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 from 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 say, "To please be ours,
Be yours to tell us how."
Their hue was of the golden glow
That suns of Candahar bestow,
O'er which in slight suffusion flows
A frequent tinge of paly rose;
Their limbs were fashion'd fair and free,
In nature's justest symmetry;

And, wreathed with flowers, with odours graced,

Their raven ringlets reach'd 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 lustrous dye.
The spotless veil of misty lawn,
In studied disarrangement, drawn

The form and bosom o'er,
To win the eye, or tempt the touch,
For modesty show'd all too much-
Too much-yet promised more.

XXXI.

"Gentle 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 we

Are slaves to Love, are friends to thee.
Though no treasured gems have we,
To proffer on the bended knee,
Though we boast nor arm nor heart,
For the assagay or dart,
Swains allow each simple girl
Ruby lip and teeth of pearl;
Or, if dangers more you prize,
Flatterers find them in our eyes.

Stay, O, stay!-in yonder bowers
We will braid thy locks with flowers,
Spread the feast and fill the wine,
Charm thy ear 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, fair Warrior, -she
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 lack'd the heart or time;
As round the band of sirens trip,
He kiss'd one damsel's laughing lip,
And press'd another's proffer'd hand,
Spoke to them all in accents bland,
But broke their magic circle through;
"Kind Maids," he said, "adieu, adieu !
My fate, my fortune, forward lies."
He said, and vanish'd from their eyes;
But, as he dared that darksome way,
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;
Go, where Virtue sanctions Love!"

XXXIII.

Downward De Vaux through darksome ways

And ruin'd vaults has gone. Till issue from their wilder'd maze, Or safe retreat, seem'd 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 show'd That dogg'd him on that dreadful road. Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun, They show'd, but show'd not how to shun.

These scenes of desolate despair,
These smothering clouds of poison'd air,
How gladly had De Vaux exchanged,
Though 'twere to face yon tigers ranged!
Nay, soothful bards have said,
So perilous his state seem'd now,
He wish'd him under arbour bough
With Asia's willing maid.
When, joyful sound! at distance near
A trumpet flourish'd loud and clear,
And as it ceased, a lofty lay

Seem'd thus to chide his lagging way.

XXXIV.

"Son of Honour, theme of story,
Think on the reward before ye!
Danger, darkness, toil despise ;
'Tis Ambition bids thee rise.

"He that would her heights ascend,
Many a weary step must wend;
Hand and foot and knee he tries;
Thus Ambition's minions rise.

"Lag not now, though rough the way, Fortune's mood brooks no delay; Grasp the boon that's spread before ye, Monarch's power, and Conqueror's glory!"

It ceased. Advancing on the sound,
A steep ascent the Wanderer found,
And then a turret stair:

Nor climb'd he far its steepy round
Till fresher blew the air,

And next a welcome glimpse was given,
That cheer'd him with the light of heaven.
At length his toil had won
A lofty hall with trophies dress'd
Where as to greet 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 Gaul,
Whose easy step and laughing eye
Her borrow'd air of awe belie;

The next a maid of Spain,
Dark-eyed, dark-hair'd, sedate, yet bold;
White ivory skin and tress of gold,
Her shy and bashful comrade told

For daughter of Almaine.

These maidens bore a royal robe,
With crown, with sceptre, and with globe,
Emblems of empery ;

The fourth a space behind them stood,
And leant upon a harp, in mood
Of minstrel ecstacy.

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 display'd,

A crown did that fourth Maiden hold,
But unadorn'd with gems and gold,
Of glossy laurel made.

XXXVI.

At once to brave De Vaux knelt down
These foremost Maidens three,
And proffer'd sceptre, robe, and crown,
Liegedom and seignorie,

O'er many a region wide and fair,
Destined, they said, for Arthur's heir;

But homage would he none :"Rather," he said, "De Vaux would ride, A Warden of the Border-side,

In plate and mail, than, robed in pride,
A monarch's empire own;
Rather, far rather, would he be
A free-born knight of England free,

Than sit on Despot's throne."
So pass'd he on, when that fourth Maid,
As starting from a trance,
Upon the harp her finger laid;
Her magic touch the chords obey'd,
Their soul awaked at once!

SONG OF THE FOURTH MAIDEN.

"Quake to your foundations deep,
Stately Towers, and Banner'd Keep,
Bid your vaulted echoes moan,
As the dreaded step they own.

"Fiends, that wait on Merlin's spell,
Hear the foot-fall! mark it well!
Spread your dusky wings abroad,
Boune ye for your homeward road!
"It is Hrs, 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! This is Gyneth's waking hour."

XXXVII.

Thus while she sung, the venturous Knight

Has reach'd a bower, where milder light
Through crimson curtains fell;
Such soften'd 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 skill, I wis,
Form of each thing that living is

Was limn'd in proper dye.
All seem'd 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 pass'd away, Forgot was that fell tourney-day,

For, as she slept, she smiled: It seem'd that the repentant Seer Her sleep of many a hundred year With gentle dreams beguiled.

XXXVIII.

That form of maiden loveliness,

'Twixt childhood and 'twixt youth, That ivory chair, that silvan dress, The arms and ankles bare, express

Of Lyulph's tale the truth. Still upon her garment's hem Vanoc's blood made purple gem, And the warder of command Cumber'd still her sleeping hand; Still her dark locks dishevell'd flow From net of pearl o'er breast of snow; And so fair the slumberer seems, That De Vaux impeach'd 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! St Mary! can it be, That they will kindly look on me!"

XXXIX.

Gently, lo! the Warrior kneels, Soft that lovely hand he steals, Soft to kiss, and soft to claspBut the warder leaves her grasp;

Lightning flashes, rolls the thunder! Gyneth startles from her sleep, Totters Tower, and trembles Keep,

Burst the Castle-walls asunder! 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 remain'd 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 LOVE and FAME!

CONCLUSION.

I.

My Lucy, when the Maid is won,
The Minstrel's task, thou know'st, is
done;

And to require of bard
That to his dregs the tale should run,
Were ordinance too hard.
Our lovers, briefly be it said,
Wedded as lovers wont to wed,

When tale or play is o'er ;

Lived long and blest, loved fond and true, And saw a numerous race renew

The honours that they bore. Know, too, that when a pilgrim strays, In morning mist or evening maze,

Along the mountain lone, That fairy fortress often mocks His gaze upon the castled rocks

Of the Valley of St. John; But never man since brave De Vaux The charmed portal won. 'Tis now a vain illusive show, That melts whene'er the sunbeams glow, Or the fresh breeze hath blown.

II.

But see, my love, where far below
Our lingering wheels are moving slow,
The whiles, up-gazing still,
Our menials eye our steepy way,
Marvelling, perchance, what whim can
stay

Our steps, when eve is sinking gray,
On this gigantic hill.

So think the vulgar-Life and time
Ring all their joys in one dull chime
Of luxury and ease;

And, O! beside these simple knaves,
How many better born are slaves

To such coarse joys as these,-
Dead to the nobler sense that glows
When nature's grander scenes unclose!
But, Lucy, we will love them yet,
The mountain's 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, like my poor tale, Some moral truth in fiction's veil: Nor love them less, that o'er the hill The evening breeze, as now, comes chill;

My love shall wrap her warm, And, fearless of the slippery way, While safe she trips the heathy brae, Shall hang on Arthur's arm.