Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde, They rode with them that daye, And, foremost of the companye, There rode the stewarde Kaye. Soe did Sir Banier and Sir Bore, And eke Sir Garratte keen, Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight, To the forest fresh and green. Note 5. Stanza xìii. And Lancelot, that evermore Look'd stol'n-wise on the queen. Upon this delicate subject hear Richard Robinson, citizen of London, in his Assertion of King Arthur: <«<But as it is a thing sufficiently apparent that she (Guenever, wife of King Arthur) was beautiful, so it is a thing doubted whether she was chaste, yea or no. Truly, so far as I can with honestie, I would spare the impayred honour and fame of noble women. But yet the truth of the historie pluckes me be the eere, and willeth me not onely, but commandeth me to declare what the ancients have deemed of her. To wrestle or contend with so great authoritie were indeed unto me a controversie, and that greate.»-Assertion of King Arthure. Imprinted by John Wolfe, London, 1582. Note 6. Stanza xviii. There were two who loved their neighbours' wives, And one who loved his own. standyng poole, covered and overflowed all England, fewe books were read in our tongue, savyng certaine bookes of chevalrie, as they said, for pastime and pleasure; which, as some say, were made in the monasteries, by idle monks or wanton chanons. As one for example, La morte d'Arthure; the whole pleasure of which book standeth in two speciall poynts, in open manslaughter and bold bawdrye; in which booke they be counted the noblest knightes that do kill most men without any quarrell, and commit fowlest adoulteries by sutlest shiftes; as Sir Lancelot, with the wife of King Arthur, his master; Sir Tristram, with the wife of King Marke, his uncle; Sir Lamerocke, with the wife of King Lote, that was his own aunt. This is good stuffe for wise men to laugh at, or honest men to take pleasure at, yet I know when God's Bible was banished the court, and La Morte d'Arthure received into the prince's chamber.»-ASCHAM's Schoolmaster. Note 7. Stanza xviii. -valiant Carodac, Who won the cup of gold. See the comic tale of the Boy and the Mantle, in the third volume of Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, from the Breton or Norman original of which Ariosto is supposed to have taken his tale of the Enchanted AND TO THE COMMITTEE OF SUBSCRIBERS FOR RELIEF OF THE POrtuguese SUFFERERS, IN WHICH HE PRESIDES, This Poem, COMPOSED FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE FUND UNDER THEIR MANAGEMENT, BY WALTER SCOTT. PREFACE. THE following poem is founded upon a Spanish tradition, particularly detailed in the Notes; but bearing, in general, that Don Roderick, the last Gothic King of Spain, when the invasion of the Moors was impending, had the temerity to descend into an ancient vault, near Toledo, the opening of which had been denounced as fatal to the Spanish monarchy. The legend adds, that his rash curiosity was mortified by an emblematical representation of those Saracens, who, in the year 714, defeated him in battle, and reduced Spain under their dominion. I have presumed to prolong the Vision of the Revolutions of Spain down to the present eventful crisis of the Peninsula; and to divide it, by a supposed change of scene, into THREE PERIODS. The FIRST of these represents the Invasion of the Moors, the Defeat and Death of Roderick, and closes with the peaceful occupation of the country by the victors. The SECOND PERIOD embraces the state of the Peninsula, when the conquests of the Spaniards and Portuguese in the East and West Indies had raised to the highest pitch the renown of their arms; sullied, however, by superstition and cruelty. An allusion to the inhumanities of the inquisition terminates this picture. The LAST PART of the poem opens with the state of Spain previous to the unparalleled treachery of BONAPARTE; gives a sketch of the usurpation attempted upon that unsuspicious and friendly kingdom, and terminates with the arrival of the British succours. It may be farther proper to mention, that the object of the poem is less to commemorate or detail particular incidents, than to exhibit a general and impressive picture of the several periods brought upon the stage. I am too sensible of the respect due to the Public, especially by one who has already experienced more than ordinary indulgence, to offer any apology for the inferiority of the poetry to the subject it is chiefly designed to commemorate. Yet I think it proper to mention, that while I was hastily executing a work, written for a temporary purpose, and on passing events, the task was cruelly interrupted by the successive deaths of Lord President BLAIR, and Lord Viscount MELVILLE. In those distinguished characters, I had not only to regret persons whose lives were most important to Scotland, but also whose notice and patronage honoured my entrance upon active life; and I may add, with melancholy pride, who permitted my more advanced age to claim no common share in their friendship. Under such interruptions, the following verses, which my best and happiest efforts must have left far unworthy of their theme, have, I am myself sensible, an appearance of negligence and incoherence, which, in other circumstances, I might have been able to remove. Edinburgh, June 24, 1811. INTRODUCTION. I. LIVES there a strain, whose sounds of mountain fire Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre, Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar, II. Yes! such a strain, with all-o'erpowering measure, III. But we, weak minstrels of a laggard day, Skill'd but to imitate an elder page, Timid and raptureless, can we repay The debt thou claim'st in this exhausted age? Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might engage Those that could send thy name o'er sea and land, While sea and land shall last; for Homer's rage A theme; a theme for Milton's mighty handHow much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band! Then lend the note to him has loved you long! Who pious gather'd each tradition gray That floats your solitary wastes along, And with affection vain gave them new voice in song. VI. For not till now, how oft soe'er the task Of truant verse hath lighten'd graver care, They came unsought for, if applauses came; Full on the prelate's face, and silver hair, VISION OF DON RODERICK. That mortal man his bearing should behold, I. REARING their crests amid the cloudless skies, And darkly clustering in the pale moon-light, Toledo's holy towers and spires arise, As from a trembling lake of silver white. Their mingled shadows intercept the sight Of the broad burial-ground outstretch'd below, And nought disturbs the silence of the night; All sleeps in sullen shade, or silver glow, All save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless flow. II. All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide, Or distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp, Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride, To guard the limits of King Roderick's camp. For, through the river's night-fog rolling damp, Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen, Which glimmer'd back, against the moon's fair lamp, Tissues of silk and silver-twisted sheen, And standards proudly pitch'd, and warders arm'd be tween. III. But of their monarch's person keeping ward, Since last the deep-mouth'd bell of vespers toll'd, Or boast that he had seen, when conscience shook, Fear tame a monarch's brow, remorse a warrior's look. VII. The old man's faded cheek wax'd yet more pale, << Thus royal Witiza was slain,>>-he said; VIII. << And if Florinda's shrieks alarm'd the air, Sent to the monarch's cheek the burning blood- The predecessor of Roderick upon the Spanish throne, and slain by his connivance, as is affirmed by Rodriguez of Toledo, the father of Spanish history. IX. << O harden'd offspring of an iron race! What of thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I say? What alms, or prayers, or penance can efface Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stain away? Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime his boast? XV. Fix'd was the right-hand giant's brazen look Whose iron volume loaded his huge hand; lle spare the shepherd, lest the guiltless sheep be The guidance of the earth is for a season given.»> lost?» «By Heaven, the Moors prevail! the Christians yield !— From the dim landscape roll the clouds away— Lo! where the recreant spurs o'er stock and stone! Rivers ingulf him!»-« Hush!» in shuddering tone, The prelate said; « rash prince, yon vision'd form's thine own.» XXII. Just then, a torrent cross'd the flyer's course; The dangerous ford the kingly likeness tried; Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide, The Christians have regain'd their heritage; This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright, Valour was harness'd like a chief of old, Morena's eagle-plume adorn'd his crest, As if of mortal kind to brave the best. gage, And for their bondsmen base the free-born natives As he, my master, sung, the dangerous Archimage. Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found world, Crowns by caciques, aigrettes by omrahs worn, Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and foul; The imaum's chaunt was heard from mosque or mi- The hermit mark'd the stains, and smiled beneath his Whose sulph'rous wreaths were cross'd by sheets of flame; And at his word the choral hymns awake, With every flash a bolt explosive broke, Till Roderick deem'd the fiends had burst their yoke, And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gonfalone! And many a hand the silver censer sways. Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was hier While, 'mid the mingled sounds, the darken'd scenes |