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Forgive me, love, I cannot bear
Full well advised our highland host, That alter'd and resentful air.
That this wild pass on foot be cross'd, Were all the wealth of Russel mine,
While round Ben-Cruach's mighty base And all the rank of Howard's line,
Wheel the slow steeds and lingering chaine All would I give for leave to dry
The keen old carle, with Scottish pride, That dew-drop trembling in thine eye.
He praised his glen and mountains wide; Think not I fear such fops can wile
An eye he bears for nature's face, From Lucy more than careless smile;
Ay, and for woman's lovely grace. But yet if wealth and high degree
Even in such mean degree we find Give gilded counters currency,
The subtle Scot's observing mind; Must 1 not fear, when rank and birth
For, not the chariot nor the train Stamp the pure ore of genuine worth?
Could gape of vulgar wonder gain, Nobles there are, whose martial fires
But when old Allan would expound Rival the fame that raised their sires,
Of Beal-na-paish* the Celtic sound, And patriots, skill'd through storms of fate His bonnet doff'd, and bow, applied To guide and guard the reeling state.
His legend to my bonny bride; Such, such there are—if such should come,
While Lucy blush'd beneath his eye, Arthur must tremble and be dumb,
Courteous and cautious, shrewd and sly. Self-exiled seek some distant shore,
Enough of him.-Now, ere we lose,
Plunged in the vale, the distant views,
Turn thee, my love! look back once more That Lucy elings to Arthur's arm!
To the blue lake's retiring shore. Or is it that the rugged way
On its smooth breast the shadows seem Makes beauty lean on lover's stay?
Like objects in a morning dream, Oh, no! for on the vale and brake,
What time the slumberer is aware Nor sight nor sounds of danger wake,
He sleeps, and all the vision's air: And this trim sward of velvet green
Even so, on yonder liquid lawn, Were carpet for the fairy queen.
In hues of bright reflection drawn, That pressure slight was but to tell
Distinct the shaggy mountains lie, That Lucy loves her Arthur well,
Distinct the rocks, distinct the sky; And fain would banish from his mind
The summer clouds so plain we note, Suspicious fear and doubt unkind.
That we might count each dappled spot: VII.
We gaze and we admire, yet know But would'st thou bid the demons fly
The scene is all delusive show. Like mist before the dawning sky,
Such dreams of bliss would Arthur draw,
When first his Lucy's form he saw;
Yet sigh'd and sicken’d as he drew, "Twere hard to name in minstrel phrase,
Despairing they could e’er prove true! A landaulet and four blood-bays,
III. But bards agree this wizard band
But, Lucy, turn thee now, to view Can but be bound in Northern Land.
Up the fair glen our destined way! 'Tis there-nay, draw not back thy hand!
The fairy path that we pursue, 'Tis there this slender finger round
Distinguish'u but by greener hue, Must golden amulet be bound,
Winds round the purple brae, Which, bless'd with many a holy prayer, While Alpine flowers of varied dye Can change to rapture lovers' care,
For carpet serve or tapestry. And doubt and jealousy shall die,
See how the little runnels leap, And fears give place to ecstasy.
lo threads of silver, down the steep, VIII.
To swell the brooklet's moan! Now, trust me, Lucy, all too long
Seems that the highland Naiad grieves, Has been thy lover's tale and song.
Fantastic while her crown she weaves, O why so 'silent, love, I pray?
of rowan, birch, and alder-leaves, Have 1 not spoke the livelong day?
So lovely, and so lone. And will not Lucy deign to say,
There's no illusion there, these flowers, One word her friend to bless?
That wailing brook, these lovely bowers, I ask but one--a simple sound,
Are, Lucy, all our own; Within three little letters bound,
And, since thine Arthur call’d thee wife, O let the word be YES!
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 I. Long loved, long woo'd, and lately won,
What waits them in the distant dell; My life's best hope, and now mine own!
But be it hap, or be it harm, Dóth not this rude and Alpine glen
We tread the path-way arm in arm.
And now, my Lucy, wot'st thou why
I could thy bidding twice deny,
• Beal-na-paish, the Vale of the Bridal.
When twice you pray'd I would again
High in the vault of cloudless blue, Resume the legendary strain
O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she threw Of the bold knight of Triermain?
Her light composed and cool. At length yon peevish vow you swore,
Stretched on the brown hill's heathy breast, That you would sue to me no more,
Sir Roland eyed the vale; Until the minstrel fit drew near,
Chief, where, distinguished from the rest, And made me prize a listening ear.
Those clustering rocks upreared their crest, But, loveliest, when thou first didst pray The dwelling of the fair distress'd, Continuance of the knightly lay,
As told gray Lyulph's tale. Was it not on the happy day
Thus as he lay, the lamp of night That made thy hand mine own?
Was quivering on his armour bright, When, dizzied with mine ecstasy,
In beams that rose and fell, Nought past, or present, or to be,
And danced ypon his buckler's boss, Could I or think on, hear, or see,
That lay beside him on the moss, Save, Lucy, thee alone!
As on a crystal well. A giddy draught my rapture was,
JII. As ever chemist's magic gas.
Ever he watched, and oft he deemed,
While on the mound the moonlight streamed, Again the summons I denied
It altered to his eyes; In yon fair capital of Clyde;
Fain would he hope the rocks 'gan change My harp-or let me rather choose
To buttressed walls their shapeless range, The good old classic form-my muse,
Fain think, by transmutation strange, (For harp 's an over-scutched phrase,
He saw gray turrets rise. Worn out by bards of modern days,)
But scarce his heart with hope throbb'd high, My muse, then--seldom will she wake
Before the wild illusions fly, Save by dim wood and sileut lake.
Which fanoy had conceived, She is the wild and rustic maid,
Abetted by an anxious eye Whose foot unsandall'd loves to tread
That longed to be deceived. Where the soft green-swará is inlaid
It was a fond deception all, With varied moss and thy me;
Such as, in solitary hall, And, lest the simple lily-braid,
Beguiles the musing eye, T'hat coronets her temples, fade,
When, gazing on the sinking fire, She hides her still in greenwood shade,
Bulwark and battlement and spire To meditate her rhyme.
lo the red gulf we spy.
For, seen by moon of middle night,
Or by the blaze of noontide bright,
Or by the dawn of morning light, Of the wild brook hath caught her ear,
Or evening's western flame, The glade hath won her eye;
lo every tide, at every hour, She longs to join with each blith rill
In mist, in sunshine, and in shower,
The rocks remained the same.
Oft has he traced the charmed moond, How closed the tale, my love whilere
Oft climbed its crest, or paced it round, Loved for its chivalry.
Yet nothing might explore, List how she tells, in notes of flame,
Save that the crags so rudely piled, u Child Roland to the dark tower came!”
At distance seen, resemblance wild
To a rough fortress bore.
Feeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps,
And drinks but of the well; BEWCASTLE now must keep the hold,
Ever by day he walks the hill, Speir-Adam's steeds must bide in stall, And when the evening
gale is'chill, Of Hartley-burn the bowmen bold
He seeks a rocky cell, Must only shoot from battled wall;
Like bermit poor to bid his bead, And Liddesdale may buckle spur,
And tell his ave and his creed, And Teviot now may belt the brand,
Invoking every saint at need, Tarras and Ewes keep nightly stir,
Por aid to burst the spell. And Eskdale foray Cumberland.
v. Of wasted field and plundered flocks The borderers bootless may complain;
And now the moon her orb has hid,
And dwindled to a silver thread, They lack the sword of brave De Vaux,
Dim seen in middle heaven,
While o'er its curve careering fast,
Before the fury of the blast,
The midnight clouds are driven. And day and night keeps watchful round
The brooklet raved, for on the hills In the valley of St. John.
The upland showers had swoll'n the rills, II.
And down the torrents came; When first began his vigil bold,
Muttered the distant thunder dread, The moon twelve summer nights was old, And frequent o'er the vale was spread And shone both fair and full;
A sheet of lightning flame.
And, sighing as it blew,
Renewed that wond'rous view.
Its mantle's dewy fold;
Their gloomy length unroll’d.
The gallant knight can speed
Careers the hunter's steed.
Hath rivall’d archer's shaft;
The mountain spirits laugh’d.
XIII. Wroth waxed the warrior.-- Am I then Fool'd by the enemies of men, Like a poor hind, whose homeward way Is haunted by malicious fay? Is Triermain become your taunt, De Vaux your scorn? False fiends, avaunt!" A weighty curtail-axe he bare; The baleful blade so bright and square, And the tough shaft of heben wood, Were oft in Scottish gore embrued. Backward his stately form he drew, And at the rocks the weapon threw, Just where one crag's projected crest Hung proudly balanced o'er the rest. Hurid with main force, the weapon's shock Rent a huge fragment of the rock: If by mere strength 'twere hard to tell, Or if the blow dissolved some spell, But down the headlong ruin came, With cloud of dust and flash of flame. Down bank, o'er bush, its course was borne, Crush'd lay the copse, the earth was torn, Till, staid at length, the ruin dread Cumber'd the torrent's rocky bed, And bade the waters' high-swoll'n tide Seek other pas sage for its pride.
XIV. When ceased that thunder, Triermain Survey'd the mound's rude front again; And lo! the ruin had laid bart, Hewn in the stone a winding stair, Whose moss'd and fractured steps might lend The means the summit to ascend; And by whose aid the brave De Vaux Began to scale these magic rocks,
Ånd soon a platform won,
The castle of saint John!
The massive fortress shona
Embattled high and proudly tower'd,
The portal's gloomy way.
Had suffered no decay;
In the mid torrent lay.
Unfelt had passed away.
As iciole in thaw;
I mock these words of awe!"-
The rusty bolls withdraw;
And rusted bolt and bar
Return'd their surly jar. “Now closed is the gin and the prey within,
By the rood of Laneroost!
May rue him of his boast.”-
And towers of varied size,
Of fanoy, could derisa
But full between the warrior's way dod the main portal-arch, there lay
An inner moat;
Nor bridge nor boat
was his manly form, and fair
And entered soon the hold,
By warriors done of old.
While trumpets seemed to blow;
Were here depicted, to appal
In this enchanted hall.
To an arched portal door,
And, ere he ventured more,
The vaulting, and the floor;
Four maids whom Afric bore;
As Lucy's golden hair;
that bound these monsters dread Was but of gossamer. Each maiden's short barbaric vest Left all unclosed the knee and breast,
And limbs of shapely jet;
White was their vest and turban's fold,
In savage pomp were set;
That Roland well nigh hoped
But, when the wicket oped, Each grisly beast 'gan upward draw, Roll'd his grim eye, and spread his claw, Scented the air, and lick'd his jaw! While these weird maids, in Moorish tongue, A wild and dismal warning sung.
XXI. “ Rash adventurer, bear thee back!
Dread the spell of Dahomay! Fear the race of Zaharak,
Daughters of the burning day! “When the whirlwind's gusts are wheeling,
Our's it is the dance to braid; Zarah's sands, in pillars reeling,
Join the measure that we tread, When the moon hath don'd her cloak,
And the stars are red to see, Shrill when pipes the sad Siroc,
Music meet for such as we. “ Where the shatter'd columns lie,
Showing Carthage once had been, If the wandering santon's eye
Our mysterious rites hath seen,Oft he cons the prayer of death,
To the nations preaches doom, • Azrael's brand hath left the sheath!
Moslems think upon the tomb!' “Our's the scorpion, our's the snake,
Our's the hydra of the fen, Our's the tiger of the brake,
All that plagues the sons of men.
Pestilence that wastes by day-
Rung those vaulted roofs among;
Died the far resounding song.
I swore upon the rood,
For evil or for good
entered thus the fearful hall.
• A sort of doublet, worn beneath the armour.