Couch'd on the spoils of wolf and bear,
They roused like lions from their lair,
Then rush'd in emulation forth
To enhance the glories of the north.-
Proud Erick, mightiest of thy race,
Where is thy shadowy resting-place?
In wild Valhalla hast thou quaff'd
From foeman's skull metheglin draught,
Or wander'st where thy cairn was piled,
To frown o'er oceans wide and wild?
Or have the milder Christians given
Thy refuge in their peaceful heaven?
Where'er thou art, to thee are known
Our toils endured, our trophies won,

Our wars, our wanderings, and our woes.»-
He ceased, and Gunnar's song arose.

VI.

SONG.

<< Hawk and osprey scream'd for joy,
O'er the beetling cliffs of Hoy,
Crimson foam the beach o'erspread,
The heath was dyed with darker red,
When o'er Erick, Inguar's son,
Dane and Northman piled the stone;
Singing wild the war-song stern,
Rest thee, dweller of the cairn!

« Where eddying currents foam and boil

By Bersa's burgh and Græmsay's isle,
The seaman sees a martial form
Half mingled with the mist and storm.
In anxious awe he bears away

To moor his bark in Stromna's bay,

And murmurs from the bounding stern,
'Rest thee, dweller of the cairn!'

<< What cares disturb the mighty dead?
Each honour'd rite was duly paid;
No daring hand thy helm unlaced,

Thy sword, thy shield, were near thee placed,
Thy flinty couch no tear profaned,
Without, with hostile blood 't was stain'd;
Within, 't was lined with moss and fern,-
Then rest thee, dweller of the cairn!

<< He may not rest: from realms afar
Comes voice of battle and of war,
Of conquest wrought with bloody hand
On Carmel's cliffs and Jordan's strand,
When Odin's warlike son could daunt
The turban'd race of Termagaunt-->>

VII.

<<< Peace!» said the knight; << the noble scald Our warlike fathers' deeds recall'd, But never strove to soothe the son

With tales of what himself had done.

At Odiu's board the bard sits high
Whose harp ne'er stoop'd to flattery;
But highest he whose daring lay
Hath dared unwelcome truths to say.»-
With doubtful smile young Gunnar eyed
His master's looks, and nought replied-
But well that smile his master led
To construe what he left unsaid.

« Is it to me, thou timid youth,

Thou fear'st to speak unwelcome truth?
My soul no more thy censure grieves
Than frosts rob laurels of their leaves.
Say on-and yet-beware the rude
And wild distemper of my blood;
Loth were I that mine ire should wrong
The youth that bore my shield so long,
And who, in service constant still,
Though weak in frame, art strong in will.»
Oh!» quoth the page, « even there depends
My counsel there my warning tends.
Oft seems as of my master's breast
Some demon were the sudden guest;
Then at the first misconstrued word
His hand is on the mace and sword,
From her firm seat his wisdom driven,
His life to countless dangers given.-
O! would that Gunnar could suffice
To be the fiend's last sacrifice,
So that, when glutted with my gore,
He fled and tempted thee no more!»

VIII.

Then waved his hand, and shook his head, The impatient Dane, while thus he said:

« Profane not, youth-it is not thine

To judge the spirit of our line-
The bold Berserkar's rage divine,
Through whose inspiring, deeds are wrought
Past human strength and human thought.
When full upon his gloomy soul
The champion feels the influence roll,
He swims the lake, he leaps the wall-
Heeds not the depth, nor plumbs the fall-
Unshielded, mail-less, on he goes,
Singly against a host of foes;
Their spears he holds like wither'd reeds,
Their mail like maiden's silken weeds;
One 'gainst a hundred will he strive,
Take countless wounds, and yet survive.
Then rush the eagles to his cry
Of slaughter and of victory,-

And blood he quaffs like Odin's bowl,

Deep drinks his sword,-deep drinks his soul; And all that meet him in his ire

He gives to ruin, rout, and fire,

Then, like gorged lion, seeks some den,
And couches till he 's man agen.-
Thou know'st the signs of look and limb,
When 'gins that rage to over-brim;

Thou know'st when I am moved, and why;
And when thou seest me roll mine eye,

And form as fair as Denmark's pine, Who loves with purple heath to twine Her locks of sunny glow;

And sweetly blends that shade of gold With the cheek's rosy hue,

And faith might for her mirror hold That eye of matchless blue.

4.

<<"T is hers the manly sports to love
That southern maidens fear,
To bend the bow by stream and grove,
And lift the hunter's spear.
She can her chosen champion's fight
With eye undazzled see,

Clasp him victorious from the strife,
Or on his corpse yield up her life,—
A Danish maid for me!»>

ΧΙ.

Then smiled the Dane-« Thou canst so well

The virtues of our maidens tell,

Half could I wish my choice had been

Blue eyes, and hair of golden sheen,

And lofty soul, yet what of ill

Hast thou to charge on Metelill?»

<< On herself nought,» young Gunnar said,
<< But her base sire's ignoble trade.
Her mother, too-the general fame
Hath given to Jutta evil name,
And in her gray eye is a flame

Art cannot hide, nor fear can tame.--
That sordid woodman's peasant cot
Twice have thine honour'd footsteps sought,
And twice return'd with such ill rede
As sent thee on some desperate deed.»-

XII.

<< Thou errest; Jutta wisely said,
He that comes suitor to a maid,
Ere link'd in marriage, should provide
Lands and a dwelling for his bride-
My father's by the Tyne and Wear

I have reclaim'd.»-« O, all too dear,
And all too dangerous the prize,

E'en were it won,» young Gunnar cries.

« And then this Jutta's fresh device,
That thou shouldst seek a heathen Dane,
From Durham's priests a boon to gain,
When thou hast left their vassals slain
In their own halls!»-Flash'd Harold's eye,
Thunder'd his voice-« False page, you lie!
The castle, hall and tower, is mine,
Built by old Witikind on Tyne.
The wild-cat will defend his den,
Fights for her nest the timid wren;
And think'st thou I'll forego my right
For dread of monk or monkish knight?-

Up and away! that deepening bell
Doth of the Bishop's conclave tell.
Thither will I, in manner due,

As Jutta bade, my claim to sue;
And, if to right me they are loth,
Then woe to church and chapter both!»>

Now shift the scene, and let the curtain fall,
And our next entry be Saint Cuthbert's hall.

CANTO IV.

I.

FULL many a bard hath sung the solemn gloom,
Of the long Gothic aisle and stone-ribb'd roof,
O'er canopying shrine, and gorgeous tomb,

Carved screen, and altar glimmering far aloof,
And blending with the shade-a matchless proof
Of high devotion, which hath now wax'd cold;
Yet legends say, that luxury's brute hoof

Intruded oft within such sacred fold,

Like step of Bel's false priest, track'd in his fane of old.

Well pleased am I, howe'er, that when the route

Of our rude neighbours whilome deign'd to come, Uncall'd, and eke unwelcome, to sweep out

And cleanse our chancel from the rage of Rome, They spoke not on our ancient fane the doom

To which their bigot zeal gave o'er their own, But spared the martyr'd saint and storied tomb,

Though papal miracles had graced the stone,

And though the aieles still loved the organ's swelling

tone.

And deem not, though 't is now my part to paint
A prelate sway'd by love of power and gold,
That all who wore the mitre of our saint
Like to ambitious Aldingar I hold;
Since both in modern times and days of old
It sate on those whose virtues might atone

Their predecessors' frailties trebly told :

Matthew and Morton we as such may ownAnd such (if fame speak truth) the honour'd Barrington.

II.

But now to earlier and to ruder times,
As subject meet, I tune my rugged rhymes,
Telling how fairly the chapter was met,
And rood and books in seemly order set;
Huge brass-clasp'd volumes, which the hand
Of studious priest but rarely scann'd,
Now on fair carved desk display'd,
'T was theirs the solemn scene to aid.
O'er-head with many a scutcheon graced,
And quaint devices interlaced,
A labyrinth of crossing rows,
The roof in lessening arches shows;
Beneath its shade placed proud and high,
With footstool and with canopy,
Sate Aldingar, and prelate ne'er
More haughty graced Saint Cuthbert's chair.
Canons and deacons were placed below,
In due degree and lengthen'd row.
Unmoved and silent each sate there,
Like image, in his oaken chair;

Nor head, nor hand, nor foot they stirr'd,
Nor lock of hair, nor tress of beard,
And of their eyes severe alone
The twinkle show'd they were not stone.

III.

The prelate was to speech address'd,
Each head sunk reverent on each breast;

But ere his voice was heard-without
Arose a wild tumultuous shout,
Offspring of wonder mix'd with fear,
Such as in crowded streets we hear,
Hailing the flames, that, bursting out,
Attract yet scare the rabble rout.
Ere it had ceased, a giant hand
Shook oaken door and iron band,
Till oak and iron both gave way,
Clash'd the long bolts, the hinges bray,
And ere upon angel or saint they can call,
Stands Harold the Dauntless in midst of the hall.

IV.

<< Now save ye, my masters, both rochet and rood,
From bishop with mitre to deacon with hood!
For here stands Count Harold, old Witikind's son,
Come to sue for the lands which his ancestors won.>>
The prelate look'd round him with sore troubled eye,
Unwilling to grant, yet afraid to deny;

While each canon and deacon who heard the Dane

speak,

To be safely at home would have fasted a week :-
Then Aldingar roused him and answer'd again :
« Thou suest for a boon which thou canst not obtain;
The church hath no fiefs for an unchristen'd Dane.
Thy father was wise, and his treasure hath given,
That the priests of a chantry might hymn him to

heaven;

And the fiefs which whilome he possess'd as his due,
Have lapsed to the church, and been granted anew
To Anthony Conyers and Alberic Vere,

For the service St Cuthbert's bless'd banner to bear,
When the bands of the North come to foray the Wear.
Then disturb not our conclave with wrangling or
blame,

But in peace and in patience pass hence as ye came.»>

V.

Loud laugh'd the stern pagan-« They 're free from

the care

of fief and of service, both Conyers and Vere,-
Six feet of your chancel is all they will need,
A buckler of stone and a corslet of lead.-

Ho, Gunnar!-the tokens!»-and, sever'd anew,

A head and a hand on the altar he threw.
Then shudder'd with terror both canon and monk,
They knew the glazed eye and the countenance shrunk,
And of Anthony Conyers the half-grizzled hair,
And the scar on the hand of Sir Alberic Vere.
There was not a churchman or priest that was there
But grew pale at the sight, and betook him to prayer.

VI.

Count Harold laugh'd at their looks of fear :

<< Was this the hand should your banner bear? Was that the head should wear the casque

In battle at the church's task?
Was it to such you gave the place
Of Harold with the heavy mace?
Find me between the Wear and Tyne
A knight will wield this club of mine,-
Give him my fiefs, and I will say
There's wit beneath the cowl of gray.»
He raised it, rough with many a stain,
Caught from crush'd skull and spouting brain;

XIII.

Loud revell'd the guests, and the goblets loud rang,
But louder the minstrel, Hugh Meneville, sang;
And Harold, the hurry and pride of whose soul,
E'en when verging to fury, own'd music's control,
Still bent on the harper his broad sable eye,
And often untasted the goblet pass'd by;
Than wine, or than wassail, to him was more dear
The minstrel's high tale of enchantment to hear;
And the bishop that day might of Vinsauf complain,
That his art had but wasted his wine-casks in vain.

XIV.

THE CASTLE OF THE SEVEN SHIELDS.-A BALLAD.

THE Druid Urien had daughters seven,
Their skill could call the moon from heaven;
So fair their forms, and so high their fame,
That seven proud kings for their suitors came.

King Mador and Rhys came from Powis and Wales,
Unshorn was their hair, and unpruned were their nails;
From Strath Clwyde came Ewain, and Ewain was lame,
And the red-bearded Donald from Galloway came.

Lot, king of Lodon, was hunch-back'd from youth;
Dunmail of Cumbria had never a tooth;
But Adolf of Bambrough, Northumberland's heir,
Was gay and was gallant, was young and was fair.
There was strife 'mongst the sisters, for each one would

have

For husband King Adolf, the gallant and brave;
And envy bred hate, and hate urged them to blows,
When the firm earth was cleft, and the arch-fiend
arose !

He swore to the maidens their wish to fulfil--. They swore to the foe they would work by his will. A spindle and distaff to each hath he given,

<< Now hearken my spell,» said the outcast of heaven.

<< Ye shall ply these spindles at midnight hour, And for every spindle shall rise a tower,

Well chanced it that Adolf, the night when he wed,
Had confess'd and had sain'd him ere boune to his bed;
He sprung from his couch, and his broad-sword he
drew,

And there the seven daughters of Urien he slew.

The gate of the castle he bolted and seal'd,
And hung o'er each arch-stone a crown and a shield;
To the cells of St Dunstan then wended his way,
And died in his cloister an anchorite gray.

Seven monarchs' wealth in that castle lies stow'd,
The foul fiends brood o'er them like raven and toad.
Whoever shall guesten these chambers within,
From curfew till matins, that treasure shall win.

But manhood grows faint as the world waxes old!
There lives not in Britain a champion so bold,
So dauntless of heart, and so prudent of brain,
As to dare the adventure that treasure to gain.

The waste ridge of Cheviot shall wave with the rye, Before the rude Scots shall Northumberland fly, And the flint cliffs of Bambro' shall melt in the sun, Before that adventure be perill'd and won.

XV.

<< And is this my probation?» wild Harold he said, << Within a lone castle to press a lone bed?Good even, my Lord Bishop,-St Cuthbert to borrow, The Castle of Seven Shields receives me to-morrow.≫

CANTO V.

I.

DENMARK'S sage courtier to her princely youth, Granting his cloud an ouzel or a whale, Spoke, though unwittingly, a partial truth; For Phantasy embroiders Nature's veil.

power,

And there shall ye dwell with your paramour.»>

Beneath the pale moon-light they sate on the wold, And the rhymes which they chaunted must never be told;

And as the black wool from the distaff they sped,
With blood from their bosom they moisten'd the thread.

As light danced the spindles beneath the cold gleam,
The castle arose like the birth of a dream-
The seven towers ascended like mist from the ground,
Seven portals defend them, seven ditches surround.

Within that dread castle seven monarchs were wed,
But six of the seven ere the morning lay dead;
With their eyes all on fire, and their daggers all red,
Seven damsels surround the Northumbrian's bed.

<< Six kingly bridegrooms to death we have done,
Six gallant kingdoms King Adolf hath won,
Six lovely brides all his pleasure to do,

Or the bed of the seventh shall be husbandless too.>>

Of the swart thunder-cloud, or silver haze, Are but the ground-work of the rich detail

Which Phantasy with pencil wild portrays, Blending what seems and is, in the rapt muser's gaze.

Nor are the stubborn forms of earth and stone
Less to the sorceress's empire given :

For not with unsubstantial hues alone,
Caught from the varying surge, or vacant heaven,
From bursting sun-beam, or from flashing levin,
She limns her pictures-on the earth, as air,
Arise her castles, and her car is driven;

And never gazed the eye on scene so fair,
But of its boasted charms fancy gave half the share.

II.

Up a wild pass went Harold, bent to prove,
Hugh Meneville, the adventure of thy lay;
Gunnar pursued his steps in faith and love,
Ever companion of his master's way.
Midward their path, a rock of granite gray

From the adjoining cliff had made descent,—