The cloudless moon grows dark and dim, Those who view his form shall die! 'He comes not yet! Shall cold delay Thy votaress at her need repay? Thou shall I call thee god or fiend? Let others on thy mood attend With prayer and ritual - Jutta's arms Mine is the spell that uttered once Shake his red mansion-house of pain And burst his seven-times-twisted chain!- XVIII 'Daughter of dust,' the Deep Voice said Shook while it spoke the vale for dread, Rocked on the base that massive stone, The Evil Deity to own,— 'Daughter of dust! not mine the power 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, Involve him with the church in strife, As best we may, thy counsels speed.' So ceased the Voice; for seven leagues round Each hamlet started at the sound, But slept again as slowly died Its thunders on the hill's brown side. XIX 'And is this all,' said Jutta stern, 'That thou canst teach and I can learn? But ne'er shall Briton bend the knee She struck the altar with her rod; And, starting from its balanced base, But on that lake, so dark and lone, As Jutta hied her home. CANTO THIRD I GREY towers of Durham! there was once a time I viewed your battlements with such vague hope Her flattering dreams would in perspective ope Some reverend room, some prebendary's stall, — And thus Hope me deceived as she deceiveth all. Well yet I love thy mixed and massive piles, Half church of God, half castle 'gainst the Scot, And long to roam these venerable 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 hallowed spot, And from oblivion rend the spoils they yield, 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 earlier time; And fain its numbers would I now command To paint the beauties of that dawning fair When Harold, gazing from its lofty stand Upon the western heights of Beaurepaire, Saw Saxon Eadmer'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 pealed 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 As if in revelry; Afar the bugle's clanging sound Calls to the chase the lagging hound; The gale breathed soft and free, |