And the tempest within, having ceased its wild rout,

Gave place to the tempest that thunder'd without.
Treful wax'd old Witikind's look,
His faltering voice with fury shook ;-

« Hear me, Harold, of harden'd heart!

Apart from the wassail, in turret alone,
Stubborn and wilful ever thou wert.

Lay flaxen-haird Gunnar, old Ermengarde's son;
Thine outrage insane I command thee to cease, In the train of Lord Harold the page was the first,
wrath and remain at peace :-

For Harold in childhood had Ermengarde nursed; Just is the debt of repentance I 've paid,

And grieved was young Gunnar his master should
Richly the church has a recompense made,

And the truth of her doctrines I prove with my blade. Unhoused and unfriended, an exile from home.
But reckoning to none of my actions I owe,

le heard the deep thunder, the plasbing of rain,
And least to my son such accounting will show. lle saw the red lightning through shot-hole and pane;
Why speak I to thce of repentance or truth,

« 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,
These are thy mates, and not rational men.»— lle endured me because I was Ermengarde's child,

And often from dawn till the set of the sun,

la the chase, by his stirrup, unchidden I run:
Grimly smiled Harold, and coldly replied,

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
For me, I am yet what thy lessons have made,

I was rock'd in a buckler and fed from a blade ; Bade me follow her nursling in life and to death.
An infant, was taught to clap hands and to shout,
From the roofs of the tower when the flame had broke


« 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,
As through the pageant the heathen pass'd.

Must give Gunnar for ransom a palfrey and ore.»—
A cross-bearer out of his saddle he flung,
Laid liis hand on the pommel and into it sprung;

Loud was the shriek, and deep the groan,

Then heeding full little of ban or of curse,
When the holy sign on the earth was thrown!

He has seized on the Prior of Jorvaulx's purse :
The fierce old count unsheathed his brand,

Saint Meneholt's abbot next morning las miss'd
But the calmer prelate stay'd his hand;

His mantle, deep furr'd from the cape to the wrist:
« Let him pass free ! - Heaven knows its hour, The seneschal's keys from his belt he has ta'en
But he must own repentance's power,

(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,
Ere he hold land by the Tyne and the Wear.»--

And mounted the bishop's palfrey gay,
Thus in scorn and in wrath from his father is


Castle and hamiet behind him has cast,
Young Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son, And right on his way to the moorland has pass'd.

Sore snorted the palfrey, unused to face

A weather so wild at so rash a pace;
High was the feasting in Witikind's hall,

So long he snorfed, so loud he neigh'd,
Revell'd priests, soldiers, and pagans, and all;

There answer'd a steed that was bound beside,
And e'en the good bishop was fain to endure

And the red flash of lightning showd there where lay
The scandal wbich time and instruction might cure: llis master, Lord Harold, outstretch'd on the clay.
It were dangerous, he deem'd, at the first to restrain,
In his wine and his wassail, a half-cliristen d Dane.

The mead flow'd around, and the ale was draiu'd dry, Up he started, and thunder'd out, « Stand!»
Wild was the laughter, the song,

And raised the club in his deadly hand.
With Kyrie Eleison came clamourously in

The flaxen-baird Gunnar his purpose told,
The war-songs of Danesman, Norweyan, and Finn, Show'd the palfrey and proffer'd the gold.
Till man after man the contention gave o'er,

« Back, back, and home, thou simple boy!
Outstretch'd on the rushes that sirewd the hall floor; Thou canst not share my grief or joy:

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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,
But now to draw back were bootless shame,
And he loved his master, so urged his claim

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, did I bear a baser mind,

And murmur'd his brethren who sate around,
What lot remains if I stay behind ?
The priests' revenge, thy father's wrath,

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
With gentler look Lord Harold cyed

Gave to his judgment their loud amen.
The page, then turn'd his head aside;
And either a tear and his eye-lash stain,
Or it caught a drop of the passing rain.
* Art thou an outcast then ?» quoth he,

« The meeter page to follow me.»
'T were bootless to tell what climes they sought,
Ventures achieved, and battles fought;

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,
that flash'd so red

When the wild birds' song on stem and spray
When each other glance was quench'd with dread,

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:
With Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son.

Dull is the heart that loves not then

The deep recess of the wild-wood glen,
Years after years had gone and fled,

Where roe and red-deer find sheltering den,
The good old prelate lies lapp'd in lead;

When the sun is in his power.
In the chapel still is shown
His sculptured form on a marble stone,

With staff and ring and scapulaire,

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,
Whether the sun in splendour ride,
And gild its many-colour'd side,
Or whether the soft and silvery haze,
In vapoury folds, o'er the landscape strays,
And half involves the woodland maze,

Like an early widow's veil,
Where wimpling tissue from the gaze
The form half hides and half betrays,

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,
The heir of Wilton's lofty tower;
Yet better loves Lord William now
To roam beneath wild Rookhope's brow;
And William has lived where ladies fair
With gauds and jewels deck their hair,
Yet better loves the dew-drops still
That pearl the locks of Metelill.

Fair Metelill was a woodland maid,
Her father a rover of green-wood shade,
By forest statutes undismay'd,

Who lived by bow and quiver.
Well known was Wulfstane's archery,
By merry Tyne hoth on moor and lea,
Through wooded Weardale's glens so free,
Well beside Stanhope's wild-wood tree,

And well on Ganlesse river.
Yet free though he trespass'd on woodland game,
More known and more fear'd was the wizard fame
Of Jutta of Rookhope, the outlaw's dame;
Feard when she frown'd was her eye of flame,

More fear'd when in wrath she laugh'd;
For then, 't was said, more fatal true
To its dread aim her spell-glance flew,
Than when from Wulfstane's bended yew

Sprung forth the gray-goose shaft.

« The pious palmer loves, I wis,
Saint Cuthbert's hallow'd beads to kiss ;
But I, though simple girl I be,
Might have such homage paid to me;
For did Lord William see me suit
This necklace of the bramble's fruit,
He fain--but must not have his will,-
Would kiss the beads of Metelill.

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!»—

Yet bad this fierce and dreaded pair,
So Heaven decreed, a daughter fair ;

None brighter crown'd the bed,
In Britain's bounds, of peer or prince,
Nor hath, perchance, a lovelier since

In this fair isle been bred,
And nought of fraud, or ire, or ill,
Was known to gentle Metelill,

A simple maiden she;
The spells in dimpled smiles that lie,
And a downcast blush, and the darts that fly
With the sidelong glance of a hazel eye,

Were her arms and witchery.
So young, so simple was she yet,
She scarce could childhood's joys forget,
And still she loved, in secret set

Beneath the green-wood tree,
To plait the rushy coronet,
And braid with flowers her locks of jet,

As when in infancy;-
Yet could that heart so simple prove
The early dawn of stealing love :

Ah! gentle maid, beware!
The power who, now so mild a guest,
Gives dangerous yet delicious zest
To the calm pleasures of thy breast,
Will soon, a tyrant o'er the rest,

Let pone his empire share.

Sudden she stops-and starts to feel
A weighty hand, a glove of steel,
Upon her shrinking shoulders laid;
Fearful she turn'd, and saw, dismay'd,
A knight in plate and mail array'd,
His crest and bearing worn and fray'd,

His surcoat soild and riven;
Form'd like that giant race of

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.»

Sccured within his powerful hold,
To bend her knee, her hands to fold,

Was all the maiden might;
And « Oh! forgive,» she faintly said,
« The terrors of a simple maid,

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
For aught my
rashness may

have done,
And cease thy grasp of fear.»
Then laughd the knight, --his laughter's sound
Half in the hollow helmet drown'd;
His barred visor then he raised,
And steady on the maiden gazed.
He smooth'd his brows, as best he might,
To the dread calm of autumn night,

When sinks the tempest's roar;
Yet still the cautious fishers eye
The clouds, and fear the gloomy sky,

And haul their barks on shore.

It recks not-it is I demand
Fair Metelill in marriage band;
Harold the Dauntless I, whose name
Js brave men's boast and caitiffs' shame.»-
The parents sought each other's eyes,
With awe, resentment, and surprise :
Wulfstave, to quarrel prompt, began
The stranger's size and thewes to scan;
But, as he scann'd, his courage sunk,
And from unequal strife he shrunk.
Then forth, to blight and blemish, flies
The harmful curse from Jutta's eyes ;
Yet fatal howsoe'er, the spell
On Harold innocently fell;
And disappointment and amaze
Were in the witch's wilderd


IX. « Damsel,» he said, « be wise, and learn Matters of weight and deep concern:

From distant realms I come,
And, wanderer long, at length have plannd
In this my native northern land

To seek myself a home.
Nor that alone-a mate I seek ;
She must be gentle, soft, and meek, -

No lordly dame for me;
Myself am something rough of mood,
* And feel the fire of royal blood,
And therefore do not hold it good

To match in my degree.
Then, since coy maideos say my face
Is harsh, my form devoid of

For a fair lineage to provide,
'T is meet that my selected bride

In lineaments be fair ;
I love thine well-till now I ne'er,
Look'd patient on a face of fear,
But now that tremulous sob and tear

Become thy beauty rare.
One kiss--nay, damsel, coy it not:
And now, go seek thy parents' cot,
And say, a bridegroom soon I come,
To woo my love and bear her home.»

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.

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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,
Bend Esthonian, Finn, and Lett,
And their swords in vengeance whet,
That shall make thine altars wet,
Wet and red for ages more
With the christians' hated gore,
Hear me! Sovereign of the Rock,
Hear me, mighty Zernebock.

To Ulrick, Baron of Witton-le-wear,
Should Metelill to altar bear!
Do all the spells thou boast'st as thine
Serve but to slay some peasant's kine,
His grain in autumn-storms to steep,
Or thorough fog and fen to sweep,
And hag-ride some poor rustic's sleep?
Is such mean mischief worth the fame
Of sorceress and witch's name?
Fame, which with all men's wish conspires,
With thy deserts and my desires,
To damn thy corpse to penal fires !
Out on thee, witch! aroint! aroint!
What now shall put thy schemes in joint ?
What save this trusty arrow's point,
From the dark dingle when it flies,
And he who meets it gasps and dies.si-

Mightiest of the mighty known,
Here thy wonders have been shown ;
Hundred tribes in various tongue
Oft have here thy praises sung;
Down that stone with Runic seam'd
Hundred victims' blood hath stream'd!
Now one woman comes alone,
And but wets it with her own,
The last, the feeblest of thy flock,
Hear-and be present, Zerneboek!

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
Wilder sweeps along the wold ;
The cloudless moon grows dark and dim,
And bristling hair and quaking limb
Proclaim the master demon nigh,
Those who view his form shall die!
Lo! I stoop and veil my head.-
Thou who ridest the tempest dread,
Shaking hill and rending oak-
Spare me! spare me! Zernebock.

He comes not yet! Shall cold delay
Thy votaress at her need repay?
Thou-shall I call thee god or fiend!
Let others on thy mood attend
With prayer and ritual — Jutta's arms
Are necromantic words and charms :
Mine is the spell that, utter'd once,
Shall wake thy master from his trance,
Shake his red mansion-house of pain,
And burst his seven-times twisted chain.
So! comest thou ere the spell is spoke?
I own thy presence, Zernebock.

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,

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