These scenes of desolate despair, Seem'd thus to chide his lagging way. XXXIV. "Son of Honour, theme of story, "He that would her heights ascend, "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, Nor climb'd he far its steepy round And next a welcome glimpse was given, XXXV. Of Europe seem'd the damsels all; The next a maid of Spain, For daughter of Almaine. These maidens bore a royal robe, The fourth a space behind them stood, Of merry England she, in dress 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, "Fiends, that wait on Merlin's spel "It is His, 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, astion huge, and Turret steep! remble, Keep! and totter, Tower! his is Gyneth's waking hour." XXXVII. s while she sung, the venturous Knight reach'd a bower, where milder light Through crimson curtains fell; soften'd shade the hill receives, purple veil when twilight leaves Upon its western swell. t bower, the gazer to bewitch, I wondrous store of rare and rich As e'er was seen with eye; there by magic skill, I wis, m of each thing that living is Was limn'd in proper dye. seem'd to sleep-the timid hare form, the stag upon his lair, = eagle in her eyrie fair Between the earth and sky. what of pictured rich and rare ld win De Vaux's eye-glance, where, ep slumbering in the fatal chair, He saw King Arthur's child! ibt, and anger, and dismay, m her brow had pass'd away, got was that fell tourney-day, For, as she slept, she smiled: eem'd that the repentant Seer sleep of many a hundred year With gentle dreams beguiled. XXXVIII. it form of maiden loveliness, 'Twixt childhood and 'twixt youth, at ivory chair, that silvan dress, e arms and ankles bare, express Of Lyulph's tale the truth. Il upon her garment's hem noc's blood made purple gem, d the warder of command mber'd still her sleeping hand; ll her dark locks dishevell'd flow om net of pearl o'er breast of snow; d so fair the slumberer seems, at De Vaux impeach'd his dreams, pid all and void of might, ding half her charms from sight. Motionless a while he stands, Doubtful, too, when slowly rise "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! Safe and free from magic power, And round the Champion's brows were bound The crown that Druidess had wound, And this was what remain❜d of all CONCLUSION. I. My Lucy, when the Maid is won, And to require of bard 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 steps, when eve is sinking gray, So think the vulgar-Life and time And, O! beside these simple knaves, 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. THE FIELD OF WATERLOO: A POEM. Though Valois braved young Edward's gentle hand, With Europe's chosen sons, in terms renown'd, Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they look'd, Nor Audley's squires nor Mowbray's yeomen brook'd,– They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound." ΤΟ HER GRACE AKENSIDE. THE DUCHESS OF WELLINGTON, Princess of Waterloo, &c. &c. &c. THE FOLLOWING VERSES ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR. ADVERTISEMENT. It may be some apology for the imperfections of this Poem, that it was composed hastily, and during a short tour upon the Continent, when the Author's labours were liable to frequent interruption; but its best apology is that it was written for the purpose of assisting the Waterloo Subscription. ABBOTSFORD, 1815. |