When on the hostile casque it rung,
Than all the lays

To their monarch's 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 full little did wot,
That she smiled, in his absence, on brave Lancelot.
XII.

He rode, till over down and dell

The shade more broad and deeper fell;
And though around the mountain's head
Flow'd streams of purple, and gold, and red,
Dark at the base, unblest by beam,
Frown'd the black rocks, and roar'd the stream.
With toil the king his way pursued
By lonely Threlkeld's waste and wood,
Till on his course obliquely shone
The narrow valley of SAINT JOHN,
Down sloping to the western sky,
Where lingering sun-beams love to lie.
Right glad to feel those beams again,
The king drew up his charger's rein;
With gauntlet raised he skreen'd his sight,
As dazzled with the level light,
And, from beneath his glove of mail,
Scann'd 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;
Seem'd 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 slung,
The balanced draw-bridge trembling hung,
As jealous of a foe;
Wicket of oak, as iron hard,

With iron studded, clenched, and barr'd,
And prong'd portcullis, joined 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.

XIV.

Beneath the castle's gloomy pride,
In ample round did Arthur ride
Three times; nor living thing he spied,
Nor heard a living sound,

Save that, awakening from her dream,
The owlet now began to scream,
In concert with the rushing stream,

That washed 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 prepar'd to blow,
In summons blith and bold,
Deeming to rouse from iron sleep
The guardian of this dismal keep,
Which well he guess'd the hold
Of wizard stern, or goblin grim,
Or pagan of gigantic limb,
The tyrant of the wold.

XV.
The ivory bugle's golden tip
Twice touched the monarch's manly lip,
And twice his hand withdrew.
Think not but Arthur's heart was good!
His shield was cross'd 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 space Ere yet his horn he blew. But, instant as its larum rung, The castle-gate was open flung, Portcullis rose with crashing groan, Full harshly up its groove of stone; The balance beams obeyed the blast, And down the trembling draw-bridge cast; The vaulted arch before him lay, With nought to bar the gloomy way, And onward Arthur paced, with hand On Caliburn'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 stern, nor goblin grim,
Nor giant huge of form and limb,

Nor heathen knight was there;

But the cressets, which odours flung aloft,
Showed, by their yellow light and soft,
A band of damsels fair.

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 laboured to unhasp
Rivet of steel and iron clasp.
One wrapp'd him in a mantle fair,
And one flung odours on his hair;

His short curled ringlets one smooth'd 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 blows,
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 Tintagel's spear;"

Two, laughing at their lack of strength,
Dragg'd Caliburn in cumbrous length;8
One, while she aped a martial stride,
Placed on her brows the helmet's pride,
Then scream'd, 'twixt laughter and surprise,
To feel its depth o'erwhelm her eyes.
With revel-shout and triumph-song,
Thus gayly marched the giddy throng.

XVII.

Through many a gallery and hall
They led, I ween, their royal thrall;
At length, beneath a fair arcade
Their march and song at once they staid.
The eldest maiden of the band,

(The lovely maid was scarce eighteen,
Raised, with imposing air, her hand,
And reverend silence did command,
On entrance of their queen;
And they were mute.—But as a glance
They steal on Arthur's countenance,
Bewildered with surprise,

Their smothered 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 soar'd beyond the sky,
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 king she cast,
That flash'd expression strong;
The longer dwelt that lingering 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 whisper'd, "Prince, beware!
From the chafed tyger rend the prey,
Rush on the lion when at bay,
Bar the fell dragon's blighted way,
But shun that lovely snare!"

XX.

At once, that inward strife suppress'd,
The dame approached her warlike guest.
With greeting in that fair degree,
Where female pride and courtesy
Are blended with such passing art
As awes at once and charms the beart.
A courtly welcome first she gave,
Then of his goodness 'gan to crave
Construction fair 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;

And then she pray'd that he would rest That night her castle's honoured guest. The monarch meetly thanks express'd;

The banquet rose at her behest;
With lay and tale, and laugh and jest,
Apace the evening flew.

XXI.

The lady sate the monarch by,
Now in her turn abashed and shy,
And with indifference seemed to hear
The toys he whispered in her ear.
Her bearing modest was and fair,
Yet shadows of constraint were there,
That show'd 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 voluptuous 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 guess'd,
That this assumed restraint express'd
More ardent passions in the breast,

Than ventured to the eye.

Closer he press'd, while beakers rang,
While maidens laughed and minstrels sang,
Still closer to her ear-

But why pursue the common tale?
Or wherefore show how knights prevail
When ladies dare to hear

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!

CANTO II.

LYULPH'S TALE, CONTINUED.
1.

Another day, another day,
And yet another, glides away!
The Saxon stern, the pagan Dane,
Maraud on Britain's shores again.
Arthur, of Christendom the flower,
Lies loitering in a lady's bower;
The horn, that foemen wont to fear,
Sounds but to wake the Cumbrian deer,
And Caliburn, the British pride,
Hangs useless by a lover's side.
II.
Another day, another day,
And yet another, glides away!
Heroic plans in pleasure drown'd,
He thinks not of the Table Round;
In lawless love 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 wreath, 'mid 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 sooths 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 genie of the earth,
In days of old deemed 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's solitude,
The downfall of his rites he rued,
And, born of his resentment heir,
He trained to guile that lady fair,
To sink in slothful sin and shame
The champions of the christian name.
Well-skilled to keep vain thoughts alive,
And all to promise, nought to give,
The timid youth had hope in store,
The bold and pressing gained no more.
As wildered children leave their home,
After the rainbow's arch to roam,
Her lovers bartered fair esteem,
Faith, fame, and honour, for a dream.
IV.

Her sire's soft arts the soul to tame
She practised thus--till Arthur came,
Then frail humanity had part,

And all the mother claimed her heart.
Forgot each rule her father gave,
Sunk from a princess to a slave,
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 fast-decaying link.
Art she invokes to nature's aid,
Her vest to zone, her locks to braid;
Each varied pleasure heard her call,
The feast, the tourney, 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's narrow bound,
Flank'd by some castle's gothic round,
Fain would the artist's skill provide,
The limits of his realm to hide.
The walks in labyrinths he twines,
Shade after shade with skill combines,
With many a varied flowery knot,
And copse and arbour deck the spot,
Tempting the hasty foot to stay,
And linger on the lovely way-
Vain art! vain hope! 'tis fruitless all!
At length we reach the bounding wall,
And, sick of flower and trim-dressed tree,
Long for rough glades and forest free.

VI.

Three summer months had scantly flown,
When Arthur, in embarrassed 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 Guendolen.

She listen'd silently the while,
Her mood express'd 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 veil'd, to hide
The tear that sprung in spite of pride;
The other for an instant press'd

The foldings of her silken vest!
VII.

At her reproachful sign and look,
The hint the monarch's conscience took.
Eager he spoke "No, 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 Britain's lord,
That if a boy shall claim my care,
That boy is born a kingdom's heir;
But, if a maiden fate allows,

To choose that maid a fitting spouse,
A summer day in lists shall strive
My knights, the 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 deigned 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 dew-drop from the spray,
Ere yet a sunbeam, through the mist,
The castle battlements had kiss'd,
The gates revolve, the draw-bridge falls,
And Arthur sallies from the walls.
Doff'd his soft garb of Persia's loom,
And steel from spur to helmet-plume,
His Lybian steed full proudly trode,
And joyful neighed beneath his load.
The monarch gave a passing sigh
To penitence and pleasures by,
When, lo! to his astonished ken
Appeared the form of Guendolen.

IX.

Beyond the outmost wall she stood,
Attired like huntress of the wood;
Sandall'd her feet, her ancles bare,
And eagle plumage decked her hair;
Firm 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 fain would I this hour delay,
Though weak the wish-yet, wilt thou stay!..
No! thou look'st forward. Still attend,-
Part we like lover and like friend."—
She raised the cup-"Not this the juice
The sluggish vines of earth produce;
Pledge we, at parting, in the draught
Which genii love!"—she said, and quaff'd;
And strange unwonted lustres fly
From her flushed cheek and sparkling eye.

X.

The courteous monarch bent him low, And, stooping down from saddle-bow,

Then might you hear each valiant knight,
To page and squire that cried,
Bring my armour bright, and my courser wight!
'Tis not each day that a warrior'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 array,
They might gather in that wolde:
For brake and bramble glittered gay,
With pearls and cloth of gold.

XVII.

Within 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 wedlock's oath,
One gallant could withhold,

For priests will allow of a broken vow,
For penance or for gold.

But sigh and glance from ladies bright
Among the troop were thrown,

To plead their right, and true-love plight,
And plain of honour flown.

The knights they busied them so fast,
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 bride!

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 throng'd 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 lov'd their neighbours' wives

And one who loved his own.6

The first was Lancelot de Lac,

The second Tristrem bold,
The third was valiant Carodac,
Who won the cup of gold,7
What time, of all king Arthur's crew
(Thereof came jeer and laugh,)
He, as the mate of lady true,
Alone the cup could quaff.
Though envy's tongue would fain surmise,
That, but for very shame,
Sir Carodac, 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.
XIX.

Now caracol'd the steeds in air,
Now plumes and pennons wanton'd fair,
As all around the lists so wide
In panoply the champions ride.

King Arthur saw, with startled eye,
The flower of chivalry march by,
The bulwark of the christian creed,
The kingdom's shield in hour of need.
Too late he thought him of the wo
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 resign'd,
But added caution grave and kind.
XX.

"Thou see'st, my child, as promise-bound,
1 bid the trump for tourney sound,
Take thou my warder, as the queen
And umpire of the martial scene;
But mark thou this:-as beauty bright,
Is polar star to valiant knight,

As at her word his sword he draws,
His fairest guerdon her applause,
So gentle maid should never ask

Of knighthood vain and dangerous task:
And Beauty's eye should ever be
Like the twin stars that sooth the sea,
And Beauty's breath should whisper peace,
And bid the storm of battle cease.

I tell thee this, lest all too far

These knights urge tourney into war.
Blith at the trumpet let them go,
And fairly counter blow for blow;
No striplings these, who succour need
For a razed helm or fallen steed.
But, Gyneth, when the strife grows warm
And threatens death or deadly barm,
Thy sire entreats, thy king commands,
Thou drop the warder from thy hands.
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's chaplet died."-
XXI.

A proud and discontented glow
O'er shadowed Gyneth's brow of snow;

She put the warder by:

"Reserve thy boon, my liege," she said, "Thus chaffered down and limited,

Debased and narrowed, for a maid

Of less degree than I.

No petty chief, but holds his heir
At a more honoured price and rare

Than Britain's king holds me! Although the sun-burn'd maid, for dower, Has but her father's rugged tower,

His barren hill and lea.

King Arthur swore, by crown and sword. 'As belted knight, and Britain's lord,

That a whole summer's day should striv
His knights, the bravest knights alive!'
Recal thine oath! and to her glen
Poor Gyneth can return agen:

Not on thy daughter 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 faithlessness of men,
That child of hers should pity, when
Their meed they undergo.'