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About Google Book Search Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web at |http: //books .google .com/I 1 r A I. xo-f'^'^ /So y- '9 / * * ( / -:///'^^r^ I- THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN, HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS, FIELD OF WATERLOO, AND OTHEB POEM& BY SIR WALTER SCOTT, Bart. ROBERT CADELL, EDINBURGH. M.DCCC. XXXVI. VOTKRUROH : PATNTCD BY T. CONSTABLJ!, 1, THISTLE 8TRBKT. CONTENTS. Prkfacb to tbb Bridai. or TRijiiuiAur, '^®T Th» BriDAI. OF TrTKRJIAIW, ...,.'* a InTROOUCTIOW, ... * * * ' 11 .Canto I * ' * ' * II Canton. . . . : Z Canto III , , \ ' ' « CoNCLusiow, ....**'*' go Appindix TO THK Bridal OF TrwrmIuh/ '. '. *. 103 Harold THB Dauntlzss, Introduction, . * * *. ' * ,,_ Cantol. . ". ]]l ^*«"- •..*!!.''*' iJ? Canto III *. *. ; 2 Canto IV , • !; CantoV \ : m CantoVI IM Conclusion, ... * ' iS Tbb FiKLD of Watkrloo, 2^^ Conclusion, • • • i . ! ! * 227 APPBNDIX TO THB PlJBLD OF WATBBLOO, . ! ! ' 231 SONGS AND MISCELLANIES. Saint Clond, gg- Romance of Dunoia, ••..•.,, 230 The Troubadour, 1 *• ! 241 Prom the French, 242 IV OONTBNTS. TheBeiolre, . . ; 242 The Poacher, 245 Epitaph, designed for a Monument in Lichfield Cathedral, at the Buriai-Place of the Family of Miss Seward, 260 Epitaph on Mn. Erskine 251 Prologue to Mios Baillie's Play of the Family Legend, 252 Mr. Kemble's Farewell Address on taking leare of the Edin- buigh Stage, 254 Epilogue to the Appeal, 257 First collsctbi) in thb Author's Porticai. Works, Edition op 1834. Epilogue to the Drama founded on St Ronan's Well, 269 EpUogue, 263 Inscription for the Monument of the Ber. George Scott, 264 The Bannatyne Club, 265 Ballads from thb Gkrjian. William and Helen, 271 Frederick and Alice, 284 The Battle of Sempach, 288 The Noble MoriDger, 297 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. [1818.] In the Edinburgh Annual BaoiSTBR forthe year 1809, Three Fng;meiit8 were inserted, written in imitation of liring Poeta. It must have been apparent, that, by these pfolusiona, nothing burlesque, or disrespectful to the au- thors, was intended, but that they were offered to the public as serious, though certainly very im])erfect, imi- tations of that style of composition, by which each of the writers is supposed to be distinguished. ' As these exer- cises attracted a greater degree of attention than the au- thor anticipated, he has been induced to complete one of them, and present it as a sqNuate publication.^ 1 [Sir Walter Soott, in hit Introduction to the Lord of the Iilei^ ULjn,-^" Being much urged by my intimate friend, now unhappily no more, William Enkine, I agreed to write the little romantic tale called the ' Bridal of Triermain ;* but it was on the oondition, that he should make no aeriooB eflfort to disown the composition, if re- port ahottld lay it at his door. As he was more than suspected of a taste for poetry, and as I took care, in sereral places, to mix something which might resemble (as fior as was in my power) my ftirod's feeling and manner, the train easily cangh^ and two A 2 FRKFACB TO It is not in this place that an examination of the works of the master whom he has here adopted as his model, can, with propriety, be introduced ; since his general ac- quiescence in the favourable sui&age of the public must necessarily be inferred from the attempt he has now made. He is induced, by the nature of his subject, to offer a few remarks on what has been called romantic POETRY ; — the popularity of which has been revived in * the present day, under the auspices, and by the unpar&l- lelled success, of one individual. The original purpose of poetry is either religious or histoiical, or, as must frequently happen, a mixture of both. To modem readers, the poems of Homer have many of the features of pure romance ; but in the esti- mation of his contemporaries, they probably derived their chief value from their supposed historical authenticity. The same may be generally said of the poetry of all early ages. The marvels and miracles which the poet blends with his song, do not exceed in number or extravagance the figments of the historians of the same period of so- ciety ; and, indeed, the difference betwixt poetry and prose, as the vehicles of historical truth, is always of late introduction. Poets, under various denominations of Bards, Scalds, Chroniclers, and so forth, are the first his- torians of all nations. Their intention is to relate the events they have witnessed, or the traditions that have reached them ; and they clothe the relation in rhyme, merely as the means of rendering it more solemn in the narrative, or more easily committed to memory. But as the poetical historian improves in the art of convey^ing Iarf{e editions were sold. A third being called for. Lord Kined- der became unwilling to aid any longer a deception which was going farther than he expected or desired, and the real author's name was given."] TUB BBIDAL OP TRIERAIAIN. 9 infonnation, tiie aufhenticitj of his narrative una? oida- bljr decline!. He is tempted to dilate and dwell upon the events that are interesting to his imagination, and, consdoos how indifferent his audience is to the naked truth of his poem, his history gradually becomes a ro- manoe. It is in this situation that those epics are found, which have been generally regarded the standards of poetry ; and it has happened somewhat strangely, that the mo- dems have pointed out as the characteristics and pecu- liar excellences of narrative poetry, the very circum- stances which the authors themselves adopted, only be- cause their art involved the duties of the historian as well as the poet. It cannot be believed, for example, that Homer selected the siege of Troy as the most ap- propriate subject for poetry ; his purpose was to write the early history of his country ; the event he has cho- sen, though not very fhiitful in varied incident, nor per- fectly well adapted for poetry, was nevertheless combin- ed with traditionary and genealogical anecdotes ex- tremely interesting to those who were to listen to him ; and this he has adorned by the exertions of a genius, which, if it has been equalled, has certainly been never surpassed. It was not till comparatively a late period that the general accuracy of his narrative, or his purpose in composing it, was brought into question. Aoxtt ir^S. ««} hxatoffvimit^ But whatever theories might be fram- ed by speculative men, his work was of an historical, not of an allegorical nature. Bfavrixxtrt fiivu rov MifTi«>, »«) 9ir»v i»ei^roTt tcftmttrg, irdvTet rot tin^ti^tet ^ii^mtS- T9, xeti l^ro^itM t9'uf^einr§, unit V% /m *)» »«) fiftifttirvtib > Diogenet Laertini, Lib. ii. Anazag. 8cgm. 11. 4 PRBFACB TO 9r^9T»tt y^A^tttau^ Instead of lecommeiLding the choice of a subject similar to that of Homer, it waste he expected that critics should have exhorted the poets of these latter days to adopt or invent a nanative in itself more suscep- tible of poetical ornament, and to avail themsdves of that advantage in order to compensate, in some degree, the in- feriorit J of genius. The contraiy course has been inculcat- ed by almost all the writers upon the Ept^^cda ; with what success, the fate of Homer^s numerous imitators may best show. The tdtimum suppUcium of criticism was in- flicted on the author if he did not choose a subject which at once deprived him of all claim to originality, and placed him, if not in actual contest, at least in £&tal comparison, with those giants iu the land, whom it was most his interest to avoid. The celebrated receipt for writing an epic poem, which s^peared in The Guardian,' was the first instance in which common sense was ap- plied to this department of poetry ; and, indeed, if the question be considered on its own merits, we must be satisfied that nanative poetry, if stricUy confined to the great occurrences of history, would be deprived of the individual interest, which it is so well calculated to ex- cite. Modem poets may therefore be pardoned in seeking simpler subjects of verse, more interesting in proportion to their simplicity. Two or three figures, well grouped, suit the artist better than a crowd, for whatever purpose assembled. For the same reason, a scene immediately presented to the imagination, and directly brought home to the feelings, though involving the fate but of one or two persons, is more favourable fox poetry than the po- 1 HoiMri Vita, in Herod, Benr, Sitpk, 107Q> p. aML > [See it at the end of thit pTeface.1 THI BB1D4L OP TEIBRMlDf. 5 litieal ftrugglef ind oable of being easily imitated. According to the autfaor^s idea' of Romantic Poetry, as distinguished from Kpic, the former comprehends a fictitious narrative, framed and combined at the plea- sura of the writer ; beginning and ending as he may judge best ; which neither exacts nor refuses the use of supernatural machinery ; which is free from the techm> cal rules of the JSp6e ; and is subject only to those which D PRBFACB TO good senae, good taste, and good moialB, apjdy to ever j species of poetiy without exception. The date may be . in a remote age, or in the present ; the story may de- tail the adventures of a prince or of a peasant. In a word, the author is absolute master of his country and its ii^abitants, and every thing is permitted to him, ex- cepting to be heavy or prosaic, for which, free and un- embarrassed as he is, he has no manner of apology. Those, it is probable, will be found the peculiarities of this species of composition ; and, before joining the out- cry against the vitiated taste that fosters and encourages it, the justice and grounds of it ought to be made per- fectly apparent. If the want of sieges, and battles, and great military evolutions, in our poetry, is complained of, let us reflect, that the campaigns and heroes of our days are perpetuated in a record that neither requires nor admits of the aid of fiction ; and if the complaint refers to the inferiority of our bards, let us pay a just tribute to their modesty, limiting them, as it does, to subjects which, however indifferently treated, have still the interest and charm of novelty, and which thus pre- vents them from adding insipidity to their other more insuperable defects. [a RECBIiT TO MAKB AN BPIC POBM.] FOR THJS FABLE. " Take out of any old poem, history book, romance, or legend, (for instance, Geoffry of Monmouth, or Don Belianis of Greece,) those parts of the story which afford most scox>e for long desctiptiona. Put these pieces together, and throw all the adyentnres yon &ncy into one tale. Then take a hero whom you may choose for the sound of his name, and put him into the midst of these adyen* tures : There let 1^ work for twelve books, at the end of which, you may take him out ready prepared to conquer or marry, it being necessary that the conclusion of an epic poem be fbrtunate." To make an Bpliode.^" Take any remaining adventure of your former collection, in which yon.covld no waj involve your hero. THE BRIDAL OF TRIKOlf AIN. 7 Mr any unfortunate accident that waa too good to be thrown away* and it will be of use, applied to any other person, who may be lost and evaporate in the course of the work, without the least damage to the composition.** For the Moral ar%d Attegorp. — " These you may extract out of the fable afterwards at your leisure. Be sure you strain them Boi* ficiently." pon TBB uAssmna. " For those of the hero, take all the best qualities you can find in all the celebrated heroes of antiquity; if they will not be re- duced to a consistency, lay them allon a heap upon him. Be surtt- they are qualities which your patron would be thought to hare ; and, to prevent any mistake which the world may be subject to, select from the Alphabet those capital letters that compose his name, and set them at the head of a dedication before your poem*. However, do not absolutely observe the exact quantity of these virtues, it not being determined whether or no it be necessary for the hero of a poem to be an honest man. For the under charac- ters, gather them from Homer and Virgil, and change the names as occasion serves." ron THB MACHINES. " Take of deities, male and female, as many as you can use* Separate them into equal parts, and keep Jupiter in the middle. Let Juno put him in a ferment, and Venus mollify him. Remem- ber on all occasions to make use of volatile Mercury. If you have need of devils, draw them out of Milton's Paradise, and extract your spirits from Tasso. The use of these machines is evident* for, since no epic poem can possibly subsist without them, the wisest way is to reserve them for your greatest necessities. When you cannot extricate your hero by any human means, or yourself by your own wits, seek relief from Heaven, and the gods will do your business very readily. This is according to the direct pre- scription of Horace in his Art of Poetry : ' Nee Deus unterslt, nisi dignua vindioe nodus Indderit.' Verse 191. ' Never presume to make a god appear But for a business worthy of a god.'— BoacoioiON. That is to say, a poet should never call upon the gods for their as- sistanoe, but when he is in great perplexity.'* POB TBS DESCRIPTIONS. Far a Tempest. — " Take Bums, Zephjr, Auster, and Boreas, and cast them together into one verse. Add to these, of rain, lightning, and of thunder, (the loudest you can,) quantum sufficit. Mix your clouds and billows well together until they foam, and 8 PRSFACl TO thfcdEMi jtmr deKTiptton here md tlwre with a qniclcMmd. Brew yen to m pert well In yourhesd before you Mt a>blowhig,** Farm flMtfe.— *' Pick a laxge quuitltyof fanages and detcriptiont from Homer^s Iliad, with a spice or two of ViiiU ; and if there re- main any orevplve, yon may lay them by for a tkirmiBh. Season it w«Il with elmileey and it will mak« an exc^loit battle. F^ a Burning Town.—" If such a description be necessary, becanse it is certain there is one in VifKil, Old Troy is ready burnt to yowr hands. But if yon fear that wonld be thonfi^t borrowed, a chapter or two of the Theory of Conflagration,! well dream- fltanced, md done into rerse, will be a good sncce^Umenm.** ▲s^ timQet and melaphertt " they may be fbnnd all oter the crsathm. The most Ignorant may gatiier them, bat the danger is ip applying them. For this, adTise with yomr bookseller.** ' von THB LANGVAOa. (I mean the dictien.) " Here it will do well to be an imitator of Milton ; for you will find it easier to imitate hfan in this than any «hfag else. Hebraisms and Gredsms are to be found in him, without the trouble of learning the languages. I knew a painter, who (like our poet) had no genius, makehisdaubtagstobelhought oiiginalSy by setting them in the smoke. You may, in the same manner, gite the Tenerable air of antiquity to your piece, by darkening np and down like Old English. With this you may be easily furnished upon any occasion, by the Dictionary commonly printed at the end of Chaucer.** ^ I must not conclude without cautioning all writers without genius in one material point, which is, nerer to be afiaid of having toe much fire in their works. I should advise rather to take their warmest thoughts, and spread them abroad upon paper ; for they are obserrod to «oel before fbey are read."— Pop*. The Ouarditm, No. 78>] 1 From Lib. iiL De Conflagratione Mnndi, of Telluris Theoria Saera, published in 4tO!, M89. By Dr. Thomas Bnmet, master of the Chwter-Honse. THB BRIDAL OF TRIBRMAIN; OB. THE VALE OF ST. JOHN. A LOVER'S TALE. [ 11 1 T!1K BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIX. INTllODUCTION. I. CuMK, Lucy ! while 'tis morniDg hour. The woodland brook we needs must puss *, So, ere the sun assume his power, We shelter in our poplar bower, AVhere dew lies long upon the flower. Though vanish^ from the velvet grass. Curbing the stream, this stony ridge May serve us for a silvan bridge ; For here, compelPd to disimite. Round petty isles the runnels glide. 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. 12 THE BRIDAL OF TRIEKUAW, 1 II. 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, 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 ! III. And now we reach the favourite glade, Paled in by copsewood, cliff, and stone, Where never harsher sounds invade. 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 ; ^ Moss*d i« 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. Shall hide us from each lurking spy, That fidn would spread the invidious tale, How Lucy of the lofty eye,* > CMS.— "Haughty eye. T THI BRIDAL OF TUKaMAOr. 13 Noble in birth, in fortunes high. She for whom lords and barons sigh. Meets her poor Arthur in the dale. IV. How deep that blush !— how deep that sigh ! And why does Lucy shun mine eye ? Is it because that crimson draws Its colour (rom some secret cause. Some hidden movement of the bieast. She would not that her Arthur guess*d ? O ! quicker far is lovers* ken Than the dull glance of common men,^ And, by strange sympathy can spell The thoughts the loved one will not tell ! And mine, in Lucy^s blush, saw met The hues of pleasure and regret ; Pride mingled in the sigh her voice. And shared with Love the crimson glow ; Well pleased that thou art Arthur's choice, Yet shamed thine own is placed so low : Thou tum*8t thy self-confessing cheek, As if to meet the breeze*s cooling ; Then, Lucy, hear thy tutor speak. For Love, too, has his hours of schooling. V. Too oft my anxious eye has spied That secret grief thou &in wouldst hide, The passing pang of humbled pride ; Too oft, when through the splendid hall, ' L *' with wingi as swift Afl meditation or the thoughts of loTe." Hamlet. 14 THE BRIDAL OP TRIKRMAIN. The load-star of each heart and eye. My fair one leads the glittering ball. Will her stoPn glance on Arthur fall. With such a blush and such a sigh ! Thou wouldst not yield, for wealth or rank. The heart thy worth and beauty won. Nor leave me on this mossy bank, To meet a rival on a throne : Why then should vain repinings rise, That to thy lover £ate denies A nobler name, a wide domain, A Baron's birth, a menial train. Since Heaven assigned him, for his part A Ijrre, a fklchion, and a heart ? VI. My sword ^its master must be dumb But, when a soldier names my name, = Approach, my Lucy ! fearless come. Nor dread to hear of Arthur's shame. My heart — 'mid all yon courtly crew, Of lordly rank and lofty line, Is there to love and honour true, That boasts a pulse so warm as mine ?^ They praise thy diamond's lustre rare — Matched with thine eyes, I thought it faded ; They praised the pearls that bound thy hair — I only saw the locks they braided ; They talked of wealthy dower and land. And titles of high birth the token — I thought of Lucy's heart and hand, Nor knew the sense of what was spoken. 4 1 [MS.—" That boasts so varm a heart as mine. "J L THE BRIDAL OP TRIERMA1N. 15 And yet, if ranked in Fortune's roll, I might have leam*d 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 skv. That sings but in a mimic tone.* Ne'er did it sound o'er sainted well. Nor boasts it aught of Border spell ; Its strings no feudal slogan pour. Its heroes draw no broad claymore ; No shouting clans applauses raise, Because it sung their father's praise ;' On Scottish moor, or English down, It ne'er was graced with £ur renown ; Nor won, — best meed to minstrel true«— One favouring smile from £Eur Buocjlbuch ! By one poor streamlet sounds its tone, And heard by one dear maid alone. VIII. But, if thou bid'st, these tones shall tell. Of errant knight, and damozelle ; 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. 1 [MS.—" And Lucy's gems before her eye*."] • The Mocldng Bird. 3 [MS.—" Perchance, becaiue it sang their praiM."j \9 THE BRIDAL OP TRIERMAIN. For Lucy lovesy-^ke Collins, ill-8tarr*d name !^ Whose lay's requital was that taidy fame. Who bound no laurel round his living head. Should hang it o*er his monument when dead,— For Lucy loves to tread the 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 ? 1 Collins, according to Johnson, " by indulging some peculiar habits of thought, was eminently delighted with those flights of imagination vhich pass the bounds of nature, and to whkh the mind is recondled only by a passive acquiescence in populiv tra- ditions. He loved fairies, genii, giants, and monsters ; he delight- ed to rove through the meanders of enchantment, to gase on the magnificence of golden palaces, to repose by the vateriUls of Ely- dan gardens." I 17 1 THB BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. CANTO FIRST. I. Whbrb is the Maiden of mortal Btrain, That may match with the Baron of Triermain ?* She must be lovely, and constant, and kind, Holy and pure, and humble of mind, 1 Triermain was a fief of the Barony of Oilriand, In Cumber* land ; it was possessed by a Saxon family at the time of the Con- quest, but, '* siter the death of Oilmore, Lord of Tryermaine and Torcrossock, Hubert Vaux gave Tryermaine and Torcrossock to his second son, Ranulph Vaux ; which Banulph afterwards be- came heir to his elder brother Robert, the founder of Laneroost, who died without issue. Ranulph, being Lord of all Oilsland, gare Oilmore's lands to his own younger son, named Roland, and let the Barony descend to his eldest son Robert, son of Ranulph. Ro- land had issue Alexander, and he Ranulph, after whom succeeded Robert, and they were named Rolands successiTely, that were lords thereof, until the reign of Edward the Fourth. That house gare for arms, Vert, a bend dexter, chequy, or and gules."— Burn's Anttquitiet of WatmcreUmd and Cumberland, vol. ii p. 482. See Aiipendix, Note A. B •iWBPS^^iiBMi^-^i--- I 18 THB BRIDAL OP TRISRMAIN. Cotlto L Blithe of cheer, and gentle of mood, Courteous, and generous, and noble of blood — Lovely as the Bun*s first ray. When it breaks the clouds of an April day ; Constant and true as the widowM dove, Kind as a minstrel that sings of love ; Pure as the fountain in rocky cave. Where never sunbeam kissM the wave ; Humble as maiden that loves in vain. Holy as hermit^s vesper strain ; Gentle as breeze that but whispers and dies. Yet blithe as the light leaves tiiat dance in its sighs ; Courteous as monarch the morn he is crownM, Generous as spring-dews that bless the glad ground ; ^oble her blood as the currents that met In the veins of the noblest Plnntagenet — Such must her form be, her mood, and her strain, That shall match with Sir Roland of Triermain. II. Sir Roland de Vaux he hfith 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 skirmish hot *, His dinted helm and his buckler*s plight Bore token of a stubborn fight All in the castle must hold them still, Harpers must lull him to his rest. With the slow soft tunes he loves the best. Till sleep sink down upon his breast, liike the dew on a summer hill. III. It was the dawn of an autumn day ; The sun was struggling with frost-fog gray, CkmdQ L THX bridal of TRtSAMAIX. 19 That like a nlrerjr aape waa wpwtA Round Skiddaw^B dim and distant head. And fieuntly gleamM each painted pane Of the lordly halls of Triennain, When that Baron bold awoke. Starting he woke, and loudly did call. Bousing his menials in bower and hall. While hastily he spoke. IV. **• Hearken, my minstrels ! Which of ye all Touched his haip with that dying fall. So sweet, so soft, so fiunt. It seemed an angels whispered call To an expiring saint ? And hearken, my meny-men I What time or where Did she pass, that maid with her heavenly brow. With her look so sweet and her eyes so fiiir, And her graceful step and her angel air, And the eagle plume in her dark-brown hair. That passed from my bower e*en now ! It V. Answered him Richard de Bretville ; he Was chief of the Baron's minstrelsy, — ^ Silent, noble chieftain, we Hare sat since midnight close. When such lulling sounds as the brooklet sings. Murmured from our melting strings, And hushed you to repose. Had a harp-note sounded here. It had caught my watchful ear. Although it fell as fiunt and shy As bashful maiden^s hal^fonn*d sigh, When she thinks her lover near."* 20 THR BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. CatUo I. Answered Philip of Fastbwaite tall. He kept guard in the outer-hall, — " Since at eve our watch took post, Not a foot has thy portal crossed ; Else had I heard the steps, though low And light they fell, as when earth receives, In mom of frost, the withered leaves, That drop when no winds blow." — VI. ^ Then come thou hither, Henry, my page, Whom I saved from the sack of Hermitage, When that dark castle, tower, and spire. Rose to the skies a pile of fire. And redden^ all the Nine-stane Hill, And the shrieks of death, that wildly broke 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, And his who sleeps at Dunmailraise.^ GKfted like his gifted race. He the characters can trace, Graven deep in eldfer time Upon Hellvellyn's cliffs sublime ; 1 Dunmailraise is one of the grand passes from Cumberland into Westmoreland. It takes its name from a cairn, or pile of stones, erected, it is said, to thememrryof Dunm:u], the last King of Cumberland. L Canto /. TRB BRIDAL OF TRUIUCAIN. 21 Sign and si'gil well doth he know. And can bode of weal and woe. Of kingdoms* fall, and fate of wan, .From mystic dreams and course of stars. He shall tell if middle earth To that enchanting shape gave birth, Or if Hwas but an airy thing. Such as fantastic slumbers bring, FramM from the iainbow*s varying 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, And soon he crossed green Irthing's mead, Dash'd o*er Kirkoswald*s verdant plain, And Eden barrM his course in vain. He passM red Penrith^s Table Round, For feats of chivalry renownM, Left Maybuigh^s mound and stones of power. By Druids raised in magic hour,* And traced the EamonVs winding way, TUl Ulfo*s lake> beneath him lay. VIIL Onward he rode, the pathway still Winding betwixt the lake and hill ; 1 [" Just like Aurora when she ties A rainbow round the morning gkies." MOORB.] > See Appendix, Note B. > [Ulswater.! 23 THK BUBAL OF TRZBBMAIN. Canto F, Till on the ftagment of a rock. Struck from its Vase hj 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 resUess rustling canopy. Then sprung young Henry from his selle, 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 timers lost treasures taking keep. And then, as rousing from a sleep. His solemn answer gave. IX. ** That maid is bom of middle earth. And may of man be won. Though there have glided since her birth Five hundred years and one. But where^ the Knight in all the north, That dare the adventure follow forth. So perilous to knightly worth. In the valley of St. 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 fiiom Meriin's age. Camto /. THB Bftn>AL OP TRURMAIK. 23 X. ^Vi^^y^ Calr. **■ Kino Arthub has ridden from merry Carlisle, When Pentecost was o*er : He journey^ like errant-knight the while. And sweetly the sommer son did imile On mountain, moss, and moor. Ahove his solitary track Rose 01aramara*B ridgy back. Amid whose yawning golfr the sun Cast umbered radiance red and dun. Though never sunbeam could discern The surfitce of that sable tam,^ In whose black minor you may spy The stars, while noontide lights the sky. The gallant King he skirted still The margin of that mighty hill ; Rock upon locks incumbent hung, And torrents, down the gullies flung. Joined the rude river that brawPd on. Recoiling now from crag and sUme, Now diving deep from human kmi. And mving down its darksome glen. The Monarch judged this desert wild, . With such romantic ruin piled. Was theatre by Nature*^ hand For feat of hi|^ achieTement plano*d« XL <* O mther he chose, that Monarch boid. On ventYons quest to ride, 1 The nnall lake csUedScalm-tani, which lies 10 deeply embowin- Sd in the lefei of the huge moontain called Saddlebark, aMne poetically Glanunaia, is of nch great depth, and lo completely 24 THB BRIDAL OF TRIIEMAIN. ConiUi L In plate and mail, by wood and wold, Than, with ennine trapped and cloth of gold. In princely bower to bide ; The bunting crash of a foeman^s spear, As it shiver'd against his mail. Was merrier music to his ear Than courtier^s whispered tale : And the clash of Calibum more dear. When on the hostile casque it rung. Than all the lays To their monarches praise That the harpers of Reged sung. He loved better to rest by wood or river. 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 fiill little did wot. That she smiled, in his absence, on brave Lancelot XIL ** He rode, till over down and dell The shade more broad and deeper fell ; And though around the mountain's head Flowed streams of purple, and gold, and red. Dark at the base, unblest by beam. Frowned the black rocks, and roar*d the stream. * With toil the King his way pursued fiy lonely Threlkeld's waste and wood. Till on his course obliquely shone The nanow valley of Saint John, Down sloping to the western sky. Where lingering sunbeams love to lie. hidden from the sun, that it is said its beams never reach it, and that the T«fl«ction of the stars may be seen at mid-day. CaMo L THB BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIX. 25 Right glad to feel those beams again. The King drew up his chaiger^s rein ; With gauntlet raised he screened his sight, As dazzled with the level light, And, from beneath his glove of mail, SoannM at his ease the lovely vale. While 'gainst the sun his armour bright Gleam "d 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. But, midmost of the vale, a mound Arose with airy turrets crown 'd. Buttress, and rampire*s circling bound. And mighty keep and tower ; SeemM some primeval giant's hand The castle's massive walls had plann'd, A ponderous bulwark to withstand Ambitious Nimrod's power. Above the moated entrance sUing, The balanced drawbridge trembling hung, As jealous of a foe ; Wicket of oak, as iron hard. With iron studded, clench'd, and barr'd, And prong'd portcullis, join'd to guard The gloomy pass below. But the gray walls no banners crown 'd, Upon the watch-tower's airy round No warder stood his horn to sound. No guard beside the bridge was found. And, where the .Gothic gateway frown'd, Glanced neither bill nor bow. 26 THB BRIOAL OF TRIXRMAIN. CofdO /• XIV. *^ Beneath the castle^s gloomj pride, In ample round did Arthur ride Three times ; nor living thing he spied, Nor heard a living sound. Save thatj awakening from her dream. The owlet now began to scream. In concert with the rushing stream. That wash'd the battled mound. He lighted from his goodly steed. And he left him to graze on bank and mead ; 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 guess'd the hold Of wizard stem, or goblin grim. Or pagan of gigantic limb. The tyrant of the wold. XV. " The ivory buglers golden tip Twice touched the Monarches manly Up, 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 Sunk on his heart, and he paused a spoee Ere yet his horn he blew. ChntO I. THX BRIDAL OP TRXXRUAJN. 27 But, instant as its *lanim rang. The castle gate was open flung, Portcullis rose with crashing groan Full harshly up its groore of stone ; The balance-beams obeyed ^e blast, And down the trembling drawbridge cast ; The vaulted arch before him lay, With nought to bar the gloomy way, And onward Arthur paced, with hand On Calibum^s^ resistless brand. XVI. « 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 stem, nor goblin grim. Nor giant huge cf form and limb. Nor heathen knight, was there ; But the cressets, which odours flung aloft, Showed by their yellow lig^t and soft, A band of damsels fiur. 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 laboorVl to unhasp Rivet of steel and iron claqi. 1 This m» Xh» nam* of King Arthin^t weH-kaovn tword, aome- timet alio called Excalibar. 28 THB BRID.4L OF TRIVRMAIN* Catlto I. One wrappM him in a mantle fair. And one flung odours on his hair ; His short curPd ringlets one smoothM 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, Twas one reply, — loud laughed they all. 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 blowi^ Dealt with the lily or the rose. Behind him were in triumph borne The warlike arms he late had worn. Four of the train combined to rear The terrors of Tintadgel^ spear ; ' Two, laughing at their lack of strength, DiaggM Calibum in cumbrous lengUi ; One, while she aped a martial stride, Placed on her brows the helmet*s pride ; Then screamed, 'twixt laughter and surprise. To feel its depth overwhelm her eyes. With revel-shout, and triumph-song. Thus gaily marched the giddy throng. 3 TiDtadgel Cattle, in Cornwall, is reported to hare been the Mithplace of King Arthur. ConiO I, .THS BRIDAL OP TRIIRMAlK. 2^ XVIII. '* Through many a gallery and hall They led, I ween, their royal thrall ; .At length, heneath a fair arcade i Their march and Bong at once they staid. The eldest maiden of the band, I (The lovely maid was scarce eighteen,) Raised, with imposing air, her hand. And reverent silence did command. On entrance of their Queen, And they were mute.-^But as a glance They steal on Arthor^s countenance Bewilder'^d with surprise. Their smother'd 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, valour high. And wisdom soared bevond the skv, 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. Her dark eye on the ELing she cast. 30 THB BRIDAL OF TRURMAIN. CcoUo I. That flashed expresaion strong ; The longer dwelt that Imgering look, Her cheek the livelier colour 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, beware ! From the chafed tiger rend the prey. Rush on the lion when at bay. Bar the fell dragon'^ blighted way. But shun that lovely snare !* — ^ XX. '' At once, that inward strife suppressed. The dame approached her warlike guest. With greeting in that &ir 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 £Eur and true Of her light maidens* idle mirth, Who drew from lonely glens their birth. Nor knew to pay to stranger worth And dignity their due ; 1 Q" ArouM the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, Strire irith the half-etarred lion for his prey ; Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire Of irild Fanaticism." fFaverlej/ NoveU, vol. zviL p. S07.] s I'* Still sways their souls with that commanding art That danlesi leads, yet chills the vulgar heart." Byron's Conahr, 1814.] Canto I. THE BRIDAL OP TRIBRMAIK. And then she pray'd that he would ml That night her castle^s honoured guest The Monarch meetly thanks ezpzett'd ; The banquet rose at her behest. With lay and tale, and laugh and jest, Apace the eyening flew. XXI. " The lady sate the Monarch by. Now in her turn abash'd and shy. And with indifference seem'd to hear The toys he whispered in her ear. Her bearing modest was and &ir. Yet shadows of constraint were there, That showed an over-cautious care Some inward thought to hide ; Oft did she pause in full reply, And oft cast down her large dark eye. Oft check'd the soft yoluptuous sigh, ' That heav'd her bosom's pride. Slight symptoms these, but shepherds know How hot the mid-day sun shall glow. From the mist of morning sky ; And so the wily Monarch guessed, That this assum'd restraint expreasM More ardent passions in the breast, Than ventured to the eye. Closer he press'd, while beakers rang. While maidens laugh'd and minstrels sang, Still closer to her ear- But why pursue the common tale ? Or wherefore show how knights prevail Where ladies dare to hear ? SI I 32 THE BRIDAL OF TRIKRMAIN. Catlto /. 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, How mirth can into folly glide, And folly into sin !^ |W I [ "One Master Pabston in the breast, Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest." POPK.^ [ 33 1 THB BRIDAL OP TRIERMAIN. CANTO SECOND. I. « Anothbr day, another day. And yet another, glides away 1 The Saxon stem, the pagan Dane, Maraud on Britain's shores u gaif L Arthur, of Christendom the flower. Lies loitering in a lady's bower ; The horn that foemen wont to fe*i.^ Soundhi but to wake the Cumbrian deer. And Calibum, the British pride^ Hangs useless by a lover's side. n. " Another day, another day. And yet another, glides away. Heroic plans in pleasure diown'd. He thinks not of the Table Round; £4 THB BRIDAL OF TRIBRMAIN. CantO 11. In lawless lore 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 honours of his heathen crest ; Better to wreathe, ^d tresses brown. 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.^ III. ** Much force have mortal charms to stay Our peace in Virtue's toilsome way ; But Guendolen's might far outshine Each maid of merely mortal line. Her mother was of human birth. Her sire a Glenie of the earth, In days of old deem'd 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. On heathen altars died the flame. Now, deep in Wastdale solitude. The downfall of his rights he rued, 1 QMS.—" Loyely."] « CMS.—" Paynim knight."] « [MS.—" Vanquish'd foe."J 4 [The MS. has this and the sixth couplet of stansa iii. interpo- lated.] CkitUo 11, THB BRlDAt 09 TRUBMAIN. 35 And, bom of his resentment heir, He train'd to guile that lady fiiir, To sink in slothful sin and shame The champions of the Christian name. WeU skiird to keep vain thoughts alive. And all to promise, nought to give, The timid youth had hope in store. The bold and pressing gain'd no more. As wilder'd chUdren leave their home. After the rainbow's arch to roam, Her lovers bartered feir esteem. Faith, &me, and honour, for a dream. ^ IV. '' Her sire's soft arts the soul io tame' She practised thus— till Arthur came ; Then, frail humanity had part, And all the mother chiim'd her heart. Forgot each rule her fiither gave^ Sunk from a princess to a shive. 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 fest-decaying link. Art she invokes to Nature's aid. Her vest to zone, her locks to braid ; i [MS.— «* So the poor dupes ezclianged esteem. Fame, faith, and hononr^^ iat a dream. " 1 \ f K!"" ®"*^^ *'*■ ae beet her eiie became." 1 a LMS.-" That who gives all," Ac.] * QMS.—" Now most she voaich" 4c.] * fM8. " hsr totuting chain." J 36 TMi BRIDAL OT tuxbrm AiN. Canto If. Each varied pleaBUre heard her call. The feast, the toazney, and the ball : 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 complying. With feigned reluctance now denying *, Each charm she varied, to retain A varying heart ^— and all in vain ! V. ^ Thus in the garden^ narrow bound. Flanked by some castle^s Gothic round. Fain would the artiste skill provide, The limits of his realms to hide. The walks in labyrinths he twines. Shade after shade with skill combines. With many a varied flowery knot. And copse, and aiboar, decks the spot. Tempting the hasty foot to stay. And linger on the lovely way Vain art ! vain hope t *tM fruitless aH ! At length we reach the bounding wall, And, sick of flower and trim-drees*d tree. Long for rough glades and forest free. 1 ["As aome fair female, nnadorn'd aad plain, Secure to please while youth oonflrmB her reign, Slights every bonrow*d charm that dren rappliet, Nor ahajrea with art the triamph «f hw eyes ; But when those chamu are paist, for diarma ait frail. When time advaaoea, and when loTera &il. She then shinea forth, adUdtona to bleaa, In all the glaring impotence of dreaa."— Qo^I>sllITH.^ (hnto II. THB BRIDAL OP TRIKRMAIH. S7 VI. ** Three summer months had acantly flown, When Arthur, in embarrass'd 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 Ouendolen.— . She listenM silently the while. Her mood expressed in bitter smile ;^ Beneath her eye must Arthur quail. And oft resume the unfinish'd 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 veiPd, to hide' The tear that sprung in spite of pride ; The other for an instant pressed The foldings of her silken ?est ! VII. ** At her reproachful sign and look. The hint the Monarches conscience took. Eager he spoke — * Ko, 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 Biitain*s lord, I CMS.—" Wreathed were her lips in hitter smUc."] f [MS. " his broken tale. With downcast eye and flashing eheeks, As one who 'gainst his conscience speaks."] s [MS.—" One hand her temples press'd to hide."] ' 88 TUB BRIDAL OP TRISEMAIN. Cafdo II, That if a boy shall claim my care. That boy is bom a kingdom^s heir ; But, if a maiden Fate allows, To choose that maid a fitting spouse, A smnmer-4a7 in lists shall strive My knightsy— 4he 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 deignVl him not reply. VIII. " At dawn of morn, ere on the brake His matins did a warbler make,* Or stirr'd his wing to brush away A single dewdrop from the spray. Ere yet a simbeam, through the mist, The castle-battlements had kissed. The gates revolve, the drawbridge &lls, And Arthur sallies from the walls. DoiF'd his soft garb of Persia's loom, And steel from spur to helmet-plume. His Lybian steed full proudly trode. And joyful neigh'd beneath his load. The Monarch gave a passing sigh To penitence* and pleasures by. When, loj to his astonished ken Appeared the form of Guendolen. IX. *^ Beyond the outmost wall she stood. Attired like huntress of the wood : 1 CMS.—" A tingle warbler wss awake."] « [mS.— " To deep remone.**] L CmiiO II. TUX BEIDAL OV TUIBMAIN. 39 Sandall'd her feet, her ankles bare,^ And eagle-plumage deck*d her hair ; Finn was her look, her bearing bold. 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 fiiin would I this hour delay. Though weak the wish — ^yet wilt thou stay ? .No! thou looklrt forward. Still attend,— Part we like lover and like fiiend.* She raised the cupb»* Not this the juice The sluggish vines of earth produce ; Pledge we, at parting, in the draught Which Genii love ! '-.4ihe said and quaff 'd ; And strange unwonted lustres fly From her flushed cheek and aporiding eye. X. " The courteous Monarch bent him low. And, stooping down from saddlebow, Lifted the cup, in act to drink. A drop escaped the goblet^i brink— ' Intense as liquid lire from hell. Upon the chaiger^s neck it fbll. Screaming with agony and firight. He bolted twenty feet upright— — ^The peasant still can show the dint. Where his hoofs lighted on the flint.— From Arthur's hand the goblet flew. Scattering a shower of fieiy dew,* 1 [M8^<< Her anus and boaUa'd feet wen bare."] « MS. « •'{^f }^n 40 TH£ BRIDAL OP TRIERUAIN. Cklttto II, That burnM and blighted where it fell ! * The frantic steed rushM up the dell,' As whistles from the bow the reed ; Nor bit nor rein could check his speed, Until he gainM the hill ; 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 brawl'd around A tufted knoU, where dimly shone Fragments of rock and rifted stoned Musing on this strange hap the while. The King wends back to fair Carlisle ; And cares, that cumber royal sway. Wore memory of the past away. I The author has an indiatinct recollection of an adventure somewhat nmilar to that which is here ascribed to King Arthur, haring befallen one of the ancient Kings of Denmark. The horn in which the burning liquor was presented to that Monarch, is said still to be preserved in the Boyal Museum in Copenhagen. < [MS.—*' Curb, bit, and bridle he disdain'd. Until a mountain crest he gain'd. Then stopp'd ;— exhausted, all amased. The rider down the valley gazed. But tower nor donjon," dec] s See Appendix, Note C. * [MS.—" But on the spot where once they frown'd The stream begirt a silvan monn^ With zocks in shatter'd iragmenti crownU"] Canto 11, THI BKUiAL OK TRI£ilMAlN. 41 XI. ** Full fifteen yean, 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 By his good brand, relieved Bretagne : The Pictiflh Gillamore in fight. And Roman Lucius, ownM his might ; And wide were through the world renownM^ The glories of his Table Round. Ekich knight, who sought adventurous fame. To the bold court of Britain came. And all who sufi^er'd causeless wrong. From t}'rant proud, or faitour stronjif. Sought Arthur*s presence, to complain, Nor there for aid implored in vain.' XII. ** For this the King, with pomp and pride. Held solemn court at Whitsuntide, And summoned Prince and Peer, AU 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, where glee and game Mingled with feats of martial fame. For many a stranger champion came, > Arthur is said to hare defeated the Saxons in twelve pitched battles, and to hare achieved the other feats alluded to in the next. > [MS.— " And wide was blazed the world around."] > [MS. — " Souf^t before Arthur to complain. Nor there for succour sued in vain."] 42 TUX BRIDAL OF TRURMAIN. Cottto II. In lists to break a spear ; And not a knight of Arthur's host, 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 crownM, There was a theme for baids to sound In triumph to their string ! 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 ! XIIL ^^ The heralds named the appointed spot. As Caerleon or Gamelot, Or Carlisle fair and free. At Penrith, now, the feast was set. And in fair Eamont's vale were met The flower of Chivalry. There Galaad sate with manly grace. Yet maiden meekness in his fiice ; There Morolt of the iron mace,^ And love-lorn Tristrem there : And Dinadam with lively glance. And Lanval with the &iry lance. And Mordred with his look askance, Brunor and Bevidere. Why should I tell of numbers more ? Sir Cay, Sir Banier, and Sir Bore, Sir Carodac the keen. The gentle Gawain's courteous lore, 1 See Appendix, Note D. ^ Canto II. THE BRIDAL OF TIUERMAIN. 43 Hector de Mares and PelUnore, And Lancelot,^ that ever more Look'd stoPn-wise on the Queen.* XIV. " When wine and mirth did most abound. And harpers play'd their blithest round, A shrilly trumpet shook the ground. And marshals cleared the ring ; A maiden, on a palfrey white. 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 tiie eagle-plume that decked her hair. Graceful her veil she backward flung The King, as from his seat he sprung. Almost cried, * Guendolen 1 * But ^was a face more frank and wild, Betwixt the woman and the child. Where less of magic beauty smiled ' [MS. — *' And Launcelot for evennore That wowrd upon the acene."] ' See Appendix, Note E. » I.lf S.— " The King with strong emotion saw, • Hgyf dignity and mingled ^^^^ \ strange attire, her reverend / Attired \ j-j^^ huntress of the wold, * Her dress f Her silken buskins braced with gold, Her / -""iaU'd feet, her j ^^^j^ ,, i arms and buskm d i And eagle-plumes," Ac] 4 i THB BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. CufltO If. Than of the race of men ; And in tlie forehead^s haughty grace, The lines of Britain^B royal race,* Pendragon% you might ken. XV. " Faltering, yet gracefully she said — ' Great Prince 1 behold an orphan maid. In her departed mother^s name, A father^s vow'd protection claim I The vow was sworn in desert lone, In the deep valley of St. John.' At once the King the suppliant raised. And kiss'd her brow, her beauty praised ; His vow, he said, should well be kept. Ere in the sea the sun was dipp'd, — * Then, conscious, glanced upon his queen : But she, unruffled at the scene. Of human frailty construed mild, Looked upon Lancelot and smiled. XVT. " * Up I up ! each knight of gallant crest Take buckler, spear, and brand ! 1 [MS.—" The lineaments of rojal race."] s [Mr. AdolphuB, in commenting on the similarity of manners in the ladies of Sir Walter Scott's poetry, and those of his then anonymous Novels, says, " In Rokeby, the filial attachment and duteous anxieties of Matilda form the leading feature of her cha- racter, and the chief source of her distresses. The intercourse be- tween King Arthur and his daughter Oyneth, in The Bridal of Triennain, is neither long nor altogether amicable ; but the mo- narch's feelings on first beholding that beantiiul ' slip of wUder- ncsH,' and his manner of receiving her before the Queen and Court, are too forcibly and naturally described to be omitted in thi> enu- meration."— /i^ffer/ an the Author tf fFaverteif, 1823, p. 219.1 CatttO II. THS BRIDAL OF TAIBRMAIN. 45 He that to-day ihall bear him beit. Shall win my Oyneth'i hand. And Aithu'^ daughter, when a bride» Shall bring a noble dower ; Both fair Strath-Clyde and Beged wide. And Carlisle town and tower/ Then might you hear each valiant knight To page and iqtiire that cried, ' Bring my annour bright, and my courier wight ! Til not each day that a wanior^s might May win a royal bride.* Then cloaks and caps of maintenance In haste aside they fling ; The helmets glance, and gleams the lance. And the steel-weaved hauberks ring. Small care had they of their peaceful arrfty, They might gather it that wolde ; For brake and brunble glitterM gay. With pearls and doth of gold. XVII. ^ Witiiin trumpet sound of the Table Round Were fifty champions free. And they all arise to fight that prize«-» They all arise, but three. Nor love*s fond troth, nor wedlodi's oath, One gallant could withhold. For priests will allow of a broken vow, For penance or iat gold. But sig^ and glance from ladies bright Among the troop were thrown. To plead their right, and true-love plight. And plain of honour fiowli. The knights they busied them so fast. 45 THE BUIDAL OF TRIERMAIX. CautO II. With buckling spur and belt. That sigh and look, by ladies cast, Were neither seen nor felt From pleading, or upbraiding glance, Each gallant turns aside. And only thought, ' If speeds my lance, A queen becomes my biide ! She has fair Strath* Clyde, and Reged wide, And Carlisle tower and town ■, She is the loveliest maid, beside, That ever heir'd a crown.' So in haste their coursers they bestride. And strike their visors down. XVIII. ** The champions, arm*d in martial sort, Have thronged into the list. And but three knights of Arthur's court Are from the tourney miss'd. And still these lovers' fame survives For faith so constant shown, — There were two who loved their neighbour's wives. And one who loved his own.^ The first was Lancelot de Lac, The second Tristrem bold. The third was valiant Carodac, Who won the cup of gold,* "What time, of all King Arthur's crew, . (Thereof came jeer and laugh,) 1 See Appendix, Note F. s See the comic tale of The Boy and the Mantle, in the third to- lume of Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, from the Breton or Norman original of which Ariosto is supposed to have taken his Tale of the Enchanted Cup. CuntC IT. THB BRIDAL OP TRISAMAIN. 4? He, as the mate of lady true, Alone the cup could quaff. Though envy*B ton^e would fkin surmiBe, That, but for very shame. Sir Caiodac, to fight that prize, Had given both cup and dame ; Yet, since but one of that fair court Was true to wedlock's shrine, Brand him who will with base report,— He shall be free from mine. XTX. ** Now caracord the steeds in air, Now plumes and pennons wantonM fuir, As all around the lists so wide In panoply the champions ride. King Arthur saw, with startled eye, The flower of chivalry march by, Tlie bulwark of the Christian creed. 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 icsign'd. But added caution grave and kind, XX. " * Thou see'st, my child, as promise-bound, I bid the trump for tourney sound. Take thou my warder, as the queen And umpire of the martial scene ; 43 THX BRIDAL OF TRIBRMAIN. Canto If, But mark thou this : — as Beauty bright Is polar star to valiant knight. As at her word his sword he draws. His Purest guerdon her applause. So gentle maid should never ask Of knighthood vain and dangerous task ; And Beauty^s eyes should ever be Like the twin stars that soothe the sea. And Beauty^s breath shall whisper 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 furly counter blow for blow -, — No striplings these, who succour need 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 commands. Thou drop the warder from thy bands. 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^ chaplet died.^ XXI. ^^ A proud and discontented glow O'ershadow'd Gyneth 's brow of snow ; She put the warder by : — ^ Reserve thy boon, my liege,' she said, ^ Thus chaiFer'd down and limited. Debased and narrowed, for a nuud Of less degree than I. Canto If. THB BRIDAL OF nUSMf AXN. 49 No petty chief, but holds his heir At a more honour*d price and rare Than Britain^s King holds me ! Although the sun-bumM maid, for dower, ' Has but her fstther^ rugged tower. His barren hill and lee.* King Arthur swore, * By crown and sword. As belted knight and Britain^s lord. That a whole summer^S day should strive His knights, the bravest knights alive I*-^ ' Recal thine oath I and to her glen Poor Gyneth can return agen ; Not on thy dauglhter 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 ; 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 fiuthlessness of men. That child of hers should pity, when Their meed they undergo/ XXII. ^ He finown^d and sighed, the Monarch bold :— * I give— what I may not withhold ; For, not for danger, dread, or death. Must British Arthur break his fiuth. 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 ffiults belong. 50 THX BRIDAL OF TRISRAf AIN. Canlo If. Use, then, the warder aa 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/ 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 disposed. How the bold champions stood opposed. 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. XXIII. ** But Oyneth heard the clangour high, As hears the hawk the partridge cry. Oh, blame her not I the blood was hers. That at the trumpetis siunmons stirs ! — And e'en the gentlest female eye Might the brave strife of chivalry A while untroubled view ; So well accompb'sh'd 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. Upon the wind at random thrown. But helm and breastplate bloodless shone. It seem'd their feather'd crests alone Should this encounter rue. 1 [MS. ** if blood be spilt"] a [MS. " dying kneU."l Cattto II. THB BRIDAL OF TRI£RMAIN. 51 And ever, as the combat grows. The trumpet's cheery voice arose. Like Lirk*8 shrill song the flourish flows. Heard while the gale of April blows The merry greenwood through. XXIV. *^ But soon to earnest grew their game. The spears drew blood, the swords struck flame. And, horse and man, to ground there came 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 £ur array. And desperate strength nuide deadly way At random through the bloody fray. And blows were dealt with headlong sway, Unheeding where they fell ; And now the trumpet's chunours seem Like the shrill sea-bird's wailing scream. Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfing stream. The sinking seaman's knell ! XXV. '' Seem'd in this dismal hour, that Fate Would Camlan's ruin antedate. And spare dark Mordred'b crime ; Already gasping on the ground Lie twenty of the Table Round, Of chivalry the prime.' 1 See Appendix, Note O. 53 THB BRIDAL OP TRISRlf AIN. Conto IT. Arthur, in anguisln tore away From head and beard his tresses gray. And she, proud Gyneth, felt dismay. And quaked with ruth and fear ; But still she deemed her mother''s shade Hung o*er the tumult, and forbade The sign that had the slaughter staid. And chid the rising tear. Then Bnmor, Taulas, Mador, fell, Helias the White, and Lionel, And many a champion more ; Rochemont 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. Young Vanoc of the beardless face, (Fame spoke the youth of Merlin^s race,) O^erpowerM at Oyneth^s footstool bled. His heart Vblood dyed her sandals red. But then the sky was overcast. Then howPd at once a whirlwind^s blast. And, rent by sudden throes, YawnM in mid lists the quaking earth. And from the gulf, — tremendous birth !.— The form of Merlin rose. 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 ! 7Pi""H*aiiv Canto IT, TH« liEIDAL OF TRIERM AZN. (3 Long shall close in stonj sleep Eyes for ruth that would not weep ; Iron lethaigy shall seal Heart that pity scorned to feel. . Yet, because thy mother^ 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 &r renowned As warrior of the Table Round. Long endurance of thy slumber WeU may teach the world to number All their woes from Gyneth'b pride, When the Bed Cross champions died.* XXVIL ** As Merlin speaks, on 6yneth*8 eye Slumber's load begins to lie ; Fear and anger vainly strive Still to keep its light aUve. Twice, with effort and with pause. O'er her brow her hand she draws ; • Twice her strength in vain tike tries^ From the &tal chair to rise ; Merlin's magic doom is spoken, * Yanoc's death must now be wroken. Slow the dark-fringed eyelids &11» Curtaining each azure ball* ' Doom. 54 TRB BIUOAL OF TRRRMAIN. ContO TL Slowly aa on flummer eves Violets fold their duskj leaves. The weighty baton of command Now bears dowii her sinking hand. 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 seem'd she there, Spell-bound in her ivory chair. That her angry sire, repenting. Craved stem Merlin for relenting, And the champions, for her sake. Would again the contest wake ; 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. 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 won, Canto II. THI BRIDAL OP TRIBBMAIN. 55 Ere an eye of mortal powen Can discern those magic towen. Of the perseyering few. Some from hopeless task withdrew, When they read the dismal threat Grayed upon the gloomy gate. Few haye brayed the yawning door. And those few returned no more. In the lapse of time forgot, Wellnlgh lost is Oyneth'S lot ; Sound her deep as in the tomb. Till waken*d by the tmmp of doom." IND OF LYULPH*8 TALI. 56 THB BRIDAL OP TIUXRICAIN. CufitO II. Here pause, my tale ; for all too soon, M J 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 nought to do. Here is no longer place for me ; For, Lucy, thou wouldst blush to see Some phantom, fashionably thin. With limb of lath and kerchieTd chin, And lounging gape, or sneering grin, Steal sudden on our privacy. And how should I, so humbly bom. Endure the gracefiil spectre^s scorn ? Faith ! ill, I fear, while conjuring wand Of English oak is haxd at hand. II. 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 adyenturous strain. Artists are hers, who scorn to trace Their rules from Nature's boimdless grace. But their right paramount assert To limit her by pedant art. CaniO II, THB BRIDAL OF TRIZUIAIN. 97 Damning whatever of rart and fiur Exceeds a canvaas three feet iquare. This thicket, for their gumptum fit, May fumiih such a happy bit, fiardsy too, are hers, wont to recite Their own sweet hiys by waxen light. Half in the salrer's tin^e dtown^d. While the thaa^-ea/t glides around i And such may hither secret stray. To labour an extempore : Or sportsman, with his boisterous hollo. May here his wiser spaniel follow. Or stage-struck JuUet may presume To choose this bower for tirin^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. For all can hum and all can buzs. IIL But oh, my XiOcy, say how long We still must drrad this trifling throng, And stoop to hide, with coward art, The genuine feelings of the heart I No parents thine, whose just command Should rule their child's obedient hand ; Thy guardians, with contending yoice. Press each his individual choice. And which is Lucy*s ?— Can it be That puny fop, trimmed cap-a-pie. Who loves in the saloon to show The arms that never knew a foe *, 58 THE BRIDAL OP TRIERHAIN. CatUo ll. Whose sabre trails along the ground. Whose legs in shapeless boots are drowned ; A new Achilles, soie^— the steel Fled fh>m his breast to fence his heel ; One, for the simple manlj grace That wont to deck our martial race. Who comes in fdreign trashery Of tinkling chain and spur, A walking haberdashery. Of feathers, lace, and fur : In Rowley^s antiquated phrase, Hone-miUiner ^ of modem days ? IV. Or is it he, the wordy youth, So early trained for statesman^ part. Who talks of honour, faith, and truth. As themes that he has got by heart : Whose ethics Chesterfield can teach. Whose logic is from Single-speech ;* Who scorns the meanest thought to rent. Save in the phrase of Parliament ; Who, in a tale of cat and mouse, Calls ** order,** and ** divides the house. Who *• cmves permission to reply," Whose '* noble friend is in his eye ;** Whose loving tender some have reckoned A tnoHon^ you should gladly second 9 I " The tnxnmelB of the palfraye pleased his tight. And the kartMnUUmert his head with roses dight." Rowlct'b BaBadi qfChariiie. > [See " Farliamentarj Logic, 6tc., by the Right Honourable William Oerard Hamilton,** (180Q,) commonly called " Sioglt- 8pe«ch HamUton."! I Canto //. THI BRIDAL OF TRIBIUfAXN. 59 V. What, neither ? Cui there be a third. To Buch renstlen iwaiiit preferred ?— O why, my Lucy, turn aaide. With that quick glance of injuied pride ? Foigive me, love, I cannot bear That altered and resentftU air. Were all the wealth of Ruaiell mine, And all the rank of Howaxd^s line. All would I give for leave to dry That drewdrop trembling in thine eye. Think not I fear such fopi can wile From Lucy more than careleis smile ; But yet if wealth and high degree Give gilded counters currency, Must I not fear, when rank and birth Stamp the pure ore of genuine worth ? Noblef there are, whose martial fires Bival the &me that raised their sires. And patriots, skiird through storms cf fate To guide and guard the reeling state. Such, such there are— If such should come, Arthur must tremble and be dumb, Self-exil*d seek some distant shore. And mourn till life and grief are o*er. VL What sight, what signal of alam^ That Lucy clings to Arthur*s arm ? Or is it, that the rugged way Hakes Beauty lean on lover*s stay ? Oh, no ! for on the vale and brake. Nor sight nor soundi of danger wake, 60 rUB BAIDAL OF TBIERMAIN. ConiO II, And this trim sward of velvet green. Were caipet for the Fairy Queen. That pressure slight was but to tell. That Lucy loves her Arthur well. And fledn would banish from his mind Suspicious fear and doubt unkind. VII. But wouldst thou bid the demons fly Like mist before the dawnisig sky, There is but one resistless spell— -^ Say, wilt thou guess, or must I tell ? Twere hard to name, in minstrel phrase, 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 ecstacy. VIIL Kow, trust me, Lucy, all too long Has been thy lover's tale and song. O, why 60 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 ! t 61 I TUK BRIDAL OP TRIERMAIN. CANTO THIRD. INTBODUCTION. I. Long loved, long woo'd, and lately won. My lifers be§t hope, and now mine own I Doth not this rude and Alpine glen Recall our &TOurite haunts agen ? A wild resemblance we can trace. Though reft of every softer grace, As the rough wairior*s brow may bear A likeness to a sister fiiir. Full well advised our Highland host, That this wild pass on foot be crossed, WhUe round Ben-Cruach^s mighty base Wheel the slow steeds and lingering chaise. The keen old carle, with Scottish pride. He praised his glen and mountains wide ; 62 THR BRIDAL OP TRIBRMAIN. OuUo III, An eye he bears for nature*8 face, Aj, 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 expound Of Beal-na-paish^ the Celtic sound. His bonnet doiFM, and bow, applied His legend to my bonny bride ; While Lucy blush'd beneath his eye. Courteous and cautious, shrewd and sly. II. Enough of him. — Now, ere we lose. Plunged in the vale, the distant views. Turn thee, my love I look back once more To the blue lakers retiring shore. On its smooth breast the shadows seem Like objects in a morning dream, \ What time the slumberer is aware I 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 tommer-clouds so plain we note. That we might count each dappled spot : 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 foran he saw ! 1 Beal-narpaiah, the Vale of the Bridal, s CMS.—" Scenee of bli»a."l QmtO III, THS BtLlDAL OP TAIBMiAIK. C3 Yet iigh*d and ficken*d at he dreir, Despairing they could e*er prove true ! III. But, Lucy, turn thee now, to view Up the fiur glen, our destined way : The &iry path that we punme, DistingiUsh^d but by greener hue. Winds round tiie 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, Fantastic while her crown she weaves. Of rowan, birch, and alder leaves, So lovely and so lone. There*s no illusion there ; these flowers. That wailing brook, these lovely bowers, Are, Lucy, all our own ; And, since thine Arthur call*d thee wife. Such seems the prospect of his life, A lovely path, on-winding still. By gurgling brook and sloping hill. TTis true, that mortals cannot tell What waits them in the distant dell ; But be it hap, or be it harm. We tread the pathiray arm in arm. IV. And now, my Lucy, wotVt thou why I could thy bidding twice deny. $4 THB BRIDAL OP T11IERM4XN. ContO III. When twice you pray'd 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. 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. Nought 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. V. Again the summons T 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 modem days,) My Muse, then — seldom will she wake, Save by dim wood and silent lake ; She is the wild and rustic Maid, Whose foot unsandall'd loves to tread Where the soft greensward is inhiid With varied moss and thyme ; 1 CMS.—" Unta yon peeviali oath you swore, That you would sue for it no more."] Canto III, THB BRIDAL OP TRIBRHJklN. 65 And, lest the simple lily-braid. That coronets her temples, fiule. She hides her still in greenwood shade, To meditate her rhjrme. VI. And now she comes 1 The muimnr dear Of the wild brook hath caught her ear. The glade hath won her eye ; She longs to join with each blithe riU That dances down the Highland hill. Her blither melody.^ And now, my Lucy^ miy to cheer. She bids Ben-Cruach^ echoes hear How closed the tale, my love whllere Loved for its chivalry. List how she teUs, in notes of flame, ^ Child Roland to the dark tower came I *** I [MS.-." Her wUd>wood melody."] > [The M9. haa not fUi oonplet.] [ 67 ] THB BBIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. CANTO THIRD. I. BxwcASTLB noir must keep the Hold, Speir-Adsm^ steeds must bide in stall. Of Hartley-bum the bowmen bold Must only shoot from battled wall ; And liddesdale may buckle spur. And Teviot now may belt the biand. Tares and Ewes keep nightly stir. And Eskdale fomy Cumberland. Of wasted fields and plundered flocks The Borderers bootless may complain ; They lack the sword of breye de Vauz, There comes no aid from Tiiexmain* That lord, on high adyenture bound. Hath wandered forth alone. And day and nig^t keeps watchfitl round In the Valley of Saint John. 68 THB BRIDAL OF TRIBRMAIN. OotUo III, II. 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, 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, distinguish^ from the rest, Those clustering rocks uprear^d their crest. The dwelling of the fair distressed, As told gray Lyulph*8 tale. Thus as he lay, the lamp of night Was quivering on his armour bright. In beams that rose and fell. And danced upon his buckler^s boss. That lay beside him on the moes, As on a crystal well. III. Ever he wateh'd, and oft he deemM, While on the mound the moonlight streamed. It altered to his eyes ; Fain would he hope the rocks ^gan change To buttressed walls their shapeless range. Fain think, by transmutation strange, 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 long'd to be deceived. ^ Canto III. TUK BKIDAL OW TKIEKMAIS. 69 It was a fond deception all. Such as, in solitary hall. Beguiles the musing eye, When, gazing on the sinking fire. Bulwark, and hattlement, 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 eyening^s western flame. In every tide, at eyery hour. In mist, in sunshine, and in shower, The rocks remained the same. IV. Oft has he traced the charmed mound. Oft climb'd its crest, or paced it round. Yet nothing might explore, Saye that the crags so rudely piled. At distance seen, resemblance wild To a rough fortress bore. Yet still his watch the Waziior keeps. Feeds haid and spare, and seldom sleeps, And drinks but of the well ; £yer by day he walks the lull. And when the eyening gale is chill. He seeks a rocky cell. Like hermit poor to bid his bead. And tell his Aye and bis Creed, Inyoking every saint at need. For aid to burst his spelL V. And now the moon her orb has hid. And dwindled to a silver thread. 70 TUB BEIOAL Of TBIBRMADf. OeuOo TIL Dim seen in middle heayen. While o^er its curve caroering fiust. Before the fury of the blast The midnight clouds are diivem The brooklet raved, for on the hills The upland showers had swoln the iill% 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 i Each faculty of soul,^ | Till, luird by distant torrent sound. And the sad winds that whistled round. Upon his thoughts, in musing drown'd« A broken slumber stole. VI. ^TWka then was heard a heavy sound, (Sound, strange and fearful there to hear, *Hong8t desert hills, where, leagues around. Dwelt but the gorcock and the deer :) As, starting from his couch of fern,* A^n he heard, in clangor stem. That deep and solemn swell,— Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke. Like some proud minster^ pealing clock. Or city^s larum-bell. 1 [MS.—** Hb focnltiei of ionl."] » [MS. " hi! conch of rock, Again upon hii ear it broka."] Canio III, nu BEioit of TBinxAur. 71 What thought wai Bolaiid'k fint when fell. In that deep wildemesi, the knell Upon his startled ear ? To Blander warrior were I loth. Yet must I hold my minstrel trothr— It waa a thought of fear. VII. But liyely waa the mingled thrill That chased that momentary chill. For Lore*8 keen wish was there, And eager Hope, and Valour high. And the proud glow of Chivalry, That bum*d to do and dare. Forth from tHe care the Warrior rushed . Long ere the mountain-voice^ was hushed, That answered to the knell ; For long and &r the unwonted sound. Eddying in echoes round and round. Was to8s*d ftom fell to fell ; And Glaiamaia answer flung. And Grisdale-pike responsiYe rung. And Legbert heights their echoes swung. As fer as Derwent*B delL* 1 [M8. I " mingled toirnds were ]niah'd.'n< s [** The rock, like iomething itartbig ftom a deep. Took up the lady'a voice, and laughed again ; That ancient Woman feated on Helm-Crag Waa ready with her carem ; Hammai>4car, And the tall iteepof Silrer-How, lent forth A noise of langhter ; loathem Longhxiffl heard. And Fairfield aniwered with a monntiiSn tone ; HelreUyn far foto the clear hlne dqr Carried the lady'a Toicf»— old Bkiddaw hiew Hie •peaUng-tmmpet ;—hack ont of the clouds Of Glaramara wrathward came the roice ; And KbdoptODt toased it ftom his misty head." WOBBSWORTB.l 72 TUB BftlDAL OP TRZBRMAIN. Canto III, VIII. Forth upon trackleas darkness gazed The Knight, bedeafenM and amazed. Till all was hnshM and still, Saye the swoln torrents sullen roar. And the night-blaat that wildly bore Its course along the hill. Then on the northern sky there came A li^t, as of reflected flame. And oyer Legbert-head, - As if by magic ait controlled, A mighty meteor slowly roird Its orb of fiery red ; Thou wouldst hate thought some demon dire Came mounted on that car of fife^ To do his errand dread. Far on the sloping valleyls course, 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 silrer sheen. Even the gay thicket*s summer green, In bloody tincture glows. IX. De Vauz had marked the sunbeams set. At eye, upon the coronet Of that enchanted mound. And seen but crags at random flung. That, o*er the brawling torrent hung,' In desolation frowned. 1 Bank of loose Btonet. > Waterfall, a [MS.- ** xocka at random pQed, That on the torrent brawling wild."] Canto lift TUK BUDAL 0¥ TRmUf AIN. 73 What eees he by that meteot*§ lour ?«. A bannered Cattle, keep, and toirer, Betuzn the lurid gleam. With battled walls and buttren fiuit. And twrbican^ and ballium* vast. And airy flanking towen, that cast Their thadowi on the stream. *TiB no deceit ! dirtinctly clear Grenell' and parapet appear. While o*er the pile that meteor drear Makes momentary pause ; Then forth its solemn path it drew, And &inter yet and fiunter grew Those gloomy towers upon the view. As its wild light withdraws. X. Forth from the cave did Roland rush, 0*er crag and stream, through brier and bush ; Yet fiur 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 bome<^ Was heard an answering sound, A wild and lonely trumpet-note, — In middle air it seem*d to float High o*er the battled mound ; 1 The outer defence of the cattle gate. * Fortified court. * Aperture* for shooting arrowe. 4 [MS.——" had not gone."] « [MS. " the ralley lone."] 9 [.lis.-*** And far upon the cchoea borne. "1 ] 74 THB BBIDAL OF TBISBMAIN. CatOo III* And sounds were heard, as when a g^uard Of some proud castle, holding ward. Pace forth their nightly round. The Yaliant knight of Triermain Bong forth his challenge-blast again. But answer came there none ; And mid the mingled wind and rain. Darkling he sought the vale in vain,^ Until the dawning shone ; And when it dawn'd, that wondrous sight, Distinctly seen by meteor-light, It all had passed away ! And that enchanted moimt once more A pile of granite fragments bore. As at the close of day. XI. Steerd for the deed, De Vaux^s heart Scorned firom his venturous quest to part. 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 &ded in the dawning day, A summer mist arose ; Adown the vale the vapours float. And cloudy undulations moat^ 1 [MS " he longht the towen in rain."! > [MS.—" But when, through fields of azure borne. "J « LMS.^" And with their eddjing bUlows moat."] ChntO III, TAB BRIDAL 07 TEIBRIIAIK. 75 That tufted monnd of mystic note. As round its base they close. And higher now the fleecy tide Ascends its stem and shaggy nde^ UntU the airy billows hide^ The rock*s majestic isle ; It seemed a yeil of filmy lawn. By some fimtastie fiuxy drawn* Around enchanted pile. XIL The breeze came softly down the brook,' And, sighing as it blew. The yell of sil?er mist it shook. And to De Vaux*s eager look Renewed that wondrous Tiew.' For, though the loitering Tapour brayed The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved Its mantlets dewy fold ; And still, when shook that filmy screen. Were towers and bastions dimly seen. And Gothic battlements between Their gloomy length onroli'd. Speed, speed, De Vauz, ere on thine eye Once more the fleeting vision die I — ^The gallant knight can 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 ; 1 [M 8.^" Until the mist's giej bcMom hide/*] s [MS. •• a reU of airy lawn-T * See Appendix, NotoH. 76 THV BRIDAL OF TRIBRMAXN. Conio III, But ere the mound he could attain. The rockt their shapeless form regain. And, mocking loud his labour vain. The mountain spirits laugh'd. Far up the echoing dell was borne Their wild unearthly shout of scorn. XIII. Wroth wax'd the Warrior.—** Am I then Foord by the enemies of men. Like a poor hind, whose homeward way Is haimted^ by malicious &y ? Is Triermain become your taunt, De Vaux your scorn ? False fiends, avaunt ! " A weighty curtal-axe ho 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. HurPd with main force, the weapon's shock Rent a huge fragment of the rock. If by mere strength, *twere hard to tell, Or if the blow dissol?ed some spell. But down the headlong ruin came. With doud of dust and flash of flame. Down bank, o'er bush, its course was borne, CrusVd lay the copse, the earth was torn. Till staid at length, the ruin dread Cumbered the torrent's rocky bed, I r.MS.-"lBwttder'd.T Oanio III, thb b&ioal of trizrmaik. 77 And bade the waten* high-siroln tide Seek other passage for iU pride.* XIV. . When ceased that thunder, Triermain V Surveyed the mound*8 rude front again ; And, lo I the ruin had laid bare. Hewn in the stone, a winding stair, Whose mossM and fractured steps might lend The mea;i8 the summit to ascend ; And by whose aid the brave de Yaux Began to scale these magic rocks, And soon a platform won. Where, the wild witchery to close. Within three lances* length arose The Castle of Saint John I No misty phantom of the air. No meteor-bIazon*d show was there ; In morning splendour, full and &ir. The masaive fortress shone. XV. Embattled high and proudly towered, Shaded by ponderous flankers, lowerM The portal's gloomy way. Though for six hundred years and more, Its strength had brookM the tempests roar. The scutcheon*d emblems which it bore Had sufFer'd no decay : But from the eastern battlement A turret had made sheer descent. And, down in recent ruin rent, In the mid torrent lay. '. [MS.—" And bade its waten in their pride Seek other current for their tide."] "S^ 78 THS BRIDAL OF TRIBRMAIN. CotUo III, Else, o*er the CastlelB brow sublime, Insults of violence or of time Unfelt had pass'd away. In shapeless characters of yore, The gate this stem inscription bore :— XVI. ^ Patience waits the destined day, Strength can dear 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. Never mortal builder^s hand This enduring febric plann'd ; 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 I To cross the gate Were to tamper with thy fkte ; Strength and fortitude were vain. View it o^er— and turn again.**— 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 ! " CandO III, TBI BEIDAL OT TAIBEMAIK. 79 Henid; the irlcket felt the iwajr Of hiB strong hand, and itnught gave vajr. And, with rude crash and jaidng bray. The ruity bolts withdraw ; But o'er the threshold aa 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. ** Now closed is the gin and the prey within By the Rood of Lanercost I But he that would win the waivwolTii skin, May rue him of his boast.'* Thus muttering, on the Warrior went. By dubious light down steep descent XVIII. Unbarr'd, nnlock*d« unwatch*d, a port Led to the Castle's outer court : There the main fortress, broad and tall. Spread its long range of bower and hall. And towers of varied size. Wrought with each ornament extreme, That Gothic art, in wildest dream Of fimcy, could devise ; But fUll between the Warriorli way And the main portal arch, there lay An inner moat ; Nor bridge nor boat Affords De Vauz the means to cross The dear, profound, and silent fosse. 80 TUB BRIDAL OF TBXBBlf AIN. CoiUo ///. His aims 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 field. Fair was his manly form, and fair His keen dark eye, and close curPd hair. When, all unarmed, sare that the brand Of well-proved metal graced his hand. With nought to fence his dauntless breast But the dose giponV under-vest, Whose sullied buff the sable stains Of hauberk and of mail retains, — Roland De Vauz 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 blazon'd all with feats of pride. By warriors done of old. In middle lists they countered here. While trumpets seemed to blow ; And there, in deir or desert drear. They quelPd gigantic foe,' Braved the fierce griffon in his ire. Or faced the dragon^s breath of fire. Strange in their anns, and strange in face. Heroes they seem d of ancient race. Whose deeds of arms, and race, and name, Forgotten long by later fame, 1 A sort of doublet, worn beneath the armour. > LHS.— " They countered giant foe."^ CcuiiO in, nSM BEIDIL Of TUERMAIK. fll Were here depicted, to appal^ ThoM of an age degenerate, Whoie bold intrusion bmTed their fate In this enchanted hall. For some short space, the venturous Knight With these high marvels fed his sight. Then sought the chamber*s upper end, Where three broad easy steps ascend To an arched portal door. In whose broad folding leaves of state Was framed a wicket window-grate. And ere he ventured more. The gallant Knight took earnest view The grated wicket-window through. XX. O, 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 ; And, contrast strange I on either hand There stood arrayed in sable band Four Haids whom Afric bore *,* And each a Lybian tiger led. Held by as bright and ftail 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, 1 CMS.*" Powtny'd by limner to sppsl/*] • [MS.—" Four Uaideni itood in uble band The blackeit AfHqne bore.*^ • [M8.— " Bach Maiden's ihort and laTage rttt"] r 82 THS BRIDAL OP TRIKiUiAIN. CkmiO JII. And limbs of shapely jet ; White was their vest and turban^s fold. On arms and ankles lings of gold In savage pomp were set ; A quiver on their shoulders laj. And in their hand an aasagay.^ 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. Each grisly beast ^gan upward draw. Rolled his grim eye, and spread his claw, Scented the air, and lickM his jaw ; While these weird Haids, in Moorish tongue, A wild and dismal warning sung. XXI. ** Bash Adventurer, bear thee back ! Dread the spell of Dahomay I Fear the race of Zaharak,* Daughters of the burning day ! ^ When the whirlwind's gusts are wheeling, Ours it is the dance to braid ; Zarah*8 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 [The If 8. hai not this ooapletl s [Zahonk or Zaharah is the Anb name of the Gre«t De> sert.] Canto III, mi BRIDAL Of TEimiUIIf. 8S **■ Where the shattered colamne Ite, Showing Carthage onoe had been^ If the wandering 8anton*B eye Our niyiterioui rites hath wen^i^ Oft he cons the prayer of death. To the nations preaches doom, * Azraers brand hath left the sheath ! Moslems, think upon the tomb !^ ** Ours the scorpion, ours the make. Ours the hydra oip the fen. Ours the tiger of the brake, All that plagaes the sons of men. Otus the tempest*s midnight wiack. Pestilence that wastes by day-. Dread the race of Zaharak ! Fear the spell ci Dahomay ! *' XXIL Uncouth and strange the accents shrill Rung those vaulted rooft among. Long it was ere, &int and still. Died the far-resounding song. While yet the distant echoes roll. The Warrior communed with his soul, '* When first I took this venturous quest, 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 between ; For man unarmM, *tis bootless hope With tigers and with fiends to cope^ 84 THE BRIDAL OP TRIXIIMAIN. Cottto III, Yet, if I turn, what waits me there. Save fieunine dire and fell dequdr ?-~ Other conclusion let me try. Since, choose however I list, I die. Forward, lies faith and knightly &me ; 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 halloo ! On either side a tiger sprung— Against the leftward foe he flung The ready banner, to engage With tangling folds the brutal rage ; The light-hand monster in mid air He struck so fiercely and so £ur. Through gullet and through spinal bone The trenchant blade hath sheerly gone. His grisly brethren ramped and yell*d. But the slight leash their rage withheld. Whilst, *twixt their ranks, the dangerous road Firmly, though swift, the champion strode. Safe to the gallery's bound he drew. Safe passM an open portal through ; And when against pursuit he flung The gate, judge if the echoes rung ! Onward his daring course he bore. While, mix*d with dying growl and roar. Wild jubilee and loud hurra Pursued him on hifl venturous way. mm^m^m^m Canto in. THR BEXDAL OF TEHftM AIH. 05 XXIT. ** Hurra, hiina I Our watch is done ! We hail once more the tropic mm. Pallid beams of northern day, Farewell, fiixewell ! Hurra, huna ! *^ Five hundred yean 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, Where resistance is denial. ** Now for Afiric^s glowing skj, Zwenga wide and Atlas high, Zaharak and Dahomay !_ ^ Mount the winds ! Huna, hum ! ** 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. That ilash'd with such a brilliant flame,* As if the wealth of all the world ^ Were there in rich conAision hurPd. "-For here the gold, in sandy heaps. With duller earth incorporate, sleeps ; 1 [MS. " golden lUiiia."] 86 TUB BRIDAL OF TRIXRliAIN. CkuOo III, Was there in ingot^piled, and theze Coined badge of empeij it bare ; Yonder, huge bars of silver lay, Dimmed by the diamond^s neighbouring ray, Like the pale moon in morning day ; 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 ; Their hands palmetto baskets bare. And cotton fiUets bound their hair ; Slim iras their form, their mien was shy. To earth they bent the humbled eye. Folded their arms, and suppliant kneerd. And thus their proffered gifts reveal'd.^ XXVI. CHORUS. *^ See the treasures Merlin piled. Portion meet for Arthur^s child. Bathe in Wealth's unbounded stream, Wealth that Ayarice ne^er could dream ! ** FIRST MAIDEN. ** See these dots of virgin gold ! Severed fiom the spany mould, Nature^i mystic alchepiy In the mine thus bade them lie ; And their orient smile can win Kings to stoop, and samts to sin.**— . 1 [MS.^** And rappUant as on «arth they lmeel*d» The gifts they pxoffei'd thus Terealed.**] CCUUO III, TRS BAIDAL OP TRURMAIN. 87 8100ND irtlDVN. « See these pearls, that long have dept ; These were tears bj Naiads wept For the loss of MariiieL Tritons in the silver shell Treasured them, till hard and white As the teeth of Amphitrite.*"— . THIRD MAXPBN. ** Does a livelier hue delight ? Here are rubies blazing bright, Here the emerald*8 fairy green, And the topas glows between ; Here their varied hues unite, In the changeful chiysolite."— FOURTH MAIDBN. ** 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. «< Warrior, seize the splendid store ; Would ^were all our mountains bore ! We should ne'er in future story, Head, Peru, thy perish'd glory ! " XXVIL Calmly and unconcem'd the Knight Waved aside the treasures bright: 88 THS BRIDAL OF TRISRIIAIN. Comto III, ** Gentle Maidens, riA, 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 0*er proud London^s thirsty land. De Yaux of wealth saw never need. Save to purvey him arms and steed, And all the ore he deignM 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 Yaux was weary, faint, and dry ; When, lo ! a plashing sound he hears, A gladsome signal that he nears Some frolic water-run ; And soon he reached a court-yard 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. In long perspective view display^ Alleys and bowers, for sun or shade : But, full in front, a door, Low-brow*d and dark, seemed as it led To the lone dwelling of the dead. Whose memory was no more. 1 [MS.—" Let those boasted genu luid pearli Braid the hair of tojr-caaght girla."] CitUQ IIT. TUB BUDAL OF TBIBBMillV. 89 XXK. Here stopped De Vauz an instant's space. To bathe his parched lips and &ce. And marked with well-pleased eye, Bef)racted in the fountain stream. In rainbow hues the dazzling beam Of that gay summer sky. Hit lenses felt a mild control. Like that which lulls the weary soul, From conteiflplation 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 ^ field and flood In gay proceision came. Are these of such fantastic mould. Seen distant down the fair arcade, These Maids enlink'd in sister-fold. Who late at bashful distance staid. Now tripping fh>m the greenwood 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 lay, ^ To please be oun, Be yours to tell us how.** Their hue was ^ the golden glow That suns of Candabar bestow. 90 THB BRIDAL OP tru&icain. CotOo IlL 0*er which m dight saffasion flows A frequent tinge of paly rose ; Their limbs were fbshionM fair and free, In nature^ justest symmetry ; And, wreathed with flowers, with odours graced. Their rayen ringlets reached the waist : In eastern pomp, its gilding pale The hennah lent each shapely nail. And the dark sumah gave the eye More liquid and more lustrdhs 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 promisM more. XXXI. « Oentle Knight, a while delay,** Thus they sung, ** thy toilsome way. 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 w^ Are slaves to Love, are fHends to thee. Though no treasured gems have we. To profier on the bended knee. Though we boast nor arm nor heart, For the assagay or dart. Swains allow each simple girl Buby lip and teeth of pearl ; Or, if dangers more you prize, Flatterers find them in our eyea CoMto III, THB BIUDAL OF TRIBEMAIN. 91 ^ Stay, then, gentle Wonior, staj. Best till evening steal on day ; Stay, O, stay !-^n yonder bowers We will braid thy locks with flowen, Spread the feast and fill the wine. Charm thy ears with sounds divine, Weave our dances till delight 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, fiiir Warrior^—jhe Is slave to Love and slave to thee.** XXXII. O, 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 damsePs laughing lip,^ And pressed another^s proffered hand^ Spoke to them all in accents bland. But broke their magic circle throu^ ; « Kind Maids,** he said, *« adieu, adieu ! My iate, my fortune, forward lies.** He said, and vanished from their eyes ; 1 LM8.— ** As round the 1>and of sirens prese'd. One dftmsere langhing Up be kias'd."] 92 THB BRIDAL OF TRIBRICAIN. ComiO III, But, as he dared that darksome waj. Still heard behind their lovely lay : •* Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart ! Go, where the feelings of the heart With the warm pulse in concord move ; Oo, where Virtue sanctions Love !** XXXIII. Downward De Vaux through darksome ways And ruinM vaults has gone, Till issue firom their bewildered maze, Or safe retreat, seemM none, And e*en the dismal path he strays Grew worse as he went on. For cheerful sun, for living air. Foul vapours rise and mine-fires glare. Whose fearful light the dangers showM That doggM him on that dreadful road. Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun. They showed, but showed not how to shun. These scenes^ of desolate despair. These smothering clouds of poisonM air. How gladly had De Vaux exchanged. Though ^twere to fiice yon tigers ranged \ Nay, soothful bards have said. So perilous his state seemed now. He wished him under arbour bough With Asians willing maid. When, joyful sound ! at distance near A trumpet flourished loud and clear. And as it ceased, a lofty lay Seemed thus to chide his lagging way. » CMS.—" Thi« itate," Ac.l Canto IIL the baioal of tbobmaik. 93 XXXIV. ** Son of Honour, theme of story ^ Think on the reward before ye I Danger, darkness, toil detpise ; 7is Ambition bids thee xiie. ** He that would her heights asoend. Many a weary step must wend ; Hand and foot and knee he tries ; Thus Ambition^s minions rise. M Lag not now, though rough the way, Fortune*s mood brooks no delay ; Grasp the boon that*s spread before ye. Monarches power, and Conqueror*s glory !'^ It ceased. Advancing on the sound, A steep ascent the wanderer found. And then a turret stair : Nor climbed he far its steepy round Till fresher blew the air. And next a welcome glimpse was giyen. That cheered hhn with the light of heaven. At length his toil had won A lofty hall with trophies dressed. Where, as to great imperial guest,* Four maidens stood, whose crimson vest Was bound with golden zone* XXXV. Of Europe seem*d the damsels all ; The first a nymph of lively (Jaul, Whose easy step and laughing eye Her borrowed air of aWe belie ; 94 THB BRIDAL OP TRIBRBIAIN. Cawto III, The next a maid of Spain, Dark-eyed, dark-hair*d, sedate, yet bold ; White ivory skin and treas 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. 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.^ XXXVI. At once to braye De Vauz knelt down These foremost Maidens three, And proffered sceptre, robe, and crown, Liegedom and seignorie, 0*er many a region wide and fair. Destined, they said, for Arthur^s heir ; But homage would he none : — * " Rather," he said, ** De Vaux would ride, A warden of the Border-side, In plate and mail, than robed in pride. 1 [MS.—" Of laurel leares -was made."] > [MS.—" Bat the firm knight past'd on. Cbnto ///. THV BUDAL Of TRURM4JM. 95 A monarches empire own ; Bather, &r rather, would he be A free-born knight of England free. Than ait on Despots throne.** So paasM he on, when that fourth Maid, As ftarting from a trance. Upon the harp her finger laid ; Her magic touch the chords obey*d. Their soul awaked at once ! SONG OF THB FOURTH MAIDXN. *« Q^ake 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^i spell. Hear the fooi-fiill ! mark it well I Spread your dusky wings abroad, ^ Boune ye for your homeward road I "« 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. ** Quake to your foundations deep. Bastion huge, and Turret steep ! ' Tremble, Keep ! and totter. Tower I This is Gyneth*s waking hour.** 1 [M8.~*' Spread your peniunii all abroad.**] fl [MS. "and battle keep.*^ 96 THS BRIDAL OF TAXIRMAIN. Conto III, XXXVII. Thus while she sung, the ▼enturouB knight Has reached a bower, where milder light^ ' Through crimson curtains fell ; Such softened shade the hill receives. Her purple veil when twilight leaves 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 ddll, I wis, Form of each thing that living is Was limn*d in proper dye. All seemed to sleep— the timid hare On form, the stag upon his lair. The eagle in her eyrie fair 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, Foigot 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. XXXVIII. That form of maiden loveliness, *Twizt childhood and *twixt youth, 1 [MS. " ■often'd light." > [MS.— Sat what of rich or what of rare."! Canto III, THB BAIOAL OF TRIBRHAIN. 97 That ivory chair, that gilvsn dreas, The aims and ankles bare, express Of Ljulph's tale the truth. Still upon her garment^s hem Vanoc^B blood made purple gem, And the warder of command Cumbered still her sleeping hand ; Still her dark locks dishevelled flow From net of pearl o*er breast of snow ; And 80 &ir the dumberer seems^ That De Vaux impeached his dreams. Vapid all and void of might, Hiding half her charms from sight. Motionless a while he stands, Folds his arms and clasps his hands, Trembling in his fitful joy. 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. — ^ St. George I St. Mary I can it be. That they will kindly look on me I ' I »» XXXIX. Gently, lo I the Warrior kneels. Soft that lovely hand he steals, Soft to kiss, and soft to clasp- But the warder leaves her grasp ; Lightning flashes, rolls the thunder ! G3meth startles from her sleep. Totters Tower, and trembles Keep, Burst the Castle-walls asunder I 2)8 THE BRIDAL OP TRISRMAIN. CantO III, 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 ; 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. Due to high worth for daring deed, Except from Lovb and Fame ! t w J CONCLUSION. I. My Lucy, when the ICald if won, The Minetreri taek, tbeu know*rt, it done ; And to require ^ bArd That to hie dregi the tale thould run, Were ordinance too hard. Our loven, briefly be it laid. Wedded aa loven wont to wed,^ When tale or play it o*er ; Lived long and blett, loTed fond and true. And law a numeroui race renew The honoun that they bore. Know, too, that when a pilgrim etrajfl In mmming mift or evening mace, Along the mountain lone, That fhiry fortreti often moelu Hif gaze upon the caatled rockf Of the valley of St John ; 1 CMS^" y«t know, thto maid and warrior too, Woddod aa lOTfiv wont to do."] 100 THB BRIDAL OF TAlKRMAm.. But never man since brave De Vaux The channed portal won. Tis now a vain illusive^Bhow, That melts whenever the sunbeams glow, Or the fresh breeze hath blown.^ II. But see, my love, where &r 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 Ring all their joys in one dull chime Of luxury and ease ; And, O ! beside these simple knaves. How many better-bom are slaves To such coarse joys as these. Dead to the nobler sense that glows When nature*8 grander scenes unclose But, Lucy, we will love them yet. The mountain*8 misty^ coronet. The greenwood, and the wold ; And love the more, that of their maze Adventure high of other days By ancient bards is told. Bringing, perchance, Uke my poor tale. Some moral truth in fiction*s veil :' 1 [MS.*—" That melts whene'er the breezes blow, Or beams a cloudless sau."' « [MS.—" SUvan-T > [The MS. has not this couplet.] TUB BRIDAL OF TRIBRMAIX. 101 Nor lore 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. Shall hang on Arthur's arm. THB END OF TRIBRMAIN.^ [Sec Appendix, Note I.] [ 103 ] APPENDIX TO THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. Note A. The Baron of THermaln.—P. 17. This branch of Vaux, with its collateral alliances, is now repre- sented by the family of Braddyl of Conishead Priorj, in the coun- ty palatine of Lancaster; for it appears that about the time aboTe mentioned, the honse of Triermain was united to its kindred £s- mily Vauz of Caterlen, and, by marriage with the heiress of Dcla- more and Leyboume> became the representatiTe of those ancient and noble £eunilies. The male line failing in John de Vanx« about the year 1065, his daughter and hdress, Mabel, married Christo- pher Richmond, Esq. of Highhead Castie, in the county of Cum- berland, descended from aa ancient family of that name. Lords of Corby Castle, in the same county, soon after the Conquest, and which they alienated about the 15th of Edward the Second, to Andrea de Harcia, Earl of Carlisle. Of this fiunily was Sir Tho- mas de Baigemont, (miles auratus,) in the reign of King Edward the First, who appears to haye greatly distinguished himself at the •lege of Kaerlareroc, with William, Baron of Leyboume. In an andent heraldic poem, now extant, and preserred in the British Museum, describing that siege, 1 his arms are stated to be, Or, 2 1 [This poem has been recently edited by Sir Nicolas Harris Nicholas, 1833.1 104 APPENDIX TO Ban OemellM Otdei, and a Chief Or, the lame borne by his de- ■cendants at the present day. The Richmonds remored to their Castle of Highhead in the reign of Henry the Eighth, when the then representative of the family married MaiKaret, daughter of Sir Hugh Lowther, by the Lady I>orothy de Clifford, only child by a second marriage of Henry Lord Clifford, great grandson of John Lord Clifford, by Elizabeth Percy, daughter of Henry {snmamed Hotspur) by Elizabeth Mortimer, which said Elizabeth was. dangh- t«r of Edward Mortimer, third Earle of Marche, by Philippa, sole daughter and heiress of Lionel], Duke of Clarence. The third in descent from the aboye-mentioned John Richmond, became the representatiye of the families of Vaugh, of Triermain, Caterlen, and Torcrossock, by his marriage with Mabel de Vanx, the heiress of them. His grandson Henry Richmond died without issue, leaving fire insters coheiresses, four of whom married ; but Maigaret, who married William Oale, Esq. of Whiteharen, was the only one who had male issue surviying. She had a son, and a daughter married to Henry Curwen of Workington, Esq., who re- presented the county of Cumberland for many years in Parliament, and by her had a daughter, married to John Christian, Esq. (now Curwen.) John, son and heir of William Oal^ married Sarah, daughter and heiress of Christopher Wilson of Bwdsea Hall, in the county of Lancaster, by Margaret, aunt and coheiress of lliomas Braddyl, Esq. of Braddyl, and Conishead Priory, in the same county, and had issue four sons and two daughters. Ist, William Wilson, died an in&nt ; 2d, Wilson, who upon the death of his cousin, Thomas Braddyl, without issue, succeeded to his estates, and took the name of Braddyl, in pursuance of his will, by the King's sign-manual ; 3d, William, died young ; and, 4th, Henry Richmond, a lieutenant-general of the army, married Sarah, daughter of the Rey. R. Baldwin ; Maigaret married Richard Greaves Townley, Esq. of Fulboume, in the county of Cambridge, and of Bellfield, in the county of Lancaster ; Sarah married to George Bigland of Bigland Hall, in the same county. Wilson Braddyl, eldest son of John Gale, and grandson of Maigaret Rich- mond, married Jane, daughter and heiress of Matthias Gale, Esq. of Catgill Hall, in the county of Cumberland, by Jane, daughter and heiress of the Rev. S. Bennet, D.D. ; and, as the eldest sur- •riving male branch of the families above mentioned, he quarters, in addition to his own, their paternal coats in the following order, as appears by the records in the College of Arms. Ist, Argent, a fess azure, between 3 saltiers of the same, charged with an anchor between S lions' heads erased, or,— Gale. 2d, Or, 2 bars gemellea galea, and a chief or,— Richmond. 3d, Or, a fess chequey, or and gules -between 9 gerbes gules^— Vanz of Caterlen. 4tb, Gulet^ ft THB mUD AL OF lUnDtMAIir. 1 0$ tafclMqMj, oraadgolMbetwMDdferbMor,— V«iixofT<»renw> Mck. Mh, Aivent» (not rert, as tUtUd b^Born,) a hmd fibeqtuj, or aaid gnJca^ forVaauof Txiermain. flth, Qaloa, a crow patonco, or, Dolamoro. 7th, Omln, 6 Uona nuspant ai|0Bt, a, 9, and I, Lejrbovrno/— This nunro detailed genealogy of the flunily of Trler- audn was obllgiogly soot to the antbor, by Major Bmddyll of Co- niabead PiioiT. If on B. Bepat^drei PmrWft Table Moimd, ForJkUt qfeJdiManf rtnown'd. Left MaifbimrffiCi wwtmd and tUmet rung. Loud was the shriek, and deep the groan. When the holy sign on the earth was thrown ! The fierce old Count imsheathed his brand, But the calmer Prelate stay'd his hand. ** Let him pass free ! — ^Heaven knows its hour^— But he must own repentance^ 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 Young Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son. XIII. High was the feasting in Witikind's hall, Beveird priests, soldiers, and pagans, and all ; And e*en the good Bishop was &in to endure The scandal, which time and instruction might cure : It were dangerous, he deem'd, at the first to restrain. In his wine and his wassail, a half-christen'd Dane. The mead flowed around, and the ale was drained dry. Wild was the laughter, the song, and the cry ; With Kyrie Eleison, came clamorously in The wai^songs of Danesmen, Norweyan, 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-hair'd Gimnar, old Ermengarde's son ; 126 HAROLD THB DAUNTLBS8. CatUo /. In the train of Lord Harold that Page was the first, For Harold in childhood had Ermengarde nursed ; And grieved was young Gunnar his master should roam, 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 oh ! " said the Page, ** on the shelterless wold. Lord Harold is wandering in darkness and cold ! What though he was stubborn, and wayward and wild. He endured me because I was Ermen^mie's child. And often from dawn till the set of the sun. In the chase, by his stirrup, unbidden I run ; I would I were older, and knighthood could bear, I would soon quit the banks of the Tyne and tJie Wear : For my mother^s command, with her last parting breath, Bade me follow her nursling in life and to death. XV. *' It pours and it thunders, it lightens amain. As if Lok, the Destroyer, had burst from his chain ! Accursed by the church, and expeU^d by his sire. 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 tarries not here." He leapt from his couch and he graspM to his spear ; Sought the hall of the feast. Undisturbed by his tread. The wassailers slept fast as the sleep of the dead : ** Ungrateful and bestial !" his anger broke forth, ** To forget 'mid your goblets the pride of the North ! And you, ye cowPd priests, who have plenty in store. Must give Gunnar for ransom a palfrey and ore.' w Canto I, HAROLD THB DAUNTLSSS. 127 XVI. Then heeding full little of ban or of cune, He has seized on the Prior of Jorraux^ puise : Saint Meneholt's Abbot next morning haa missed His mantle, deep fiirr'd from the cape to the wrist : The Seneschars keys from his belt he has ta^en, (Well drencVd on that eve was old Hildebrand's brain.) To the stable-yard he made his way. And momited the Bishop's palfrey gay. Castle and hamlet behind him has cast. And right on his way to the moorland has passed. Sore snorted the palfrey, miused to face A weather so wild at so rash a pace ; So long he snorted, so loud he neighed. There answered a steed that was bound beside, And the red flash of lightning show'd there where lay His master. Lord Harold, outstretch^ on the clay. XVII. Up he started, and thunderM out, ^ Stand I ** And raised the club in his deadly hand. The flaxen-hair^ Gunnar his purpose told, Show'd the palfrey and proffered the gold. ** Back, back, and home, thou simple boy ! Thou canst not share my grief or joy : Have I not marked thee wail and cry When thou hast seen a sparrow die ? And canst thou, as my follower should. Wade ankle-deep through foeman's blood. Dare mortal and immortal foe. The gods above, the fiends below. And man on eartli, more hateful still, The very fountain-head of ill ? 128 HAROLD THB DAUNTLESS. CatUo I, Desperate of life, and careless of death, Lover of bloodshed, and slaughter, and scathe. Such must thou be with me to roam, 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 bootless shame, And he loved his master, so urged his claim : ^ Alas ! if my arm and my courage be weak. Bear with me a while for old Ermengarde's sake ; Nor deem so lightly of Gunnar^s faith. As to fear he would break it for peril of death. 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 behind ? The priests* revenge, thy fathered wrath, A dungeon, and a shameful death.** XIX. With gentler look Lord Harold eyed The Page, then tum*d his head aside ; And either a tear did his eyelash stain, Or it caught a drop of the passing rain. ** Art thou an outcast, then ?*' quoth he ; ** The meeter page to follow me." *Twere bootless to tell what climes they sough Ventures achieved, and battles fought ; How oft with few, how oft alone. Fierce Harold*8 arm the field hath won. J Canito I, HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. i2D Men swore his eje, 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. Those limbs so strong, that mood so stem. 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 deemM must come of aught but good ; And they whispered, the great Master Fiend was at one With Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son. XX Years after years had gone and fied. The good old Prelate lies lapped in lead ; In the chapel still is shown His sculptured form on a marble stone. With staff and ring and scapulaire. And folded hands in the act of prayer. Saint Cuthbert's mitre is resting now On the haughty Saxon, bold Aldingar> brow ; The power of his crozier 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. ** And 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 abhorr'd by God ; I 180 HAROLD THB DAUNTLB88. CantO I. Meet it is not, that such should heir The lands of the church on the Tyne and the Wear, And at her pleasure, her hallow'd hands May now resume these wealthy lands/ »f XXI. AnswerU good Eustace,^ a canon old^— ** Harold is tameless, and fiirious, and bold ; ETer Renown blows a note of fame. And a note of fear, when she sounds his name : Much of bloodshed and much of scathe Haye been their lot who have waked his wiath. Leave him these lands and lordships still, Heaven in its hour may change his will ; But if reft of gold, and of living bare. An evil counsellor is despair.** More had he said, but the Prelate fiK)wn^d, And murmured his brethren who sate around. And with one consent have they given their doom. That the church should the lands of Saint Cuthbert resume. So wiU'd the Prelate ; and canon and dean Gave to his judgment their loud amen. 1 Z" It may be worthy of notice, that in Harold the Danntleai there If a wiie and good Enatace, as in the Monaitery, and a Prior of Jorranz, who is robbed (ante, stann xri.) as in Iranhoe."— Aix>LPBT»' Letters an flk« Author qf H^averiev, 18SS, p. S81.] [ 1«1 i HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. CANTO SECOND. L 'Ti8 merry in greenwood, — thus runs the old lay, In the gladsome month of lively May, When the wild birds^ song on stem and spray Invites to forest bower ; Then rears the ash his airy crest, • Then shines the birch in silver vest. And the beech in glistening leaves is drest. And dark between shows the oak^s proud breast. Like a chieftain^s frowning tower ; Though a thousand branches join their screen. Yet the broken sunbeams glance between. And tip the leaves with lighter green. With brighter tints the flower : Dull is the heart that loves not then. The deep recess of the wildwood glen. Where roe and red-deer find sheltering den When the sun is in his power. ] 32 HAKOLD THB DAUNTLESS. CuntO IL II. Less merry, perchance^ is the fading leaf That follows so soon on the gathered sheaf, When the greenwood loses the name ; Silent is then the forest bound, Sare the redbreast*s note, and the rustling sound Of frost-nipt leaves that are dropping round. Or the deep-mouthed cry of the distant hound That opens on his game : Yet then, too, I love the forest wide. Whether the sun in splendour ride, And gild its many-colourM side ; * Or whether the soft and silvery haze, In vapoury folds, o*er the landscape stra3rs, And half involves the woodland maxe, Like an early widow^s veil. Where wimpling tissue from the gaze The form half hides, and half betrays. Of beauty wan and pale. IIL 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. By merry Tyne both on moor and lea. Through wooded Weardale^s glens so firee. 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 feme Of Jutta of Bookhope, the Outlaw^s dame ; Feared when she frowned was her eye of flame. T Canto II» HAROLD THX DAVNTLVM. 133 More fear'd when in wrath she laughed ; For then, Hwas said, more fatal true To its dread aim her spell-glance flew, Than when from Wulfstane^s bended yew Sprung forth the grey-goose shaft. IV. Yet had this fierce and dreaded pair. So Heaven decreed, a daughter &ir ; 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. And nought of fraud, or ire, or ill. Was known to gentle Metelill, — A simple maiden she ; The spells in dimpled smile that lie, 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^t joys forget. And still she loved, in secret set Beneath the greenwood tree. To plait the rushy coronet, And braid with flowers her locks of jet, As when in infancy v— 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 delidoua zest To the calm pleasures of thy breaft» Will soon, a tyrant o*er the rest. Let none his empire share. 134 HAROLD THB DAUNTLESS. CotUO IL V. One morn, in kiitle green arrayed. Deep in the wood the maiden BtrayM, And, where a fomitain spning. She gate 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 Ughtsomely she sung. VI. " Lord William was bom in gilded bower. The heir of Wilton's lofty tower ; Yet better loves Lord William now To roam beneath wild Eookhope's brow ; And William has lived where ladies lair 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 ; 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 MeteUIl. " My nurse has told me many a tale. How vows of love are weak and firail ; My mother says that courtly youth By rustic maid means seldom sooth. Canto If. HAROLD THK DAUNTLX88. 135 What should they mean ? it cannot be, That sueh a waming^s meant for me, For nought — oh 1 nought of fraud or ill Can William mean to Metelill !** VII. Sudden ihe stops— and starts to feel A weighty hand, a glove of steel. Upon her shrinking shoulders laid ; Fetuful she tumM, and saw, dismayed, A Knight in plate and mail arrayed. His crest and bearing worn and fray'd. His surcoat soiled and riven, Foim'd like that giant race of yore. Whose long-continued crimes outwore The Buffenmce of Heaven. Stem 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, Was all the maiden might ; And ** Oh ! 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 ; 136 HAROLD THB DAUNTL18S. Conto II, Oh ! let her powerful channB atone For aught my rashness may have done. And cease thy grasp of fear.** Then laughed the Knight — ^his laughter*B 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, When sinks the tempest roar ; Yet still the cautious fishers eye The clouds, and fear the gloomy sky. And haul their barks on shore. IX. *« Damsel,** he said, ^ be wise, and leant Matters of weight and deep concern : From distant realms I come, And, wanderer long, at length have planned In this my native Northern land To seek myself a home. Nor that alone — a mate I seek ; She must be gentle, soft, and meeky.* 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 &ir lineage to provide, *Tis meet that my selected bride In lineaments be iair ; I love thine welL->tiU now I ne*er Canto II. HAROLD THE DAUNTLBM. J37 LookM patient on a fiice of fear. But now that tremulous sob and tear Become thy beauty rare. One Tn'wB 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/* X. Home sprung the maid without a pause. As leveret ^scaped from greyhound^s jaws ; But still she lock'd, however distressed. The secret in her boding breast ; Dreading her sire, who oft forbade 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 Wulfktane tiimm*d his shafts and bow. Sudden and clamorous, from the ground 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. XL ** All peace be here — What ! none replies ? Dismiss your fears and your surprise. Tis I — ^that Maid hath told my tale^— Or, trembler, did thy courage &il ? It recks not — it is I demand Fair Metelill in marriage band ; 138 HIROLD THE VAVHTLMB. CantO tl, Harold the Dsuntless I, whose name Is brave xnen^s boast and caitifhi shame/* The parents sought each other*s eyes, With awe, resentment, and surprise : Wulfttane, to quarrel prompt, began The stranger^ size and thewes to scan ; But as he scanned, his courage sunk. And from unequal strife he shrunk. Then forth, to 'blight and blemish, flies The harmful curse from Jutta*s eyes ; Yet, fintal howsoever, the spell On Harold innocently fell ! And disappointment and amaze Were in the witches wilder^ gaze. XII. But soon the wit of woman woke. And to the Warrior mild she spoke : " Her child was all too young." — ** A toy. The refuge of a maiden coy."-~ Again, " A powerful baron^s heir Claims in her heart an interest fair." — ** A trifle — ^whisper in his ear. That Harold is a suitor here ! ** — Bafiled at length she sought delay : ^ Would not the Knight tUl morning stay ? Late was the hour — ^he there might rest Till mom, their lodge's honour'd guest." Such were her words, — her craft might cast. Her honoured guest should sleep his last : *« No, not to-night — ^but soon," he swore, « He would return, nor leave them more." The threshold then his huge stride ciost, And soon he was in darkness lost. CafUo II, HAROLD THB DAUNTLB8S. 139 XIII. Appall'd a while the parenti stood. Then changed their fear to azigry moed, And foremost feU 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. To marshal such misfortune home ? '* Hence, minion — ^to thy chamber hence— There prudence learn, and penitence/* She went — her lonely couch to steep In tears which absent lovers weep ; Or if she gained a troubled sleep. Fierce Harolds suit was still the theme And terror of her feverish dream. XIV. Scarce was she gone, her damo and sire Upon each other bent their ire ; ^ ** 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 *, Kot 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 ? Do all the spells thou boast'st as thine Serve but to slay some peasant's kine. His grain in autumn storms to steep, Or thorough fog and fen to sweep. 140 HAROLD THE DAUNTLB8S. CoMio II, And hag-ride some poor ru8tic*i deep ! Is such mean mischief worth the fame Of sorceress and witch's name ? Fame, which with all men's wish conspires. With thj deserts and my desires, To damn thy corpse to penal fires ? Out on thee, witch ! aroint ! aroint ! What now riiaU 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. Stem she replied, " I will not wage War with thy folly or thy rage ; But ere the morrow's sun be low, Wulfstane of Bookhope, thou shalt know. If I can venge me on a foe. Believe the while, that whatsoe'er I spoke, in ire, of bow and spear. It is not Harold''8 destiny The death of pilfer'd 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 Her wayward steps, and forth she went. And left alone the moody sire. To cherish or to slake his ire. XVI. Far faster than belong'd to age Has Jutta made her pilgrimage. CatUo ll» HAROLD TUB DAUNTLISS. 141 A priest has met her as she passed. And cross'd himself and stood aghast : She traced a hamlet — not a cur His throat would ope, his foot would stir ; By crouch, hy tremhling, and hy groan. They made her hated presence known ! But when she trode the sahle fell, Were wilder sounds her way to tell, — For far was heard the fox^s yell, The hlack-cock waked and faintly crew. Scream^ o^er the moss the scared curlew ; Where o'er the cataract the oak Lay slant, was heard the raven's croak ; The mountaiti-cat, which sought his prey Glared, scream'd, and started from her way. Such music cheer'd her journey lone To the deep dell and rocking stone : There, with unhallow'd hymn of praise. She call'd a God of heathen days. XVII. Sntiacation* ^ 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 That shall make thine altars wet, Wet and red for ages more With the Christian's hated gore,— Hear me ! Sovereign of the Bock, Hear me I mighty Zemebock. ^ Mightiest of the mighty known. Here thy wonders have been shown *, ]42 HAROLD THB DAUNTLBSS. OatUo If- Hundred tribes in Tarions tongue Oft have here thy praises sung ; Down that stone with Runic Beain*d4 Hundred victims* blood hath streamed ! Now one woman comes alone. And but wets it with her own, The last the feeblest of thy flocky^ Hear-— and be present, Zemebock ! ^ 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 ! Lo ! I stoop and veil my head ; Thou who ridest the tempest dread. Shaking hill and rending oak — Spare me ! spare me ! Zemebock. ^ 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^utta's arms Are necromantic words and charms ; Mine is the spell, that, utter'd 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, Zemebock." — Canto IL harold tub dauntlbss. 143 XVIII. ^ Daughter of dtut,'* the Deep Voice said, —Shook while it spoke the vale for dread, Rock*d on the base thai massiye stone. The Evil Deity to own,^- ** Daughter of dust I not mine the power Thou seek'st on Harold's fatal hour. *Twizt heaven and hell there is a strife Waged for his soul and for his life. And fisdn 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. 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'a brown side. XIX. ** And is this all," said Jutta stem, ^ That thou can'st teach and I can learn ? Hence ! to the land of fog and waste, There Attest 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^ 144 HAROLD TBB DAUNTLBSS. CfotUo If, Sii^i was the touch, as when at need A damsel stin her tardy steed ; But to the blow the stone gave place, And, starting from its balanced base, BollM thundering down the moonlight dell, — Re-echo*d moorland, rock, and fell ; Into the moonlight tarn it dashM, Their shores the sounding surges lashM, 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. [ 145 ] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. CANTO THIRD. L Gaby towen of Durham ! there was once a time I viewed your battlements with inch yague hope, As brightens life in its first dawning prime ; Not that e*en then came within fancy^s scope A vision Tain of mitre, throne, or cope ; Yet, gazing on the venerable hall. Her flattering dreams would in perspective ope Some reverend room, some prebendary*s stall, — And thus Hope me deceived as she deoeiveth all.^ Well yet I love thy mix*d and massive piles, Half church of God, half castle Against the Scot, ) [In this stsass oocnn one of many tonches I17 which, in tho introdnctorj psMSffM of Harold tho DsontlMi as of Triermain, Sir Walter Soott betnya hia half-pnxpoae of identifying the anthor with hia friend William Erakine. That gentleman, the aon of an Epiaoopnilan deigyman, a stannch drarchmaa, and a man of the gentleet habiti^ if he did not in early Ufo deeign to follow the pater- nal profomion, might eaally be snppoaed toharenoniiahed inch an intentien-Hine wUcb no one conld ever hare di«amt of aacribing at any period of hia daya to Sir Walter Soott himaelf] 146 HAROLD THB DAUMTL1S8. Canto III, And long to roam these yeneiable aisles, With records stored of deeds long since forgot ; There might I share my Surtees' ^ happier lot. Who leaves at will his patrimonial field To ransack every crypt and hallowM spot. And from oblivion rend the spoils they peld, Restoring priestly chant and clang of knightly shield. Vain is the wish — since other cares demand Each vacant hour, and in another clime ; But still that northern harp invites my hand. Which tells the wonder of thine earlira time ; And fain its numbers would I now command To paint the beauties of that dawning fiur, When Harold, gazing from its lofty stand Upon the western heights of Beaurepaire, Saw Saxon ESadmer's towers begirt by winding Wear. II. Fair on the half-seen streams the sunbeams danced. Betraying it beneath the woodland bank. And fair between the Gothic turrets glanced Broad lights, and shadows fell on front and flank. Where tower and buttress rose in martial rank. And girdled in the massive donjon Keep, And from their circuit peaVd o*er bush and bank The matin bell with summons long and deep. And echo answered still with long-resounding sweep. III. The morning mists rose from the ground, Each merry bird awakened round, 1 [Robert Snrtoei of Mainrforth, Esq., F.8. A., author of " The Historf and Antiquities of the County Palatine of Durham." 3 Tols. folio, 1816-20-23.] Ceman\i skull metheglin draught. Or wanderVt where thy cairn was piled To frown o*er oceans wide and wild ? Or have the milder Christians given Thy refuge in their peacefiil heaven ? Canto III, HABOLD THB OAUNTLBW. 149 Wherever thou art, to thee are known Our toils endured, our trophies won. Our wars, our wanderings, and our woet.** He ceased, and Gunnar^ song arose. VI. tons. ** Hawk and osprey screamed for joj 0*er the beetling cliffb of Hoy, Crimson foam the beach overspread. The heath was dyed with darker red. When o^er Erick, Ingnar\i son, Dane and Northman piled the stone ; Singing wild the war-song stem, * Rest thee, Dweller of the Caim 1 ' ^ Where eddying currents foam and boll By Bersa*s burgh and Grasmsay^s isle, The seaman sees a martial ibzm Half-mingled with the mist and storm. In anxious awe he bears away To moor his bark in Stromna\i bay, And murmurs from the bounding stem, * Best thee, Dweller of the Caim ! * ^ What cares disturb the mighty dead ? Each honour*d 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 was stainM ; Within, *twas lined with moss and fem^-- Then rest thee, Dweller of the Caim !-» 15% BAMOhD TBE DAWnUBU, Omto ill, ** He msf not mi: fiom ntfans afiur Comet Toiee of battle and of war. Of oonqoest wroqg^t widi bloody band On Oannel^ diflb and Joidan^ etmid, Wbea Odin^ wariike ion could daimt The tmbanM iace of Tennagaimt.*' VIL «*Peaee,'* laid the Knight, «• the noble-Scald Our warlike fliiher\i deeds iecall*d, But nerer strove to loothe the son WiUi tales of what himself had done. At Odin\i board the bard sits hig^ Whose harp ne*er stooped to flattery ; But highest he whose daring lay Hath dared unwelcome truths to say/* With doubtfiil smile young Qunnar eyed His master^i looks, and nought replied— But well that smile his master led To construe what he left unsaid. ** Is it to me, thou timid youth. Thou fear^ to speak unwelcome truth ? 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.**— ** Oh I** quoth the page, ^ even there depends My counsel— there my warning tends-— Oft seems as of my master^i breast . Some demon were the sudden guest ; Canio III. habold thb dauntlbss. 151 Then at the fint miscontrued word His hand is on the mace and swoid. From her firm seat his wisdom driven, HiB 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 !** VIII. Then waved his hand, and shook his head The impatient Dane, while thus he said : ^ Pro&ne not, youths — it is not thine To judge the spirit of our line — The bold Berserkar^ 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 — Heeds not the depth, nor plumbs the fiiU— Unshielded, mail-less, on he goes Singly against a host of foes ; Their qtears he holds like withered reeds. Their mail like maiden^s silken weeds ; One Against 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 quafis like Odin^s bowl, 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 en. And couches till he\i man agen.— 152 HABOLD THB DAUNTLISS. QuOo III, Thou know'M the ogns of look and Umb, When *gin8 that lage to OTerbrun— Thou know*Bt when I am moved, and whj ; And when thou seest me roll mine eye, Set my teeth thus, and stamp my foot, B^gaid thy safety and be mute ; But else speak boldly out whatever Is fitting that a knight should hear. I lore thee, youth. Thy lay has power Upon my daxk 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, whatever the theme.** IX. As down some strait in doubt and dread 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 swerred. The Page his ma8ter*8 brow observed. Pausing at intervals to fling His hand on the melodious string, And to his moody breast apply The soothing chann of harmony. While hinted half, and half exprest. This warning song conveyed the rest ions. 1. ** lU &reB the bark with tackle riven. And ill when on the breakers driven,^— 111 when t^e storm-sprite shrieks in air. And the scared mermaid tears her hair ; Canto III. HAROLD TBI DAUNTLB88. 158 But worse when on her helm the liand Of some false tmitor holds command* 2. ** 111 fares the fkinting Palmer, placed 'Mid Hebron^s rocks or Rana*s wastes— 111 when the scorching sun is high, And the expected font is drj,— Worse when his guide o'er sand and heath. The barbarous Copt, has phum'd his death. 8. « 111 faxes the Knight with buckler cleft, And ill when of his helm berefV— 111 when his steed to earth is flung, Or from, his grasp his falchion wrung ; But worse, if instant ruin token. When he lists rede bj woman spoken.''— X. ** How now, fond boy ?~.CanBt thou think ill," Said Harold, «« of fkir Metelill?"— ^ She may be fiur," the Page replied. As through the strings he ranged^— ** She may be fair ; but yet," — ^he cried. And then the strain he changed, tons* 1. ** She may be &ir," he sang, *' but yet Far fairer have I seen Than she, for all her locks of jet. And eyes so dark and sheen. 154 HAROLD THB DAUNTLESS. ComfO III. Were I a Danish knight in arms, As one day I may be, My heart should own no foreign charms^i^ A Danish maid for me. 2. ** I love my &ther'a 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 loth to go. And leaving on the billows bright. To cheer the short-lived summer night, A path of ruddy glow. 3. «* But most the northern maid I love, With breast like Denmark's snow. And form as fair as Denmark's pine. Who loves witli 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 That eye of matchless blue. 4. " 'Tis hers the manly sports to love That southern maidens fear. To bend the bow by stream and grove. And lift the hunter's spear. 1 O^— Island. CfantO III. HAROtD THK DAUNTLBO. 155 She can her chosen champion^s flight With eye undi^ed see. Clasp him victorious from the strife, Or on his corpse yield up her lifey— A Danish maid for me ! *^ XL 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 ?**— " Nothing on her,"^ young Gunnar said, '* But her base sirens ignoble trade. Her mother, too-^the general fame Hath given to Jutta evil name. And in her gray eye is a flame Art cannot hide, nor fear can tame. — That sordid woodman*s peasant cot Twice have thine honoured footsteps sought. 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^* My £Either's by the Tyne and Wear I have reclaimed.**— ^ O, all too dear. And all too dangerous the prize, I L" Nothing on her," is the reading of the interleaved copy of 1831—" On her nought," in all the former editions.] 156 HAROLD TBB DAUNTLB88. CoiUo III. E*en were it won/* young Gmmar cries ;«-. ** And then this Jutta^ fresh device, That thou shouldst seek, a heathen Dane, From Durham's priests a hoon to gain. When, thou hast left their vassals slain In their own halls I "—Flashed Harold's eye. Thundered his voice — *^ False Page, you lie ! 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>t thou 1*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 ; And, if to right me they are loth. Then woe to church and chapter both ! " Now shift the scene, and let the curtain fall. And our next entry be Saint Cuthbert*S hall. [ IB7 ] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. CANTO FOURTH. I. FvLL manj a bard hath nuig the solemn gjoom Of the long Gothic aisle and stone-ribbed roof, O'er^canopjing shrine, and goxgeons tomb, Carred screen, and altar glimmering fiir aloof^ And blending with the shade a matchless proof Of hig^ devotion, which hath now waz*d cold ; ' Yet legends say, that Luxurjr^s brote hoof Intruded oft within such sacred fold. Like step of BePs fidse priest, tracVd in his ftne of old.* 1 C"AUiiliaah'd,fladitUlMd«stli— HisdfMdftdf How zereraiid is the fiwe of thk tall pile, Whofo aadont pQlsn rear their marble heads. To bear aloft ita axch'd and poadefoiu roof, Bf ita own weight made ateadfiut and inuaorable^ Looking traaqiiillityf Itateikesanawe And terror on my aching eight. The tombe And momimental caree of death look oold. And shoot a chfUnwa to mj tiembliiv heart." Coirajunrn'e Mourning Bride, Act II. se. 1. See al«> Joanna Baillie'a " De Montfort,** Acta IV. and V.] • [See, fai the ApooTPlMl Booia, " The Hiatory of Bel and the DxagoD.'^ 158 HABOLD THE DAUNTLESS. CotOo IV. Well pleased am I, howe'er, that when the route Of OUT rude neighbours whilome deign'd to come. Uncalled, and eke unwelcome, to sweep out And cleanse our chancel from the rags of Rome, They spoke not on our ancient feme the doom To which their bigot zeal gave o^er their own. But spared the martyr^ saint and storied tomb. Though papal miiades had graced the stone. And though the aisles still loved the oigan^s swelling tone. And deem not, though ^is now my part to paint A prelate sway*d by love of power and gold. That all who wore the mitre of our Saint lake to ambitious Aldingar I hold ; Since both in modem times and days of old It sate on those whose virtues might atone Their predecessors* frailties trebly told : Matthew and Morton we as such may own — And such (if fame speak truth) the honour^'d Barring- ton.» II. But now to earlier and to ruder times. As subject ineet, I tune my rugged rhymes. Telling how &irly the chapter was met. And rood and books in seemly order set ; Huge brajBSFclasp^d volumes, which the hand Of studious priest but rarely scanned, 1 [See, for the Urea of Bbhop Matthew and Biahop Morton, here allnded to, Mr. Surtees's History of the Bishopric of Durham : the yenerable Shute Barrington, their honoured sncceflsor, ever a kind friend of Sir Walter Soott, died in 18960 Canto IV. HAROLD TBB DA UNTLI88. 159 Now on fair carved desk displayM, Twas theirs the solemn scene to aid. O'eihead with many a scutcheon graced. And quaint devices interlaced, A labyrinth of crossing rows, The roof in lessening arches shows ; Beneath its shade placed proud and high, With footstool and with canopy. Sate Aldingar, and prelate ne^er More haughty graced Saint Cuthbert^s chair ; Canons and deacons were placed below, In due degree and lengthen^ row. Unmoved and silent each sat there. Like image in his oaken chair ; Nor head, nor hand, nor foot they stirrM, Nor lock of hair, nor tress of beard ; And of their eyes severe alone The twinkle showed they were not stone. III. The Prelate was to speech addressed. Each head sunk reverent on each breast ; But ere his voice was heard^i^without Arose a wild tumultuous shout. Offspring of wonder mix^d with fear. Such as in crowded streets we hear Hailing the flames, that, bursting out. Attract yet scare the rabble rout. Ere it had ceased, a giant hand Shook oaken door and iron band. Till oak and iron both gave way. Clashed the long bolts, the hinges bray, And, ere upon angel or saint they can call. Stands Harold the Dauntless in midst of the halL 160 KAAOLS THB DAT7NTL188. Canto IV, IV. ** Now tave ye, my masteiB, both rocket and rood. From Bishop with mitre to Deacon with hood ! For here stands Count Harold, old Witikind's son. Come to sue for the lands which his ancestors won.*' The Prelate look*d round him with sore troubled eye. Unwilling to grant, yet afraid to deny ; While each Canon and Deacon who heard the Dane speak. To be safely at home would haye &8ted a week :— Then Aldingar roused him, and answered again, ** Thou suest for a boon which thou canst not obtain ; The church hath no fiefii for an unchristen'd Dane. Thy fiither was wise, and his treasure hath given. That the priests of a chantry might hymn him to heaTen ; And the fie& which whilome he possessed as his due. Have lapsed to the church, and been granted anew To Anthony Conyers and Alberic Vere, For the service St Cuthbert*s blessed banner to bear. When the bands of the North come to foray the Wear ; Then disturb not our condave with wrangl^ or blame. But in peace and in patience pass hence as ye came/* V. Loud laughed the stem Pagan^— .'^ They're free finm the care Of fief and of service, both Conyen and Vere^-. Six feet of your chancel is all they will need, ^ A buckler of stone and a corslet of lead.-* Ho, Gunnar ! — ^the token ! ''—and, sever'd anew, A head and a hand on the altar he threw. Then shudder'd with terror both Canon and Monk, They knew the glased eye and the counteuanoe ihriuky W^^^^"-™^*"*^ Canto I V, HJk ROLD THE DA UNTLB8S. 161 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 betook him to prayer. VI. Coimt Harold laughed at their looks of fear ; •( Was this the hand should your banner bear ? Was that the head should wear the casque In battle at the churches task ? Was it to such you gave the place Of Harold with the heavy mace ? ' Find me between the Wear and Tjrne « . i A knight will wield this dub of mine,— * . I*. - . , Give him my fiefs, and I will say ^.) There's wit beneath the qowI of gp^y." He raised it, rough with many a stain, Caught from crushed skull and spouting brain ; He wheePd it that it shrilly sung. And the aisles echoed as it swung. Then dash*d it down with sheer descent. And split King Osric's monument.^^ ** How like ye this music ? How txow ye the hand That can wi^ld such a mace may be reft of its land ? No answer ? — I spare ye a space to agree, And Saint Cuthbert inspiiv you, a saint if he be. Ten strides through your chancel, ten strokes on your beU, And again I am with you— grave flathers, fiurewell.'' »» VII. He turned from ^eir presence, he clashM the oak door, And the dang of his stride died away on the floor ; 162 HAROLD THS DAUNTLV68. Ckmto IV, And his head from hia bosom the Pielate uprears With a ghost-seer^ look when the ghost disappears. ** Ye Priests of Saint Cuthbeitt 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 Guthbert there is not a knight Dare confront in our quarrel yon goblin in fight ; Then rede me aright to his claim to reply, 'Tis unlawful to grant, and *tis death to deny.** VIIL On venVon and malmsie that morning had fbd The Cellarer Vinsauf^^twas thus that he said ; <* Delay till to-morrow the Chapter*s reply ; Let the feast be spread fiur, and the wine be pourM high: If he*b mortal he drinksy— 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^ depth he well could drain, Beyel, sport, and jest amaig— The haunch of the deer and the grape*s bright dye Never bard loved them better than I ; But sooner than Yinsauf fill*d me my wine, Pafls*d me- his jest, and laogVd at mine. Though the buck were of Bearpark, of Bourdeaux the vine. With the dullest hermit I*d rather dine On an oaten cake and a draught of the Tyne. IX. Walwayn the Leech spoke next — he knew Each plant that loves the sun and dew, Cbnto iV* HABOLD THB DAUMTLIM. 168 But ipedal those whoae jnioe em gain Domiiii [ Mr. Adoll^httti In hit Letten on the Anthor of WaTerley, p. MO, r«m«rki on tho colncidonce between *' the cataatrophe of ' The HlMck Dwarf,* the reooftnitlon of Mortham'a loet son in the \f\t^\ or|)han of * Hokeby,* and the oonTenion of Haiold'a page into a (Wmale»'*-HiUl which he oalla ** epcdmena of i MiMt al a great expenee of probahilitr.**] Canto VL harold thb dauntlbss. 105 The fttains of recent conflict dear^d^— And thus the Champion proved, That he fears now who never fear*d. And loves who never loved. And Eivir — life is on 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 fiinge, reserved and shy. Affection^ opening dawn to spy ; And the deep blush, which bids its dye O^er cheek, and brow, and bosom fly. Speaks shame-facedness and hope. XIX. But vainly seems the Dane to seek For terms his new-bom love to speak, — For words, save those of wiath and wrong, Tin now were strangers to his tongue ; So, when he raised the blushing maid. In blunt and honest tenns he said, (Twere 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 wayward way. It is but meet that in the Une Of afteMife I follow thine. To-morrow is Saint Cuthbert^ tide. And we will grace his altarVi side, A Christian knight and Christian bride And of Witikind'to son shall the marvel be said. That on the same mom he was christened and wed.** [ 197 ] 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 *twere lead. Or fling aside the volume till to-morrow. — Be cheered — 'tis ended — and I will not borrow. To try thy patience more, one anecdote From Bartholine, or Perinskiold, or Snono. Then pardon thou thy minstrel, who hath wrote A Tale six cantos long, yet scom'd to add a note.^ 1 C" ' Harold the Danntlesa^' like * The Bridal of Triennain, it a tolerably saccenfol imitation of some parts of the style of Mr. Walter Scott ; but, like all imitations, it is clearly dlstingnishable from the prototype ; it wants the Ufe and seasoning of originality. To illustrate this familiarity from the stage:— We hare all wit- nessed a hundred imitations of popular actors— of Kemble, for in- stance, in which the Toice, the gesture,*and somewhat OTen of the look, were copied. In extemala the resemblance might bo suffi- dently correct ; but where was the informing soul, the mind that dictated the action and expression ? Who could endure the tedium of seeing the imitator go through a whole character ? In ' Harold the Dauntless,' the imitation of Mr. Scott is pretty obyious, but we are weary of it before we arrive near the end. The author has talent, and considerable facility in Torsification, and on this account it is somewhat lamentable, not only that he should not hare se- lected a better model, but that he should copy the parts of that model which are least worthy of study. Perhaps it was not easy 198 HAKOLD THB DAUNTLB68. to equal the eneigy of If r. Seott'i line, or his pictnresque detcrip- tfons. His pecnliaritlee and defects were more attainable, and with these the writer of this novel in Terse has generally contented him* self; he will also content a certain nnmher of readers, who merely look for a few amusing or surprising incidents. In these, however, ' Harold the Dauntless' does not abound so much as ' The Bridal of Tiiermain.' They are indeed romantic enough to satisfy all the parlonr^boarders of ladies' schools in England ; but they want that appearance of probability which should give them interest.' ^Cri- Ucal BeviMO, April, 1817. " We had formerly occasion to notice, with considerable praise. The Bridal of Tiiermain. We remarked it as a pretty close imi- tation of Mr. Scott's poetry ; and as that great master seems, for the present, to have left his lyre unstrung, a substitute, even of inferior value, may be welcomed by the public. It appears to us, however, and still does, that the merit of the present author con- sists rather in the soft and wildly tender passages, than in those rougher scenes of fend and fiay, through which the poet of early times conducts his reader. His war-horse follows with somewhat of a hobbling pace, the proud and impetuous courser whom he seeks to rival. Unfortunately, as it appears to us, the last style of poetical excellence is rather more aimed at here than in the former poem ; and as we do not discover any improvement in the mode of treating It, Harold the Dauntless scarcely appears to us to equal the Bridal of Triermain. It contains, indeed, passages of similar merit, but not quite so numerous ; and such, we suspect, wUl ever be the case while the author continues to follow after this line of poetry."— Scofo Mag.» Feb. I8I7. '* This is an elegant, sprightly, and delightful little poem, writ- ten apparently by a person of taste and genius, but who either possesses not the art of forming and combining a plot, or regards it only as a secondary and subordinate object. In this we do not widely differ from him, but are sensible, meantime, that many others will ; and that the rambling and uncertain nature of the story will be the principal objection urged against the poem before us^ as well as the greatest bar to its extensive popularity. The character of Mr. S(»tt*s romances has effected a material change in our mode of estimating poetical compositions. In all the esti- mable works of our former poets, from Spenser down to Thomson and Cowper, tiie plot seems to have been regarded as good or bad, only in proportion to the advantages which it furnished for poeti- cal description ; but, of late yeani, one half, at least, of the merit HAROLD THB DAUNTLESS. 199 of a potin is mppoied to rett on the interest and management of the tale. " We epeak not exduiiTely of that nnmenrai clase of readen who penue and eetimate a new poem, or any poem, with the Hune iieelingi, and precieelj on the tame principles, as they do a noreL It is natural for snch perwns to judge only by the effect produced by the incidents ; but we hare often been surprised that some of our literary critics, even those to whose judgment we were most diqwsed to bow, should lay so much stress on the probability and fitness of erery incident which the fancy of the poet may lead him to embellish in the course of a narrative poem, a great proportion of which must necessarily be dMcriptire. The author of Harold the Dauntless seems to hare judged differently from these critics ; and in the lightsome rapid strain of poetry which he has chosen, we feel no disposition to quarrel with him on account of the easy and careless manner tn which he has arranged his story. In many instances he undoubtedly shows the hand of a master, and has truly studied and seized the essential character of the antique— Us attitudes and draperies are unconfined, and raried with demi-tints, possessing much of the lustre, freshness, and spirit of Rembrandt. The airs of his heads have grace, and his distances something of the lightness and keeping of Salrator Rosa. The want of harmony and union in the carnations of hi» females is a slight objection, and there is likewise a meagre theeUneu in his contrasts of ehiar- oicuro t but these are all redeemed by the felicity, execution, and master traits, distinguishable in his grouping, as in a MuriUo or CarraTeggio. But the work has another quality, and though its leading one, we do not know whether to censure or approve it. It is an avowed imitation, and therefore loses part of its value, if viewed as an ori- ginal production. On the other hand, regarded solely as an imi- tation, it is one of the closest and most successful, without being either a caricature or a parody, that perhaps ever appeared in any language. Not only is the general manner of Scott ably main- tained throughout, but the very structure of the language, the as- sociations, and the train of thinking, appear to be prMisely tihe same. It was once alleged by some writers, that it was impossible to imitate Mr. Scott's style, but it is now fully proved to the world, that there is no style more accessible to imitation ; for it will be remarked, (laying parodies aride, which any one may execute,) that Mr. Davidson and Miss Halford, as well as Lord Byron and Wordsworth, each in one instance, have all, without, we believe, intending it, imitated him witti considerable closeness. The au- thor of the Poetic Ifirxor has g^ven us one specimen of his most 200 HAROLD TBB DAUNTLESS. poUabed and tender style, and another, still more dose, of his xapid and careless manner ; hut aU qfthem faU greaO^ short qf The A-t- dtUi^TriermaiH, and Ae poem now btfore us. We are snre the anthor will lang^ heartily in his sleeve at onr sillineas and want of perception, when we confess to him, that we never conld open aitber of these works, and peruse his pages for two minutes with attention, and at the same time direst our minds of the idea, that we were engaged in an early or experimental work of that great master. That they are generally inferior to the works of Mr. Soott, in vigour and interest, admits not of dispute ; still they have many of his wild and softer beauties ; and if they fidl to he read and admired, we shall not on that account think the better of the taste of the ag9.*'-'Blaaaooo* cawlesafamt, meOura^t, Seem'd to set wonnda and death agi£i at noi^btt. Was liBstmfinit «nd along the crowded rra.ru. Honr after hour waa heard the incessimt^nnj Of wheels, which o'er the itm^iSdt^T i^* ConTey-d their liflng agontoTloli^l ^ TUB riSLD OP WATBRLOO. 218 How often in the disUuit drum Heard^st thou the fell Invader come, While Buin, shouting to his band. Shook high her torch and gory brand ! — Cheer thee, fair City ! From yon stand. Impatient, still his outstretch*d hand Points to his prey in vain. While maddening in his eager mood. And all unwont to be withstood. He fires the fight again. X. ««OnI On!*' was still his stem exclaim; **" Confront the battery's jaws of flame ! Bush on the leveird gun ! 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 fiite their leader shunn*d to share.* But Ha, his country's sword and shield. Still in the battle-front reveal'd. Where danger fiercest swept the field, " Hearts little to the melting mood inclined, Orew eick toiee their fuiSeiingt ; and the thought Still comea with horror to the ahnddering mind Of thoee sad dayi, trhen Belgian ean were taught The British toldler's cry, half groan, half prayer, Breath'd when his pain is more than he can bear." SouTBar.j > See Appendix, Note A. • See Appendiac, Note B. 214 «■> vntp or vatsbumu BoUBea, itaad finn,** ezdaim'd tbe Chie^ « B^phad lUl tdl the fi^ ! **i On cmie the wlmlvind— like the iMt But fieroert fweep of tempeifc-UasL^ On came the wfahlirmd — iteel-is^eains hnke like hffiltaing tbimi^ the Tolling anoke ; Tbe wax was waked anew, Thxee hnndied cannoo-moaUiB xoer^d loud. And fiom their thioata, with flash and doad, ^nieir duiwen of iron threw. Beneath their fire, in lull career, Radi*d on the pondenras cniraBsier, The lancer ocmch^d his ruthless spear. And hurxTing as to haroc near. The cohorts* eagles fiew. In one dads tonent, bnad and strong. The adTUcing onset rolled along, Forth harbmger^d hj fierce aodaim. That, from the shrond of smoke and flame, Peal'd wildly the imperial name. xn. 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 fortitude, 1 In lidlng tip to a regiment wUch was hard preeeed, the Duke called to the men, " Soldiera, we niwt never be beat,— what will thej lay in Bnglaad?^ It ii ncedleea to aay how thia appeal waa snawerod. THS FIELD OP WATBBLOO. 215 Nor was one forward footstep staid. As dropped the dying and the dead.^ Fast as their ranks the thunders tear. Fast they renew*d each senried square ; And on the wounded and the shiin Closed their diminished files again. Till from their line scarce spears* lengths three, Emeiging 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. Then down went helm and lance, Down were the eagle banners sent, Down reeling steeds and riders went. Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent; And, to augment the fray, WheePd full against their staggering flanks. The EngliA horsemen^s foaming ranks Forced their resistless way. Then to the musket-knell succeeds The clash of swords — ^the ndgh of steeds— As plies the smith his clanging trade,' Against the cuirass rang the blade ;' 1 [MS.—" Nor -was one forward footstep stopp'd. Though close beside a comrade dropp'd."'} s A prirate soldier of the 95th regiment compared the sound which took place immediately upon the British caralry mingling with those of the enemy, to " a thousand iinkers at toorfs mendififf poU and ketOa." B [" I heard the broadsword^ deadly clang, As if an hundred auTils rang t"] 216 THX nSLD OF WATZRLOO. And while amid theii doae amj Hie weU-ienred cannon rent theii way,^ And while amid their scattered hand Baged the fierce nder'k Uood j hiand« Recoiled in common rout and fear. Lancer and guard and cuirassier. Horsemen and foot, — a mingled hoet. Their leaders fiJlYi, their standards lost. XIII. Then, Wrllington ! thy piercing eye TboB crisis caught of destiny — The British host had stood That mom 'gainst charge of sword and lance* As their own ocean*rocks hold stance. But when thy voice had said, ^ Advance ! " They were their ocean's flood. — 1 [MS.—" Beneath that storm in full career, Bnsh'd on the ponderous cuirassier ; 8wom{^^].to do or die; Bat not an instant would fhey bear The I *^!^"*®"lof each serried square, lyollies ) They halt, they turn, they fly ! Not even their chosen brook to feel The British shock of lerell'd steel ; Enough that through their close array The well-plied cannon tore their way ; Enough that mid their broken band The horsemen plied the bloody brand, EecoU'd," &c] s [•« The cuirassiers," says Sir Walter Scott, " continued their dreadful onset, and rode up to the squares in the full confidence, aiiparently, of sweeping every thing before the impetuosity of their charge. Their onset and reception was l^e a furious ocean pour- THK PIBLD OF WATBRLOO. 217 O Thou, whose inampiciouB aim Hath wrought thy host this hour of shame. Think'ftt thou thy broken bands will bide The terrors of yon rushing tide ? Or will thy chosen brook to feel The British shock of levelled 8teel,> Or dost thou turn thine eye Where coming squadrons gleam afkr. And fresher thunders wake the war. And other standards fly ? — Think not that in yon columns, file Thy conquering troops from Distant Dyle— Is Blucher yet unknown ? Or dwells not in thy memory still, (Heard frequent in thine hour of ill,) What notes of hate and vengeance thrill In Prussians trumpet tone ? — * What yet remains ? — shall it be thine To head the relics of thy line In one dread efibrt more ? — The Roman lore thy leisure loved, And thou canst tell what fortune proved That Chieftain, who, of yore. Ambition's diszy paths essayed. And with the gladiator's aid For empire enterprised — ing itielf against a chain of insulated rocks. The British squares stood unmoyed, and never gave fire until the caralry were within ten yards, when men rolled one way, horses galloped another, and the cuirassieTS were in erery instance dziTen hack."— Life qfBona- parte."} ^ See Appendix, Note C. s [lis.—'* Or can thy memory fiUl to quote. Heard to thy cost, the Tengeful note 0/ Pmsria's tmmpei tone."] 218 TBI nXLD OF WATKBLOO. He stood the cast his rashness played. Left not the Tictims he had made, Dug his red graye with his own blade, And on the field he lost was hud. Abhorred— but not despised.^ XIV. But if reyolTes thy fiunter thought On safety — howsoever bought, Then turn thy feaifiil rein and ride, Though twice ten thousand men have died On this eventful day. To gild the military fiune Which thou, for life, in traffic tame Wilt barter thus away. Shall future ages tell this tale Of inconsistence fiunt and fiail ? And art thou He of Lodi*s bridge, Marengo^s field, and Wagram^ ridge ! Or is thy soul like mountain-tide. That, swelled by winter storm and shower, Bolls 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, fiat not one symptom of the force By which these wrecks were made ! XV. Spur on thy way ! — since now thine ear Has brook*d thy veterans* wish to hear, 1 [Sm Appondiz, Note D.} TMI FIBL0 OF WATSHLOO. 219 Who, as thy ajght they eyed, Exdaim^d, — ^whUe team of aoguiah came. Wrong forth by pride, and rage, and shame,^ ** O, that he had but died I *'^ But yet, to sum this hour of ill. Look, ere thou leayest the &tal hill. Back on yon broken rankfr— Upon whose wild confusion gleams The moon, as on the troubled streams When riven break their banks. And, to the ruinM peasant^s eye. Objects half seen roll swiftly by, Down the dread current hurrd— So mingle banner, wain, and gun. Where the tumultuous flight rolls on Of warriors, who, when morn begun,* Defied a banded worid. XVL List — frequent to the hunying rout. The stem pursuers* ▼engeftil shout 1 LThe MS. adds, " That pang larriTed, tcAim not then To humble thee before the men. Late object* of thj icom and hate, Who shall thy once-imperial fate Make wordy theme of Tatn debate. And chaffer for thy crown ; Am nsaren wont, who rack the all Of Uie fool-hardy prodigal. Whan on the giddy dice's Ml His latest hope has flown. But yet, to sum,** dK.] ' [MS.—" When in one tide of tenor mn, Ibe wanists that* vhflR mom began."] 220 THB FOLD OP WATEMUOO, Tell8, that upon their broken leu BafCf the Pnuriaals bloody spear. So fell a ahriek was naae^ When Bereai]ia*B icy flood Reddened and thaw*d with flame and blood,' And, preoing on thy desperate way, Boised oft and long their wild hniia. The children of the Don. Thine ear no yell of honor deft So ominous, when, all bereft Of aid, the valiant Pohick left—* Ay, left by thee — found soldier'ft grave' In Leipdc's coipse-encamber*d wave. Fate, in those Tarions perils past, Beserved thee still some future cast ; On the dread die thou now hast thrown. Hangs not a single field alone. Nor one campaign— 4hy martial fSsune, Thy empire, dynasty, and name. Have felt the final stroke ; And now, o*er thy devoted head The last stem vial*s wrath is shed. The last dread seal is broke,^ 1 tM8.— " 80 ominoni a diriek was none. Not eren when Bereehia's flood Was thaw*dby Btreams of tepid blood."! • [For an account of the death of Poniatowski at Leipiic see Sir Walter Soott'B Life of Bonaparte.] 3 QMS.—" Not fach were heard, when all bereft Of aid, the raliant Polack left- Ay, left by thee— found gallant grave."] 4 I " I, who with frith unshaken from the fint, Kven when the tyrant aeem'd to touch the akicf, Had look'd to lee the high-blown bubble burst, And for a fall conspicuous as his rise, Even In that faith had look'd not for defieat 80 iwlft, M orarwhalining, so complete."— Spbthst.1 TBB fIBLD or WATMBLOO, 721 xvir. Siooe liTe thoa vilU- lefiue not now Before theae demagqgaet to bow. Late objects of thy tcom and hate. Who shall thy once imperial ftte Make wordy tiieme of vain debate.^ Or shall we My, thoa stoop'M le« low In seeking refnige from the foe, Against whose heart, in prosperoos life, liine hand hath OTor held the knife ? Such homage hath been paid By Bomaa and by Grecian Toice, And there were hononr in the choice. If it were freely made. Then safely come— in one so low,^ 80 lost, — ^we cannot own a foe ; Though dear experience bid as end. In thee we ne*er can haH a friend — Come, howBoe*er— but do not hide Close in thy heart that germ of piide, EiewhOe, I7 gifted hard espied,! That <« yet unperial hope ;**< 1 [MS. " tat do not Ud« Ooee move tliat ssend gtm oTprfdo, VrU^ onft JOB gifted bvd MpML*^ ' C" Tho Oeeolslor doeolate I The Vielor orertlinnnil The Arbiter of ofhenr fiito A SDpplisBt for Ui own I UitmaMjHimpenalkiipe, Thct with sodi diaagi esa eshnlj cope? Or dzMd of death aloDof To die a p iiii co o r Ifro a ikvo— Thy choice is noet ignoblj braror Sybow's Odi io JVkqwfaM.) 322 TBS voLD cm watsbloo. Unnk not that for a 6aih leboimd. To niw amlntioii fttMn flio gnmid. We yield thee meaof or scope. In afety come — but ne^ agMB Hold ^^pe of independent rajgn ; No islet calls thee lord. We leave thee no ooofedente hand. No symlMd of thy lost command. To be a dagger in the hand From wUdi we wicndi*d the kworL xvra. Tet, OTon in yon seqoester'd qwt. May worthier conqnest be thy lot Than yet thy life has known ; Conquest, onboa^t by blood or hann. That needs nor foreign aid nor ann, A triumph all thine own. 8nch waits thee when thoa shalt control Those paSBons wild, that stabbom soul. That mailed fixy prospero u s scene : — Hear this-^mn no unmoTed heart. Which Qglis, oompazing what thou abt With what thou miqhtVt hayb bsbc 1 ' i ['*'Tis done— bat yesterday a King! And ann*d with Kingi to stiiT»~ And now thou art a namitlfw thing ; 80 aldoct--7«t aliro! It this the man of thooaaad thronei^ Who •trew'd oar earth with hostOa bonei^ And can he thna rarriTe ? CHnce he, miecall'd the Morning 8tar,l Nor man nor fiend h^h ftllen so £».* BTMm's Ode to NofoUam.'^ THB PIBLD OP WATERLOO. 223 XIX. Thou, too, whose deeds of fiune renewed Bankrupt a iuiUon*s gratitude. To thine own noble heart must owe More than the meed she can bestow. For not a peopled just acclaim. Not the full hail of Europe'k fame. Thy Princess smiles, thy staters decree. The ducal rank, the garter^ knee. Not these such pure delight affbrd As that, when hanging up thy sword. Well mayst thou think, ** This honest steel Was oyer drawn for public weal ; And, such was rightfiil HeavenlB decree, Ne*er sheathed unless with victory ! M XX. Look forth, once more, with soften'd 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 mom Has War^ rude hand asunder torn ! For ne*er was field so sternly fought. And ne^er was conquest dearer bought. Here pUed in common slaughter sleep Those whom afiection long shall weep : 1 [*' We left the field of battle in such mood A* hninaii hearts from thence ahonld bear away ; And mnaing that, our porpoeed xonta pnisned. Which etill through scenee of recent bloodshed lar. Where Pmnia late, with strong and stem delight, Hnng on her &ted foes to persecute their flight.'* SOUTHJIY.'] ^^* ™» FIKLD OF WATERLOO. Here ratCs the aire, that ne'er shall rtraltt Hu ozphanB to his heart again ; The son, whom, on his native shore. The parents voice shaU hless no more ; The hridegroom, who has hardly press'd His hluahing consort to his breast ; The husband, whom through many a year Long love and mutual fiiith endear. Thou canst not name one tender tie, But here dissolved its relics lie f O I when thou see'st some mourner's veil Shroud her thin form and visage pale. Or mark'W the Matron'b bursting tears Stream when the stricken drum she hears • Or see'Bt how manlier grief, suppreas'd, Is labouring in a father's breast^.. With no enquiry vain pursue The cause, but think on Waterloo I XXI. Period of honour as of woes, What bright careers twas thine to close !— Mark'd on thy roU of blood what names To Britain's memory, and to Fame% 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 PoNsoNBY could die Db Lancxy change LoveVi bridal-wreath. For laurels from the hand of Death— .> J t^* !!*^*'* ^^^ ^»^°«J Sir William De Lancer. manlAil Mc«lTed hii mortal wound on the 18th of June. See CaptaSn B. THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 225 Saw'st gallant Miller's* Ruling eye Stall bent where Albion's banners fly. And CAinsRON,* in the shock of steel, Die like the offspring of Lochiel ; And generous Gordon,^ 'mid the strife, Fall while he watch'd 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 fiiends' hearts to pierce his own ! XXII. . Forgive, brave Dead, the imperfect lay I Who may your names, your numbers, say ? What high-strung harp, what lofty line. To each the dear-eam'd praise assign, From high-bom chiefs of martial f^e 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. — Hall'f afTecting narratiTo in the first aeries of his '* Fragments of Voyages and TraTels," rol. U. p. 369.] 1 [Colonel MUler, of the Ouarda— son to Sir Wm. MiU«r, Lord Olenlce. When mortally wounded in the attack on the Boia de Bossu, he desired to see the colours of the regiment once more ere he died. They were waved over his head, and the expiring officer declared himself satisfied.! s [" Colonel Cameron, of Faasiefem, so often distinguished in Lord Wellington's despatches from Spain, fell in the action at Qnatre Bras, (I6th June, '1816,) while leading the 9Sd, or Gordon Highlanders, to charge a body of cavalry, supported by infimtiy." —FauTt Letters.'] s LColonel the Honourable Sir Alexander Gordon, brother to the Earl of Aberdeen, who has erected a pillar on tiie spot wh«n h« fell by the side of the Duke of WeUington.1 P • 226 THB FIBLD OP WATBRtOO. 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 noUe grave. May Briton pass and fidl to crave A blessing on the fidlen brave Who fought with Wellington ! XXIII. Farewell, sad Field ! whose blighted fiice Wears desolation*s withering trace ; Long shall my memory retain Thy shattered huts and trampled gndn. With every mark of martial wrong. That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont P Yet though thy garden*s green arcade The marksman^s &tal post was made. Though on thy shattered beeches fiell The blended rage of shot and shell. Though from thy blackenM portals torn. Their &11 thy blighted fruit-trees mourn. Has not such havoc bought a name Immortal in the rolls of &me ? Yes — Agincourt may be foigot, And Cressy be an unknown spot, And Blenheim*s name be new ; But still in story and in song. For many an age remember*d long, ShaD live the towers of Hougomont, And Field of Waterloo. I See Appendbc, Not* S. [ 227 1 CONCLUSION. Stirn tide of human Time ! that lcnow*tt net rest, Bat, sweeping from the cradle to the tomh, Bear*st ever downward on thy dusky breast Successive generations to their doom ; While thy capadoos stream has equal room For the gay hark where Pleasured streamers sport. And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom. The iisher-flkiff, and haige that bears a court. Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port ;-.. Stem tide of Time ! through what mysterious change Of hope and fear hare our finH barics been driven ! For neVr, before, vicissitude so strange Was to one race of Adam*k oflBqiring given. And sure such Taried change of sea and heaven. Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe. Such fearful strife as that where we hare striven. Succeeding ages ne*er again shall know. Until the awful term when Thou shalt cease to flov. 228 TAB PISLD OP WATERLOO. Well haat tfaoa stood, mj Coimtiy ! — the biSTe fight Hast well maintainM thipoi^ good report and ill In thy jnst canse and in thy native mig^t. And in Heaven^ grace and jostice eonstant still ; Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill Of half the world against thee stood arrayed. Or when, with better views and fieer will. Beside thee Europe^s noblest drew the blade. Each emuloos in arms the Ocean Queen to aid. Well art thou now repaid — thongh slowly rose. And struggled long with mists thy blaze of fiune. While like the dawn that in the orient glows 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 Ihe wafry way, And washed in foemen^s gore unjust reproach away. Kow, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high. And bid the banner of thy Patron flow. Gallant Saint George, the flower of Chivalry, For thou hast &ced, like him, a dragoit foe. 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 Knigbt, Who quelled devouring pride, and vindicated right. Tet ^mid the confidence of just renown, Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired, 1 CMS.—" On th« broad ooesn fiist its Instra came.*l OONCLUSXON. 229 Write, Britain, write the moral leoon down : Tis not alone the heart with valour fired. The discipline bo dreaded and admired, In many a field of bloody conquest known ; — USach maj bj fiune be lured, by gold be hired^— Tifl constancy in the good cause alone. Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons hare won. [ 281 J APPENDIX TO THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. NOTB A. Uy Ouard—mjf Choten~-ckarffeJi>r France, France and Napoiean.^T, 21& The characteriitic obstinacy of Napoleon iros nerer more tullj displayed than in what we may be permitted to hope will prove the last of his fields. He would listen to no adrice, and allow of no obstacles. An eyewitness has giren the following account of his demeanour towards the end of the action : — " It was near seren o'clock ; Bonaparte, who till then had re- mained upon the ridge of the hill whence he could best behold what passed, contemplated with a stem countenance, the scene of this horrible slaughter. The more that obstacles seemed to mul- tiply, the more his obstinacy seemed to increase. He became in- dignant at these unforeseen difficulties ; and, far from fearing to push to extremities an army whose confidence in him was bound- less, he ceased not to pour down fresh troops, and to gire orders to.march forward— to chaxge with the bayonet— to carry by storm. He was repeatedly informed, from different points, that the day went against him, and that the troops seemed to be disordered ; to which he only replied, — ' Enrovant I Bn-avaiA I* ** One general seat to inform the Emperor that he was in a po- sition which he conld not maintain, because it was commanded bf 232 APPXNDUL TO a battery, and nqvetted to know, at the same time, in what way he ahonld protect his dlTidon firom the nuuderons fire of the EngUeh artillery. * Let him storm the battery,' replied Bona- parte, and tamed his back on the aide^e^samp who brought the message.**— UdoMom data BcOaOe de MoHt-SL-Jtan. Pur tm Timctn OaOaihrt. Paris^ 1815, 8to., p. ffl. KOTB B. Tht,fiae (Mr kader atmm'd to fkofv.— P. 813. It has been reported that Bonaparte chaiiged at the head of his guards, at the last period of this dreadftil conflict. This^ howerer, is not accurate. He came down indeed to a hollow part of the high road, leading to Charleroi, within less than a quarter of a mile of the fiurm of La Haye Sainte, one of the points most fiercely dis- puted. Here he harangued the guards, and informed them tliat his preceding operations had destroyed the British infantry and caralry, and that they had only to support the fire of the artillery, which they were to attack with the bayonet. This exhortation was received with shouts of Vive VBmperao't whidi were heard orer all our line, and led to an idea that Napoleon was charging in pMson. But the guards were led on by Ney : nor did Bonaparte approach nearer the scene of action than the spot already men- tioned, which the rising banks on each side rendered secure from all such balls as did not come in a straight line* He witnessed the earlier part of the battle from places yet more remote, particular- ly from an observatory which had been placed there by the King of the Netherlands, some weeks before, for the purpose of survey- ing the country.^ It is not meant to infer from these particulars that Napoleon showed, on that memorable occasion, the least de- ficiency in personal courage; on the contrary, he evinced the greatest composure and presence of mind during the whole action. But it is no leas true that report has erred in ascribing to him any desperate efforts of valour for recovery of the battle ; and it is remarkable, that during the whole carnage, none of bis suite were either killed or wounded, whereas scarcely one of the Duke of Wellington's personal attendants escaped unhurt. 1 The mistakes concerning this observatory have been mutual. The English supposed it was erected for the use of Bonaparte : and a French writer affirms it was constructed by the Duke of Wel- lington. \ TMI PIBLD OF WATERLOO. 233 Note C. -^fya Iky eko$m troctt lojkd The BriUth skodi qflaftWd tUd f — P. S17. No peTraaston or aathoritjr covld praTtil upon the Fronch troop* to stand the ahook of the bayonet. The Imperial Onardi^ in parti- colar, hardly itood till the British were within thirty yards of them, although the French author, already quoted, has put into thdr mouths the magnanimous sentiment, " The Ouards nerer yield— they die." The same author has corered the plateau, or eminence, of St. Jean, which formed the British portion, with re- doubts and intrendimeats which nerer laad an existence. As the nanatiTe, which is in many respects curious, was written by an eyewitness, he was probably deceired by the appearance of a road and ditch which run along part of the hilL It may be also men- tioned, in criticising this work, that the writer mentions the Cha- teau, of Hongomont to hare been carried by the Frendi, although it waa resolutely and suceessAilly defended during the whole ao* tion. The enemy, indeed, possessed themselres of the wood by which it is surrounded, and at length set fire to the house itself; but the British (a detachment of the Ouards, under the command of Colonel Maedonnel^ and afterwards of Colonel Home) made good the garden, and thus preaenred, by their desperate resistance, the post which covered the return of the Duke of Wellington's right NOTB D. And (mihtfiddhtlottwu laid AUkan'ir-^M. wA detpised.—P. 218. L" When the engagement was ended, it eridently appeared with what undaunted spirit and resolution Catiline's army had been fined : for the body of every one was found on that rery spot which, during the battle, he had occupied ; those only excepted who were forced from their posts by the Praetorian cohort ; and eren they, though they fell a little out of their ranks, were all wounded be- fore. Catiline himself was found, &r from his own men, amidst the dead bodies of the enemy, breathing a little, with an air of that fierceness still in his fisce which he had when alire. Finally, in all his army, there was not so much as one firee citiaen taken prisoner. 2S4 APPBNDtX TO TBI PIVLD OP WATSELOO. •tthMT in flM tnpigmmt or In ffight ; for they wpmnA. their own lirei at Utile ae thoee of the enony. The army of the repablic ob- tained the Hetoiy, indeed, Vnt tt waa neither a cheap nor a joyful ono, for their braveat men were either slain in battle or danger- onaly wonnded. Aa there were many, too, who went to view the field, either ovt of cuiinrity or a denre of phinder, in tnming orer the dead bodiea» aome fonnd a firiend, aome a relation, and aome a ipieat ; othen there were likewiae who diMOvered their enemies ; ao tiiat, throi^ the lAole army, there^i^iwaxed amixtnre of glad* neai and tonow, Joy and monndng.**— SalltotO Note E. — — — tkp UmerttJUr WmonmotA^—V. 8S6. L" Beyond these points the fig^t extended not. Small theatre for such a tragedy ! Its breadth scarce more, from eastern Popelot To where the groves of Hongomont on high Bear in the west their renerable head. And oorer with their shade the countless dead. " But wonldst thou tread this celebrated ground* And trace with undentanding eyes a scene Above all other fields of war renown'd» From westem Hougomontthy wny begin ; There was our strength on that side, and there first, In all its force, the storm of battle burst.**— Southxy. Mr. Southey adds, in a note on these verses: " So important a battle, perhaps, was never before fought within so small an extent of ground. I computed the distance between Hougomont and Popelot at three miles ; in a straight line it might probably not exceed two and a half. " Our guide was very much displeased at the name which the battle had obtained in England,—* Why call it the battle of Wa- terloo?* he said,—' Call it Hougomont, call it La Haye Saint, call it Popelot,— any thing but Waterloo."*— PiTtHum^ to Waterloo.] SONGS AND MISCELLANIES. [ 237 1 SAINT CLOUD. lParii» 6(h SepUmber, 1815.] 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 sighM, 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 cascade^ The glory of Saint Cloud. 238 80N08. 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 loyely note Fall light as summer dew, While through the moonless* air they float. Prolonged from &ir Saint Cloud. And sure a melody more sweet His waters neyer knew. Though mu8ic*B self was wont to meet With Princes at Saint Cloud. Nor then, with more delighted eax^ .{ The circle round her drew, 4 Than ours, when gathered round to hear i Our songstress' at Saint Cloud. Few happy hours poor mortals Then give those hours their due. And rank among the foremost class Our evenings at Saint Cloud. 1 [MS.— "Absence.-] * [MS.^" Midnight."] > [These lines ^rere written after an erening spent at Saint Cloud with the late Lady Alvanley and her daughters, one of whom was the songstress alluded to in the text] [ 239 ] ROMANCE OF DUNOIS. PROM THB FRBNCH. The ori(fmdl of ihia lUtU Romance makes pari of a manu- teript ooUection of French Songs, probably compiled by mmje young officer^ tehich was found on the Field of Waterloo, so much stained with day and toith blood, cu sufficiwUy to indicate what had been the fate of its late owner. The song is popular in France, and is rather a good specimen of the style of composition to which it be- longs. The trandatitm is strictly literal. ' It was Dunois, the young and braYe,wa8 bound for Pa- lestine, But 6rst he made his orisons before St. Maiy*s shrine : 1 [This ballad appeared in 1815, in Paul's Letters^ and in the Edinbuxgh Annual Register. It has since been set to music by O. P. Graham, Esq., in Mr Thomson's Select Melodies, dccQ * [The oxiginal romance^ " Partant pour la Syrie, Le Jenne et brare Ihmois," &c. was written, and set to music also, by Hortenae Beauhamois, Du- chesse do St. Leu, Bx-Queen of HoUimd.] 242 SONGS. *>Iid splintering lance and fidchion-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 valiant Troubadour." Alas ! upon the bloody field He fell beneath the foeman's glaive, fiat still reclining on his shield. Expiring sung the exulting stave :— - " My life it is my country's right, My heart is in my lady's bower ; For love and feme to fall in fight fiecomes the valiant Troubadour." FROM THE FRENCH.^ It chanced that Cupid on a season. By &ncy urged, resolved to wed. But could not settle whether Reason Or Folly should partake his bed. What does he then ? — Upon my life, Twas bad example for a deity — He takes me Reason for a wife. And Folly for his hours of gaiety. ^ [This trifle also is from the French Collection, fonnd at Wa- terloo.— See Paul's Letters.] THB RSSOLVJB. 248 Thou^ thus he dealt in petty treeson. He loved them both In equal measure ; Fidelity was bom of Season, And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure. THE RESOLVE.* IK IMITATTON OV AN OLD SKOLISH PO in a weekly sheet, called " The Sale Boom," conducted and publiBhed by Messrs. Ballantyne and Co., at Edinburgh. In a note prefixed, Mr. James Ballantyne says, " The character fixed upon, with happy proprie- ty, for Kemble's closing scene, was Macbeth, in which he took his final leare of Scotland on the evening of Saturday, the 29th March, 1817> He had laboured under a severe cold for a few days before, but on this memorable night the physical annoyance yielded to the energy of his mind. — ' He was,' he said, in the green-room, im- mediately before the curtain rose, * determined to leave behind him the most perfect specimen of his art which he had ever shown ;' and his success was complete. At the moment of the tyrant's death the curtain fell by the universal acclamation of the audience. The applauses were vehement and prolonged ; they ceased— were MR. KEMBLle^H PARBWBLL ADDRBSS. 255 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 gratitude? Ah, no ! the taper, wearing to its close. Oft for a space in fitAil 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 applause. To drain the dregs of your endurance dry. And take, as alms, the praise I once could buy ; Till every, sneering youth around inquires, ^ Is this the man who once could please our sires ?^* And scorn assumes compassion^s doubtful mien. To warn me off from the encumbered scene. This must not be ; — and higher duties crave Some space between the theatre and grave. That, like the Roman in the Capitol, I may adjust my mantle ere I fall ] My lifers brief act in public service flown. The last, the closing scene, must be my own. reaumed — rose again— were reiterated — and again were hush- ed. In a few miautes the curtain ascended, and Mr. Kemble came forward in the dress of Macbeth, (the audience by a con- sentaneous moyement rising to receive him,) to deliver his fare- well. -..--*' Mr. Kemble delivered these lines with exquisite beauty, and with an effect that was evidenced by the tears and sobs of many of the audience. His own emotidns were very conspicu- ous. When his farewell was closed, he lingered long on the stage, as if unable to retire. The house again stood up, and cheered him with the waving of hats and long shouts of applause. At length, he finally retired, and, in so far as regards Scotland, the curtain dropped upon his professional life for ever.**] 356 1II9CBLLANIX8. Here, then, adieu I while yet some weU-giaced parts Kay fix an ancient fiivourite in your hearts. Not quite to be foif;otten, even when You look on better actors, younger men : And if your boioms 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 fione ! How oft around your circle this weak hand Has waved immortal Shakspeare^s magic wand. Till the full burst of inspiration came. And I have felt, and you have fiinn^d the flame ! By memory treasured, while her reign endures. Those hours must live — and all their charms are yours. O fkvour^d Land ! renown'd 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 playM, my knell is rung. When e'en your praise falls faltering from my tongue ; And all that you can hear, or I can tell. Is— Friends and Patrons, hail, and parb yb well. *k I 257 ] EPILOGUE TO THE APPEAL,' 8POKBN By MRS. HBNRY 8IDDON8, Fbb. 16, 1816. A CAT of yore (or else old JEaojp lied) Was changed into a Sail and blooming bride, But spied a mouse upon her marriage-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 firom Hymen^s mystie knot made loose. He twisted round my sirens the literal noose. Such are the fruits of our dramatic lab«itr Since the New Jail became our next-door neighbour.' Yes, times are changed ; for, in your fathers^ age, The lawyers were the patrons of the stage ; I [" The Appeal,** a Tragedy, by John Gait, the celebrated au- thor of the *' AnnalB of the Parish,** and other Novels, was play- ed for four nights at this time in Edinbuigh.] ' It is necessary to mention, that the allusions in this piece are all local, and addressed only to the Edinburgh audience. The new prisons of the c|ty, en the Calton Hill, are not far from the theatre. R 258 However hig^ advanoed bj future fifte. There etands the bench (j)omti to lie FU) that first le- ceived their wei^t. The future I^^ nge, *twii8 omB to see. Doom though unwigg^d, and plead without a iSse. But now, astoondiDg each poor mimic elf. Instead of lawjers comes the hiw herself; Tremendous neighbour, on our right she dwelll^ Builds high her towers and ezcarates her cells ; While on the left, she agitates the town. With the tempestuous question. Up or down ? ^ Twist Scylla and Charybdis thus stand we, Law^s final end, and law's uncertainty. But, soft ; who lives at Rome the Pope must flatter. And jails and lawsuits are no jesting matter. Then — just &rewell ! 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. I At thii time, the public of Edinbnrgh wa> xnach agitated by a lawfnit betwixt the Magistrates and many of the Inhabitants of the City, concerning a range of new buildings on the western side of the North Bridge ; which the latter insisted should be removed as a deformity. [ 259 J EPILOGUE^ TO TBB DRAXIA WOUSDWD ON " BT. BONAN'S WSLL. [" After the phjf, ihe following hwnorout addreu {ascribed to an emineHt Uterary character) waa spoken tnih infinite efbet by Mr. Machay in ihe character ofNLeg Doddg.'*—. Edinburgh Weekly Journal^ 9th June 1824.] [Enter Mbo Dodds, encircled by a crowd of unruly boys, whom a town'e-ojioer is drimng oJ'J] Tbat^s light, friend — drive the gaitlings hack, And lend jon muckle ane a whack ; Your Embro* halms are grown a pack, Sae proud and saucy, They scarce will let an auld wife walk Upon your causey. I*ve seen the day they would been scaurM, Wi* the Tolbooth, or wi' the Guard, 1 [TUf and the three auoceediag piecei were firat collected in the edition of Sir Walter Scott'i Poetical Worki in 1834.1 960 uiacBLLANin. Or maybe wud hae some regard For Jamie Laing — ^ The Water-hole * was right weel wared On sic a gang. But wharfs the gude Tolbooth' gane now? Whar's the auld Claught,^ wi* red and blue ? Whar's Jamie Laing ? and whar's John Doo ?^ And wharfs the Weigb-house ?* Deil hae*t I see but what is new, Except the Playbouse ! Yoursells are changed frae head to heel, Theresa some that gar the causeway reel With clashing hufe and rattling wheel,* And horses canterin*, Wha^s fiithers daundered hame as weel Wi* lass and lantern. Mysell being in the public line, I look for howfis I kennM lang syne. 1 LJunc> Laing was one of the Depnte-Clerks of the city of Edinbnigh, and in his official connexion -with the Police and the C!ouncil-Chamber, his name was a constant terror to evil-doen. He died in February, 1806.] « [The Watch-hole,] s ["The Tolbooth of Edinhnigh, The Heart of Mid-Lothian, was pulled down in 1817.] 4 [The ancient Town Guard. The reduced remnant of this bodj of police was finally disbanded in 1817.1 s [John Doo, or Dhu— a tenifio-lookiDg uid high-spirited mem- ber of the Town Guard, and of whom thne is a print by Kaj, etched in 1784.] [The Weigh-house, situated at the head of the West Bow; Lawnmarket, and which had long been looked upon as an encum- brance to the street, was demolished in order to make way for tho royal procession to the Castle, which took place on the 32d oC August, 188S.1 V UKLOOUl TO ST. RONikN'8 WXLL. 261 Whar gentles used to drink gude wine, And eat cheap dinners ; But dell a soul gangs there to dine. Of saints or sinners ! Fortune*s^ and Hunter*s* gane, alas ! And Baylors' is lost in empty space ; And now if folk would splice a brace. Or crack a bottle, They gang to a new-fangled place They ca* a Hottle. The deevil hottle them for Meg ! They are sae greedy and sae gleg, That if ye^ served but wi* an egg, ^ (Andthat^s puir picking,) In comes a chiel and makes a log. And charges chicken I ^ And wha may he be,** gin ye speer, **' That brings your auld-warld dareis here ? " 1 [Fortune's TaTem— a house e seen wonders mair uncouth ; Yet actoiB shoudna suffer drouth. Or want of dramock. Although they speak but wi* their mouth. Not with their stamock. But ye take care of a* folk^s pantry ; And surely to hae stooden sentry Ower this big house, (that^s far frae rent-free,) For a lone sister, Is claims as gude^s to be a yentri— HowHi ca*d — loquister. Weel, sirs, gude^en, and have a caie. The bairns mak fun o* Meg nae mair ; For gin they do, she tells you fair. And without failzie. As sure as ever ye sit there, She*ll teU the BaUie. 1 [Mr. Wm. Murray became maDBser of the Edinburgh Theatro in 1815.] [ 263 ] epilogue; Thb sages— for authority, pray, look Seneca*s morals, or the copy-book — The sagefl to disparage woman^s power, Say, beauty is a &ir, but fading flower v— I cannot tell— I>e small philosophy— Yet, if it fades, it does not surely die, But, like the Tiolet, when decayed in bloom, Survives through many a year in rich perfume. Witness our theme to-night, two ages gone, A third wanes fast, since Mary fiird the throne. Brief was her bloom, with scarce one sunny day, *Twixt Pinkie's field and fatal Fotheringay : But when, while Scottish hearts and blood you boast, Shall sympathy with Mary*s woes be lost P O'er Mary's mem'ry the leam'd quarrel. By Mary's grave the poet plants his laiuel. Time's echo, old tradition, makes her name The constant burden of his faulting theme ; In each old hall his grey-hair'd heralds tell Of Mary's picture, and of Mary's cell. I [" I recovered the above with Mme difficulty. I beliere it was never flpoken, but written for aome play, afterwards withdrawn, in which Mn. H. Slddona wae to hare spoken it in the character of Qneen Uaiy.**^Exiract from a Letter qf Sir FFaUer Scott to Mr. Qjmuau, 22d October, 1884.3 264 And show— my fiqgen tbg^e at the thoQg^it— . The loads of tapestiy which that pow Queen wrought. In TBin did &te bestow a doable dower Of ew*rj ill that waits on rank and pow% Of eT^ ill on beaaty that attends— False ministerB, fidse loTeis, and fidse friends. Spite of three wedlocks bo completely cunt, They roM in ill from bad to worse, and worrt. In spite of eirors — ^I dare not say more. For Duncan Targe lays hand on his claymore. In spite of all, however humouis yaiy. There is a talisman in that word Maiy, That unto Scottish bosoms all and some Is found the genuine open tesamwn ? In history, ballad, poetry, or novel. It charms alike' the castle and the hovel. Even you— foigive me — who, demure and shy, Goige not each bait, nor stir at every fly. Must rise to this, else in her ancient reign The Rose of Scotland has survived in vain. INSCRIPTION rOk THB MONUMSNT OF THS RSV. OBOROS tCOTT.! To youth, to age, alike, this tablet pale Tells the brief moral of its tragic tale. 1 [This yoang gentleman, a son of the Author*! friend and rela« tion, Hugh Scott of Harden, Esq., became Rector of Kentisbeare, in Deyonshire, in I8S8, and died there the 9th June, 1830. TUg epitaph appears on his tomb in the chancel there.] THN BANNATVNB CLUB. 265 Art thou a parent ? Reverence thii bier. The parents* fondest hopes lie buried here. Art thou a youth, prepared on life to start. With opening talents and a generous heart. Fair hopes and flattering prospects all thine own ? Lo ! here their end — a monumental stone. But let submission tame each sorrowing thought, Heaven crowned its champion ere the flght was fought. THE BANNATYNE CLUB.» I. 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. II. And first, Allan Ramsay, was eager to glean From Baamat3me*s Hortus his bright Evergreen ; Two light little voliunes (intended for four) Still leave us the task to print one volume more. One volume more, &c. 1 [Sir Walter Scott wu the fint Pretideni of the Club, and wrote these reoM for the anniTersary dinner of March, 1823.] 266 IIL His wajB wen not oon, 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 Tolnme more. One Tolnme more, Ac IV. Correct and sagacious, then came my Lord Hailes, And weighed every letter in critical scales. But left out some brief words, which the prudish abhor. And castrated Banny in one rolume more. One volume more, my fiiendi, one volume more ; Well restore Banny^ manhood in one volume more. V. John Pinkerton next, and I^ truly concerned I can't call that worthy so candid as learned ; He rail'd at the plaid and blasphemed the dajrmore. And set Scots by the ears in his one volume more. One volume more, my firiends, one volume more, Celt and Goth shall be pleased with one volume more. VI. As bitter as gall, and as sharp as a razor, And feeding on herbs as a Nebuchadneisar ;^ His diet too add, his temper too sour. Little Ritson came out with his two volumes more.* 1 [In aocordonoe with bis own regimen, Mr. Bition published a ▼olume entitled *' An Essay on Abstinence fxom Animal Food aa a Moral Duty. 1802."] > [See an account of the Metrical Aatiquaiiaa Beseaiches of THB BANNATYNS CLUB. 267 But one volume, my friends, one volume mora, Well dine on roast-beef and pzint one volume more. VIL The stout Gothic yeditur, next on the roll,^ With his beard like a brash, and as black as a coal ; And honest Greysteel* that was trae to the cora. Lent their hearts and their hands each to one volume more. One volume mora, &c. VIII. Since by these single champions what wonders wera done. What may not be achieved by our Thirty and One ? Law, GkMspel, and Commerce, we count in our corps, And the Trade and the Press join for one volume more. One volume more, &c. IX. Ancient libels and contraband books, I assure ye. Well print as secure from Exchequer or Jury ; Then hear your Committee and let them count o*er The duels they intend in their three volumes more. Three volumes more, &c. Pinkerton, Bitson, and Herd, Sec in the introductory Bemarkt on Popular Poetry prefixed to the first volnme of the Border Min- strelsy.! 1 [James Sibbald. editor of Scottish Poetry, Ac, *• The Yedi. tar," was the name given him by the late Lord Eldin, then Mr. John Clerk, adrocate. The desnlption of him here is rery accu- rate.] ' [Darid Herd, editor of Songs and Historical Ballads. S rols- He was called Oreysteel by his intimates, from haTing been iQng tn unsncc cs s flU quest of the rpmanoe of that name. Thajrll prodnee jaa King Jamie, the s^ient and Sext, Aad the Bob of DornhfaBie and hcrBishoiio eome next ; One tome mkeeUaneoai thejll add to joor atore, 'Rmohnag next year to pnnt four Tofamiea more. Four Tolomea mofe» my fioenda, fear Tolmnes Pay down your snbacriptions for ionr Tolomcs more.* 1 [TUsCl«bwMfaittitatediiitliejcarl«;f»rtlie]Mli]ieatioii •r reptiat of van and cnicNW wwto cotmfff cd. wiflt tha histoiy and aattqoitlMafSeoUaiid. It emuMted, aft lint, of a vaiy few mem- beii^--fradiiaOj eztaaded to one handled, aft vlueh nnmber it has BOW Bade a final paaee. ThejaMomethenameoftheBannatyne Clab ftom GeoivB Baanatjne. of whom litUe is known beyond that pnid%kNi8 cfint which prodaocd his present honooxa, and is, peihapsb one of the most singular instances of its kind which the Uteiatare of any co untr y exhibits. His labours as an amaaaensis were undertaken duing the time of pestilenoe, in 1566. Thedicad of infection had indnosd him to retire.into sohtnde, and nnder each drcumstanocs he had the eneigy to form and execute the plan of saTing the liteiataie of the whole nation ; and, nndistaib- edby the general mourning for the dead, and general fears of the liTing; to derote himself to the task of collecting and recording the triumphs of human genius in the poetry of his age and country ; — thus, amid the wreck of all that was mortal, employing himself in presenring the lays by which immortality is at once g^ren to otbefs, and obtained for the writer himself He informs ns of some of the numerous difiBculties he had to contend with in this self-imposed task. The rolume containing his labours, deposited in the Library of the Faculty of Adrocates at Edinbuigh, is no leas than eight hundred pages in length, and rery neatly and closely written, containing nearly all the ancient poetry of Scothuid now known to exist. ., ^Jl5^!^***»»» association, which boasts sereral names of dis- *r?i^i *? '"*"* ""^^ *ad talent, has assumed rather a broader lonnoauon than the parent society, the Roxburghe Club in Lon- don, wnicn. In its plan, being restzloted to the reprinting of single *3SU« 1****^*^ at the expense of an individual member, it TOiiows as almost a necensary consequence, that no volume of con- THB BANNATYNS CLUB. 269 aiderable sise has emanated from it, and its range has been thus far limited in point of utility. The Bannatyne, holding the same system with respect to the ordinuy species of Club reprints, le- -vies, moreorer, a fund among its members of about ^'500 a-year, expressly to be applied for the editing and printing of works of ac- knowle^^^ importance, and likely to be attended with expense beyond the reasonable bounds of an indiridual's contribution. In this way either a member of the Club, or a competent person nn« der its patronage, superintends a particular rolnme, or set of to- lumes. Upon these occasions, a rery moderate number of copies are thrown o£f for general sale ; and those belonging to the Club are only distinguished from the others by being printed on the paper, and ornamented with the decorations, peculiar to the SO" ciety. In this way sereral useful and eminently raluable works hare recently been giren to the public for the first time, or at least with a degree of accuracy and authenticity which they had uerer before a.ttaiaed.—Abridffed/irom the Quarteriy Beview^Anr. Pit eaim'i Ancient Criminal Trials. February, 1831.3 [ 271 ] BALLADS PROM THE GERMAN. WILLIAM AND HELEN. [1796.1] lUlTATED WnOU THS "LXKOBA " OW BUROSB. Thb Author had resolved to omit the following ver- lion of a well-known Poem, in any collection which he might make of his poetical trifles. But the publishers having pleaded for its admission, the Author has con- sented, though not unaware of the disadvantage at which this youthful essay (for it was written in 1795) must appear with those which have been executed by much more able hands, in particular that of Mr. Taylor of Norwich, and that of Mr. Spencer. 1 [Thb Chasb, and William akd Hblbn ; Two BalladB, firom the Oennon of Oottfiried Augnstus BQiiger. Edinburgh : Print- ed by MiindeU and Son, Boyal Bank Close, for Manners and Mil- ler, Parliament Square ; and sold by T. Cadell, Jnnr., and W. Dayies, in the Strand, London. 1796. 4to.— See " Enay on Imi- tations of the Ancient Ballad," in Border Mint¥nUift ^ the pre- sent edition, toL ir. pp. fiff-€B.l 272 BALLADS. The following Translation was written long before the Author saw any other, and originated in the following circumstances: — A lady of high rank in the literary world read this romantic tale, as translated by Mr. Taylor, in the house of the celebrated Professor Dugald Stewart of Edinburgh. The Author was not present, nor indeed in Edinburgh at the time ; but a gentlenuui who had thepleasureof hearingtheballad, afterwards told him the story» and rejieated the remarkable chorus — 4 '* Trsmp I tramp ! acron the land fhey ipeede, Splaah I splash ! across the sea ; Hurrah ! The dead can ride apace ! Dost fear to ride with me ?** In attempting a translation then intended only to cir- culate among friends, the present Author did not hesi- tate to make use of this impressive stanza ; for which freedom he has since obtained the forgiveness of the in- genious gentleman to whom it properly belongs. [ 278 ] WILLIAM AND HELEN. I. Fbom heavy dreams fiiir Helen rose. And eyed the dawning red : " Alas, my love, thou tairiest long ! O art thou false or dead ?'^— II. With gallant Frederick's princely power He sought the bold Crusade ; But not a word from Judah's wars Told Helen how he sped. III. With Paynim and with Saracen At length a truce was made. And ev*ry knight returned to dry The tears his love had shed. IV. Our gallant host was homeward bound With many a song of joy ; Green waved the laurel in each plume. The badge of victory. 274 BALLADS FROlf THK GEEMAN. V. And old and young, and aire and ion, To meet them crowd the way. With shoati, and mirth, and melody. The debt of love to pay. VI. Full many a maid her true-lo?e met. And Bobb 'd in his embrace, And flatfring joy in teats and smiles Anray'd foil many a fece. VII. Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad ; She sought the host in Tain : For none could tell her William's fete, If feithless, or if slain. VIII. The martial band is pest and gone ; She rends her raven hair. And in distraction*s bitter mood She weeps with wild despair. IX. **' O rise, my chiJd,'' her mother nid, ** Nor sorrow thus in vain ; A perjured lover's fleeting heart No tears recall again/* X. " O mother, what is gone, is gone. What's lost for ever lorn : Death, death alone can comfort me •, O had I ne'er been bom ! HraLIAM AND HKLBN. 275 XI. **• break, my heart, O break at once ! Drink my life-blood, Despair I No joy remainB on earth for me, For me in heaven no ihare.**— XII. ** O enter not in judgment. Lord ! ^ The piouB mother prays ; ** Impute not guilt to thy frail child ! She knows not what ^e says. XIII. ** O say thy pater noster, child ! O turn to Gk>d and grace ! His will, that tumM thy bliss to bale, Can change thy bale to bliss.**— XIV. «• O mother, mother, what is bliss ? O mother, what is bale ? My William^B love was heayen on earth. Without it earth is helL XV. ^ Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven, Since my loved William*s slain ? I only prayM for William's sake. And all my prayers were vain.**— XVI. ** O take the sacrament, my child. And check these tears that flow ; By re8ignation*s humble prayer, O hallow*d be thy woe ! **— 276 BALLADS PROM THl GERMAN. XVII. ** No jacnonent can quench this fiie. Or dake this scorching pain : No sacrament can bid the dead Arise and liye again. XVIII. ** O break, my heart, O break at once ! Be thou my god, Despair ! HeaTen*s heaviest blow has &llen on me. And vain each firoitless prayer.** — XIX. *^ O enter not in judgment. Lord, With thy fraU child of clay I She knows not what her tongue has spoke ; Impute it not, I pray I XX- ^ Forbear, my child, this desperate woe, And turn to Qod and grace ; Well can devotion*s heavenly glow Convert thy bale to bliss.** — XXI. M O mother, mother, what is bliss ? O mother, what is bale ? Without my William what were heaven. Or with him what were hell ?** — XXII. Wild she arraigns the eternal doom. Upbraids each sacred power, Till, spent, she sought her silent room. Ail in the lonely tower. WILLIAM AND HSLBN. 277 XXIII. She beat her breast, she wrung her hands. Till lun and day were o*er. And through the glimmering lattice shone The twinkling of the star. XXIV. Then, crash I the heavy drawbridge fell That o'er the moat was hung ; And, clatter I clatter ! on its boards The hoof of courser rung. XXV. The clank of echoing steel was heard As off the rider bounded ? And slowly on the winding stair A heavy footstep sounded. XXVI. And hark I and hark I a knock — Tap ! tap ! A rustling stifled noise v— Door-latch and tinkling staples ring ; — At length a whispering voice. XXVII. ** Awake, awake, arise, my love ! How, Helen, dost thou &re ? Wak*st thou, or sleep'st ? laughs thou, or weep'st ? Hast thought on me, my fiur ?** — XXVIIL ^ My love ! my love ! — so late by night ! — I waked, I wept for thee : Much have I borne since dawn of mom ; Where, tVUliam, could'st thou be?"— 278 BALLADS FBOM THX OSRHAN. XXIX. ** We nddle late— from Hmigaiy I rode sinoe daiknesB fell ; And to its bourne we both retain Before the matin belL"— - ** O rest this nig^t within my aims, And warm thee in their fold ! Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind :.- My lore is deadly cold.*^ XXXI. *^ Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush ! This night we must away ; The steed is wight, the spur is bright ; I cannot stay till day. XXXII. ** Busk, busk, and boune ! Thou mountVt behind Upon my black barb steed : O^er stock and stile, a hundred miles, We haste to bridal bed."— XXXIII. ** To-night— 4o-night a hundred miles !— O dearest William, stay ! The bell strikes twelre — dark, dismal hour ! O wait, my love, till day !**— . XXXIV. ** Look here, look here — ^the moon shines deer- Full &st I ween we ride ; Mount and away I for ere the day We reach our bridal bed. WZLLZAM AND HSLIN. 279 XXXV. *< The black baib morta, the biidle rings ; Haste, biuk, and boune, and seat thee I The feast is made, the chamber spread. The bridal guests await thee.**— XXXVI. Strong loTC preyailM : She busks, she bounes. She mounts the barb behind, And round her darling William^ waist Her lily anns she twined. XXXVII. And, hurry! hurry 1 off they rode, As fast as &8t might be ; Spum'd from the courser^s thundering heels The flashing pebbles flee. XXXVIII. And on the right, and on the left. Ere they could snatch a view. Fast, fiist each mountain, mead, and plain. And cot, and castle, flew. XXXIX. ** Sit fkst— dost fear ?— The moon shines clear-* Fleet goes my barb^— keep hold I Fear*St thou ?'*— «" O no I** she £untly said ; ^ But why so stem and cold ? XL. *^ What yonder rings ? what yonder sings ? Why shrieks the owlet gmy ?'*— Tis death-bells' clang, *tis funeral song. The body to the clay. M 280 BALLAD* FROM THX OBaCAK. XLL ** With song and clang, at moDoir's dawn^ Ye may inter the dead : To-night I ride, with my yomig bride. To deck our bridal bed. XLII. ** Come with thy choir, thou ooffin'd guest. To swell our nuptial song I Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast ! Come all, come all along !"«. XLIII. Ceased ching and song ; down sunk the bier ; The shrouded corpse arose : And, hurry I hurry ! all the train The thundering steed pursues. XLIV. And, forward ! forward ! on they go ; High snorts the straining steed ; Thick pants the rider^s labouring breath. As headlong on they speed. XLV. « O William, why this savage haste ? And where thy bridal bed ?*^— ^ *Ti8 distant far, low, damp, and chill, And narrow, trustless maid.*' XLVI. " No room for me ?" — « Enough for both ; Speed, speed, my barb, thy course !" — 0*er thundering bridge, through boiling surge. He drove the furious horse. WILLIAM AND HKLKN. 281 XLVII. Tramp I tramp ! along the land they rode, Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; The sconige is wight, the spur is bright, The flashing pebbles flee. XLVIII. Fled past on right and left how fiwt Each forest, grove, and bower ! On right and left fled past how &st Each city, town, and tower ! XLIX. ** Dost fear ? dost fear ? The moon shines clear, Dost fear to ride with me ? — Hurrah ! hurrah ! the dead can ride !** — «« O William, let them be !_ L. *' See there, see there ! What yonder swings And creaks *mid whistling rain ?** — ** Gibbet and steel, th* accursed wheel ; A murderer in his chain. — LI. "^ Hollo ! thou felon, follow here : To bridal bed we ride ; And thou shalt prance a fetter dance Before me and my bride.** — * LII. And, hurry ! hurry ! clash, dash, clash ! The wasted form descends ; And fleet as wind through hazel bush The wild career attends. 282 BALLADS nU>M TBS 6XBMAN. LIIL Tramp! tnmip! along the land they rode, Spladi! qplaah! along the sea ; Hie soomge is led, the tpm drops Uood, The flashing pebUes flee; LIV. How fled what moonshine fiuntly ahowM ! How fled what darlmeBB hid ! How fled the eartti beneath theii feet. The heayen aboTe their head ! LV. ** Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines clear. And well the dead can ride ; Does feithful Helen fear for them ?*'^ ** O leaye in peace the dead !**<— LVI. ** Barb ! barb I methinks I hear the cock ; The Band will soon be run : Barb ! barb ! I smell the morning air ; The race is wellnigh done.*^ — LVII. Tramp I tramp I along the land they rode, Splash I splash! along the sea; The scouige is red, the spur drops blood. The flashing i>ebbles flee. LVIII. - ** Hurrah ! hurrah ! well ride the dead ; The bride, the bride is come ; And soon we reach the bridal bed. For, Helen, here's my home."— WILLIAM AND HELEN. 283 LIX. Reluctant on its rusty hinge RevoWed an iron door, And \iy the pale moon*s setting beam Were seen a church and tower. LX. With many a shriek and cry whiz round The birds of midnight scared ; And rustling like autumnal leaves XJnhallowM ghosts were heard. LXI. O'er many a tomb and tombstone pale He spurred the fiery horse, Till sudden at an open grave He checked the wondrous course. LXII. The felling gauntlet quits the rein, Down drojMB the casque of steel. The cuirass leaves his shrinking side. The spur his gory heeL LXIII. The eyes desert the naked scull, The mouldering fle^ the bone^ Till Helena lily aims entwine A ghastly skeleton. LXIV. The fiirious barb snorts fire and foam. And, with a fearful bound. Dissolves at once in empty aii^ And leaves her on the ground. 284 BALLADS reOM THX OBUCAN. LXV. Half wen by fito, by fits half head. Pale spectres flit along, Wheel round the maid in dismal dance. And howl the fimeial song ; LXVI. ** £*en when the heart's with anguish cleft, Beyero the doom of Heaven. Her soul is from her body reft ; Her spirit be foigiyen ! '* FREDERICK AND ALICE. [1801.] T&u tale it imitated, rather than transkUed from a/ra^ merit introduced in GiB0ui*t ** Claudina von Yilla Bella,** where it w tung ht/ a member of a gang o/ban- dUH, to engage the attention o/the/amUy^ while hie com- panioni break into the eaeUe, It owes €my little merit it ma^poseeet to m/g friend BCr. Lbwis, to whom it woe went Ml an extremdg rude Hate ; and who, afUr wm» material tmprovements, published it in his ^ Tales of Wonder." FamiEXCK leaves the land of France, Homeward hastes his steps to measure. FRXDSllICK AND ALICK. 285 Careless' casts the parting glance On the scene of former pleasure. Joying in his pnmcing steed. Keen to proTe his untried blade, Hope^s gay dreams the soldier lead Over mountain, moor, and glade. Helpless, ruin*d, left forlorn, Lovely Alice wept alone ; Mourned o'er love's fond contract torn, Hope, and peace, and honour flown. Mark her breast's convulsive throbs ! See, the tear of angin'sh flows ?^ Mingling soon with bursting sobs. Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. Wild she cursed, and wild she pray'd ; Seven long days and nights are o'er ; Death in pity brought his aid. As the village bell struck four. Far from her, and &r from France, Faithless Frederick onward rides ; Marking, blithe, the morning's glance Mantling o'er the mountain's sides. ' Heard you 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 snuflk the air. Yet no cause of dread appears ; 286 BALLAM FBOM THS GWBUAW. Brifltlet high Che ikter'k hair. Struck with itniige mpibaaoaB feen. Desperate, as his taroTB rise. In the steed the spnr he hide9 ; From himself in vain he flies ; Anxious, lestlesi, en he rides. Seyen long dajrs, and teTen long nights, Wild he wandered, woe the while ! Ceaseless care, and causeless fijght. Urge his footsteps many a mile. . Dark the seventh sad night descends ; Riven swell, and niin-streams pour ; While the deafening thunder lends All the teiTors of its roar. Weary, wet, and spent with toil. Where his head shall Frederick hide ? Where, hut in yon ruined aisle. By the lightning^ flash descried. To the portal, dank and low, Fast his steed the wanderer hound : 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 before. PRBDBRICK AND ALICX. 287 Till they rest their g^hastly gleam Right agaiiut an iron door. Thundering voices from within, Mix^d with peals of laughter, rose ; As they fell, a solemn strain Lent its wild and wondrous close ! Midst the din, he seem'd to hear Voice of friends, by death removed ; — Well he knew that solemn air, Twas the lay that Alice loved Hark I for now a solemn knell Four times on the still night broke : Four times, at its deadened swell. Echoes from the ruins spoke. As the lengthen^ clangours 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 ! Alice, in her grave-clothes bound, Ghastly smiling, points a seat ; All arose, with thundering sound ; All the expected stranger greet. High their meagre aims they wave. Wild their notes of welcome swell ;— 288 BALLADS FROM THB GERMAN. « Welcome, traitor, to the grave ! Perjured, bid the light ferewell ! 11 THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. C1818.] Thbse verses are a literal translation of an ancient Swiss ballad upon the Battle of Sempach, fought 9th July, 1386, being the victory by which the Swiss can- tons established their independence ; the author, Albert Tchudi, denominated the Souter, from his profession of a shoemaker. He was a citizen of Lucerne, esteemed highly among his coimtrymen, both for his powers as a Meister-Singer, or minstrel, and his courage as a sol- dier; so that he might share the praise conferred by Collins on iEschylus, that — " Not alone he nursed the poet's flame. But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot steeL" The circumstance of their being written by a poet re- turning from the well-fought field he describes, and in which his country*s fortune was secured; may confer on Tchudi*s verses an Interest which they are not entitled to claim from their ^poetical merit But ballad poetry, the more Hterally it is translated, the more it loses its simplicity, without acquiring either grace or strength ; and therefore some of the faults of the verses must be BATTLB OP 8EMPACH. 289 imputed to the translator's feeling it a duty to keep as closely as possible to his original. The various puns, rude attempts at pleasantry, and disproportioned epi- sodes, must be set down to Tchudi's account, or to the taste of his age. The military antiquary will derive some amusement from the minute particulars which the martial poet has recorded. The mode in which the Austriui men-at- arms received the charge of the Swiss, was by forming a phalanx, which they defended with their long lances. The gallant Winkelreid, who sacrificed his own life by rushing among the spears, clasping in his arms as many as he could grasp, and thus opening a gap in those iron battalions, is celebrated in Swiss history. When fairly mingled together, the unwieldy length of their weapons, and cumbrous weight of their defensive armour, render- ed the Austrian men-at-arms a very unequal match for the light-armed mountaineers. The victories obtained by the Swiss over the Grerman chivalry, hitherto deem- ed as formidable on foot as on horseback, led to impor- tant changes in the art of war. The poet describes the Austrian knights and squires as cutting the peaks from their boots ere they could act upon foot, in allusion to an inconvenient piece of foppery, often mentioned in the middle ages. Leopold III., Archduke of Austria, called ^ The handsome man-at-arms,*' was slain in the Battle of Sempach, with the flower of his chivalry. [ 290 J THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH.* 'TwAS when among our linden-trees The bees had housed in swarms, (And grey-hair*d peasants say that these Betoken foreign arms,) Then k)ok*d we down to Willisow, 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, " On Switzer carles well trample now, And slay both yoimg and old/* With clarion loud and banner proud. From Zurich on the lake. In martial pomp and fair array. Their onward march they make. ** Now list, ye lowland nobles all — Ye seek the mountain strand, 1 [T\^iB translation firat appeared in Blackwood's Edinburgh Ma. gaune for February 1818.— Eo.l i BATTLE OF 8BMPACH. 291 Nor wot ye what shall be your lot In such a dangerous land. " I rede ye, shrive ye of your sins. Before ye farther go ; A skirmish in Helvetian bills 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 HeUl lay his hand of steel And with his trusty partisan Your absolution deal." — Twas on a Monday morning then. The com 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 joinM ; The pith and core of manhood stem. Was none cast looks behind. It was the Lord of Hare-castle, And to the Duke he said, '* Yon little band of brethren tme Will meet us undismayed." — All the Swim clergy who were able to bear arms fought in this patriotic war. 292 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. ^ O Hare-GaBtle,^ thou heart of hare ! '' Fierce Oxenstem he cried^— ** Shalt Bee then how the game will fare,*^ The taunted knight replied. There was lacing then of helmets bright. And closing ranks amain ; The peaks they hew^d from their boot-points Might wellnigh load a wain.' And thus they to each other said, ^ Yon handful down to hew Will be no boastful tale to tell, The peasants are so few.^ — The gallant Swiss Confederates there They pray'd to God aloud, And he displayed his rainbow fair Against a sraihy cloud. Then heart and pulse throbbM 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 ; 1 In the original, Houuenttein, or Hare-tUme. » This seems to allude to the preposterous fashion, during the middle ages, of wearing boots with the points or peaks turned up- wards, and «o long, that in some cases they were &8tened to the knees of the wearer with small chains. When they alighted to fight upon foot, it would seem that the Austrian gentlemen found it necessary to cut off these peaks, that they might moTe with the necessary activity. a A pun on the Archduke's name, Leopold. BATTLB OP ftSMPACH. 293 , I And ball, and shaft, and crossbow bolt. Went whistling forth like hail. Lance, pike, and halbert, mingled there. The game was nothing sweet ; The boughs of many a stately tree Lay shiver'd at their feet The Austrian men-at-arms stood fkst. So close their spears they laid ; It chafed the gallant Winkelreid, Wlio to his comrades said— '^ I have a yirtuous wife at home, A wife and in&nt son ; I leave them to my country *s carcy— This field shall soon be won. " 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 ; 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. 294 BALLiDA FROM THB GERMAN. And the four forest cautons freed From thraldom by his blood. Bight where his chaige had made a lane. His yaliant comrades burst. With sword, and axe, and partisan. And hack, and stab, and thrust. The daunted Lion *gan to whine. And granted ground amain. The Mountain BuU* he bent his brows, And gored his sides again. Then lost was banner, spear, and shield, At Sempach in the fiight. The cloister vaults at Konigsfield Hold many an Austrian knight. It was the Archduke Leopold, So lordly would he ride, But he came against the Switzer churls. And they slew him in his pride. The heifer said unto the bull, « And shall I not complain ? There came a foreign nobleman To milk me on the plain. « One thrust of thine outrageous horn Has gaird the knight so sore, That to the churchyard he is borne To range our glens no more.' i» » A pun on the Ubus or, wild-bull, which gives name to the Canton of Uri. i BATTLE OF SBMPACH. 295 An Austrian noble left the stour, And iast the flight 'gan take *, And he arrived in luckless hour At Sempach on the lake. He and his squire a fisher caird, (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, His shallop to the shore he steer'd, And took the flyers in. And while against the tide and wind Hans stoutly row^d 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. He 'whelmM the boat, and as they strove. He stunnM them with his oar, ** Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs, You^ll 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.'* 296 BALLADS FBOM THB GUUf AN. It was a m^senger of woe Has sought the Austrian land : *^ Ah I gracious lady, evil news ! My lord lies on tiie strand. ** At Sempacb, on the battle-field. His bloody corpse lies there/' — ** Ah, gracious Grod ! ** the lady cried, ** What tidings of despair ! M Now would you know the minstrel wight, Wlio sings of strife so stem, Albert the Souter is he bight, A burgher of Lucerne. A merry man was he, I wot. The night he made the lay. Returning from the bloody spot. Where God had judged the day. [ 297 ] THE NOBLE MORINGER, AW anchmt ballad. TBAmLATCD FBOM THB eSBMAN. [1819.1] Thb original of these yenes occurs in a collection of German popular songs, entitled, Sammlung Deutschen Volkslieder, Berlin, 1807, published bj Messrs. Bus- ching and Von der Hagen, both, and more especiaUj the last, distinguished for their acquaintance with the ancient popular poetry and legendary history of Ger- many. In the German Editor^s notice of the ballad, it is stated to have been extracted firom a manuscript Chro- nicle of Nicolaus Thomann, chaplain to Saint Leonard in Weisenhom, which bears the date 1533 ; and the song is stated by the author to have been generally 1 [The translation of the Noble Moxinger appeared originally in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 18l«, (pmUhed in 1819.) It traa composed during Sir Walter Scott's seyere and alarming ill- ness of April 1819, and dictated, in the intenrals of exquisite pain, to his daughter Sophia, and his friend William Laidlaw.— Ed.") V 298 BALLADS FROM TH« GERMAN. muig in the neighbourhood at that cBxly penod. Tho- mafn, as qnoted by the German E» fore- THE NOBLB MORINOER. 301 VII. ** Now hear,** he said, ^ Sir Chamberlain, true vaasal 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*8 fiuth till I return again." VIII. The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily said he, ** Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and take this rede from me ; That woman^s faith*s a brittle trust— Seven twelve- months didst thou say ? Ill pledge me for no lady*6 truth beyond the seventh fair day.'* IX. The noble Baron tum*d him round, his heart was full of care, His gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he waa Mantetteii*b heir. To whom he spoke right anxiously, ** Thou trusty squire to me. Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when I am o*er the sea? X. ^ To watch and ward my castle strong, and to protect my land. And to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal band ; 302 JtALLAOR mOM THB GERMAN. Ajid pledge thee for mj Lady^s fidth, till seven long yean are gone. And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by Saint John." XI. Mantetten^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 yoiur journey wend, And trust this chaige to me untU your pilgrimage have end. XII. " 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 £uth, so virtuous and so dear, I'll gage my head it knows no change, be absent thirty year." XIII. The noble Moringer took cheer when thus he heard him speak, And doubt forsook his troubled brow, and sorrow left his cheek ; A long adieu he bids to aU — hoist topsails, and away. And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelvemonths and a day. THB NOBLE liORINOBR. 303 XIV. 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, " Tis time, Sir Knight, to wake. Thy lady and thy heritage another master take. XV. • *' Thy tower another banner knowi, 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 &,ir. This night within thy fiither's hall she weds Mazstetten's heir." XVI. It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his beard, ** Oh would that I had ne^er been bom ! 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. XVII. *' O good Saint Thomas, hear,** he pray*d, ^ my patron Saint art thou, A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my vow ! My wife he brings to in&my that was so pure of name. And I am far in foreign land, and must endure the shame.** 804 BALLADS FBOM THS OS1UiA.N. XVIII. It wu the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard his pil- grim^ prajer. And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o^eipowerM his care; He waked in fiiir Bohemian hmd outstretched beside a rilU High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill. XIX. The Moringer he started up as one from spell unbound, And dixsy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all aroimd ; ** I know my fother^s ancient towers, the mill, the stream I know. Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheered his pil- grim^s woe ! '* XX. He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and to the mill he drew. So altered was his goodly form that none their master knew; The Baron to the miller said, ** Good friend, for charity. Tell a poor pahner in your land what tidings may there be?" XXI. The miller answered him again, <* He knew of little news. Save that the Lady of the land did a new brid^;room choose; Her husband died in distant land, such is the constant word. His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy Lord. THB NOBLX MOMNOBR. 805 XXII. ** Of him I held the iittie mill which wins me living free, God rest the Baron in bis grave, he still was kind to me ! And when Saint Martinis tide comes romid, and millers take their toll, The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both cope and stole.** XXIII. It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began. And stood before the bolted gate a woe and weary man *, ** Now help me, every saint in heaven that can compas- sion take, To gain the entrance of my hall this woful match to break." XXIV. His very knock it sounded sad, his call wafi 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 harbour for a day. XXV. ^ I*ve wandered many a weary step, my strength is well- nigh done. And if she turn me from her gate 1*11 see no morrow*s sun; I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas* sake, a pi]giim*ii bed and dole. And for the sake of Moringer*8, her once-loved hiuband^s soul.** X 306 BALLADS FROM THB GERMAN. XXVI. It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame before * A pilgrim, worn and tiavel-toil'd, stands at the caatle- door; And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas^ sake, for harbour and for dole. And for the sake of Moringer, thy noble husbands soul.** XXVII. 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 harbourage a tweWemonth and a day/ »« XXVIII. It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal broad. It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold strode ; *' And have thou thanks, kind heaven," he said ^ though from a man of sin, That the true lord stands here once more his castle- gate within." XXIX> Then up the halls paced Moringer, his step was sad and slow ; It sat full heavy on his heart, none seem'd 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 seem'd little space so long. THB NOBLK MORINGSR. 307 XXX. Now spent was day, and feasting o*er, and come was evening hour. The time was nigh when new-made brides retire to nuptial bower ; *' Our castle^s wont," a bride»-man said, ** hath been both firm and long. No guest to harbour in our halls till he shall chant a song." XXXI. Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat by the bride, " My merry minstrel folk," quoth he, **]ay shalm an I harp aside ; Our pilgrim guest must sng a lay, the castle^s rule to hold. And well liis guerdon will I pay with garment and with gold.' »» XXXTI. " Chill flows the lay of frozen age," 'twas thus the pil- grim sung, ^ Nor golden meed, nor garment gay, unlocks his hea>7 tongue ; Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thine. And by my side as fiiar a bride with all her charms was mine. XXXIII. ** But time traced furrows on my face, and I grew silvei^hair'd. For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth, she lefl this brow and beard ; 308 BALL4D8 FROM THB GERMAN. Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread lifers latest stage, And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of frozen age.' XXXIV. It wu the noble Lady there this wofol lay that heezs. And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye was dimmM with tears ; She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden beaker take. And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her sake. XXXV. It was the noble Moringer that dropp'd 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, Twas with that very ring of gold he pledged his bridal truth. XXXVI. 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 grey.'* XXXVII. The cupbearer was courtly bred, nor was the boon denied. The golden cup he took again, and bore it to the bride ; » Lady," he said, ^ your reverend guest sends this, and bids me pray, That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palmer gray." THB NOBLS MOKINGKR. 309 XXXVIII. The ring hath caught the Lady's eye, ehe views it close and near. Then might you hear her shriek aloud, ^ the Moringer is here ! " Then might you see her start from seat, while tears in torrents fell. But whether *twa8 for joy or woe, the ladies best can tell. XXXIX. But loud she utter'd thanks to Heayen, and every saintly power, That had retumM the Moringer before the midnight hour; And loud she utterM vow on vow, that never was there bride. That had like her preserved her troth, or been so sorely tried. XL. **• Yes, here I claim the praise,^' she said, " to constant matrons due. Who keep the troth that they have plight, so steadfastly and true ; For count the term however you will, so that you count aright. Seven twelvemonths and a day are out when bells toll twelve to-night.' »» XLI. It was Marstetten then rose up, his felchion there he drew. He kneePd before the Moringer, and down his weapon threw, 310 THS NOBLB MOUNOIR. ** M J oath and knightly fiuth are broke," these were the woidB he said, ** Then take, my liege, thy vassal'ii sword, and take thy vassal's head." XLII. The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud did say, " He gathers wisdom that hath roamed seven twelve- months and a day ; My daughter now hath fifteen yean, feme speaks her sweet and fair, I give her for the bride you lose, and name her for my heir. XLIII. " The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, the old bridegroom the old. Whose faith was kept till term and tide so punctually were told ; But blessings on the warder kind that oped my castle gate. For had I come at morrow tide, I came a day too late." THE XNO. KDINBUROH : PRINTED BY T. CONBTABI.R, 1, TKieTLB 8TRKBT.