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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.
“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
Knights, who shall rise no more!
Gone was the pride the war that graced,
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,
And desperate strength made deadly way
At random through the bloody fray,
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,
The sinking seaman's knell!
"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
From head and beard his tresses gray.
And she, proud Gyneth, felt dismay,
And quaked with ruth and fear;
But still she deem'd her mother's shade
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.)
Sound her sleep as in the tomb, Sternly the Wizard Prophet eyed
Till waken’d by the trump of doom."
END OF LYULPH's TALE.
Here pause, my tale; for all too soon,
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,
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 "
INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD.
Long loved, long woo'd, and lately won,
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?
A wild resemblance we can trace,
Though rest of every softer grace,
As the rough warrior's brow may bear
A likeness to a sister fair.
Full well advised our Highland host,
That this wild pass on foot be 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
Like objects in a morning dream,
What time the slumberer is aware
He sleeps, and all the vision 's air:
Even so, on yonder liquid lawn,
In hues of bright reflection drawn,
Distinct the shaggy mountains lie,
Distinct the rocks, distinct the sky;
The summer-clouds so plain we note, That 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!
But, Lucy, turn thee now to view
Up the fair glen, our destined way:
The fairy path that we pursue,
Distinguish'd but by greener hue,
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,
Fantastic while her crown she weaves,
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.
'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 now, my Lucy, wot'st thou why
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
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.
Ever he watch'd, and oft he deem'd,
While on the mound the moonlight stream'd,
It alter'd to his eyes ;
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,
Or by the blaze of noontide bright,
Or by the dawn of morning light,
Or evening's western fame, That coronets her temples, fade,
In every tide, at every hour,
In mist, in sunshine, and in shower,
The rocks remain’d the same.
Oft has he traced the charmed mound,
Oft climed its crest, or paced it round,
Yet nothing might explore,
Save that the crags so rudely piled,
At distance seen, resemblance wild
To a rough fortress bore.
Yet still his watch the Warrior keeps, 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;
Ever by day he walks the hill,
And when the evening gale is chill, "Child Roland to the dark tower came!''.
He seeks a rocky cell,
Invoking every saint at need,
For aid to burst his spell.
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
Each faculty of soul, s
Till, lullid by distant torrent sound,
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,
Makes momentary pause;
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,
As its wild light withdraws.
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 spread.sg 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;
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,
As at the close of day.
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;
Adown the vale the vapours float,
And cloudy undulations moaittt
That tufted mound of mystic note,
As round its base they close.
And higher now the fleecy tide
Ascends its stern and shaggy side,
Until the airy billows hidetti
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.
"he sought the towers in vain.") Took up the lady's voice, and laughed again;
-“* 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
"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.
» Portified court.