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"Stay, then, gentle Warrior, stay,
Rest till evening steal on day;
Stay, oh, stay!-in yonder bowers
We will braid thy locks with flowers,
Spread the feast and fill the wine,
Charm thy ear with sounds divine.
Weave our dances till delight
Yield to languor, day to night.
"Then shall she you most approve
Sing the lays that best you love,
Soft thy mossy couch shall spread,
Watch thy pillow, prop thy head,
Till the weary night be o'er-
Gentle Warrior, wouldst thou more!-
Wouldst thou more, fair Warrior,-she
Is slave to Love and slave to thee."-

XXXII.

O do not hold it for a crime
In the bold hero of my rhyme,
For stoic look,

And meet rebuke,

He lacked the heart or tine!
As round the band of syrens trip,
He kissed one damsel's laughing lip,
And pressed another's proffered hand,
Spoke to them all in accents bland,
But broke their magic circle through;
"Kind Maids," said he, "adieu, adieu!
My fate, my fortune, forward lies."-
He said, and vanished from their eyes;
But, as he dared that darksome way,
Still heard behind their lovely lay:
Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart!
Go, where the feelings of the heart
With the warm pulse in concord move;
Go, where Virtue sanctions love!"

XXXIII.

Downward De Vaux through darksome ways
And ruined vaults has gone,

Till issue from their wildered maze,
Or safe retreat seemed none,
And e'en the dismal path he strays
Grew worse as he went on.
For cheerful sun, for living air,

Foul vapours rise and mine-fires glare,
Whose fearful light the dangers showed
That dogged him on that dreadful road.
Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun,
They showed, but showed not how to shun.
These scenes of desolate despair,

These smothering clouds of poisoned air,
How gladly had De Vaux exchanged,
Though 'twere to face yon tigers ranged!
Nay, soothful bards have said,
So perilous his state seemed now,
He wished him under arbour bough
With Asia's willing maid.

When, joyful sound! at distance near
A trumpet flourished loud and clear,
And as it ceased, a lofty lay

Seemed thus to chide his lagging way :

XXXIV.

"Son of Honour, theme of story,
Think on the reward before ye!
Danger, darkness, toil despise ;
"Tis Ambition bids thee rise.

"He, that would her heights ascend,
Many a weary step must wend;
Hand and foot and knee he tries:
Thus Ambition's minions rise.

"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,
A steep ascent the wanderer found,
And then a turret stair:

Nor climbed he far its steepy round
Till fresher blew the air,

And next a welcome glimpse was given.
That cheered him with the light of heaven.
At length his toil had won

A lofty hall with trophies dressed,
Where, as to greet imperial guest.
Four maidens stood, whose crimson vest
Was bound with golden zone.

XXXV.

Of Europe seemed the damsels all;
The first a nymph of lively Gaul,
Whose easy step and laughing eye
Her borrowed air of awe belie;

The next a maid of Spain,
Dark-eyed, dark-haired, sedate, yet bold;
While ivory skin and tress of gold,
Her shy and bashful comrade told
For daughter of Almaine.

These Maidens bore a royal robe,
With crown, with sceptre, and with globe,
Emblems of empery;

The fourth, a space behind them stood,
And leant upon a harp, in mood

Of minstrel ecstasy.

Of merry England she, in dress,
Like ancient British Druidress;
Her hair and azure fillet bound,
Her graceful vesture swept the ground,
And, in her hand displayed,

A crown did that fourth Maiden hold,
But unadorned with gems and gold,
Of glossy laurel made.

XXXVI.

At once to brave De Vanx knelt down
These foremost Maidens three,
And proffered 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 be 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,
That sit on Despot's throne."

So passed he on, when that fourth Maid
As starting from a trance,
Upon the harp her fingers laid;
Her magic touch the chords obeyed,
Their soul awaked at once!

SONG OF THE FOURTH MAIDEN.
"Quake to your foundation deep,
Stately Towers, and bannered Keep!
Bid your vaulted echoes moan,
As the dreaded step they own.
"Fiends! that wait on Merlin's spell,
Here the foot-fall! mark it well!'
Spread your dusky wings abroad,
Bonne ye for your homeward road!
"It is Hrs, 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,
Bastion huge, and Turret steep!"
Tremble Keep, and totter Tower!
This is Gyneth's waking hour."-

XXXVII.

Thus while she sung, the venturous Knight
Has reached a bower, where milder light
Through crimson curtains fell;

Such softened shade the hill receives,
Her purple veil when twilight leaves
Upon its western swell.

That bower, the gazer to bewitch,
Hath wondrous store of rare and rich

As e'er was seen with eye; For there by magic skill, I wis, Form of each thing that living is

Was limned in proper dye.
All seemed to sleep-the timid hare
On form, the stag upon his lair,
The eagle in her eyrie fair

Between the earth and sky.

But what of pictured rich and rare
Could win De Vaux's eye-glance, where,
Deep slumbering in the fatal chair,
He saw King Arthur's child!
Doubt, and anger, and dismay,
From her brow had passed away,
Forgot was that fell tourney-day,

For, as she slept, she smiled.

It seemed that the repentant Seer
Her sleep of many a hundred year
With gentle dreams beguiled.

XXXVIII.

That form of maiden loveliness,

'Twixt childhood and 'twixt youth,
That ivory chair, that sylvan dress,
The arms and ankles bare, express
Of Lyulph's tale the truth.
Still upon her garment's hem
Vanoc's blood made purple gem,
And the warder of command
Cumbered still her sleeping hand;
Still her dark locks dishevelled flow
From net of pearl o'er breast of snow;
And so fair the slumberer seems,
That De Vaux impeached his dreams,
Vapid all and void of might,
Hiding half her charms from sight.
Motionless a while he stands,

Folds his arms and clasps his hands,
Trembling in his fitful joy,
Doubtful how he shall destroy

Long-enduring-spell;

Doubtful too, when slowly rise
Dark-fringed lids of Gyneth's eyes,
What these eyes shall tell.
"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 clasp-
But 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! Fierce and frequent were the shocks, Melt the magic halls away,-But beneath their mystic rocks, In the arms of bold De Vaux,

Safe the Princess lay!

Safe and free from magic power,
Blushing like the rose's flower

Opening to the day;

And round the Champion's brows were bound The crown that Druidess had wound,

Of the green laurel-bay.

And this was what remained of all
The wealth of each enchanted hall,

The Garland and the Dame :-
But where should Warrior seek the meed,
Due to high worth for daring deed,
Except from LOVE and FAME!

CONCLUSION.

I.

MY LUCY, when the maid is won,
The Minstrel's task, thou know'st, is done.
And to require of bard

That to the dregs his tale should run,
Were ordinance too hard,
Our lovers, briefly be it said,
Wedded as lovers wont to wed,

When tale or play is o'er;
Lived long and blessed, 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 Saint 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 lingering wheels are moving slow,
The whiles up-gazing still,

Our menials eye our steepy way,
Marvelling, perchance, what whim can stay
Our steps when eve is sinking gray

On this gigantic hill.

So think the vulgar-Life and time
Ring all their joys in one dull chime

Of luxury and ease;

And O! beside these simple knaves,
How many better born are slaves

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 brac,
Shall hang on Arthur's arm.

NOTES.

INTRODUCTION.

Like Collins, thread the maze of Fairy land. --INT., St. VIII, p. 244. Collins, according to Johnson, "by indulging some peculiar habits of thought, was eminently delighted with those flights of imagination which pass the bounds of nature, and to which the mind is reconciled only by passive acquiescence in popular traditions. He loved fairies, genii, giants, and monsters; he delighted to rove through the meanders of enchantment, to gaze On the magnificence of golden palaces, to repose by the waterfalls of Elysian gardens."

CANTO FIRST.

The Baron of Triermain.-St. 1, p. 244. Triermain was a fief of the Barony of Gillsland, in Cumberland; it was possessed by a Saxon family at the time of the Conquest, but, after the death of Gilmore, Lord of Tryermaine and Torerossock, Hubert Vaux gave Tryermaine and Torcrossock to his second son. Ranulph Vaux; which Ranulph afterwards became heir to his elder brother Robert, the founder of Lanercost, who died without issue. Ranulph, being Lord of all Gilsland, gave Gilsmore's lands to his younger son, named Roland, and let the Barony descend to his eldest son Robert, son of Ranulph. Roland had issue Alexander, and he Ranulph, after whom succeeded Robert, and they were named Rolands successively, that were lords thereof, until the reign of Edward the Fourth. That house gave for arms, Vert, a bend dexter, chequy, or and gules"- BURN'S Antiquities of Westmoreland and Cumberland

He pass'd red Penrith's Table Round. -St. VII, p. 245. A circular intrenchment, about half a mile from Penrith, is thus popularly termed. The circle within the ditch is about one hundred and sixty paces in circumference, with openings, or approaches, directly opposite to each other. As the ditch is on the inner side, it could not be intended for the purpose of defence, and it has reasonably been conjectured, that the enclosure was designed for the solemn exercise of feats of chivalry, and the embankment around for the convenience of the spectators.

Mayburgh's mound.-St. VII, p. 245. Higher up the river Eamont than Arthur's Round Table, is a prodigious enclosure of great antiquity, formed by a collection of stones upon the top of a gently sloping hill, called Mayburgh. In the plain which it encloses there stands erect an unhewa stone of twelve feet in height. Two similar masses are said to have been destroyed during the memory of man. The whole appears to be a monument of Druidical times.

CANTO SECOND.

The Monarch. breathless and amazed,
Back on the fatal castle gazed
Nor tower nor donjon could he spy,
Darkening against the morning sky.
-St. x, p. 248.

"We now gained a view of the Vale of St. John's, a very narrow dell, hemmed in by mountains, through which a small brook makes many meanderings, washing little enclosures of grassground, which stretch up the rising of the hills. In the widest part of the dale you are struck with the appearance of an ancient ruined castle, which seems to stand upon the summit of a little mount, the mountings around forming an amphitheatre, This massive bulwark shows a front of various towers, and makes an awful, rude, and Gothic appearance, with its lofty turrets and ragged battlements; we traced the galleries, the bending arches, the buttresses. The greatest antiquity stands characterised in its architecture; the inhabitants near it assert it is an antediluvian structure. The traveller's curiosity is roused, and he prepares to make a nearer approach, when that curiosity is put upon the rack, by his being assured, that, if he advances, certain genii who govern the place, by virtue of their supernatural art and necromancy, will strip it of all its beauties, and by enchantment, transform the magic walls. The vale seems adapted for the habitation of such beings; its gloomy recesses and retirements look like haunts of evil spirits. There was no delusion in the report; we were soon convinced of its truth: for this piece of antiquity, so venerable and noble in its aspect, as we drew near, changed its figure, and proved no other than a shaken massive pile of rocks, which stand in the midst of this little vale, disunite from the adjoining mountains, and have so much the real form and resemblancé of a castle, that they bear the name of the Castle Rocks of St. John."-HUTCHINSON'S Excursion to the Lakes.

The flower of Chivalry

There Galaad sate with manly grave,
Yet maiden meekness in his face;
There Moroit of the iron mace,

And love-lorn Tristrem there. -St. XII, p. 249. The characters named in the stanza are all of them more or less distinguished in the romances which treat of King Arthur and his Round Table, and their names are strung together according to the established custom of minstreis upon such occasions.

Lancelot, that ever more
Look'd stolen-wise on the Queen

-St. XII, p. 249. Upon this delicate subject hear Richard Robinson, citizen of London:-"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. But yet the truth of the historie pluckes me by the eare, and willeth not onely, but commandeth me to declare what the ancients have deemed of her."--Assertion of King Arthure. Imprinted by John Wolfe, London, 1582.

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK.

A POEM.

"Quid dignum memorare tuis, Hispania, terris,

Vox humana valet !"-CLAUDIAN.

TO JOHN WHITMORE,

ESQ.,

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, IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY

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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 BUONAPARTE; 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 further 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 most 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.

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