CANTO I.

WHERE is the raiden of mortal strain,

That may match with the Baren of Triermain ?(3)
She must be lovely and constant and kind,
Holy and pure and humble of mind,

Blithe of cheer and gentle of mood,
Courteous and generous and noble of blood-
Lovely as the sun's first ray,

When it breaks the clouds of an April day;
Constant and true as the widow'd dove,
Kind as a minstrel that sings of love;
Pure as the fountain in rocky cave,
Where never sun-beam kiss'd the wave;
Humble as maiden that loves in vain,
Holy as hermit's vesper strain;

Gentle as breeze that but whispers and dies,

Yet blithe as the light leaves that dance in its sighs;
Courteous as monarch the morn he is crown'd,
Generous as spring-dews that bless the glad ground;
Noble her blood as the currents that met
In the veins of the noblest Plantagenet→→
Such must her form be, her mood, and her strain,
That shall match with Sir Roland of Triermain.

V.

Answer'd him Richard de Brettville; he
Was chief of the baron's minstrelsy,-

« Silent, noble chieftain, we'

Have sate since midnight close,

When such lulling sounds as the brooklet sings
Murmur'd from our melting strings,

And hush'd you to repose.
Had a harp-note sounded here,
It had caught my watchful ear,
Although it fell as faint and shy
As bashful maiden's half-form'd sigh,
When she thinks her lover near.»
Answer'd Philip of Fasthwaite tall,

He kept guard in the outer hall,—
«Since at eve our watch took post,
Not a foot has thy portal cross'd;

Else had I heard the steps, though low
And light they fell as when earth receives,
In morn of frost, the wither'd leaves,
That drop when no winds blow.»>-

VÍ.

<< Then come thou hither, Henry, my page,
Whom I saved from the sack of Hermitage,
When that dark castle, tower, and spire,
Rose to the skies a pile of fire,

And redden'd all the Nine-stane Hill,
And the shrieks of death, that wildly broke
Through devouring flame and smothering smoke,
Made the warrior's heart-blood chill!
The trustiest thou of all my train,
My fleetest courser thou must rein,,
And ride to Lyulph's tower,
And from the Baron of Triermain
Greet well that sage of power.
He is sprung from druid sires,

And British bards that tuned their lyres
To Arthur's and Pendragon's praise,
And his who sleeps at Dunmailraise. (3)
Gifted like his gifted race,
He the characters can trace,
Graven deep in elder time
Upon Helvellyn's cliffs sublime;
Sign and sigil wel! doth he know,
And can bode of weal and woe,
Of kingdoms' fall, and fate of wars,
From mystic dreams and course of stars.

He shall tell if middle earth

To that enchanting shape gave birth,

Or if it was but an airy thing,

Such as fantastic slumbers bring,

Framed from the rainbow's varying dyes,

Or fading tints of western skies.
For, by the blessed rood I swear,
If that fair form breathe vital air,
No other maiden by my side
Shall ever rest de Vaux's bride!»-

VII.

The faithful page he mounts his steed,
And soon he cross'd green Irthing's mead,
Dash'd o'er Kirkoswald's verdant plain,
And Eden barr'd his course in vain.
He pass'd red Penrith's Table Round, (4)
For feats of chivalry renown'd,

Left Myburgh's mound and stones of power, (5)
By druids raised in magic hour,
And traced the Eamont's winding way,
Till Ulfo's lake beneath him lay.

VIII.

Onward he rode, the pathway still Winding betwixt the lake and hill; Till on the fragment of a rock,

Struck from its base by lightning shock, He saw the hoary sage:

The silver moss and lichen twined,

With fern and deer-hair check'd and lined,
A cushion fit for age;

And o'er him shook the aspen-tree,
A restless rustling canopy.

Then sprung young Henry from his selle,
And greeted Lyulph grave,

And then his master's tale did tell,

And then for counsel crave.

The Man of Years mused long and deep,
Of time's lost treasures taking keep,
And then, as rousing from a sleep,
His solemn answer gave.

IX.

<< That maid is born of middle earth, And may of man be won,

Though there have glided since her birth,

Five hundred years and one.

But where's the knight in all the north,"
That dare the adventure follow forth,
So perilous to knightly worth,

In the valley of St John?
Listen, youth, to what I tell,
And bind it on thy memory well;
Nor muse that I commence the rhyme
Far distant 'mid the wrecks of time.
The mystic tale, by bard and sage,
Is handed down from Merlin's age.»

X.

LYULPH'S TALE.

KING ARTHUR has ridden from merry Carlisle,
When Pentecost was o'er;

He journey'd like errant knight the while,
And sweetly the summer sun did smile
On mountain, moss, and moor.

Above his solitary track
Rose Glaramara's ridgy back,

Amid whose yawning gulphs the sun
Cast umber'd radiance red and dun,
Though never sun-beam could discern
The surface of that sable tarn, (6)
In whose black mirror you may spy
The stars, while noontide lights the sky.
The gallant king, he skirted still
The margin of that mighty hill;
Rocks upon rocks incumbent hung,
And torrents, down the gullies flung,
Join'd the rude river that brawl'd on,
Recoiling now from crag and stone,
Now diving deep from human ken,
And raving down its darksome glen.
The monarch judged this desert wild,
With such romantic ruin piled,

Was theatre by Nature's hand
For feat of high achievement plann'd.
XI.

O rather he chose, that monarch bold,
On vent'rous quest to ride,

In plate and mail, by wood and wold,
Than, with ermine trapp'd and cloth of gold,
In princely bower to bide;

The bursting crash of a foeman's spear,
As it shiver'd against his mail,
Was merrier music to his ear

Than courtier's whisper'd tale;
And the clash of Caliburn more dear,
When on the hostile casque it rung,
Than all the lays

To their monarch's praise
That the harpers of Reged sung.

He loved better to rest by wood or river,
Than in bower of his bride, Dame Guenever;
For he left that lady so lovely of cheer,

To follow adventures of danger and fear;

And the frank-hearted monarch full little did wot, That she smiled, in his absence, on brave Lancelot.

XII.

He rode, till over down and dell

The shade more broad and deeper fell;

And though around the mountain's head
Flow'd streams of purple, and gold, and red,
Dark at the base, unblest by beam,

Frown'd the black rocks, and roar'd the stream.
With toil the king his way pursued

By lonely Threlkeld's waste and wood,
Till on his course obliquely shone
The narrow valley of Saint John,
Down sloping to the western sky,
Where lingering sun-beams love to lie.
Right glad to feel those beams again,
The king drew up his charger's rein;
With gauntlet raised he screen'd his sight,
As dazzled with the level light,

And, from beneath his glove of mail,
Scann'd at his ease the lovely vale,
While 'gainst the sun his armour bright
Gleam'd ruddy like the beacon's light.
XIII.

Paled in by many a lofty hill,

The narrow dale lay smooth and still,
And, down its verdant bosom led,
A winding brooklet found its bed.
But, midmost of the vale, a mound
Arose, with airy turrets crown'd,
Buttress and rampire's circling bound,
And mighty keep and tower;
Seem'd some primeval giant's hand
The castle's massive walls had plann'd,
A pond'rous bulwark to withstand
Ambitious Nimrod's power.
Above the moated entrance slung,
The balanced draw-bridge trembling hung,
As jealous of a foe;

Wicket of oak, as iron hard,

With iron studded, clench'd, and barr'd,
And prong'd portcullis, join'd to guard
The gloomy pass below.

But the gray walls no banners crown'd,
Upon the watch-tower's airy round
No warder stood his horn to sound,
No guard beside the bridge was found,
And, where the Gothic gateway frown'd,
Glanced neither bill nor bow.

XIV.

Beneath the castle's gloomy pride,
In ample round did Arthur ride
Three times; nor living thing he spied,
Nor heard a living sound,

Save that, awakening from her dream,
The owlet now began to scream,
In concert with the rushing stream,

That wash'd the battled mound.
He lighted from his goodly steed,

And he left him to graze on bank and mead;
And slowly he climb'd the narrow way,
That reach'd the entrance grim and gray,
And he stood the outward arch below,
And his bugle horn prepared to blow,
In summons blithe and bold,
Deeming to rouse from iron sleep
The guardian of this dismal keep,

Which well he guess'd the hold
Of wizard stern, or goblin grim,
Or pagan of gigantic limb,

The tyrant of the wold.

XV.

The ivory bugle's golden tip

Twice touchi'd the monarch's manly lip,

And twice his hand withdrew.

-Think not but Arthur's heart was good!
His shield was cross'd by the blessed rood,
Had a pagan host before him stood,

He had charged them through and through;

Yet the silence of that ancient place

Sunk on his heart, and he paused a space
Ere yet his horn he blew.

But, instant as its larum rung,

The castle-gate was open flung,
Portcullis rose with crashing groan,
Full harshly up its groove of stone;
The balance-beams obey'd the blast,
And down the trembling draw-bridge cast;
The vaulted arch before him lay,
With nought to bar the gloomy way,
And onward Arthur paced, with hand
On Caliburn's resistless brand.

XVI.

A hundred torches flashing bright
Dispell'd at once the gloomy night
That lour'd along the walls,
And show'd the king's astonish'd sight
The inmates of the halls.
Nor wizard stern, nor goblin grim,
Nor giant huge of form and limb,

Nor heathen knight was there;

But the cressets, which odours flung aloft,
Show'd by their yellow light and soft,

A band of damsels fair.
Onward they came, like summer wave
That dances to the shore;

An hundred voices welcome gave,

And welcome o'er and o'er! An hundred lovely hands assail The bucklers of the monarch's mail, And busy labour'd to unhasp Rivet of steel and iron clasp. One wrapp'd him in a mantle fair, And one flung odours on his hair; His short curl'd ringlets one smooth'd down, One wreath'd them with a myrtle crown,

A bride, upon her wedding-day,

Was tended ne'er by troop so gay.

XVII.

Loud laugh'd they all,-the king, in vain,
With questions task'd the giddy train:
Let him entreat, or crave, or call,
'T was one reply,-loud laugh'd they all.
Then o'er him mimic chains they fling,
Framed of the fairest flowers of spring.
While some their gentle force unite,
Onward to drag the wondering knight,
Some, bolder, urge his pace with blows,
Dealt with the lily or the rose.
Behind him were in triumph borne
The warlike arms he late had worn;
Four of the train combined to rear
The terrors of Tintagel's spear; (7)
Two, laughing at their lack of strength,
Dragg'd Caliburn in cumbrous length; (8)
One, while she aped a martial stride,
Placed on her brows the helmet's pride,
Then scream'd, 'twixt laughter and surprise,
To feel its depth o'erwhelm her eyes.
With revel shout and triumph song,
Thus gaily march'd the giddy throng.

XVIII.

Through many a gallery and hall
They led, I ween, their royal thrall;
At length, beneath a fair arcade
Their march and song at once they staid.
The eldest maiden of the band

(The lovely maid was scarce eighteen) Raised, with imposing air, her hand, And reverend silence did command,

On entrance of their queen;
And they were mute.-But as a glance
They steal on Arthur's countenance,
Bewilder'd with surprise,

Their smother'd mirth again 'gan speak,
In archly dimpled chin and check,
And laughter-lighted eyes.

ΧΙΧ.

The attributes of those high days
Now only live in minstrel lays,
For Nature, now exhausted, still
Was then profuse of good and ill.
Strength was gigantic, valour high,
And wisdom soar'd beyond the sky,
And beauty had such matchless beam,
As lights not now a lover's dream.
Yet, e'en in that romantic age,

Ne'er were such charms by mortal seen

At once, that inward strife suppress'd,
The dame approach'd her warlike guest,
With greeting in that fair degree
Where female pride and courtesy
Are blended with such passing art

As awes at once and charms the heart.

A courtly welcome first she gave,

Then of his goodness gan to crave
Construction fair and true

Of her light maidens' idle mirth,
Who drew from lonely glens their birth,
Nor knew to pay to stranger worth

And dignity their due;

And then she pray'd that he would rest
That night her castle's honour'd guest.
The monarch meetly thanks express'd;
The banquet rose at her behest;
With lay and tale, and laugh and jest,
Apace the evening flew.

XXI.

The lady sate the monarch by,
Now in her turn abash'd and shy,
And with indifference seem'd to hear
The toys he whisper'd in her ear.
Her bearing modest was and fair,
Yet shadows of constraint were there,
That show'd an over-cautious care
Some inward thought to hide;
Oft did she pause in full reply,
And oft cast down her large dark eye,
Oft check'd the soft voluptuous sigh,

That heaved her bosom's pride.
Slight symptoms these; but shepherds know
How hot the mid-day sun shall glow,
From the mist of morning sky;

And so the wily monarch guess'd,
That this assumed restraint express'd
More ardent passions in the breast,
Than ventured to the eye.

Closer he press'd, while beakers rang,
While maidens langh'd and minstrels sang,
Still closer to her ear-

But why pursue the common tale?

Or wherefore show how knights prevail
When ladies dare to hear?

Or wherefore trace, from what slight cause Its source one tyrant passion draws,

Till, mastering all within,

Where lives the man that has not tried,
How mirth can into folly glide,
And folly into sin?

CANTO II.

I.

LYULPH'S TALE CONTINUED.
ANOTHER day, another day,
And yet another, glides away!
The Saxon stern, the pagan Dane,
Maraud on Britain's shores again.
Arthur, of Christendom the flower,
Lies loitering in a lady's bower;

The horn, that foemen wont to fear,
Sounds but to wake the Cumbrian deer,
And Caliburn, the British pride,
Hangs useless by a lover's side.

H.

Another day, another day,
And yet another, glides away.
Heroic plans in pleasure drown'd,
He thinks not of the Table Round;
In lawless love dissolved his life,
He thinks not of his beauteous wife;
Better he loves to snatch a flower
From bosom of his paramour,
Than from a Saxon knight to wrest
The honours of his heathen crest;
Better to wreathe, 'mid tresses brown,

The heron's plume her hawk struck down,

Than o'er the altar give to flow

The banners of a Paynim foe.

Thus, week by week, and day by day,

His life inglorious glides away;

But she, that soothes his dream, with fear Beholds his hour of waking near..

III.

Much force have mortal charms to stay
Our
pace
in Virtue's toilsome way;
But Guendolen's might far outshine
Each maid of merely mortal line.
Her mother was of human birth,
Her sire a genie of the earth,
In days of old deem'd to preside
O'er lovers' wiles and beauty's pride,
By youths and virgins worshipp'd long,
With festive dance and choral song,
Till, when the cross to Britain came,
On heathen altars died the flame.
Now, deep in Wastdale's solitude,
The downfall of his rights he rued,
And, born of his resentment heir,
He train'd to guile that lady fair,
To sink in slothful sin and shame
The champions of the christian name.
Well-skill'd to keep vain thoughts alive,
And all to promise, nought to give,

The timid youth had hope in store,
The bold and pressing gain'd no more.
As wilder'd children leave their home,
After the rainbow's arch to roam,
Her lovers barter'd fair esteem,
Faith, fame, and honour, for a dream.

IV.

Her sire's soft arts the soul to tame
She practised thus-till Arthur came,
Then frail humanity had part,

And all the mother claim'd her heart.
Forgot each rule her father
gave,
Sunk from a princess to a slave,
Too late must Guendolen deplore,
He, that has all, can hope no more!
Now, must she see her lover strain,
At every turn, her feeble chain;

Watch, to new-bind each knot, and shrink
To view each fast-decaying link.

Art she invokes to Nature's aid,
Her vest to zone, her locks to braid;
Each varied pleasure heard her call,
The feast, the tourney, and the ball:
Her storied lore she next applies,
Taxing her mind to aid her eyes;
Now more than mortal wise, and then
In female softness sunk again;

Now, raptured, with each wish complying,
With feign'd reluctance now denying;
Each charm she varied, to retain
A varying heart—and all in vain!

V.

Thus in the garden's narrow bound,
Flank'd by some castle's Gothic round,
Fain would the artist's skill provide,
The limits of his realm to hide.
The walks in labyrinths he twines,
Shade after shade with skill combines,
With many a varied flowery knot,
And copse and arbour deck the spot,
Tempting the hasty foot to stay,
And linger on the lovely way--
Vain art! vain hope! 't is fruitless all!
At length we reach the bounding wall,
And sick of flower and trim-dress'd tree,
Long for rough glades and forest free.

VI.

Three summer months had scantly flown,
When Arthur, in embarrass'd tone,
Spoke of his liegemen and his throne;
Said, all too long had been his stay,
And duties, which a monarch sway,
Duties unknown to humbler men,
Must tear her knight from Guendolen.—
She listen'd silently the while,
Her mood express'd in bitter smile;
Beneath her eye must Arthur quail,
And oft resume the unfinish'd tale,
Confessing, by his downcast eye,
The wrong he sought to justify.

He ceased. A moment mute she gazed,
And then her looks to heaven she raised;

One palm her temples veil'd, to hide
The tear that sprung in spite of pride;
The other for an instant press'd
The foldings of her silken vest!

VII.

At her reproachful sign and look,
The hint the monarch's conscience took.
Eager he spoke-« No, lady, no!
Deem not of British Arthur so,
Nor think he can deserter prove
To the dear pledge of mutual love.
I swear by sceptre and by sword,
As belted knight and Britain's lord,
That if a boy shall claim my care,
That boy is born a kingdom's heir:
But, if a maiden Fate allows,

To chuse that maid a fitting spouse,

A summer day in lists shall strive

My knights, the bravest knights alive,And he, the best and bravest tried,

Shall Arthur's daughter claim for bride.»——
He spoke, with voice resolved and high-
The lady deign'd him not reply.

VIII.

At dawn of morn, ere on the brake
His matins did a warbler make,
Or stirr'd his wing to brush away
A single dew-drop from the spray,
Ere yet a sun-beam, through the mist,
The castle battlements had kiss'd,
The gates revolve, the draw-bridge falls,
And Arthur sallies from the walls.
Doff'd his soft garb of Persia's loom,
And steel from spur to helmet-plume,
His Lybian steed full proudly trode,
And joyful neigh'd beneath his load.
The monarch gave a passing sigh
To penitence and pleasures by,
When, lo! to his astonish'd ken
Appear'd the form of Guendolen.

IX.

Beyond the outmost wall she stood,
Attired like huntress of the wood:
Sandall'd her feet, her ancles bare,
And eagle plumage deck'd her hair;
Firm was her look, her bearing bold,
And in her hand a cup of gold.

<< Thou goest!» she said, «and ne'er again
Must we two meet, in joy or pain.
Full fain would I this hour delay,
Though weak the wish-yet, wilt thou stay?
No! thou look'st forward. Still attend,-
Part we like lover and like friend.»>
She raised the cup-« Not this the juice
The sluggish vines of earth produce;
Pledge we, at parting, in the draught
Which Genii love!»-she said, and quaff'd;
And strange unwonted lustres fly
From her flush'd cheek and sparkling eye.

X.

The courteous monarch bent him low, And, stooping down from saddle-bow,