« 前へ次へ »
And the tempest within, having ceased its wild rout,
Gave place to the tempest that thunder'd without.
Apart from the wassail, in turret alone,
Lay flaxen-haird Gunnar, old Ermengarde's son;
For Harold in childhood had Ermengarde nursed; Just is the debt of repentance I 've paid,
And grieved was young Gunnar his master should
le heard the deep thunder, the plasbing of rain,
« And oh!» said the page, « on the shelterless wold Who ne'er from thy childhood knew reason or rutha ? Lord Harold is wandering in darkness and cold ! Hence! to the wolf and the bear in her den;
What though he was stubborn, and wayward, and wild,
And often from dawn till the set of the sun,
la the chase, by his stirrup, unchidden I run:
I would I were older, and knighthood could bear, « We must honour our sires, if we fear when they I would soon quit the banks of the Tyne and the Wear; chide.
For my mother's command with her last parting
« It pours and it thunders, it lightens amain, In the blood of slain foemen my finger to dip,
As if Lok, the Destroyer, had burst from his chain! And tinge with its purple my cheek and my lip. Accursed by the church, and expell'd by his sire, 'T is thou know'st not truth, that has barterd in eld, Nor christian nor Dane give him shelter or fire, For a price, the brave faith that thine ancestors held. And this tempest what mortal may houseless endure ? When this wolf»—and the carcase he flung on the Cnaided, unmantled, he dies on the moor! plain
Whate'er comes of Gunnar he tarrinot here.» « Shall awake and give food to her nurslings again, He leapt from his couch and he grasp'd to his
spear, The face of his father will Harold review;
Sought the hall of the feast. Undisturbd by his tread, Till then, aged heathen, young christian, adieu !» The wassailers slept fast as the sleep of the dead :
Ungrateful and bestial!» his anger broke forth, XII.
« To forget 'mid your goblets the pride of the North ! Priest, monk, and prelate stood aghast,
And you, ye cowl'd priests, who have plenty in store,
Must give Gunnar for ransom a palfrey and ore.»—
Then heeding full little of ban or of curse,
He has seized on the Prior of Jorvaulx's purse :
Saint Meneholt's abbot next morning las miss'd
His mantle, deep furr'd from the cape to the wrist:
(Well drenchi'd on that eve was old Hildebrand's brain). Pray and weep, and penance bear,
To the stable-yard he made his way,
And mounted the bishop's palfrey gay,
Castle and hamiet behind him has cast,
Sore snorted the palfrey, unused to face
A weather so wild at so rash a pace;
So long he snorfed, so loud he neigh'd,
There answer'd a steed that was bound beside,
And the red flash of lightning showd there where lay
And raised the club in his deadly hand.
The flaxen-baird Gunnar his purpose told,
« Back, back, and home, thou simple boy!
and the cry;
Have I not mark'd thee wail and cry
« And hear ye not, brethren,» the proud bishop said, When thou hast seen a sparrow die?
« That our vassal, the Danish Count Witikind, 's dead ? And canst thou, as my follower should,
All his gold and his goods hath he given, Wade ancle-deep through foeman's blood,
To holy church for the love of Heaven, Dare mortal and immortal foe,
And hath founded a chantry with stipend and dole, The gods above, the fiends below,
That priests and that beadsmen may pray for his soul: And man on earth, more hateful still,
Harold his son is wandering abroad, The very fountain-head of ill?
Dreaded by man and abhorred by God; | Desperate of life, and careless of death,
Meet it is not, that such should heir Lover of bloodshed, and slaughter, and scathe,
The lands of the church on the Tyne and the Wear; Such must thou be with me to roam,
And at her pleasure, her hallow'd hands And such thou canst not be-back, and home !» May now resume these wealthy lands.»-XVIII.
XXI. Young Gunnar shook like an aspen-bough,
Answer'd good Éustace, a canon old, As he heard the harsh voice and beheld the dark brow,
« Harold is tameless, and furious, and bold; And half he repented his purpose and vow.
Ever renown blows a note of fame,
And a note of fear, when she sounds his name:
Much of bloodshed and much of scath as ! if my arm and my courage be weak, Bear with me a while for old Ermengarde's sake;
Have been their lot who have waked his wrath.
Leave him these lands and lordships still, Nor deem so lightly of Gunnar's faith,
Heaven in its hour may change his will: As to fear he would break it for peril of death.
But if reft of gold, and of living bare, Have I not risk'd it to fetch thee this gold,
An evil counsellor is despair.» – This surcoat and mantle to fence thee from cold?
More had he said, but the prelate frown'd,
And murmur'd his brethren who sate around,
And with one consent have they given their doom,
That the church should the lands of Saint Cuthbert reA dungeon and a shameful death.» XIX.
So will'd the prelate; and canon and dean
Gave to his judgment their loud amen.
1. How oft with few, how oft alone, Fierce Harold's arm the field hath won.
'Tis merry in green-wood, — thus runs the old lay, Men swore his
In the gladsome month of lively May,
When the wild birds' song on stem and spray
Invites to forest bowcr; Bore oft a light of deadly flame
Then rears the ash his airy crest, That ne'er from mortal courage came.
Then shines the birch
silver yest, Those limbs so strong, that mood so stern,
And the beech in glistening leaves is drest, That loved the couch of heath and fern,
And dark between shows the oak's proud breast, Afar from hamlet, tower, and town,
Like a chieftain's frowning tower; More than to rest on driven down;
Though a thousand branches join their screen, That stubborn frame, that sullen mood,
Yet the broken sun-beams glauce between, Men deem'd must come of aught but good;
And tip the leaves with lighter green, And they whisper'd, the great Master Fiend was at one
With brighter tints the flower:
Dull is the heart that loves not then
The deep recess of the wild-wood glen,
Where roe and red-deer find sheltering den,
When the sun is in his power.
Less merry, perchance, is the fading leaf And folded hands in the act of prayer.
That follows so soon on the gather'd sheaf, Saint Cuthbert's mitre is resting now
When the green-wood loses the name; On thc haughty Saxon, bold Aldingar's brow;
Silent is then the forest bound, The power of his crosier he loved to extend
Save the redbreast's note, and the rustling sound O'er whatever would break or whatever would bend : Of frost-nipt leaves that are dropping round, And now hath he clothed him in cope and in pall, Or the deep-mouth'd cry of the distant hound And the Chapter of Durham has met at bis call.
That opens on his game;
Yet then, too, I love the forest wide,
Like an early widow's veil,
Of beauty wan and pale.
She sat her down, unseen, to thread The scarlet berry's mimic braid,
And while her beads she strung, Like the blithe lark, whose carol gay Gives a good-morrow to the day,
So lightsomely she sung:
« Lord William was born in gilded bower,
Who lived by bow and quiver.
And well on Ganlesse river.
More fear'd when in wrath she laugh'd;
Sprung forth the gray-goose shaft.
« The pious palmer loves, I wis,
My nurse has told me many a tale, llow vows of love are weak and frail; My mother says that courtly youth By rustic majd means seldom sooth. What should they mean? it cannot be, That such a warning's meant for me, For nought-oh! nought of fraud or ill Can William mean to Metelill!»—
None brighter crown'd the bed,
In this fair isle been bred,
A simple maiden she;
Were her arms and witchery.
Beneath the green-wood tree,
As when in infancy;-
Ah! gentle maid, beware!
Let pone his empire share.
His surcoat soild and riven;
yore, Whose long-continued crimes out-wore
The sufferance of Heaven. Stern accents made his pleasure known, Though then he used his gentlest tone: « Maiden,» he said, « sing forth thy glee; Start not--sing on-it pleases me.»
Was all the maiden might;
If thou art mortal wight! But if-of such strange tales are told, Unearthly warrior of the wold, Thou comest to chide mine accents bold, My mother, Jutta, knows the spell, At noon and midnight pleasing well
The disembodied car;
V. One mora, io kirtle green array'd, Deep in the wood the maideò stray'd,
And, where a fountain sprung,
Oh ! let her powerful charms atone
When sinks the tempest's roar;
And haul their barks on shore.
It recks not-it is I demand
IX. « Damsel,» he said, « be wise, and learn Matters of weight and deep concern:
From distant realms I come,
To seek myself a home.
No lordly dame for me;
To match in my degree.
In lineaments be fair ;
Become thy beauty rare.
XI. But soon the wit of woman woke, And to the warrior mild she spoke: « Her child was all too young.»--« A toy, The refuge of a maiden coy.»— Again, « A powerful baron's heir Claims in her heart an interest fair.» « A trifle-whisper in bis ear That liarold is a suitor here!» Baffled at leogth, she sought delay: « Would not the knight till morning stay? Late was the hour-he there might rest Till morn, their lodge's honour'd guest,» Such were her words,-her craft might cast, Her honour'd guest should sleep his last : « No, not to night,- but soon,» hc swore, « Ile would return, nor leave them more.»The threshold then his huge stride crost, And soon he was in darkness lost.
XIII. Appall'd awhile the parents stood, Then changed their fear to angry mood, And foremost fell their words of ill On unresisting Metelill: Was she not caution'd and forbid, Forewarn'd, implored, accused, and chid, And must she still to green-wood roam, To marshal such misfortune home?
Hence, minion-10 thy chamber hence, There prudence learn and penitence.» She went-her lonely couch to steep In tears which absent lovers weep; Or if she gaind a troubled sleep, Fierce Harold's suit was still the theme And terror of her feverish dream.
X. Home sprung the maid without a pause, As leveret 'scaped from greyhound's jaws; But still she lock'd, howe'er distress'd, The secret in her boding breast; Dreading her sire, who oft forbade Her steps should stray to distant glade. Night came-to her accustom'd nook Her distaff aged Jutta took, And, by the lamp's imperfect glow, Rough Wulfstane trimm'd his shafts and bow. Sudden and clamorous, from the ground Upstarted slumbering brach and hound; Loud knocking next the lodge alarms, And Wulfstane snalches at his arms. When open
fiew the yielding door, And that grim warrior press'd the floor.
XIV. Scarce was she gone, her dame and sire Upon each other bent their ire; «A woodsman thou, and hast a spear, And couldst thou such an insult bear?» Sullen he said, « A man contends With men—a witch with sprites and fiends ; Not to mere mortal wight belong Yon gloomy brow and frame so strong. But thou—is this thy promise fair, That your Lord William, wealthy heir
XI. « All peace be here—What! none replies ? Dismiss your fears and your surprise. 'Tis that maid hath told my tale, Or, trembler, did thy courage fail ?
Where, to thy Godhead faithful yet,
To Ulrick, Baron of Witton-le-wear,
Mightiest of the mighty known,
XV. Stern she replied, « I will not wage War with thy folly or thy rage ; But ere the morrow's sun be low, Wulfstane of Rook hope, thou shalt know, If I can venge me on a foe. Believe the while, that whatsoe'er I spoke, in ire, of bow and spear, It is not Harold's destiny The death of pilferd deer to die. But he, and thou, and yon pale moon, That shall be yet more pallid soon, Before she sink behind the dell, Thou, she, and Harold too, shall tell What Jutta knows of charm or spell.» Thus muttering, to the door she bent Her wayward steps, and forth she went, And left alone che moody sire, To cherish or to slake his ire.
Hark! he comes; the night-blast cold
He comes not yet! Shall cold delay
XVI. Far faster than belong'd to age, Has Jutta made her pilgrimage. A priest has met her as she pass'd, And cross'd himself and stood aghast : She traced a hamlet-not a cur His throat would ope, luis foot would stir; By crouch, by trembling, and by groan, They made her hated presence known! But when she trode the sable fell, Were wilder sounds her way to tell,For far was heard the fox's yell, The black-cock waked and faintly crew, Scream'd o'er the moss the scared curlew; Where o'er the cataract the oak Lay slant, was heard the raven's croak; The mountain-cat which sought his prey, Glared, scream'd, and started from her way. Such music cheer'd her journey lone To the deep dell and rocking stone: There, with unhallowd hyma of praise, She call'd a god of heathen days.
XVIII. « Daughter of dust!» the deep voice said, -Shook while it spoke the vale for dread, Rock'd on the base that massive stone, The evil deity to own,
Daughter of dust! not mine the power Thou seek'st on Harold's fatal hour. 'T wixt heaven and hell there is a strife Waged for his soul and for his life, And fain would we the combat win, And snatch him in his hour of sin. There is a star now rising red, That threats him with an influence dread: Woman, thine arts of malice whet, To use the space before it set. Involve him with the church in strife, Push on adventurous chance his life; Ourself will in the hour of need, As best we may, thy counsels speed.» So ceased the voice; for seven leagues round Each hamlet started at the sound;
From thy Pomeranian throne, Hewn in rock of living stone,