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So gentle maid should never ask

XXIII. Of knighthood vain and dangerous task;

"But Gyneth heard the clangour high, And Beauty's eyes should ever be

As hears the hawk the partridge cry. Like the twin stars that sooth the sea,

Oh, blame her not! the blood was hers, And Beauty's breath shall whisper peace,

That at the trumpet's summons stirs! And bid the storm of battle cease.

And e'en the gentlest female eye I tell thee this, lest all too far

Might the brave strife of chivalry These knights urge tourney into war.

A while untroubled view; Blithe at the trumpet let them go,

So well accomplish'd was each knight, And fairly counter blow for blow ;

To strike and to defend in fight, No striplings these, who succour need

Their meeting was a goodly sight, For a razed helm or falling steed.

While plate and mail held true. But, Gyneth, when the strife grows warm,

The lists with painted plumes were strown, And threatens death or deadly harm,

Upon the wind at random thrown, Thy sire entreats, thy king commands,

But helm and breastplate bloodless shone, Thou drop the warder from thy hands.

It seem'd their feather'd crests alone Trust thou thy father with thy fate,

Should this encounter rue. Doubt not he choose thee fitting mate;

And ever as the combat grows, Nor be it said, through Gyneth's pride

The trumpet's cheery voice arose, A rose of Arthur's chaplet died.'

Like lark's shrill song the flourish flows,

Heard while the gale of April blows

The merry greenwood through.
"A proud and discontented glow
O'ershadow'd Gyneth's brow of snow;

She put the warder by :

“But soon to earnest grew their game, "Reserve thy boon, my liege,' she said,

The spears drew blood, the swords struck flame, Thus chaffer'd down and limited,

And, horse and man to ground there came
Debased and narrow'd, for a maid

Knights, who shall rise no more!
Of lees degree than I.

Gone was the pride the war that graced,
No petty chief, but holds his heir

Gay shields were cleft, and crests defaced, At a more honour'd price and rare

And steel coats riven, and helms unbraced, Than Britain's King holds me!

And pennons stream'd with gore. Although the sun-burn'd maid, for dower,

Gone, too, were fence and fair array,
Has but her father's rugged tower,

And desperate strength made deadly way
His barren hill and lee.'

At random through the bloody fray,
King Arthur swore, "By crown and sword,

And blows were dealt with headlong sway, As belted knight and Britain's lord,

Unheeding where they fell; That a whole summer's day should strive

And now the trumpet's clamours seem His knights, the bravest knights alive!'

Like the shrill sea-bird's wailing scream, Recall thine oath! and to her glen

Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfing stream,
Poor Gyneth can return agen;

The sinking seaman's knell!
Not on thy daughter will the stain,
That soils thy sword and crown, remain.

But think not she will e'er be bride

"Seem'd in this dismal hour that Fate Save to the bravest, proved and tried ;

Would Camlan's ruin antedate, Pendragon's daughter will not fear

And spare dark Mordred's crime; For clashing sword or splinter'd spear,

Already gasping on the ground Nor shrink though blood should flow; Lie twenty of the Table Round, And all 100 well sad Guendolen

Of chivalry the prime. I Hath taught the faithlessness of men,

Arthur, in anguish, tore away
That child of hers should pity, when

From head and beard his tresses gray.
Their meed they undergo.'

And she, proud Gyneth, felt dismay,

And quaked with ruth and fear;

But still she deem'd her mother's shade
“He frown'd and sigh'd, the Monarch bold : Hung o'er the tumult, and forbade
'I give--what I may not withhold;

The sign that had the slaughter staid, For, not for danger, dread, or death,

And chid the rising tear. Must British Arthur break his faith.

Then Brunor, Taulas, Mador, fell, Too late I mark, thy mother's art,

Helias the White, and Lionel, Hath taught thee this relentless part.

And many a champion more; I blame her not, for she had wrong,

Rochemont and Dinadam are down, But not to these my faults belong.

And Ferrand of the Forest Brown Use, then, the warder as thou wilt;

Lies gasping in his gore. But trust me, that, if life be spilt, *

Vanoc, by mighty Morolt press'd In Arthur's love, in Arthur's grace,

Even to the confines of the list, Gyneth shall lose a daughter's place.'

Young Vanoc of the beardless face, With that he turn'd his head aside,

(Fame spoke the youth of Merlin's race,) Nor brook'd to gaze upon her pride,

O'erpower'd at Gyneth's footstool bled, As, with the truncheon raised, she sate

His heart's-blood dyed her sandals red. The arbitress of mortal fate;

But then the sky was overcast, Nor brook'd to mark, in ranks disposed,

Then howlid at once a whirlwind's blast, How the bold champions stood opposed,

And, rent by sudden throes, For shrill the trumpet - Hourish fell

Yawn'd in mid lists the quaking earth, Upon his ear like passing bell!

And from the gulf,--tremendous birth!Then first from sight of martial fray

The form of Merlin rose. Did Britain's hero turn away.

other party prevailed. Meantime, the clang of the blows, and (MS. "if blood be spilt.")

the shouts of the combatants, mixed fearfully with the sound of dying knell.")

the trumpets, and drowned the groans of those who fell, and lay !!" The difficult subject of a tournament, in which several rolling defenceless beneath the feet of the horses. The splendid ktnights engage at once, is almirably treated by the novelist in armour of the combatants was now detaced with dust and blood, Ivanhoe, and by his rival in the Bridal of Triermain, and the and gave way at every stroke of the sword and battle axe. "The leading thought in both descriptions is the sudden and tragic gay plumage shorn from the crests, drifted upon the breeze like change from a scene of pomp, gayety, and youthful pride, to one snow lakes. All that was beautiful and graceful in the martial of minery. confusion, and death."- Adolphus, p. 245.

array had disappeared, and what was now visible was only * The tide of battle seemed to flow now toward the southern, calculated to awake terror or compassion." -Ivanhoe-Waverley how toward the northern extremity of the lists, as the one or the Novels, p. 41.)

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Sound her sleep as in the tomb, Sternly the Wizard Prophet eyed

Till waken’d by the trump of doom."
The dreary lists with slaughter dyed,

And sternly raised his hand :-
'Madmen,' he said, 'your strife forbear!
And thou, fair cause of mischief, hear

Here pause, my tale; for all too soon,
The doom thy fates demand!

My Lucy, comes the hour of noon. Long shall close in stony sleep

Already from thy lofty dome Eyes for ruth that would not weep:

Its courtly inmates 'gin to roam, Iron lethargy shall seal

And each, to kill the goodly day Heart that pity scorn'd to feel.

That God has granted thern, his way Yet, because thy mother's art

Of lazy sauniering has sought; Warp'd thine unsuspicious heart,

Lordlings and witlings not a few, And for love of Arthur's race,

Incapable of doing aught, Punishment is blent with grace,

Yet ill at ease with naught to do. Thou shalt bear thy penance lone

Here is no longer place for me; In the valley of St. John,

For, Lucy, thou wouidst blush to see And this weird* shall overtake thee;

Some phantom, fashionably thin, Sleep, until a knight shall wake thee,

With limb of laih and kerchiei'd chin, For feats of arms as far renown'd

And lounging gape, or sneering grin, As warrior of the Table Round.

Steal sudden on our privacy. Long endurance of thy slumber

And how should I, so humbly born, Well may teach the world to number

Endure the graceful spectre's scorn ? All their woes from Gyneth's pride,

Faith! ill, I fear, while conjuring wand When the Red Cross champions died.

Of English oak is hard at hand.

II. "As Merlin speaks, on Gyneth's eye

Or grant the hour be all too soon Slumber's load begins to lie;

For Hessian boot and pantaloon, Fear and anger vainly strive

And grant the lounger seldom strays Still to keep its light alive.

Beyond the smooth and gravell’d maze, Twice, with effort and with pause,

Laud we the gods, that Fashion's train O'er her brow her hand she draws

Holds hearts of more adventurous strain. Twice her strength in vain she tries,

Artists are hers, who scorn to trace From the fatal chair to rise;

Their rules from Nature's boundless grace, Merlin's magic doom is spoken,

But their right paramount assert Vanoc's death must now be wroken

To limit her by pedant art, Slow the dark-fringed eyelids fall,

Damning whaie'er of vast and fair Curtaining each azure ball,

Exceeds a canvass three feet square. Slowly as on summer eves

This thicket, for their gumption fit, Violets fold their dusky leaves.

May furnish such a happy bil. The weighty baton of command

Bards, too, are hers, wont to recite Now bears down her sinking hand,

Their own sweet lays by waxen light, On her shoulder droops her head;

Half in the salver's tingle drown'd, Net of pearl and golden thread,

While the chasse-caf glides around; Bursting, gave her locks to flow

And such may bither sccret stray, O'er her arm and breast of snow.

To labour an extempore : And so lovely seem'd she there,

Or sportsman, with his boisterous hallo, Spell-bound in her ivory chair,

May here his wiser spaniel follow, That her angry sire, repenting,

Or stage-struck Juliet may presume Craved stern Merlin for relenting,

To choose this bower for tiring-room; And the champions, for her sake,

And we alike must shun regard, Would again the contest wake;

From painter, player, sportsman, bard. Till, in necromantic night,

Insects that skim in Fashion's sky,
Gyneth vanish'd from their sight.

Wasp, blue-bottle, or butterfly,

Lucy, have all alarms for us, “Still she bears her weird alone,

For all can hum and all can buzz. In the valley of St. John;

III. And her semblance oft will seem,

But oh, my Lucy, say how long Mingling in a champion's dream,

We still must dread this trifling throng, Of her weary lot to plain,

And stoop to hide, with coward art, And crave his aid to burst her chain.

The genuine feelings of the heart ! While her wondrous tale was new,

No parents thine, whose just command Warriors to her rescue drew,

Should rule their child's obedient hand; East and west, and south and north,

Thy guardians, with contending voice, From the Liffy, Thames, and Forth.

Press each his individual choice. Most have sought in vain the glen,

And which is Lucy's ?--Can it be Tower nor casile could they ken;

That puny fop, trimm'd cap-a-pee, Not at every time or tide,

Who loves in the saloon to show Nor by every eye descried.

The arms that never knew a foe; Fast and vigil must be borne,

Whose sabre trails along the ground, Many a night in watching worn,

Whose legs in shapeless boots are drown'd; Ere an eye of mortal powers

A new Achilles, sure,--the steel Can discern those magic towers.

Fled from his breast to fence his heel; Of the persevering few,

One, for the simple manly grace Some from hopeless task withdrew,

That wont to deck our martial race, When they read the dismal threat

Who comes in foreign trashery Graved upon the gloomy gate.

Of tinkling chain and spur, Few have braved the yawning door,

A walking haberdashery, And those few return'd no more.

Of feathers, lace, and fur: In the lapse of time forgot,

In Rowley's antiquated phrase, Wellnigh lost is Gyneth's lot;

Horse-millinert of modern days? # Doom.

And the horse-millanere his head with roses dicht.", + " The trammels of the palfraye pleased his sight,

ROWLEY's Ballads of Charitie.

William Gerard Hamilton," (1808.) commonly called "


Or is it he, the wordy youth,

So early train'd for statesman s part,

Long loved, long woo'd, and lately won,
Who talks of honour, faith, and truth,

My life's best hope, and now mine own! As themes that he has got hy heart;

Doth not this rude and Alpine glen Whose ethics Chesterfield can teach,

Recall our favourite haunts agen?
Whose logic is from Single-speech ;*

A wild resemblance we can trace,
Who scorns the meanest thought to vent,
Save in the phrase of Parliament;

Though rest of every softer grace,
Who, in a tale of cat and mouse,

As the rough warrior's brow may bear

A likeness to a sister fair.
Calls "order," and "divides the house;"
Who "craves permission to reply,':

Full well advised our Highland host,
Whose " noble friend is in his eye;"

That this wild pass on foot be cross'd, Whose loving tender some have reckon'd

While round Ben-Cruach's mighty base

Wheel the slow steeds and lingering chaise. A motion, you should gladly second ?

The keen old carle, with Scottish pride, V.

He praised his glen and mountains wide; What, neither? Can there be a third,

An eye he bears for nature's face, To such resistless swains preferr'd ?

Ay, and for woman's lovely grace. O why, my Lucy, turn aside,

Even in such mean degree we find With that quick glance of injured pride?

The subtle Scot's observing mind; Forgive me, love, I cannot bear

For, nor the chariot nor the train That alter'd and resentful air.

Could gape of vulgar wonder gain, Were all the wealth of Russel mine,

But when old Allan would expound And all the rank of Howard's line,

Of Beal-na-paisht the Celtic sound, All would I give for leave to dry

His bonnet doff'd, and bow, applied That dewdrop trembling in thine eye.

His legend to my bonny bride; Think not I fear such fops can wile

While Lucy blush'd beneath his eye, From Lucy more than careless smile;

Courteous and cautious, shrewd and sly. But yet if wealth and high degree

II. Give gilded counters currency,

Enough of him.-Now, ere we lose, Must I not fear when rank and birth

Plunged in the vale, the distant views, Stamp the pure ore of genuine worth?

Turn thee, my love! look back once more Nobles there are, whose martial fires Rival the same that raised their sires,

To the blue lake's retiring shore.

On its smooth breast the shadows seem
And patriots, skill'd through storms of fate
To guide and guard the reeling state.

Like objects in a morning dream,

What time the slumberer is aware
Such, such there are-If such should come,
Arthur must tremble and be dumb,

He sleeps, and all the vision 's air:
Self-exil'd seek some distant shore,

Even so, on yonder liquid lawn,

In hues of bright reflection drawn,
And mourn till life and grief are o'er.

Distinct the shaggy mountains lie,

Distinct the rocks, distinct the sky;
What sight, what signal of alarm,

The summer-clouds so plain we note, That Lucy clings to Arthur's arm ?

That we might count each dappled spot: Or is it, that the rugged way

We gaze and we admire, yet know Makes Beauty lean on lover's stay?

The scene is all delusive show. Oh, no! for on the vale and brake,

Such dreams of blisst would Arthur draw, Nor sight nor sounds of danger wake,

When first his Lucy's form he saw; And this trim sward of velvet green,

Yet sigh'd and sicken'd as he drew, Were carpet for the Fairy Queen.

Despairing they could e'er prove true!
That pressure slight was but to tell,

That Lucy loves her Arthur well,
And fain would banish from his mind

But, Lucy, turn thee now to view

Up the fair glen, our destined way:
Suspicious fear and doubt unkind.

The fairy path that we pursue,

Distinguish'd but by greener hue,
But wouldst thou bid the demons fly

Winds round the purple brae, Like mist before the dawning sky,

While Alpine flowers of varied dye There is but one resistless spell --

For carpet serve, or tapestry.

See how the little runnels leap, Say, wilt thou guess, or must I tell ?

In threads of silver, down the steep, "Twere hard to name, in minstrel phrase,

To swell the brooklet's moan! A landaulet and four blood-bays,

Seems that the Highland Naiad grieves,
But bards agree this wizard band

Fantastic while her crown she weaves,
Can but be bound in Northern land.
Tis there--nay, draw not back thy hand!-

of rowan, birch, and alder leaves, 'Tis there this slender finger round

So lovely, and so lone. Must golden amulet be bound,

There's no illusion there; these flowers, Which, bless'd with many a holy prayer,

That wailing brook, these lovely bowers, Can change to rapture lovers' care,

Are, Lucy, all our own; And doubt and jealousy shall die,

And, since thine Arthur call'd thee wife, And fears give place to ecstasy.

Such seems the prospect of his life,

A lovely path, on-winding still,

By gurgling brook and sloping hill.
Now, trust me, Lucy, all too long

'Tis true, that mortals cannot tell Has been thy lover's tale and song.

What waits them in the distant dell; O, why so silent, love, I pray?

But be it hap, or be it harm, Have I not spoke the livelong day?

We tread the pathway arm in arm.
And will not Lucy deign to say

One word her friend to bless ?
I ask but one-a simple sound,

And now, my Lucy, wot'st thou why
Within three little letters bound,

I could thy bidding twice deny, O, let the word be YES!

When twice you pray'd I would again

Resume the legendary strain 18se " Parliamentary Logic, &c., by the Right Honourable

Single + Beal-na-paish, the Vale of the Bridal.

: (MS.-" Scenes of bliss.") VOL. I.-4 D

Speech Hamilton.")

Of the bold Knight of Triermain ?

Thus as he lay, the lamp of night At length yon peevish vow you swore

Was quivering on his armour bright, That you would sue to me no more,*

In beams that rose and fell, Until the minstrel fit drew near,

And danced upon his buckler's boss, And made me prize a listening ear.

That lay beside him on the moss, But, loveliest, when thou first didst pray

As on a crystal well.
Continuance of the knightly lay,

Was it not on the happy day
That made thy hand mine own?

Ever he watch'd, and oft he deem'd,
When, dizzied with mine ecstasy,

While on the mound the moonlight stream'd,

It alter'd to his eyes ;
Naught past, or present, or to be,
Could I or think on, hear, or see,

Fain would he hope the rocks 'gan change

To buitress'd walls their shapeless range, Save, Lucy, thee alone! A giddy draught my rapture was,

Fain think, by transmutation strange, As ever chemist's magic gas.

He saw gray turrets rise.

But scarce his heart with hope throbb’d high, V.

Before the wild illusions fly, Again the sunmons I denied

Which fancy had conceived, In yon fair capital of Clyde:

Abetted by an anxious eye. My Harp--or let me rather choose

'That long'd to be deceived. The good old classic form--my Muse,

It was a fond deception all, (For Harp's an over-scutched phrase,

Such as in solitary hall, Worn out by bards of modern days,).

Beguiles the musing eye, My Muse, then--seldom will she wake,

When, gazing on the sinking fire, Save by dim wood and silent lake;

Bulwark, and battlement, and spire, She is the wild and rustic Maid,

In the red gulf we spy. Whose foot unsandall'd loves to tread

For, seen by moon of middle night,
Where the soft greensward is inlaid

Or by the blaze of noontide bright,
With varied moss and thyme;

Or by the dawn of morning light,
And, lest the simple lily-braid,

Or evening's western fame, That coronets her temples, fade,

In every tide, at every hour,
She hides her still in greenwood shade,

In mist, in sunshine, and in shower,
To meditate her rhyme.

The rocks remain’d the same.

And now she comes! The murmur dear

Oft has he traced the charmed mound,
Of the wild brook hath caught her ear,

Oft climed its crest, or paced it round,
The glade hath won her eye;

Yet nothing might explore,
She longs to join with each blithe rill

Save that the crags so rudely piled,
That dances down the Highland hill,

At distance seen, resemblance wild
Her blither melody.t

To a rough fortress bore.
And now, my Lucy's way to cheer,

Yet still his watch the Warrior keeps, She bids Ben-Cruach's echoes hear

Feeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps, How closed the tale, my love whilere

And drinks but of the well;
Loved for its chivalry.

Ever by day he walks the hill,
List how she tells, in notes of flame,

And when the evening gale is chill, "Child Roland to the dark tower came!''.

He seeks a rocky cell,
Like hermit poor to bid his bead,
And tell his Ave and his Creed,

Invoking every saint at need,

For aid to burst his spell.

BEWCASTLE now must keep the Hold,

And now the moon her orb has hid, Speir-Adam's steeds must bide in stall,

And dwindled to a silver thread, Or Hartley-burn the bowmen bold

Dim seen in middle heaven, Must only shoot from battled wall;

While o'er its curve careering fast, And Liddesdale may buckle spur,

Before the fury of the blast And Teviot now may belt the brand,

The midnight clouds are driven. Taras and Ewes keep nightly stir,

The brooklet ravcd, for on the hills And Eskdale foray Cumberland.

The upland showers had swoln the rills, Of wasted fields and plunder'd flocks

And down the torrents came; The Borderers bootless may complain;

Mutter'd the distant thunder dread, They lack the sword of brave de Vaux,

And frequent o’er the vale was spread There comes no aid from 'Triermain.

A sheet of lightning flame. That lord, on high adventure bound,

De Vaux, within his mountain cave, Hath wander'd forth alone,

(No human step the storm dursi brave,) And day and night keeps watchful round,

To moody meditation gave
In the Valley of Saint John,

Each faculty of soul, s

Till, lullid by distant torrent sound,
When first began his vigil bold,

And the sad winds that whistled round, The moon twelve summer nights was old,

Upon his thoughts, in musing drown'd, And shone both fair and full;

A broken slumber stole. High in the vault of cloudless blue,

VI. O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she threw

'Twas then was heard a heavy sound, Her light composed and cool.

(Sound, strange and fearful there to hear, Stretch'd on the brown hill's heathy breast, 'Mongst desert hills, where, leagues around, Sir Roland eyed the vale;

Dwelt but the gorcock and the deer :) Chief where, distinguish'd from the rest,

As, starting from his couch of fern, ll Those clustering rocks uprear'd their crest,

Again he heard, in clangour stern, The dwelling of the fair distress'd,

That deep and solemn swell, – As told gray Lyulph's tale.

! (The MS, has not this couplet.) • (MS.-"Until yon peevish oath you swore,

$ MS. -" His faculties of soul."! That you would sue for it no more.")


his couch of rock, 1 (MS.-" Her wild-wood melody.")

Again upon his ear it broke."

Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke,

Their shadows on the stream. Like some proud minster's pealing clock,

'Tis no deceit ! distinctly clear Or city's 'larum-bell.

Crenelltt and parapet appear,
What thought was Roland's first when fell, While o'er the pile that meteor drear
In that deep wilderness, the knell

Makes momentary pause;
Upon his startled ear?

Then forth its solemn path it drew, To slander warrior were I loath,

And fainter yet and fainter grew Yet must I hold my minstrel troth, -

Those gloomy towers upon the view,
It was a thought of fear.

As its wild light withdraws.

But lively was the mingled thrill

Forth from the cave did Roland rush, That chased that momentary chill,

O'er crag and stream, through brier and bush ; For Love's keen wish was there,

Yet far he had not sped, 11 And eager Hope, and Valour high,

Ere sunk was that portentous light And the proud glow of Chivalry,

Bebind the hills, and utter night That burn'd to do and dare.

Was on the valley Forth from the cave the Warrior rush d,

He paused perforce,--and blew his horn, Long ere the mountain-voice* was hush'd,

And, on the mountain-echoes bornellll That answer'd to the knell;

Was heard an answering sound, For long and far the unwonted sound,

A wild and lonely trumpet-note,Eddying in echoes round and round,

In middle air it seem'd to float Was toss'd from fell to fell;

High o'er the battled mound; And Glara mara answer flung,

And sounds were heard, as when a guard And Grisdale-pike responsive rung,

Of some proud castle holding ward, And Legbert heights their echoes swung.

Pace forth their nightly round. As far as Derwent's dell.

The valiant Knight of Triermain

Rung forth his challenge-blast again,

But answer came there none;
Forth upon trackless darkness gazed

And mid the mingled wind and rain, The Knight, bedeafen'd and amazed,

Darkling he sought the vale in vain, fra Till all was hush'd and still,

Until the dawning shone; Save the swoln torrent's sullen roar,

And when it dawn'd, that wondrous sight, And the night-blast that wildly bore

Distinctly seen by meteor-light, Its course along the hill.

It all had passed away! Then on the northern sky there came

And that enchanted mount once more A light, as of reflected flame,

A pile of granite fragments bore,
And over Legbert-head,

As at the close of day.
As if by magic art controllid,
A mighty meteor slowly roll'd

Its orb of fiery red;

Steel'd for the deed, De Vaux's heart Thou wouldst have thought some demon dire Scorn'd from his venturous quest to part, Came mounted on that car of fire,

He walks the vale once more ; To do his errand dread.

But only sees, by night or day, Far on the sloping valley's course,

That shatter'd pile of rocks so gray, On thicket, rock, and torrent hoarse,

Hears but the torrent's roar. Shingle and Scrae, I and Fell and Force,

Till when, through hills of azure borne, *** A dusky light arose :

The moon renew'd her silver horn, Display'd, yet alter'd was the scene;

Just at the time her waning ray Dark rock, and brook of silver sheen,

Had faded in the dawning day, Even the gay thicket's summer green,

A summer mist arose;
In bloody tincture glows.

Adown the vale the vapours float,

And cloudy undulations moaittt
De Vaux had mark'd the sunbeams set,

That tufted mound of mystic note,

As round its base they close.
At eve, upon the coronet
Of that enchanted mound,

And higher now the fleecy tide

Ascends its stern and shaggy side,
And seen but crags at random flung,
That, o'er the brawling torrent hung,ll

Until the airy billows hidetti
In desolation frown'd.

The rock's majestic isle ; What sees he by that meteor's lower ?

It seem'd a veil of filmy lawn, A banner'd Castle keep, and tower,

By some fantastic fairy drawnsss Return the lurid gleam,

Around enchanted pile. With battled walls and buttress fast,

XII. And barbican and ballium** vast,

The breeze came softly down the brook, IKI And airy flanking towers, that cast

And, sighing as it blew, mingled sounds were hush'd.")

NO (MS.-“And far upon the echoes borne. "I ("The rock, like something starting from a sleep.

71 IMS

"he sought the towers in vain.") Took up the lady's voice, and laughed again;

*** (MS

-“* But when, through fields of azure borne.") That ancient Woman scated on Helm Crag

ttt (MS _** And with their eddying billows moat.") Was ready with her cavern ; Hammar Scar.

1:1 (MS.-"Until the mist's gray bosom hide.") And the tall steep of Silver How, aent forth

$S6 (MS

"a veil of airy lawn.") A noise of laughter; southern Loughrigg heard,

Mini A sharp frost wind, which made itself heard and telt And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone;

from time to time, removed the clouds of mist which might otherHelvellyn far into the clear blue sky

wise have slumbered till morning on the valley; and, though it Carried the lady's voice, -old Skiddaw blew

could not totally disperse the clouds of vapour, yet threw them His speaking trumpet ;-bark out of the clouds

in confused and chungeful masses, now hovering round the heads Of Glaramara soutlıward came the voice ;

of the mountains, now filling, as with a dense and voluminous And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head."

stream of smuke, the various deep gulleys where masses of the

WORDSWORTH.) composite rock, or breacia, tumbling in fragments from the cliffs, : Bank of loose stones.

have rushed to the valley, leaving each behind its course a rent

and tom ravine, resembling a deserted water-course. The moon, " rocks at random piled,

which was now high, and twinkled with all the vivacity of a That on the torrent brawling wild.")

frosty atmosphere, silvered the windings of the river, and the The onter defence of the castle gate.

peaks and precipices which the mist left visible, while her beams

seemed, as it were, absorbed by the fleecy whiteness of the mist " Apertures for shooting arrows.

where it lay thick and condensed, and gave to the more ligh -" had not gone.")

and vapoury specks, which were elsewhere visible, a sort o.

filmy transparency resembling the lightest veil of silver gauze' "the valley lone.")

Waverley Novels Rob Roy-vol.ii. p. 109.

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Waterfall (MS.

» Portified court.

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