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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,

And mourn till life and grief are o'er.

Enough of him.-Now, ere we lose,

Plunged in the vale, the distant views,
What sight, what signal of alarm,

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;
There is but one resistless spell-
Say, wilt thou guess, or must I tell?

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.
Recal our favourite haunts agen?

A wild resemblance we can trace,
Though reft of every softer grace,

And now, my Lucy, wot'st thou why

I could thy bidding twice deny,
As the rough warrior's brow may bear
A likeness to a sister fair.

• 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,
And now she comes! The murmur dear

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,
That dances down the highland hill,

The rocks remained the same.
Her blither melody.
And now, my Lucy's way to cheer,

She bids Ben-Cruach's echoes hear

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.
Yet still his watch the warrior keeps,

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,
There comes no aid from Triermain.

While o'er its curve careering fast,
That lord, on high adventure bound,
Hath wandered forth alone,

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.


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The breeze came softly down the brook,

And, sighing as it blew,
The veil of silver mist it shook,
And to De Vaux's eager look

Renewed that wond'rous view.
For, though the loitering vapour braved
The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved

Its mantle's dewy fold;
And, still, when shook that filmy screen,
Where towers and bastions dimly seen,
And Gothic battlements between

Their gloomy length unroll’d.
Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on thine eye
Once more the fleeting vision die!

The gallant knight can speed
As prompt and light as, when the hound
Is opening, and the horn is wound,

Careers the hunter's steed.
Down the steep dell his course amain

Hath rivall’d archer's shaft;
But ere the mound he could attain,
The rocks their shapeless form regain,
And mocking loud his labour vain,

The mountain spirits laugh’d.
Far up the echoing dell was borne
Their wild unearthly shout of scorn.

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,
Where, the wild witchery lo close,
Within three lances' length arose

The castle of saint John!
No misty phantom of the air,
No meteor-blazon'd show was there;
In morning splendour, full and fair,

The massive fortress shona

Embattled high and proudly tower'd,
Shaded by ponderous flankers, lower'd

The portal's gloomy way.
Though for six hundred years and more,
lts strength had brooked the tempest's roar,
The scutcheon'd emblems that it bore

Had suffered no decay;
But from the eastern batllement
A tarret had made sheer descent,
And down in recent ruin rent,

In the mid torrent lay.
Else, o'er the castle's brow sublime,
Insults of violence or of time

Unfelt had passed away.
In shapeless characters of yore,
The gate this stern inscription bore:


Patience waits the destined day,
Strength can clear the cumber'd way.
Warrior, who hast waited long,
Firm of soul, os sinew strong,
It is given to thee to gaze
On the pile of ancient days.
Never mortal builder's hand
This enduring fabric plann'd;
Sigo and sigil, word of power,
From the earth raised keep and tower.
View it o'er, and pace it round,
Rampart, turret, battled mound.
Dare no more! to cross the gate
Were to tamper with thy fate;
Strength and fortitude were vain!
View it o'er-and turn again.

“ That would I," said the warrior bola,
“ If that my frame were bent and old,
And my thin blood dropp'd slow and cold

As iciole in thaw;
But while my heart can feel it dance,
Blith as the sparkling wine of France,
And this good arm wields sword or lance,

I mock these words of awe!"-
He said; the wicket felt the sway
Of his strong hand, and straight gave way,
And with rude crash and jarring bray,

The rusty bolls withdraw;
But o'er the threshold as he strode,
And forward took the vaulted road,
An unseen arm with force amain
The ponderous gate flung close again,

And rusted bolt and bar
Spontaneous took their place once more,
While the deep arch with sullen roar

Return'd their surly jar. “Now closed is the gin and the prey within,

By the rood of Laneroost!
But he that would win the war-wolf's skin,

May rue him of his boast.”-
Thus muttering, on the warrior vent,
By dubious light down steep descent.

Unbarr'd, unlock'd, unwatch'd, a port
Led to the castle's outer court;
There the main fortress, broad and tall,
Spread its long range of bower and ball,

And towers of varied size,
Wrought with each ornament extreme,
That Gothic art, in wildest dream

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
Affords De Vaux the means to cross
The clear, profound, and silent fosse.
His arms aside in haste he flings,
Cuirass of steel and hauberk rings,
And down falls helm, and down the shield,
Rough with the dints of many a field.

was his manly form, and fair
His keen dark eye, and close-curl'd hair,
When,--all unarmed, save that the brand
Of well-proved metal graced his hand,
With nought to fence his dauntless breast
But the close gipon's* under vest,
Whose sullicd buff the sable stains
Of hauberk and of mail retains, -
Roland De Vaux upon the brim
Of the broad moat stood prompt to swim.

Accouter'd thus he dared the tide,
And soon he reached the farther side,

And entered soon the hold,
And paced a hall, whose walls so wide
Were blazou'd all with feats of pride,

By warriors done of old.
In middle lists they counter'd here,

While trumpets seemed to blow;
And there, in den or desert drear,
They quelled gigantic foe,
Braved the fierce griffon in his ire,
Or faced the dragon's breath of fire.
Strange in their arms, and strange in face,
Heroes they seemed of ancient race,
Whose deeds of arms, and race, and name,
Forgotten long by latter fame,

Were here depicted, to appal
Those of an age degenerate,
Whose bold intrusion braved their fate,

In this enchanted hall.
For some short space the venturous knight
With these high marvels fed his sight;
Then sought the chamber's upper end,
Where three broad easy steps ascend

To an arched portal door,
In whose broad folding leaves of state
Was framed a wicket window-grate;

And, ere he ventured more,
The gallant knight took earnest view
The grated wicket-window through.

Oh for his arms! Of martial weed
Had never mortal knight such need!
He spied a stately gallery; all
Of stow-white marble was the wall,

The vaulting, and the floor;
And, contrast strange! on either hand
There stood array'd in sable band

Four maids whom Afric bore;
And each a Lybian tiger led,
Held by as bright and frail a thread

As Lucy's golden hair;
For the leash

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,
On arms and ancles rings of gold

In savage pomp were set;
A quiver on their shoulders lay,
And in their hand an assagay.
Such and so silent stood they there,

That Roland well nigh hoped
He saw a band of statues rare,
Station'd the gazer's soul to scare;

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.
Our's the tempest's midnight wrack,

Pestilence that wastes by day-
Dread the race of Zaharak!
Fear the spell of Dahomay!”-

Uncouth and strange the accents shrill

Rung those vaulted roofs among;
Long it was ere, faint and still,

Died the far resounding song.
While yet the distant echoes roll,
The warrior communed with his soul.
“ When first I took this venturous quest,

I swore upon the rood,
Neither to stop, nor turn, nor rest,

For evil or for good
My forward path, too well I ween,
Lies yonder fearful ranks between;
For man unarm’d, 'tis bootless hope
With tigers and with fiends to cope
Yet, if I turn, what waits me there,
Save famine dire and fell despair?-
Other conclusion let me try,
Since, choose howe'er 1 list, I die.
Forward, lies faith and knightly fames
Behind, are perjury and shame.
In life or death I hold my word.”
With that he drew his trusty sword,
Caught down a banner from the wall,

entered thus the fearful hall.

• A sort of doublet, worn beneath the armour.

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