« 前へ次へ »
But, lady, weave no wreath for
me, Or weave it of the cypress-tree!
In lively mood he spoke, to wile
Let dimpled mirth his temples twine
closed of silver sheen;
Yes! wine for me the cypress-bouglı;
XVI. He made obeisance, with a free Yet studied air of courtesy. Each look and accent, framed to please, Seem'd to affect a playful ease; His face was of that doubtful kind, That wins the eye but not the mind; Yet harsh it seem'd to deem amiss Of brow so young and smooth as this. His was the subtle look and sly, That, spying all, seems nought to spy; Round all the group his glances stole, Unmark'd themselves, to mark the whole, Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look, Nor could the eye of Redmond brook. To the suspicious, or the old, Subtle and dangerous and bold Had sccm'd ibis self-invited guest; But young our lovers,--and the rest, Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear At parting of their mistress dear, Tear-blinded to the castle-hall Came, as to bear her funeral pa)].
XVII. All that expression base was gone, When waked the guest his minstrel tone ; It fled at inspiration's call, As erst the demon fled from Saul. More noble glance he cast around, More free-drawu breath inspired the sound, Nis pulse beat holder and more high, In all the pride of minstrelsy! Alas! too soon that pride was o'er, Sunk with the lay that bade it soar! His soul resumed, with habit's chain, Its vices wild and follies vain, And gave the talent, with him born, To be a common curse and scoco. Such was the youth whom Rokeby's maid, With condescending kindness, pray'd
Here to renew the strain she loved, At distance heard and well approved.
Whose fate has been, through good and ill,
SONG.THE CAVALIER. While the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray, My true-love has mounted his steed and away, Over hill, over valley, o'er dale and o'er,down; Heaven shield the brave gallant that fights for the
To musing prone,
My harp alone.
To fame unknown ;-
My harp alone.
And praised the tone;-
My harp alone.
Love's sway to own;
My harp alone.
He has doffd the silk doublet the breast-plate to bear, He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long-flowing hair, From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs
down. Heaven shield the brave gallant that fights for the
For the rights of fair England that broadsword he
draws, Her king is his leader, her church is his cause; . His watch-word is honour, his pay is renown,Gop strike with the gallant that strikes for the crown!
They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and all
There 's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes ;
Woe came with war, and want with woe;
Can aught atone
My harp alone!
When hope was flown;
My harp alone!.
Is well nigh gone,
My harp alone!
Now joy to the crest of the brave cavalier!
may drown, Jn a pledge to fair England, her church, and her
XIX. « A pleasing lay!» Matilda said, But Harpool shook his old gray head, And took his baton and his torch, To seek his guard-room in the porch. Edmund observed with sudden change, Among the strings his fingers range, Until they waked a bolder glee Of military melody ; Then paused amid the martial sound, And look'd with well-feign'd fear around ;« None to this noble house belong,» He said, « that would a miastrel wrong,
XXI. « Alas !» Matilda said, « that strain, Good harper, now is heard in vain! The time has been, at such a sound, When Rokeby's vassals gather'd round, An hundred manly hearts would bound; But now, the stirring verse we hear, Like trump in dying soldier's ear! Listless and sad the notes we own, The power to answer them is flown. Yet not without bis meet applause Be he that sings the rightful cause, Even when the crisis of its fate To human eye seems desperate. While Rokeby's heir such power retains, Let this slight guerdon pay thy paios :And lend thy harp; I fain would try, If my poor skill can ayght supply, .
Ere yet I leave my father's hall;
Be our name and line forgot,
We but share our monarch's lot. If no more our annals show
Battles won and banners taken, Still in death, defeat, and woe,
Ours be loyalty uns haken! .
XXI. The barper, with a downcast look, And trembling hand, her bounty took. As yet, the conscious pride of art Had steeld him in his treach'rous part; A powerful spring, of force unguessid, That hath each gender mood suppress d, And reigo'd in many a human breast, From his that plans the red campaign, To bis that wastes the woodland reign. The falling wing, the bloodshot eye, The sportsman marks with apathy, Each feeling of his victim's ill Drown'd in his own successful skill. The veteran, too, who now no more Aspires to head the battle's roar, Loves still the triumph of his art, And traces on the pencilld chart Some stern invader's destined way, Through blood and ruin, to his prey; Patriots to death, and towns to flame, He dooms, to raise anoiher's name, And shares the guilt, though not the fame. What pays him for his span of time Spent in premeditated crime? What against pity arms his heart?It is the conscious pride of art.
Constant still in danger's hour,
Princes ownd our father's aid; Lands and honours, wealth and power,
Well their loyalty repaid. Perish wealth, and power, and pride!
Mortal boons by mortals given; But let constancy abide :
Constancy's the gift of Heaven,
XSIN. But principles in Edmund's mind Were baseless, vaguc, and undefined. His soul, like bark with rudder lost, On passion's changeful tide was lost; Nor vice nor virtue had the power Beyond the impression of the hour; And 0! when passion rules, how rare The hours that fall to virtue's share! Yet now she roused her-for the pride, That lack of sterner guilt supplied, Could scarce support him when arose The lay that mourn'd Matilda's woes.
XXV. While thus Matilda's Jay was heard, A thousand thoughts in Edmund stirr'd. In peasant life he might have known As fair a face, as sweet a tone ; But village notes could ne'er supply That rich and varied melody, And ne'er in cottage maid was seen The easy dignity of mien, Claiming respect, yet waving state,. That marks the daughters of the great. Yet not, perchance, had these alone His scheme of purposed guilt o'erthrown; But while her energy of mind Superior rose to griefs combined, Lending its kindling to her eye, Giving her form new majesty,To Edmund's thought Matilda seemd The
very object he bad dream'd, When, long e'er guilt his soul had known, In Winston bowers he mused alone, Taxing his fancy to combine The face, the air, the voice divine, Of princess fair, by cruel fate Reft of her honours, power, and state, Till to her rightful realm restored By destined hero's conquering sword.
They mingle with the song;
I must not hear them long, From every loved and native haunt
The native heir must stray, And, like a ghost whom sun-beams daunt,
Must part before the day.
Soon from the halls my fathers rear'd,
Their scutchcons may descend, A line so long beloved and fear'd
May soon obscurely end. No longer bere Matilda's tone
Shall bid these echoes swell, Yet shall they hear her proudly own
The cause in which we fell.
XXVI. « Such was my vision !» Edmund thought; « And have I then the ruin wrought Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er In fairest vision form'd her peer ? Was it my hand, that could unclose The postern to her ruthless foes! Foes, lost to honour, law, and faith, Their kindest mercy sudden death! Have I done this? I, who have swore, That if the globe such angel bore, I would have traced its circle broad, To kiss the ground on which she trod! And now-0! would that earth would rive, And close upon me while alive! Is there no hope? is all then lost?Bertram 's already on his post !
The lady paused, and then again Resumed the lay in loftier strain.
E'en now, beside the hall's arch'd door,
BALLAD. « And whither would you lead me then ?»
Quoth the friar of orders gray ;. And the ruffians twain replied again,
« By a dying woman to pray.»
« I see,» he said, « a lovely sight,
A sight bodes little harm, A lady as a lily bright,
With an infant on her arm.»« Then do thine office, friar gray,
And see thou shrive her free; Else shall the sprite, that parts to-night,
Fling all its guilt on thee.
The lamp's uncertain lustre gave
« Let mass be said, and trentals read,
When thou 'rt to convent gone, And bid the bell of St Benedict
Toll out its deepest tone.»
The shrift is done, the friar is gone,
Blindfolded as he came-
Were weeping for their dame.
The village crones can tell; He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray,
If he hears the convent bell.
If prince or peer cross Darrell's way,
He'll beard him his prideIf he meet a friar of orders gray, He droops and turns aside.
XXVIII. « Harper! inethinks thy magic lays,» Matilda said, “ can goblins raise ! Well nigh my fancy can discern, Near the dark porch, a visage stern ; E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook I see it!— Redmond, Wilfrid, look! A human form distinct and clearGod, for thy mercy !- It draws nearl»-She saw too true. Stride after stride, The centre of tbe chamber wide Fierce Bertram gaio'd; then made a stand, And, proudly waving with his hand, Thunder'd- « Be still, upon your lives! He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives.»Behind their chief, the robber crew Forth from the darken'd portal drew, In silence-save that echo dread Return'd their heavy measured tread.
Lady,» he said, « my band so near,
XXXI. With all the agony that e'er Was gender'd 'twixt suspense and fear, She watch'd the line of windows tall Whose Gothic lattice lights the hall, Distinguish'd by the paly red The lamps in dim reflection shed,
Impetuous, active, fierce, and
young) Upon the advancing foes he sprung. Woe to the wretch at whom is bent His brandish'd falchion's sheer descent ! Backward they scatter'd as he came, Like wolves before the levin flame, When, 'mid their howling conclave driven, Hath glanced the thunderbolt of heaven. Bertram rush'd on—but Harpool clasp'd His knces, although in death be gasp'd, His falling corpse before him flung, And round the trammeld ruffian clung. Just then, the soldiers filld the dome, And, shouting, charged the felons home So fiercely; that, in panic dread, They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled. Bertram's stern voice they heed no more, Though heard above the battle's roar, While, trampling down the dying man, He strove, with vollied threat and ban, In scorn of odds, in fate's despite, To rally up the desperate fight.
While all beside in wan moon-light
Up, comrades, up! in Rokeby halls
XXXIV. Soon murkier clouds the ball enfold, Than e'er from battle-thunders rolld; So dense, the combatants scarce know To aim or to avoid the blow. Smothering and blindfold grows the fightBut soon shall dawn a dismal light! 'Mid cries, and clashing arms, there came The hollow sound of rushing flame; New horrors on the tumult dire Arise--the castle is on fire! Doubtful if chance had cast the brand, Or frantic Bertram's desperate hand. Matilda saw—for frequent broké From the dim casements gusts of smoke. Yon tower, which late so clear defined, On the fair hemisphere reclined, That, pencill'd on its azure pure, The eye
could count cach embrazure, Now, swathed within the sweeping cloud, Seems giant-spectre in his shroud ; Till from each loop-hołe flashing light, A spout of fire shines ruddy bright, And, gathering to united glare, Streams high into the midnight air, A dismal beacon, far and wide That waken'd Greta's slumbering side. Soon all beneath, through gallery long, And pendent arch, the fire flash'd strong, Spatching whatever could maintain, Raise, or extend, its furious reign, Startling, with closer cause of dread, The females who the conflict fled, And now rush'd forth upon the plain, Filling the air with clamours vain.
The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din,