU ON BEAUTY'S
CHARMING '

Look not thou on beauty's charm-
ing;

Sit thou still when kings are arm-
ing;

Taste not when the wine-cup glis-
tens:

Speak not when the people listens;

Stop thine ear against the singer ;

From the red gold keep thy finger ;

Vacant heart and hand and eye,

Easy live and quiet die.

' THE MONK MUST ARISE WHEN
THE MATINS RING '

The monk must arise when the
matins ring,
The abbot may sleep to their
chime ;

604

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

But the yeoman must start when
the bugles sing,
'T is time, my hearts, 't is time.

There's bucks and raes on Bill-
hope braes,
There's a herd on Shortwood
Shaw ;
But a lily-white doe in the garden
goes,
She 's fairly worth them a'.

4 WHEN THE LAST LAIRD OF
RAVENSWOOD TO RAVENS-
WrOOD SHALL RIDE'

When the last Laird of Ravens-
wood to Ravenswood shall
ride,

And woo a dead maiden to be his
bride,

He shall stable his steed in the
Kelpie's flow,

And his name shall be lost for.
evermoe !

SONGS FROM THE LEGEND
OF MONTROSE

ANCIENT GAELIC MELODY

Birds of omen dark and foul,
Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl,
Leave the sick man to his dream —
All night long he heard you scream.
Haste to cave and ruined tower,
Ivy tod or dingled bower,
There to wink and mop, for, hark !
In the mid air sings the lark.

Hie to moorish gills and rocks,
Prowling wolf and wily fox, —
Hie ye fast, nor turn your view,
Though the lamb bleats to the

ewe.
Couch your trains and speed your

flight,
Safety parts with parting night ;

And on distant echo borne,
Comes the hunter's early horn.

The moon's wan crescent scarcely

gleams,
Ghost-like she fades in morning

beams ;
Hie hence, each peevish imp and

fay
That scare the pilgrim on his

way.—
Quench, kelpy! quench, in bog

and fen,
Thy torch that cheats benighted

men ;
Thy dance is o'er, thy reign is

done,
For Benyieglo hath seen the sun.

Wild thoughts, that, sinful, dark,

and deep,
O'erpower the passive mind in

sleep,
Pass from the slumberer's soul

away,
Like night-mists from the brow of

day:
Foul hag, whose blasted visage

grim
Smothers the pulse, unnerves the

limb,
Spur thy dark palfrey and be-
gone!
Thou darest not face the godlike

sun.

THE ORPHAN MAID

November's hail-cloud drifts
away,

November's sunbeam wan
Looks coldly on the castle gray,

When forth comes Lady Anne.

The orphan by the oak was set,
Her arms, her feet, were bare ;

VERSES FROM IVANHOE

605

The hail-drops had not melted

VERSES FROM IVANHOE

yet

Amid her raven hair.

THE CRUSADER'S RETURN

' And, dame,' she said, ' by all the

ties

High deeds achieved of knightly

That child and mother know,

fame,

Aid one who never knew these

From Palestine the champion

joys, -

came;

Relieve an orphan's woe.'

The cross upon his shoulders

borne,

The lady said, ' An orphan's state

Battle and blast had dimmed and

Is hard and sad to bear ;

torn.

Yet worse the widowed mother's

Each dint upon his battered shield

fate,

Was token of a foughten field ;

Who mourns both lord and heir.

And thus, beneath his lady's

bower,

' Twelve times the rolling year has

He suog, as fell the twilight

sped

hour :

Since, while from vengeance

wild

' Joy to the fair ! — thy knight be-

Of fierce Strathallan's chief I fled,

hold,

Forth' s eddies whelmed my

Returned from yonder land of gold ;

child.'

No wealth he brings, nor wealth

can need,

1 Twelve times the year its course

Save his good arms and battle-

has borne,'

steed;

The wandering maid replied ;

His spurs to dash against a foe,

' Since fishers on Saint Bridget's

His lance and sword to lay him

morn

low;

Drew nets on Campsie side.

Such all the trophies of his toil

Such — and the hope of Tekla's

1 Saint Bridget sent no scaly spoil ;

smile !

An infant, well-nigh dead,

They saved and reared in want

' Joy to the fair ! whose constant

and toil,

knight

To beg from you her bread.'

Her favor fired to feats of might !

Unnoted shall she not remain

That orphan maid the lady kissed,

Where meet the bright and noble

1 My husband's looks you bear ;

train ;

Saint Bridget and her morn be

Minstrel shall sing, and herald

blessed !

tell —

You are his widow's heir.'

" Mark yonder maid of beauty

well,
'T is she for whose bright eyes was

They 've robed that maid, so poor

and pale,

won

In silk and sandals rare ;

The listed field at Ascalon !

And pearls, for drops of frozen

hail,

4 " Xote well her smile ! — it edged

Are glistening in her hair.

the blade

6o6

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Which fifty wives to widows made,

Your monarch ! — Pshaw ! many a

When, vain his strength and Ma-

prince has been known

hound's spell,

To barter his robes for our cowl

Iconium's turbaned Soldan fell.

and our gown,

See'st thou her locks, whose sunny

But which of us e'er felt the idle

glow

desire

Half shows, half shades, her neck

To exchange for a crown the gray

of snow ?

hood of a friar?

Twines not of them one golden

thread,

The Friar has walked out, and

But for its sake a Paynim bled."

where'er he has gone

The land and its fatness is marked

' Joy to the fair ! — my name un-

for his own ;

known,

He can roam where he lists, he can

Each deed, and all its praise, thine

stop where he tires,

own;

For every man's house is the Bare-

Then, oh! unbar this churlish

footed Friar's.

gate,

The night-dew falls, the hour is

He 's expected at noon, and no

late.

wight till he comes

Inured to Syria's glowing breath,

May profane the great chair or the

I feel the north breeze chill as

porridge of plums ;

death ;

For the best of the cheer, and the

Let grateful love quell maiden

seat by the fire,

shame,

Is the undenied right of the Bare-

And grant him bliss who brings

footed Friar.

thee fame.'

He 's expected at night, and the

pasty 's made hot,

They broach the brown ale and

they fill the black pot;

THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR

And the good-wife would wish the

good-man in the mire,

I 'll give thee, good fellow, a

Ere he lacked a soft pillow, the

twelvemonth or twain

Barefooted Friar.

To search Europe through from

Byzantium to Spain ;

Long flourish the sandal, the cord,

But ne'er shall you find, should

and the cope,

you search till you tire,

The dread of the devil and trust of

So happy a man as the Barefooted

the Pope !

Friar.

For to gather life's roses, un-

scathed by the briar,

Your knight for his lady pricks

Is granted alone to the Barefooted

forth in career,

Friar.

And is brought home at even-song

pricked through with a

spear ;

I confess him in haste — for his

1 NORMAN SAW ON ENGLISH OAK '

lady desires

No comfort on earth save the

Norman saw on English oak,

Barefooted Friar's.

On English neck a Norman yoke ;

VERSES FROM IVANHOE

607

Norman spoon in English dish,

Many a haughty step bends to

And England ruled as Normans

your halls,

wish ;

Many a helmed head.

Blithe world in England never will

be more,

Till England "s rid of all the four.

Dark sits the evening upon the

thane's castle,

The black clouds gather round ;

WAR-SONG

Soon shall they be red as the blood

of the valiant !

The destroyer of forests shall shake

Wfet the bright steel,

his red crest against them ;

Sons of the White Dragon !

He, the bright consumer of palaces,

Kindle the torch,

Broad waves he his blazing banner,

Daughter of Hengist !

Red, white, and dusky,

The steel glimmers not for the

Over the strife of the valiant ;

carving of the banquet,

His joy is in the clashing swords

It is hard, broad, and sharply

and broken bucklers ;

pointed ;

He loves to lick the hissing blood

The torch goeth not to the bridal

as it bursts warm from the

chamber,

wound !

It steams and glitters blue with

sulphur.

Whet the steel, the raven croaks !

Light the torch, Zernebock is yell-

All must perish !

ing!

The sword cleaveth the helmet ;

Whet the steel, sons of the Dra-

The strong armor is pierced by

gon!

the lance ;

Kindle the torch, daughter of

Fire devoureth the dwelling of

Hengist !

princes,

Engines break down the fences of

the battle.

All must perish !

The race of Hengist is gone —

The black clouds are low over the

The name of Horsa is no more !

thane's castle

Shrink not then from your doom,

The eagle screams — he rides on

sons of the sword !

their bosom.

Let your blades drink blood like

Scream not, gray rider of the sable

wine ;

cloud,

Feast ye in the banquet of slaugh-

Thy banquet is prepared !

ter,

The maidens of Valhalla look

By the light of the blazing halls !

forth,

Strong be your swords while your

The race of Hengist will send them

blood is warm,

guests.

And spare neither for pity nor

Shake your black tresses, maidens

fear,

of Valhalla !

For vengeance hath but an hour ;

And strike your loud timbrels for

Strong hate itself shall expire !

joy!

I also must perish.

6o8

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

REBECCA'S HYMN

When Israel of the Lord beloved
Out from the land of bondage
came,
Her fathers' God before her
moved,
An awful guide in smoke and
flame.
By day, along the astonished lands

The cloudy pillar glided slow ;
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands
Returned the fiery column's glow.

There rose the choral hymn of
praise,
And trump and timbrel answered
keen,
And Zion's daughters poured their
lays,
With priest's and warrior's voice
between.
No portents now our foes amaze,
Forsaken Israel wanders lone :
Our fathers would not know Thy
ways,
And Thou hast left them to their
own.

But present still, though now un-
seen,
When brightly shines the pro-
sperous day,
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy
screen
To temper the deceitful ray !
And O, when stoops on Judah's
path
In shade and storm the frequent
night,
Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to
wrath,
A burning and a shining light !

Our harps we left by Babel's
streams,

The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's
scorn ;
No censer round our altar beams,
And mute are timbrel, harp, and
horn.
But Thou hast said, The blood of
goat,
The flesh of rams I will not
prize ;
A contrite heart, a humble thought,
Are mine accepted sacrifice.

THE BLACK KNIGHT AND WAMBA

Anna-Makie, love, up is the
sun

Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun,

Mists are dispersing, love, birds
singing free,

Up in the morning, love, Anna-
Marie.

Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn,

The hunter is winding blithe
sounds on his horn,

The echo rings merry from rock
and from tree,

'Tis time to arouse thee, love,
Anna-Marie.

0 Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me

not yet,
Around my soft pillow while softer

dreams flit ;
For what are the joys that in wak-
ing we prove,
Compared with these visions, O

Tybalt! my love?
Let the birds to the rise of the

mist carol shrill,
Let the hunter blow out his loud

horn on the hill,
Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in

slumber I prove,
But think not I dreamed of thee,

Tybalt, my love.

VERSES FROM THE MONASTERY

609

VII

ANOTHER CAROL BY THE SAME

KNIGHT AND WAMBA

There came three merry men
from south, west, and north,
Evermore sing the roundelay ;
To win the Widow of Wycombe
forth,
And where was the widow might
say them nay ?

The first was a knight, and from
Tynedale he came,
Evermore sing the roundelay ;
And his fathers, God save us, were
men of great fame,
And where was the widow might
say him nay ?

Of his father the laird, of his uncle
the squire,
He boasted in rhyme and in
roundelay ;
She bade him go bask by his sea-
coal fire,
For she was the widow would
say him nay.

WAMBA

The next that came forth swore
by blood and by nails,
Merrily sing the roundelay ;
Hur's a gentleman, God wot. and
hur's lineage was of Wales,
And where was the widow might
say him nay ?

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap
Hugh
Ap Tudor Ap Rhice, quoth his
roundelay ;
She said that one widow for so
many was too few,
And she bade the Welshman
wend his way.

But then next came a yeoman, a
yeoman of Kent,

Jollily singing his roundelay ;
I He spoke to the widow of living

and rent,
And where was the widow could

say him nay ?

both

So the knight and the squire were
both left in the mire,
There for to sing the roundelay ;
For a yeoman of Kent, with his
yearly rent,
There ne'er was a widow could
say him nay.

VIII
FUNERAL HYMN

Dust unto dust,
To this all must;

The tenant hath resigned
The faded form
To waste and worm —

Corruption claims her kind.

Through paths unknown
Thy soul hath flown

To seek the realms of woe,
Where fiery pain
Shall purge the stain

Of actions done below.

In that sad place,
By Mary's grace,

Brief may thy dwelling be !
Till prayers and alms,
And holy psalms,

Shall set the captive free.

VERSES FROM THE MONAS
TERY

ANSWER TO INTRODUCTORY
EPISTLE

Take thou no scorn,
Of fiction born,

6io

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Fair fiction's muse to woo ;

Old Homer's theme

Was but a dream,
Himself a fiction too.

BORDER SONG

March, march, Ettrick and Te-
viotdale,
Why the deil dinna ye march
forward in order ?
March, march, Eskdale and Lid-
desdale,
All the Blue Bonnets are bound
for the Border.
Many a banner spread,
Flutters above your head,
Many a crest that is famous in
story.
Mount and make ready then,
Sons of the mountain glen,
Fight for the Queen and our old
Scottish glory.

Come from the hills where your
hirsels are grazing,
Come from the glen of the buck
and the roe ;
Come to the crag where the bea-
con is blazing,
Come with the buckler, the
lance, and the bow.
Trumpets are sounding,
War-steeds are bounding,
Stand to your arms and march
in good order ;
England shall many a day
Tell of the bloody fray,
When the Blue Bonnets came
over the Border.

SONGS OF THE WHITE LADY OF
AVENEL

FORDING THE RIVER

Merrily swim we, the moon

shines bright,
Both current and ripple are dan-
cing in light.
We have roused the night raven,

I heard him croak,
As we plashed along beneath the

oak
That flings its broad branches so

far and so wide,
Their shadows are dancing in

midst of the tide.
4 Who wakens my nestlings ! ' the

raven he said,
'My beak shall ere morn in his

blood be red !
For a blue swollen corpse is a

dainty meal,
And I '11 have my share with the

pike and the eel.'

Merrily swim we, the moon shines
bright,

There 's a golden gleam on the dis-
tant height ;

There 's a silver shower on the
alders dank,

And the drooping willows that
wave on the bank.

I see the Abbey, both turret and
tower,

It is all astir for the vesper hour ;

The Monks for the chapel are leav-
ing each cell,

But where 's Father Philip should
toll the bell?

Merrily swim we, the moon shines
bright,

VERSES FROM THE MONASTERY

611

Downward we drift through

shadow and light.
Under yon rock the eddies sleep,
Calm and silent, dark and deep.
The Kelpy has risen from the

fathomless pool,
He has lighted his candle of death

and of dool :
Look, Father, look, and you '11

laugh to see
How he gapes and glares with his

eyes on thee !

Good luck to your fishing, whom

watch ye to-night?
A man of mean or a man of might ?
Is it layman or priest that must

float in your cove,
Or lover who crosses to visit his

love?
Hark! heard ye the Kelpy reply

as we passed,
* God's blessing on the warder, he

locked the bridge fast !
All that come to my cove are

sunk,
Priest or layman, lover or monk.'

Landed — landed! the black book
hath won,

Else had you seen Berwick with
morning sun !

Sain ye, and save ye, and blithe
mot ye be,

For seldom they land that go swim-
ming with me.

TO THE SUB-PRIOR

Good evening, Sir Priest, and so

late as you ride,
With your mule so fair, and your

mantle so wide ;
But ride you through valley, or

ride you o'er hill,

There is one that has warrant to
wait on you still.

Back, back,

The volume black !
I have a warrant to carry it back.

What, ho! Sub-Prior, and came

you but here
To conjure a book from a dead

woman's bier?
Sain you, and save you, be wary

and wise,
Ride back with the book, or you '11

pay for your prize.
Back, back,

There 's death in the track !
In the name of my master, I bid

thee bear back.

That which is neither ill nor well,
That which belongs not to heaven

nor to hell,
A wreath of the mist, a bubble of

the stream,
'Twixt a waking thought and a
sleeping dream ;
A form that men spy
With the half-shut eye
the beams of the setting sun,
am I.

thou

Vainly, Sir Prior, wouldst

bar me my right !
Like the star when it shoots, I can

dart through the night ;
I can dance on the torrent,

ride on the air,
And travel the world with

bonny night-mare.
Again, again,
At the crook of the glen,
Where bickers the burnie,

meet thee again.

and

the

I '11

Men of good are bold as sackless,
Men of rude are wild and reckless.

Lie thou still

In the nook of the hill,
For those be before thee that wish
thee ill.

6l2

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Something that through thy wit

or will

HALBERT'S INCANTATION

May work thee good— may work

thee ill.

Thrice to the holly brake —

Neither substance quite, nor

Thrice to the well : —

shadow,

I bid thee awake,

Haunting lonely moor and mea-

White Maid of Avenel!

dow,

Dancing by the haunted spring,

Riding on the whirlwind's wing ;

Noon gleams on the Lake —

Aping in fantastic fashion

Noon glows on the Fell —

Every change of human pas-

Wake thee, 0 wake,

sion,

White Maid of Avenel.

While o'er our frozen minds they

pass,

Like shadows from the mirrored

glass.

Wayward, fickle, is our mood,

Hovering betwixt bad and good,

TO HALBEBT

Happier than brief-dated man,

Living twenty times his span ,

THE WHITE MAID OF AVENEL

Far less happy, for we have

Help nor hope beyond the grave !

Youth of the dark eye, wherefore

Man awakes to joy or sorrow ;

didst thou call rne ?

Ours the sleep that knows no

Wherefore art thou here, if terrors

morrow.

can appall thee?

This is all that I can show —

He that seeks to deal with us

This is all that thou may'st

must know nor fear nor fail-
ing;

know.

To coward and churl our speech

is dark, our gifts are unavail-

Ay ! and I taught thee the word

ing.

and the spell

The breeze that brought me hither

To waken me here by the Fairies'

now must sweep Egyptian

Well

ground,

But thou hast loved the heron and

The fleecy cloud on which I ride

hawk,

for Araby is bound ;

More than to seek my haunted

The fleecy cloud is drifting by, the

walk;

breeze sighs for my stay,

And thou hast loved the lance and

For I must sail a thousand miles

the sword,

before the close of day.

More than good text and holy

word ;

And thou hast loved the deer to

What I am I must not show —

track,

What I am thou couldst not

More than the lines and the letters

know —

black ;

Something betwixt heaven and

And thou art a ranger of moss and

hell —

wood,

Something that neither stood nor

And scornest the nurture of gentle

fell —

blood.

VERSES FROM THE MONASTERY

6i3

Thy craven fear my truth ac-
cused,

Thine idlehood my trust abused ;

He that draws to harbor late,

Must sleep without, or burst the
gate,

There is a star for thee which
burned,

Its influence wanes, its course is
turned ;

Valor and constancy alone

Can bring thee back the chance
that 's flown.

Within that awful volume lies
The mystery of mysteries !
Happiest they of human race,
To whom God has granted grace
To read, to fear, to hope, to

pray,
To lift the latch, and force the

way;
And better had they ne'er been

born,
Who read to doubt, or read to

scorn.

Many a fathom dark and deep
I have laid the book to sleep ;
Ethereal fires around it glow-
ing-
Ethereal music ever flowing —
The sacred pledge of Heaven
All things revere,
Each in his sphere,
Save man for whom 't was
given :
Lend thy hand, and thou shalt

spy
Things ne'er seen by mortal eye.

Fearest thou to go with me ?
Still it is free to thee

A peasant to dwell ;
Thou may'st drive the dull steer,
And chase the king's deer
But nevermore come near

This haunted well.

Here lies the volume thou hast

boldly sought ;
Touch it, and take it, 'twill dearly

be bought.

Rash thy deed,
Mortal weed
To immortal flames applying ;
Rasher trust
Has thing of dust,
On his own weak worth re
lying :
Strip thee of such fences vain,
Strip, and prove thy luck again.

Mortal warp and mortal woof
Cannot brook this charmed roof ;
All that mortal art hath wrought
In our cell returns to nought.
The molten gold returns to clay,
The polished diamond melts

away;
All is altered, all is flown,
Nought stands fast but truth

alone.
Not for that thy quest give o'er :
Courage ! prove thy chance once

more.

Alas ! alas !

Not ours the grace

These holy characters to trace :
Idle forms of painted air,
Not to us is given to share

The boon bestowed on Adam's
race.
With patience bide,
Heaven will provide
The fitting time, the fitting guide.

VII
TO THE SAME

This is the day when the fairy
kind

Sit weeping alone for their hope-
less lot,

614

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

And the wood-maiden sighs to the
sighing wind,

And the mermaiden weeps in her
crystal grot ;

For this is a day that the deed was
wrought,

In which we have neither part nor
share,

For the children of clay was salva-
tion bought,

But not for the forms of sea or
air!

And ever the mortal is most for-
lorn,

Who meeteth our race on the Fri-
day morn.

Daring youth ! for thee it is

well,
Here calling me in haunted

dell,
That thy heart has not quailed,
Nor thy courage failed,
And that thou couldst brook
The angry look
Of Her of Avenel.
Did one limb shiver,
Or an eyelid quiver,
Thou wert lost forever.
Though I am form'd from the

ether blue,
And my blood is of the unfallen

dew,
And thou art framed of mud and

dust,
'T is thine to speak, reply I must.

A mightier wizard far than I

Wields o'er the universe his
power ;

Him owns the eagle in the
sky,

The turtle in the bower.

Changeful in shape, yet mighti-
est still,

He wields the heart of man at
will,

From ill to good, from good to

ill,
In cot and castle-tower.
Ask thy heart, whose secret

cell
Is filled with Mary Avenel !
Ask thy pride, why scornful

look
In Mary's view it will not-

brook ?
Ask it, why thou seek'st to rise
Among the mighty and the

wise, —
Why thou spurn'st thy lowly

lot,—
Why thy pastimes are for-
got,—
Why thou wouldst in bloody

strife
Mend thy luck or lose thy life ?
Ask thy heart, and it shall

tell,
Sighing from its secret cell,
'T is for Mary Avenel.
Do not ask me ;
On doubts like these thou

canst not task me.
We only see the passing show
Of human passions' ebb and

flow;
And view the pageant's idle

glance
As mortals eye the northern

dance,
When thousand streamers,

flashing bright,
Career it o'er the brow of

night,
And gazers mark their change-
ful gleams,
But feel no influence from

their beams.

By ties mysterious linked, our

fated race
Holds strange connection with the

sons of men.
The star that rose upon the House

of Avenel,

VERSES FROM THE MONASTERY

6i5

"When Norman Ulric first assumed
the name,

That star, when culminating in its
orbit,

Shot from its spear a drop of dia-
mond dew,

And this bright font received it—
and a Spirit

Rose from the fountain, and her
date of life

Hath coexistence with the House
of Avenel,

And with the star that rules it.

Look on my girdle— on this thread

of gold —
•T is fine as web of lightest gossa-
mer,
And, but there is a spell on 't,

would not bind,
Light as they are, the folds of my

thin robe.
But when 't was donned, it was a

massive chain,
Such as might bind the champion

of the Jews,
Even when his locks were longest

— it hath dwindled,
Hath 'minished in its substance

and its strength,
As sunk the greatness of the

House of Avenel.
When this frail thread gives way,

I to the elements
Resign the principles of life they

lent me.
Ask me no more of this ! — the

stars forbid it.
Dim burns the once bright star of

Avenel,
Dim as the beacon when the morn

is nigh,
And the o'er-wearied warder leaves

the lighthouse :
There is an influence sorrowful

and fearful,
That dogs its downward course.

Disastrous passion,

Fierce hate and rivalry, are in the

aspect
That lowers upon its fortunes.

Complaix not on me, child of

clay,
If to thy harm I yield the way.
We, who soar thy sphere above,
Know not aught of hate or love ;
As will or wisdom rules thy

mood,
My gifts to evil turn or good.
When Piercie Shafton boasteth

high,
Let this token meet his eye.
The sun is westering from the

dell,
Thy wish is granted — fare thee

well !

VIII
TO THE SAME

He, whose heart for vengeance

sued,
Must not shrink from shedding

blood ;
The knot that thou hast tied with

word,
Thou must loose by edge of sword.

You have summoned me once, you

have summoned me twice,
And without e'er a summons 1

come to you thrice ;
Unasked for, unsued for, you came

to my glen,
Unsued and unasked, I am with

you again.

IX
TO MARY AVENEL

Ma id ex, whose sorrows wail the
Living Dead,
Whose eyes shall commune with
the Dead Alive,

6i6

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Maiden, attend ! Beneath my foot
lies hid
The Word, the Law, the Path
which thou dost strive
To find, and canst not find. Could
Spirits shed
Tears for their lot, it were my
lot to weep,
Showing the road which I shall
never tread,
Though my foot points it. Sleep,
eternal sleep
Dark, long, and cold forgetfulness
my lot !
But do not thou at human ills
repine ;
Secure there lies full guerdon in
this spot
For all the woes that wait frail
Adam's line —
Stoop then and make it yours,—
I may not make it mine !

TO EDWARD GLENDINNING

Thou who seek'st my fountain

lone,
With thoughts and hopes thou

dar'st not own ;
Whose heart within leaped wildly

glad,
When most his brow seemed dark

and sad ;
Hie thee back, thou find'st not

here
Corpse or coffin, grave or bier ;
The Dead Alive is gone and fled :
Go thou and join the Living

Dead!

The Living Dead, whose sober
brow

Oft shrouds such thoughts as thou
hast now

Whose hearts within are seldom
cured

Of passions by their vows ab-
jured ;

Where, under sad and solemn

show,
Vain hopes are nursed, wild wishes

glow.
Seek the convent's vaulted room,
Prayer and vigil be thy doom ;
Doff the green, and don the grey,
To the cloister hence away !

THE WHITE LADY'S FAREWELL

Fare thee well, thou Holly green !
Thou shalt seldom now be seen,
With all thy glittering garlands

bending,
As to greet my slow descend-
ing,
Startling the bewildered hind,
Who sees thee wave without a
wind.

Farewell, Fountain ! now not long
Shalt thou murmur to my song.
While thy crystal bubbles glan-
cing,
Keep the time in mystic dan-
cing,
Rise and swell, are burst and lost,
Like mortal schemes by fortune
crossed.

The knot of fate at length is tied,
The Churl is Lord, the Maid is

Bride !
Vainly did my magic sleight
Send the lover from her sight ;
Wither bush, and perish well,
Fallen is lofty Avenel !

GOLDTHRED'S SONG
FROM KENIL WORTH

Of all the birds on bush or
tree,
Commend me to the owl,

VERSES FROM THE PIRATE

617

Since he may best ensample be
To those the cup that trowl.
For when the sun hath left the

west,
He chooses the tree that he loves

the best,
And he whoops out his song, and

he laughs at his jest ;
Then though hours be late, and

weather foul,
We '11 drink to the health of the

bonny, bonny owl.

The lark is but a bumpkin fowl,
He sleeps in his nest till
morn ;
But my blessing upon the jolly
owl,
That all night blows his horn.
Then up with your cup till you

stagger in speech,
And match me this catch though

you swagger and screech,
And drink till you wink, my merry

men each ;
For though hours be late, and

weather be foul,
"We '11 drink to the health of the
bonny, bonny owl.

VERSES FROM THE PIRATE
1

THE SONG of the tempest

Stern eagle of the far north-
west,

Thou that bearest in thy grasp the
thunderbolt,

Thou whose rushing pinions stir
ocean to madness,

Thou the destroyer of herds, thou
the scatterer of navies,

Thou the breaker down of tow-
ers,

Amidst the scream of thy rage,

Amidst the rushing of thy onward
wings,

Though thy scream be loud as the
cry of a perishing nation,

Though the rushing of thy wings
be like the roar of ten thou-
sand waves,

Yet hear, in thine ire and thy
haste,

Hear thou the voice of the Reini-
kenuar.

Thou hast met the pine-trees of

Drontheim,
Their dark-green heads lie pros-
trate beside their uprooted

stems ;
Thou hast met the rider of the

ocean,
The tall, the strong bark of the

fearless rover,
And she has struck to thee the

topsail
That she had not veiled to a royal

armada ;
Thou hast met the tower that

bears its crest among the

clouds,
The battled massive tower of the

Jarl of former days,
And the copestone of the turret
Is lying upon its hospitable

hearth ;
But thou too shalt stoop, proud

compeller of clouds,
When thou hearest the voice of

the Reim-kennar.

There are verses that can stop the

stag in the forest,
Ay, and when the dark-colored dog

is opening on his track ;
There are verses can make the

wild hawk pause on his wing,
Like the falcon that wears the

hood and the jesses,
And who knows the shrill whistle

of the fowler.

6i8

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Thou who canst mock at the
scream of the drowning mar-
iner,

And the crash of the ravaged
forest,

And the groan of the overwhelmed
crowds,

When the church hath fallen in
the moment of prayer ;

There are sounds which thou also
must list,

When they are chanted by the
voice of the Reim-kennar.

Enough of woe hast thou wrought
on the ocean,

The widows wring their hands on
the beach ;

Enough of woe hast thou wrought
on the land,

The husbandman folds his arms
in despair ;

Cease thou the waving of thy pin-
ions,

Let the ocean repose in her dark
strength ;

Cease thou the flashing of thine
eye,

Let the thunderbolt sleep in the
armory of Odin ;

Be thou still at my bidding, view-
less racer of the northwestern
heaven, —

Sleep thou at the voice of Noma
the Reiru-kennar.

Eagle of the far northwestern wa-
ters,

Thou hast heard the voice of the
Reim-kennar\

Thou hast closed thy wide sails at
her bidding,

And folded them in peace by thy
side.

My blessing be on thy retiring
path;

When thou stoopest from thy
place on high,

Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns
of the unknown ocean,

Rest till destiny shall again
awaken thee ;

Eagle of the northwest, thou hast
heard the voice of the Reim-
kennar.

HALCRO'S SONG

Farewell to Northmaven,

Grey Hillswicke, farewell !
To the calms of thy haven,

The storms on thy fell —
To each breeze that can vary

The mood of thy main,
And to thee, bonny Mary !

We meet not again !

Farewell the wild ferry,

Which Hacon could brave
When the peaks of the Skerry

Were white in the wave.
There 's a maid may look over

These wild waves in vain
For the skiff of her lover —

He comes not again !

The vows thou hast broke,

On the wild currents fling them
On the quicksand and rock

Let the mermaiden sing them :
New sweetness they '11 give her

Bewildering strain ;
But there 's one who will never

Believe them again.

0, were there an island,

Though ever so wild,
Where woman could smile, and

No man be beguiled —
Too tempting a snare

To poor mortals were given ;
And the hope would fix there

That should anchor on heaven.

VERSES FROM THE PIRATE

619

SONG OF HAROLD HARFAGER

The sun is rising dimly red,
The wind is wailing low and

dread ;
From his cliff the eagle sallies,
Leaves the wolf his darksome

valleys ;
In the mist the ravens hover,
Peep the wild dogs from the

cover,
Screaming, croaking, baying, yell-
ing,
Each in his wild accents telling,
' Soon we feast on dead and dy-
ing,
Fair-haired Harold's flag is flying.'

Many a crest in air is streaming,
Many a helmet darkly gleaming,
Many an arm the axe uprears,
Doomed to hew the wood of

spears.
All along the crowded ranks,
Horses neigh and armor clanks;
Chiefs are shouting, clarions ring-
ing,
Louder still the bard is singing,
'Gather, footmen; gather, horse-
men,
To the field, ye valiant Norse-
men!

4 Halt ye not for food or slumber,
View not vantage, count not num-
ber;
Jolly reapers, forward still,
Grow the crop on vale or hill,
Thick or scattered, stiff or lithe,
It shall down before the scythe.
Forward with your sickles bright,
Reap the harvest of the fight.
Onward footmen, onward horse-
men,
To the charge, ye gallant Norse-
men!

1 Fatal Choosers of the Slaughter,
O'er you hovers Odin's daughter ;

Hear the choice she spreads be-
fore ye —

Victory, and wealth, and glory ;

Or old Valhalla's roaring hail,

Her ever-circling mead and ale,

Where for eternity unite

The joys of wassail and of fight.

Headlong forward, foot and horse-
men,

Charge and fight, and die like
Norsemen ! '

SONG OF THE MERMAIDS AND
MERMEN

MERMAID

Fathoms deep beneath the wave,

Stringing beads of glistering
pearl,
Singing the achievements brave

Of many an old Norwegian earl;
Dwelling where the tempest's rav-
ing

Falls as light upon our ear,
As the sigh of lover, craving

Pity from his lady dear,
Children of wild Thule, we,
From the deep caves of the sea,
As the lark springs from the

lea,
Hither come, to share your glee.

MERMAN

From reining of the water-horse,
That bounded till the waves
were foaming,
Watching the infant tempest's
course,
Chasing the sea-snake in his
roaming ;
From winding charge-notes on the
shell,
When the huge whale and
sword-fish duel,
Or tolling shroudless seamen's
knell,
When the winds and waves are
cruel ;

620

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Children of wild Thule, we

Have ploughed such furrows on

the sea,
As the steer draws on the lea,
And hither we come to share your

glee.

MERMAIDS AND MERMEN

We heard you in our twilight

caves,
A hundred fathom deep below
For notes of joy can pierce the

waves,
That drown each sound of war

and woe.
Those who dwell beneath the sea

Love the sons of Thule well ;
Thus, to aid your mirth, bring

we
Dance and song and sounding

shell.
Children of the dark Thule, knowT,
Those who dwell by haaf and

voe,
Where your daring shallops row,
Come to share the festal show.

NORNA'S YERSES

For leagues along the watery
way,
Through gulf and stream my
course has been ;
The billows know my Runic lay,
And smooth their crests to silent
green.

The billows know my Runic lay,
The gulf grows smooth, the
stream is still ;
But human hearts, more wild than
they,
Know but the rule of wayward
will.

One hour is mine, in all the year,
To tell my woes, and one alone ;

When gleams this magic lamp,
't is here,
When dies the mystic light, 't is
gone.

Daughters of northern Magnus,
hail!
The lamp is lit, the flame is
clear ;
To you I come to tell my tale,
Awake, arise, my tale to hear !

Dwellers of the mountain, rise,
Trolld the powerful, Haims the

wise !
Ye who taught weak woman's

tongue
Words that sway the wise and

strong, —
Ye who taught weak woman's

hand
How to wield the magic wand,
And wake the gales on Foulah's

steep,
Or lull wild Sumburgh's waves to

sleep !
Still are ye yet? Not yours the

power
Ye knew in Odin's mightier hour.
What are ye now but empty

names,
Powerful Trolld, sagacious Haims,
That, lightly spoken, and lightly

heard,
Float on the air like thistle's

beard ?

A thousand winters dark have

flown,
Since o'er the threshold of my

stone
A votaress passed, my power to

own.
Visitor bold
Of the mansion of Trolld,

Maiden haughty of heart,
Who hast hither presumed,
Ungifted, undoomed,

VERSES FROM THE PIRATE

621

Thou shalt not depart.
The power thou dost covet

O'er tempest and wave,
Shall be thine, thou proud maid-
en,
By beach and by cave. —
By stack, and by skerry, by noup,

and by voe,
By air, and by wick, and by helyer

and gio,
And by every wild shore which the
northern winds know,
And the northern tides lave.
But though this shall be given
thee, thou desperately brave,
I doom thee that never the gift
thou shalt have,
Till thou reave thy life's giver
Of the gift which he gave.

Dark are thy words, and severe,

Thou dweller in stone ;
But trembling and fear

To her are unknown,
Who hath sought thee here,

In thy dwelling lone.
Comes what comes soever,

The worst I can endure ;
Life is but a short fever,

And Death is the cure.

HALCRO AND XORNA
CLAUD HALCRO

Mother darksome, Mother

dread,
Dweller on the Fitful-head,
Thou canst see what deeds are

done
Under the never-setting sun.
Look through sleet, and look

through frost,
Look to Greenland's caves and

coast, —
By the iceberg is a sail
Chasing of the swarthy whale ;

Mother doubtful, Mother dread,
Tell us, has the good ship sped ?

NOBNA

The thought of the aged is ever on

gear,
On his fishing, his furrow, his

flock, and his steer ;
But thrive may his fishing, flock,

furrow, and herd,
While the aged for anguish shall

tear his gray beard.

The ship, well-laden as bark need

be,
Lies deep in the furrow of the Ice-
land sea ;
The breeze from Zetland blows

fair and soft,
And gaily the garland is fluttering

aloft ;
Seven good fishes have spouted

their last,
And their jaw-bones are hanging

to yard and mast :
Two are for Lerwick, and two for

Kirkwall,
And three for Burgh- Westra, the

choicest of all.

CLAUD HALCRO

Mother doubtful, Mother dread,

Dweller of the Fitful-head,

Thou hast conned full many a

rhyme,
That lives upon the surge of time :
Tell me, shall my lays be sung,
Like Hacon's of the golden tongue,
Long after Halcro 's dead and

gone?
Or, shall Hialtland's minstrel own
One note to rival glorious John ?

NORNA

The infant loves the rattle's noise ;
Age, double childhood, hath its

toys;
But different far the descant rings,
As strikes a different hand the

strings.

622

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

The eagle mounts the polar sky :
The Imber-goose, unskilled to fly,
Must be content to glide along,
Where seal and sea-dog list his
song.

CLAUD HALCRO

Be mine the Imber-goose to play,

And haunt lone cave and silent
bay;

The archer's aim so shall I shun ;

So shall I 'scape the levelled gun ;

Content my verses' tuneless jin-
gle,

With Thule's sounding tides to
mingle,

While, to the ear of wondering
wight,

Upon the distant headland's
height,

Softened by murmur of the sea,

The rude sounds seem like har-
mony!

Mother doubtful, Mother dread,
Dweller of the Fitful-head,
A gallant bark from far abroad,
Saint Magnus hath her in his road,
With guns and firelocks not a

few;
A silken and a scarlet crew,
Deep stored with precious mer-
chandise,
Of gold, and goods of rare device :
What interest hath our comrade

bold
In bark and crew, in goods and
gold?

NORNA

Gold is ruddy, fair, and free,
Blood is crimson, and dark to

see;
I looked out on Saint Magnus

bay,
And I saw a falcon that struck

her prey ;
A gobbet of flesh in her beak she

bore,
And talons and singles are drip-

ing with gore ;

Let him that asks after them look

on his hand,
And if there is blood on't, he's

one of their band.

CLAUD HALCRO

Mother doubtful, Mother dread,
Dweller of the Fitful-head,
Well thou know'st it is thy task
To tell what Beauty will not

ask;
Then steep thy words in wine and

milk,
And weave a doom of gold and

silk;
For we would know, shall Brenda

prove
In love, and happy in her love ?

NORNA

Untouched by love, the maiden's

breast
Is like the snow on Rona's crest,
High seated in the middle sky,
In bright and barren purity ;
But by the sunbeam gently kissed,
Scarce by the gazing eye 'tis

missed,
Ere, down the lonely valley steal.

ing,
Fresh grass and growth its course

revealing,
It cheers the flock, revives the

flower,
And decks some happy shepherd's

bower.

MAGNUS TROIL

Mother, speak, and do not tarry,
Here 's a maiden fain would

marry.
Shall she marry, ay or not?
If she marry, what 's her lot?

NORNA

Untouched by love, the maiden's

breast
Is like the snow on Rona's crest ;
So pure, so free from earthly dye,
It seems, whilst leaning on the

sky,

VERSES FROM THE PIRATE

623

Part of the heaven to which 't is

nigh;
But passion, like the wild March

rain,
May soil the wreath with many a

stain.
We gaze — the lovely vision 's

gone:
A torrent fills the bed of stone,
That, hurrying to destruction's

shock,
Leaps headlong from the lofty

rock.

VII
THE FISHERMEN'S SONG

Farewell, merry maidens, to
song and to laugh,

For the brave lads of Westra are
bound to the Haaf ;

And we must have labor, and hun-
ger, and pain,

Ere we dance with the maids of
Dunrossness again.

For now, in our trim boats of Noro-

way deal,
We must dance on the waves, with

the porpoise and seal ;
The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe

not too high,
And the gull be our songstress

whene'er she flits by.

Sing on, my brave bird, while we

follow, like thee,
By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the

swarms of the sea ;
And when twenty-score fishes are

straining our line,
Sing louder, brave bird, for their

spoils shall be thine.

We '11 sing while we bait, and we '11

sing when we haul,
For the deeps of the Haaf have

enough for us all \

There is torsk for the gentle, and
skate for the carle,

And there 's wealth for bold Mag-
nus, the son of the earl.

Huzza ! my brave comrades, give

way for the Haaf,
We shall sooner come back to the

dance and the laugh ;
For life without mirth is a lamp

without oil ;
Then, mirth and long life to the

bold Magnus Troil I

VIII
CLEVELAND'S SONGS

Love wakes and weeps

While beauty sleeps :
0, for Music's softest numbers,

To prompt a theme

For Beauty's dream,
Soft as the pillow of her slumbers.

Through groves of palm

Sigh gales of balm,
Fire-flies on the air are wheeling ;

While through the gloom

Comes soft perfume,
The distant beds of flowers re-
vealing.

0 wake and live !
No dream can give
A shadowed bliss, the real excel-
ling ;
No longer sleep,
From lattice peep,
And list the tale that Love is tell-
ing.

Farewell ! farewell ! the voice
you hear,
Has left its last soft tone with
you, —
Its next must join the seaward
cheer,
And shout among the shouting
crew.

624

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

The accents which I scarce could
form
Beneath your frown's controlling
check
Must give the word, above the
storm,
To cut the mast and clear the
wreck.

The timid eye I dared not raise, —
The hand, that shook wiien
pressed to thine,
Must point the guns upon the
chase —
Must hid the deadly cutlass
shine.

To all I love, or hope, or fear, —
Honor or own, a long adieu !

To all that life has soft and dear,
Farewell ! save memory of you !

IX
HALCRO'S VERSES

And you shall deal the funeral
dole;

Ay, deal it, mother mine,
To weary body and to heavy soul,

The white bread and the wine.

And you shall deal my horses of
pride ;
Ay, deal them, mother mine ;
And you shall deal my lands so
wide,
And deal my castles nine ;

But deal not vengeance for the
deed,
And deal not for the crime ;
The body to its place, and the soul
to Heaven's grace,
And the rest in God's own time.

By the mass of Saint Martin, the

might of Saint Mary,
Be thou gone, or thy weird shall

be worse if thou tarry !
of good, go hence and hallow

thee ;
of ill, let the earth swallow

thee ; —
thou 'rt of air, let the grey mist

fold thee ;
If of earth, let the swart mine hold

thee;
If a Pixie, seek thy ring ;
If a Nixie, seek thy spring ;
If on middle earth thou'st been
Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin,
Hast ate the bread of toil and

strife,
And dree'd the lot which men call

life;
Begone to thy stone ! for thy coffin

is scant of thee,
The worm, thy playfellow, wails

for the want of thee :
Hence, houseless ghost! let the

earth hide thee,
Till Michael shall blow the blast,

see that there thou bide thee i
Phantom, fly hence ! take the Cross

for a token,
Hence pass till Hallowmass ! —

my spell is spoken.

Saint Magnus control thee, that

martyr of treason ;
Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with

rhyme and with reason ;

Where corpse-light
Dances bright,
Be it by day or night,
Be it by light or dark,
There shall corpse lie stiff and
stark.

Menseful maiden ne'er should

rise,
Till the first beam tinge the skies ;
Silk-fringed eyelids still should

close,
Till the sun has kissed the rose ;
Maiden's foot we should not view,

VERSES FROM THE PIRATE

625

Marked with tiny print on dew,
Till the opening flowerets spread
Carpet meet for beauty's tread.

NORXA'S IXCAXTATIONS

Champion, famed for warlike toil,
Art thou silent, Ribolt Troil?
Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones,
Are leaving bare thy giant bones.
Who dared touch the wild bear's

skin
Ye slumbered on, while life was

in?
A woman now, or babe, may come
And cast the covering from thy

tomb.

Yet he not wrathful, Chief, nor

blight
Mine eyes or ears with sound or

sight !
I come not with unhallowed tread,
To wake the slumbers of the dead,
Or lay thy giant relics bare ;
But what I seek thou well canst

spare.
Be it to my hand allowed
To shear a merk's weight from thy

shroud ;
Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough
To shield thy bones from weather

rough.
See, I draw my magic knife :
Never while thou wert in life
Laidst thou still for sloth or fear,
When point and edge were glitter-
ing near :
See, the cerements now I sever :
Waken now, or sleep forever !
Thou wilt not wake : the deed is

done !
The prize I sought is fairly won.

Thanks, Ribolt, thanks, — for this

the sea
Shall smooth its ruffled crest for

thee,

And while afar its billows foam,
Subside to peace near Ribolt's

tomb.
Thanks, Ribolt, thanks —for this

the might
Of wild winds raging at their

height,
When to thy place of slumber

nigh,
Shall soften to a lullaby.

She, the dame of doubt and dread,
Noma of the Fitful-head,
Mighty in her own despite,
Miserable in her might ;
In despair and frenzy great,
In her greatness desolate ;
Wisest, wickedest who lives,
Well can keep the word she gives.

THE SAME, AT THE MEETING
WITH MINNA

Thou, so needful, yet so dread,

With cloudy crest, and wing of
red;

Thou, without whose genial breath

The North would sleep the sleep
of death ;

Who deign'st to warm the cottage
hearth,

Yet hurls proud palaces to earth ;

Brightest, keenest of the Pow-
ers,

Which form and rule this world of
ours,

With my rhyme of Runic, I

Thank thee for thy agency.

Old Reim-kennar, to thy art
Mother Hertha sends her part ;
She, whose gracious bounty gives
Needful food for all that lives.
From the deep mine of the North
Came the mystic metal forth,
Doomed amidst disjointed stones
Long to cere a champion's bones,

626

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Disinhumed my charms to aid :
Mother Earth, my thanks are paid.

Girdle of our islands dear,
Element of Water, hear !
Thou whose power can overwhelm
Broken mounds and ruined realm

On the lowly Belgian strand ;
All thy fiercest rage can never
Of our soil a furlong sever

From our rock-defended land ;
Play then gently thou thy part,
To assist old Noma's art.

Elements, each other greeting,
Gifts and powers attend your
meeting !

Thou, that over billows dark
Safely send'st the fisher's bark :
Giving him a path and motion
Through the wilderness of ocean ;
Thou, that when the billows brave

ye,

O'er the shelves canst drive the

navy:
Did'st thou chafe as one neglected,
While thy brethren were re-
spected ?
To appease thee, see, I tear
This full grasp of grizzled hair ;
Oft thy breath hath through it

sung,
Softening to my magic tongue ;
Now, 't is thine to bid it fly
Through the wide expanse of sky,
'Mid the countless swarms to sail
Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale ;
Take thy portion and rejoice :
Spirit, thou hast heard my voice !

She who sits by haunted well,
Is subject to the Nixie's spell ;
She who walks on lonely beach,
To the Mermaid's charmed speech ;

She who walks round ring of green,
Offends the peevish Fairy Queen ;
And she who takes rest in the

Dwarfie's cave,
A weary weird of woe shall have.

By ring, by spring, by cave, by

shore,
Minna Troil has braved all this

and more ;
And yet hath the root of her sor-
row and ill
A source that's more deep and

more mystical still.
Thou art within a demon's hold,
More wise than Heims, more

strong than Trolld ;
No siren sings so sweet as he :
No fay springs lighter on the lea ;
No elfin power hath half the art
To soothe, to move, to wring the

heart :
Life-blood from the cheek to drain,
Drench the eye, and dry the vein.
Maiden, ere we farther go,
Dost thou note me, ay or no?

MINNA

I mark thee, my mother, both
word, look, and sign ;

Speak on with thy riddle — to read
it be mine.

NORNA

Mark me ! for the word I speak

Shall bring the color to thy cheek.

This leaden heart, so light of cost,

The symbol of a treasure lost,

Thou shalt wear in hope and in
peace,

That the cause of your sickness
and sorrow may cease,

When crimson foot meets crimson
hand

In the Martyrs' Aisle, and in Ork-
ney land.

Be patient, be patient, for Patience
hath power

To ward us in danger, like mantle
in shower ;

A fairy gift you best may hold

THE MAID OF ISLA

627

In a chain of fairy gold ;

The chain and the gift are each a

true token,
That not without warrant old

Noma hath spoken ;
But thy nearest and dearest must

never behold them,
Till time shall accomplish the

truths I have told them.

XII

BRYCE SNAILSFOOT'S ADVER-
TISEMENT

Poor sinners whom the snake de-
ceives,

Are fain to cover them with leaves.

Zetland hath no leaves, 't is true,

Because that trees are none, or
few ;

But we have flax and taits of
woo',

For linen cloth, and wadmaal blue ;

And we have many of foreign
knacks

Of finer waft than woo' or flax.

Ye gallanty Lambmas lads appear,

And bring your Lambmas sisters
here,

Bryce Snailsfoot spares not cost
or care,

To pleasure every gentle pair.

'ON ETTRICK FOREST'S
MOUNTAINS DUN*

Ox Ettrick Forest's mountains dun

*T is blithe to hear the sportsman's
gun,

And seek the heath-frequenting
brood

Far through the noonday soli-
tude ;

By many a cairn and trenched
mound

"Where chiefs of yore sleep lone
and sound.

And springs where gray-haired

shepherds tell
That still the fairies love to dwell.

Along the silver streams of Tweed
'T is blithe the mimic fly to lead,
When to the hook the salmon

springs,
And the line whistles through the

rings ;
The boiling eddy see him try,
Then dashing from the current

high,
Till watchful eye and cautious

hand
Have led his wasted strength to

land.

'T is blithe along the midnight
tide

With stalwart arm the boat to
guide ;

On high the dazzling blaze to rear.

And heedful plunge the barbed
spear ;

Rock, wood, and scaur, emerging
bright,

Fling on the stream their ruddy
light,

And from the bank our band ap-
pears

Like Genii armed with fiery spears.

'T is blithe at eve to tell the tale
How we succeed and how we fail,
Whether at Alwyn's lordly meal,
Or lowlier board of Ashestiel ;
While the gay tapers cheerly shine,
Bickers the fire and flows the

wine —
Days free from thought and nights

from care,
My blessing on the Forest fair.

THE MAID OF ISLA

Air— ' The Maid of Ma '

O maid of Isla, from the cliff
That looks on troubled wave and
sky,

628

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Dost thou not see yon little skiff
Contend with ocean gallantly?
Now beating 'gainst the breeze
and surge,
And steeped her leeward deck
in foam,
Why does she war unequal urge?—
O Isla's maid, she seeks her
home.

O Isla's maid, yon sea-bird mark,
Her white wing gleams through
mist and spray
Against the storm-cloud lowering
dark,
As to the rock she wheels
away ; —
Where clouds are dark and billows
rave,
Why to the shelter should she
come
Of cliff, exposed to wind and
wave ? —
O maid of Isla, 't is her home !

As breeze and tide to yonder skiff,
Thou'rt adverse to the suit I
bring,
And cold as is yon wintry cliff
Where sea-birds close their wea-
ried wing.
Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave,
Still, Isla's maid, to thee I come ;
For in thy love or in his grave
Must Allan Vourich find his
home.

FAREWELL TO THE MUSE

Enchantress, farewell, who so
oft hast decoyed me
At the close of the evening
through woodlands to roam,
Where the forester lated with won-
der espied me
Explore the wild scenes he was
quitting for home.
Farewell, and take with thee thy
numbers wild speaking
The language alternate of rap-
ture and woe :

O ! none but some lover whose
heart-strings are breaking
The pang that I feel at our part-
ing can know !

Each joy thou couldst double, and
when there came sorrow
Or pale disappointment to dark-
en my way,
What voice was like thine, that
could sing of to-morrow
Till forgot in the strain was the
grief of to-day !
But when friends drop around us
in life's weary waning,
The grief, Queen of Numbers,
thou canst not assuage ;
Nor the gradual estrangement of
those yet remaining,
The languor of pain and the
chillness of age.

'T was thou that once taught me in
accents bewailing
To sing how a warrior lay
stretched on the plain,
And a maiden hung o'er him with
aid unavailing,
And held to his lips the cold
goblet in vain ;
As vain thy enchantments, O
Queen of wild Numbers,
To a bard when the reign of his
fancy is o'er,
And the quick pulse of feeling in
apathy slumbers —
Farewell, then, Enchantress; —
I meet thee no more.

NIGEL'S INITIATION AT
WHITEFRIARS

FROM 'THE FORTUNES OF
NIGEL '

Your suppliant, by name
Nigel Grahame,
In fear of mishap
From a shoulder-tap ;
And dreading a claw

'CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME

629

From the talons of law,

Are the freedom and gifts

That are sharper than briars 5

Of which I am the donor.

His freedom to sue

And rescue by you ;

Through weapon and wit,

'CARLE, NOW THE KING'S

From warrant and writ,

COME '

From bailiff's hand,

From tipstaff's wand,

BEING NEW WORDS TO AN

Is come hither to Whitefriars.

AULD SPRING

PART FIRST

The news has flown frae mouth

By spigot and barrel,

to mouth,

By bilboe and buff ;

The North for ance has banged

Thou art sworn to the quarrel

the South ;

Of the blades of the Huff.

The deil a Scotsman's die o»

For Whitefriars and its claims

drouth,

To be champion or martyr,

Carle, now the King 's come !

And to fight for its dames

Like a Knight of the Garter.

CHORUS

Carle, now the King 's come !

Thou shalt dance, and I will sing,

From the touch of the tip,

Carle, now the King 's come !

From the blight of the war-

rant,

Auld England held him lang and

From the watchmen who skip

fast;

On the Harman Beck's errand,

And Ireland had a joyfu' cast ;

From the bailiff's cramp speech,

But Scotland's turn is come at

That makes man a thrall,

last:

I charm thee from each,

Carle, now the King 's come :

And I charm thee from all.

Thy freedom 's complete

Auld Reekie, in her rokelay grey,

As a blade of the Huff,

Thought never to have seen the

To be cheated and cheat,

day,

To be cuffed and to cuff ;

He 's been a weary time away —

To stride, swear, and swagger,

But, Carle, now the King 'scome !

To drink till you stagger,

To stare and to stab,

She 's skirling frae the Castle-hill ;

And to brandish your dagger

The Carline's voice is grown sae

In the cause of your drab ;

shrill,

To walk wool-ward in winter,

Ye '11 hear her at the Canon-mill :

Drink brandy, and smoke,

Carle, now the King 's come !

And go fresco in summer

For want of a cloak ;

* Up, bairns ! ' she cries, - baith grit

To eke out your living

and sma\

By the wag of your elbow,

And busk ye for the weapon-

By fulham and gourd,

shaw !

And by baring of bilboe ;

Stand by me, and we '11 bang them

To live by your shifts,

a'—

And to swear by your honor

Carle, now the King 's come !

630

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

1 Come from Newbattle's ancient

Breadalbane, bring your belted

spires,

plaids ;

Bauld Lothian, with your knights

Carle, now the King 's come !

and squires,

And match the mettle of your

' Come, stately Niddrie, auld and

sires :

true,

Carle, now the King 's come !

Girt with the sword that Minden

knew;

4 You 're welcome hame, my Mon-

We have o'er few such lairds as

tagu !

you:

Bring in your hand the young Buc-

Carle, now the King 's come !

cleuch ;

I 'm missing some that I may rue ;

' King Arthur 's grown a common

Carle, now the King 's come !

crier,

He 's heard in Fife and far Cantire: —

1 Come, Haddington, the kind and

"Fie, lads, behold my crest of

gay,

fire!"

You 've graced my causeway mony

Carle, now the King 's come ! '

a day ;

I '11 weep the cause if you should

' Saint Abb roars out, " I see him

stay :

pass,

Carle, now the King 's come !

Between Tantallon and the Bass! "

Carlton, get out your keeking-glass,

'Come, premier Duke, and carry

Carle, now the King 's come ! '

doun

Frae yonder craig his ancient

The Carline stopped ; and, sure I

croun ;

am,

It \s had a lang sleep and a

For very glee had ta'en a dwam,

soun' :

But Oman helped her to a dram.

But, Carle, now the King 's come !

Cogie, now the King 's come !

'Come, Athole, from the hill and

CHORUS

wood,

Cogie, now the King 's come t

Bring down your clansmen like a

Cogie, now the King's come !

cloud ;

I 'se be fou\ and ye 's be toom,

Come, Morton, show the Douglas'

Cogie, now the King 's come !

blood:

Carle, now the King 's come !

PART SECOND

1 Come, Tweeddale, true as sword

to sheath ;

A Hawick gill of mountain dew,

Come, Hopetoun, feared on fields

Heised up Auld Reekie's heart, I

of death ;

trow,

Come, Clerk, and give your bugle

It minded her of Waterloo :

breath ;

Carle, now the King 's come !

Again I heard her summons swell,

* Come, Wemyss, who modest merit

For, sic a dirdum and a yell,

aids;

It drowned Saint Giles's jowing

Come, Rosebery, from Dalmeny

bell:

shades ;

Carle, now the King 's come !

CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME'

631

c My trusty Provost, tried and

tight,
Stand forward for the Good Town's

right,
There 's waur than you been made

a knight :
Carle, now the King's come !

4 My reverend Clergy, look ye say
The best of thanksgivings ye

ha'e,
And warstle for a sunny day :
Carle, now the King 's come !

* My Doctors, look that you agree,
Cure a' the town without a fee ;
My Lawyers, dinna pike a plea :
Carle, now the King 's come!

'Come forth each sturdy Burgh-
er's bairn,

That dints on wood or clanks on
airn,

That fires the o'en, or winds the
pirn:
Carle, now the King 's come!

1 Come forward with the Blanket

Blue,
Your sires were loyal men and

true,
As Scotland's foemen oft might

rue :
Carle, now the King 's come !

'Scots downa loup, and rin and

rave,
We 're steady folks and something

grave,
We '11 keep the causeway firm and

brave :
Carle, now the King 's come !

' Sir Thomas, thunder from your

rock,
Till Pentland dinnles wi' the

shock,
And lace wi' fire my snood 0'

smoke :
Carle, now the King 's come !

' Melville, bring out your bands of

blue,
A' Louden lads, baith stout and

true,
With Elcho, Hope, and Cockburn,

too:
Carle, now the King 's come !

1 And you, who on yon bluidy braes
Compelled the vanquished Des-
pot's praise,
Eank out, rank out, my gallant
Greys :
Carle, now the King 's come !

'Cock of the North, my Huntly

bra',
Where are you with the Forty-twa ?
Ah ! wae 's my heart that ye 're

awa' :
Carle, now the King 's come !

' But yonder come my canty Celts,
With durk and pistols at their

belts,
Thank God, we 've still some
plaids and kilts :
Carle, now the King's come!

' Lord, how the pibrochs groan and

yell!
Macdonell 's ta'en the field himsell,
Macleod comes branking o'er the

fell:
Carle, now the King 's come !

' Bend up your bow each Archer

spark,
For you 're to guard him light and

dark;
Faith, lads, for ance ye 've hit the

mark:
Carle, now the King 's come !

'Young Errol, take the sword of

state,
The Sceptre, Panie-Morarchate ;
Knight Mareschal, see ye clear

the gate :
Carle, now the King 's come!

632

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

' Kind cummer, Leith, ye 've been

mis-set,
But dinna be upon the fret :
Ye 'se hae the handsel of him yet,
Carle, now the King 's come !

* My daughters, come with een sae
blue,

Your garlands weave, your blos-
soms strew ;

He ne'er saw fairer flowers than
you:
Carle, now the King 's come !

'What shall we do for the pro-
pine:
We used to offer something fine,
But ne'er a groat's in pouch of
mine :
Carle, now the King 's come !

'Deil care — for that I'se never

start,
We '11 welcome him with Highland

heart ;
Whate'er we have he 's get a

part:
Carle, now the King 's come !

'I'll show him mason-work this

day:
Nane of your bricks of Babel

clay,
But towers shall stand till Time 's

away:
Carle, now the King 's come !

4 1 '11 show him wit, I '11 show him

lair,
And gallant lads and lasses fair.
And what wad kind heart wish for

mair?
Carle, now the King 's come !

'Step out, Sir John, of projects

rife,
Come win the thanks of an auld

wife,
And bring him health and length

of life :
Carle, now the King 's come ! '

THE BANNATYNE CLUB

Assist me, ye friends of Old Books

and Old Wine,
To sing in the praises of sage

Bannatyne,
Who left such a treasure of old

Scottish lore
As enables each age to print one

volume more.
One volume more, my friends,

one volume more,
We'll ransack old Banny for

one volume more.

And first, Allan Ramsay, was eager

to glean
From Bannatyne' s Hortus his

bright Evergreen ;
Two light little volumes— intended

for four —
Still leave us the task to print one

volume more.

One volume more, etc.

His ways were not ours, for he

cared not a pin
How much he left out or how much

he put in ;
The truth of the reading he thought

was a bore,
So this accurate age calls for one

volume more.

One volume more, etc.

Correct and sagacious, then came
my Lord Hailes,

And weighed every letter in criti-
cal scales,

But left out some brief words
which the prudish abhor,

And castrated Banny in one vol-
ume more.
One volume more, my friends,

one volume more ;
We'll restore Banny's man-
hood in one volume more.

John Pinkerton next, and I'm

truly concerned
I can't call that worthy so candid

as learned ;

EPILOGUE

633

He railed at the plaid and blas-
phemed the claymore,
And set Scots by the ears in his
one volume more.
One volume more, my friends,

one volume more,
Celt and Goth shall be pleased
with one volume more.

As bitter as gall and as sharp as a
razor,

And feeding on herbs as a Nebu-
chadnezzar ;

His diet too acid, his temper too
sour,

Little Ritson came out with his
two volumes more.
But one volume, my friends,

one volume more,
We'll dine on roast-beef and
print one volume more.

The stout Gothic yeditur, next on

the roll,
With his beard like a brush and as

black as a coal ;
And honest Greysteel that was

true to the core,
Lent their hearts and their hands

each to one volume more.
One volume more, etc.

Since by these single champions

what wonders were done,
What may not be achieved by our

Thirty and One ?
Law, Gospel, and Commerce, we

count in our corps,
And the Trade and the Press join

for one volume more.
One volume more, etc.

Ancient libels and contraband

books, I assure ye,
We '11 print as secure from Ex-

chequer or Jury ;
Then hear your Committee and let

them count o'er
The Chiels they intend in their

three volumes more.

Three volumes more, etc.

They '11 produce you King Jamie,

the sapient and Sext,
And the Rob of Durablane and her

Bishops come next ;
One tome miscellaneous they'll

add to your store,
Resolving next year to print four

volumes more.
Four volumes more, my friends,

four volumes more ;
Pay down your subscriptions

for four volumes more.

COUNTY GUY

Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh,

The sun has left the lea,
The orange flower perfumes the
bower,
The breeze is on the sea.
The lark his lay who thrilled all
day
Sits hushed his partner nigh ;
Breeze, bird, and flower confess
the hour,
But where is County Guy ?

The village maid steals through
the shade,

Her shepherd's suit to hear ;
To beauty shy by lattice high

Sings high-born Cavalier.
The star of Love, all stars above,

Now reigns o'er earth and sky ;
And high and low the influence
know —

But where is County Guy !

EPILOGUE

TO THE DRAMA FOUNDED ON
' SAINT RON AN' S WELL '

{Enter Meg Dodds, encircled by
a crowd of unruly boys, whom
a town }s-officer is driving off.~]

That's right, friend — drive the

gaitlings back,
And lend yon muckle ane a whack ;

634

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Your Embro' bairns are grown a

Or crack a bottle,

pack,

They gang to a new-fangled place

Sae proud and saucy,

They ca' a Hottle.

They scarce will let an auld wife

walk

The deevil hottle them for Meg !

Upon your causey.

They are sae greedy and sae gleg,

That if ye 're served but wi' an

I 've seen the day they would been

egg —

scaur ed

And that 's puir picking —

Wi' the Tolbooth or wi' the Guard,

In comes a chiel and makes a

Or maybe wud hae some regard

leg,

For Jamie Laing-—

And charges chicken !

The Water-hole was right weel

wared

' And wha may ye be,' gin ye speer,

On sic a gang.

'That brings your auld-warld

clavers here ? ■

But whar's the gude Tolbooth

Troth, if there 's onybody near

gane now?

That kens the roads,

Whar 's the auld Claught, wi' red

I '11 haud ye Burgundy to beer

and blue ?

He kens Meg Dodds.

Whar's Jamie Laing? and whar 's

John Doo ?

I came a piece frae west o' Cur-

And whar 's the Weigh-house ?

rie;

Deil hae 't I see but what is

And, since I see you 're in a hurry,

new,

Your patience I'll nae langer

Except the Playhouse !

worry,

But be sae crouse

Yoursells are changed frae head

As speak a word for ane Will

to heel,

Murray

There \s some that gar the cause-

That keeps this house.

way reel

With clashing hufe and rattling

Plays are auld-fashioned things in

wheel,

truth,

And horses canterin',

And ye 've seen wonders mair un-

Wha's fathers daundered hame

couth ;

as weel

Yet actors should na suffer drouth

Wi' lass and lantern.

Or want of dramock,

Although they speak but wi' their

My sell being in the public line,

mouth,

I look for howfs I kenned lang

Not wi' their stamock.

syne,

Whar gentles used to drink gude

But ye take care of a' folk's

wine

pantry ;

And eat cheap dinners ;

And surely to hae stooden sen-

But deil a soul gangs there to dine

try

Of saints or sinners !

Ower this big house — that's far

frae rent-free —

Fortune's and Hunter's gane, alas !

For a lone sister.

And Bayle's is lost in empty space ;

Is claims as gude's to be a ven-

And now if folk would splice a

tri —

brace

How 'st ca'd — loquister.

VERSES FROM

REDGAUNTLET 635

Weel, sirs, gude'en, and have a care

And show — my fingers tingle at

The bairns niak fun o' Meg nae

the thought —

mair;

The loads of tapestry which that

For gin they do, she tells you fair

poor queen wrought.

And without failzie,

In vain did fate bestow a double

As sure as ever ye sit there,

dower

She '11 tell the Bailie.

Of every ill that waits on rank and

power,

Of every ill on beauty that at-

EPILOGUE

tends —

False ministers, false lovers, and

The sages — for authority, pray,

false friends.

look

Spite of three wedlocks so com-

Seneca's morals or the copy-

pletely curst,

book—

They rose in ill from bad to worse

The sages to disparage woman's

and worst,

power,

In spite of errors — I dare not say

Say beauty is a fair but fading

more,

flower ; —

For Duncan Targe lays hand on

I cannot tell— I've small philo-

his claymore.

sophy-

In spite of all, however humors

Yet if it fades it does not surely

vary,

die,

There is a talisman in that word

But, like the violet, when decayed

Mary,

in bloom,

That unto Scottish bosoms all and

Survives through many a year in

some

rich perfume.

Is found the genuine open sesa-

Witness our theme to-night ; two

rnurn !

ages gone,

In history, ballad, poetry, or novel,

A third wanes fast, since Mary

It charms alike the castle and the

filled the throne.

hovel,

Brief was her bloom with scarce

Even you — forgive me — who, de-

one sunny day

mure and shy,

'Twixt Pinkie's field and fatal

Gorge not each bait nor stir at

Fotheringay :

every fly,

But when, while Scottish hearts

Must rise to this, else in her an-

and blood you boast,

cient reign

Shall sympathy with Mary's woes

The Rose of Scotland has survived

be lost ?

in vain.

O'er Mary's memory the learned

quarrel,

By Mary's grave the poet plants

his laurel,

VERSES FROM RED-

Time's echo, old tradition, makes

GAUNTLET

her name

The constant burden of his falter-

ing theme ;

A CATCH OF COWLEY'S ALTERED

In each old hall his gray-haired

heralds tell

For all our men were very very

Of Mary's picture and of Mary's

merry,

cell,

And all our men were drinking :

636

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

There were two men of mine,

Three men of thine,

And three that belonged to old Sir
Thorn o' Lyne.

As they went to the ferry, they
were very very merry,
And all our men were drink-
ing.

Jack looked at the sun, and cried,

Fire, fire, fire !
Tom stabled his keffel in Birken-

dale mire ;
Jem started a calf, and hallooed

for a stag ;
Will mounted a gate-post instead

of his nag :
For all our men were very very

merry,
And all our men were drink-

ing;
There were two men of mine,
Three men of thine,
And three that belonged to old

Sir Thorn o' Lyne.
As they went to the ferry, they

were very very merry,
For all our men were drinking.

'AS LORDS THEIR LABORERS'
HIRE DELAY '

As lords their laborers' hire de-
lay,
Fate quits our toil with hopes to
come,
Which, if far short of present
pay,
Still owns a debt and names a
sum.

Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer,
then,

Although a distant date be given ;
Despair is treason towards man,

And blasphemy to Heaven.

LINES

ADDRESSED TO MONSIEUR AL-
EXANDRE THE CELEBRATED
VENTRILOQUIST

Of yore, in old England, it was not

thought good
To carry two visages under one

hood;
What should folk say to you ? who

have faces such plenty,
That from under one hood, you

last night showed us twenty !
Stand forth, arch-deceiver, and tell

us in truth,
Are you handsome or ugly, in age

or in youth ?
Man, woman, or child — a dog or

a mouse?
Or are you, at once, each live

thing in the house?
Each live thing, did I ask ? each

dead implement, too,
A work -shop in your person,—

saw, chisel, and screw !
Above all, are you one individual ?

I know
You must be at least Alexandre

and Co.
But I think you're a troop, an

assemblage, a mob,
And that I, as the Sheriff, should

take up the job ;
And instead of rehearsing your

wonders in verse,
Must read you the Riot-Act, and

bid you disperse.
Abbotsford, 23d April.

TO J. G. LOCKHAET, ESQ.

ON THE COMPOSITION OF
MAIDA'S EPITAPH

Dear John,— I some time ago

wrote to inform his
Fat worship of jaces, misprinted

for dormis ;

SONGS FROM THE BETROTHED

637

But that several Southrons assured

me the janti a m
Was a twitch to both ears of Ass

Priscian's cranium.
You perhaps may observe that

one Lionel Berguer,
In defence of our blunder appears

a stout arguer.
But at length I have settled, I

hope, all these clatters,
By a roict in the papers, fine place

for such matters.
I have therefore to make it for

once my command, sir,
That my gudeson shall leave the

whole thing in my hand, sir,
And by no means accomplish what

James says you threaten, —
Some banter in Blackwood to

claim your dog-Latin.
I have various reasons of weight,

on my word, sir,
For pronouncing a step of this

sort were absurd, sir.
Firstly, erudite sir, 't was against

your advising
I adopted the lines this monstrosity

lies in;
For you modestly hinted my Eng-
lish translation
Would become better far such a

dignified station.
Second, how, in God's name, would

my bacon be saved
By not having writ what I clearly

engraved?
On the contrary, I, on the whole?

think it better
To be whipped as the thief, than

his lousy resetter.
Thirdly, don't you perceive that I

don't care a boddle
Although fifty false metres were

flung at my noddle,
For my back is as broad aud as

hard as Benlomon's,
And I treat as I please both the

Greeks and the Romans ;
Whereas the said heathens might

rather look serious

At a kick on their drum from the

scribe of Valerius.
And, fourthly and lastly, it is my

good pleasure
To remain the sole source of that

murderous measure.
So, stet pro ratione voluntas* — be

tractile.
Invade not, I say, my own dear

little dactyl ;
If you do, you '11 occasion a breach

in our intercourse.
To-morrow will see me in town

for the winter-course,
But not at your door, at the usual

hour, sir,
My own pye-house daughter's

good prog to devour, sir.
Ergo, peace ! — on your duty your

squeamishness throttle,
And we '11 soothe Priscian's spleen

with a canny third bottle.
A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all

spondees,
A fig for all dunces and Dominie

Grundys ;
A fig for dry thrapples, south,

north, east, and west, sir,
Speats and raxes ere five for a

famishing guest, sir ;
Aud as Fatsman and I have some

topics for haver, he '11
Be invited, I hope, to meet me and

Dame Peveril,
Upon whom, to say nothing of Oury

and Anne, you a
Dog shall be deemed if you fasten

your Janua.

SONGS FROM THE BE-
TROTHED

'SOLDIER, WAKE!'

Soldier, w7ake ! the day is peep-
ing,
Honor ne'er was won in sleeping;

638

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

Never when the sunbeams still
Lay unreflected on the hill :
'T is when they are glinted back
From axe and armor, spear and

jack,
That they promise future story
Many a page of deathless glory.
Shields that are the foeman's

terror,
Ever are the morning's mirror.

Arm and up ! the morning beam
Hath called the rustic to his team,
Hath called the falc'ner to the

lake,
Hath called the huntsman to the

brake ;
The early student ponders o'er
His dusty tomes of ancient lore.
Soldier, wake ! thy harvest, fame ;
Thy study, conquest ; war, thy

game.
Shield, that would be foeman's

terror,
Still should gleam the morning's

mirror.

Poor hire repays the rustic's pain ;
More paltry still the sportsman's

gain:
Vainest of all, the student's theme
Ends in some metaphysic dream :
Yet each is up, and each has toiled,
Since first the peep of dawn has

smiled:
And each is eagerer in his aim
Than he who barters life for

fame.
Up, up, and arm thee, son of ter-
ror !
Be thy bright shield the morning's
mirror.

WOMAN'S FAITH

Woman's faith, and woman's

trust :
Write the characters in dust,

Stamp them on the running stream.
Print them on the moon's pale

beam,
And each evanescent letter,
Shall be clearer, firmer, better,
And more permanent, I ween,
Than the things those letters mean .

I have strained the spider's thread
'Gainst the promise of a maid ;
I have weighed a grain of sand
'Gainst her plight of heart and

hand;
I told my true love of the token,
How her faith proved light, and

her word was broken :
Again her word and truth she

plight,
And I believed them again ere

night.

4 1 ASKED OF MY HARP'

I asked of my harp, 'Who hath
injured thy chords ? '

And she replied, * The crooked
finger, which I mocked in my
tune.'

A blade of silver may be bended —
a blade of steel abideth :