INTRODUCTION TO CANTO III.

I.

bear

LONG loved, long woo'd, and lately won,
My life's best hope, and now mine own!
Doth not this rude and Alpine glen
Recal our favourite haunts agen?"
A wild resemblance we can trace,
Though reft of every softer grace,
As the rough warrior's brow may
A likeness to a sister fair.
Full well advised our Highland host,
That this wild pass on foot be cross'd,
While round Ben-Cruach's mighty base
Wheel the slow steeds and lingering chaise.
The keen old carle, with Scottish pride,
He praised his glen and mountains wide;
An he bears for nature's face,
Ay, and for woman's lovely grace.
Even in such mean degree we find
The subtle Scot's observing mind;
For, not the chariot nor the train
Could gape of vulgar wonder gain,
But when old Allan would expound
Of Beal-na-paish the Celtic sound,"
His bonnet doff'd, and bow, applied
His legend to my bonny bride;
While Lucy blush'd beneath his eye,
Courteous and cautious, shrewd and sly.

eye

II.

Enough of him.-Now, ere we lose,
Plunged in the vale, the distant views,
Turn thee, my love! look back once more
To the blue lake's retiring shore.
On its smooth breast the shadows seem
Like objects in a morning dream,
What time the slumberer is aware
He sleeps, and all the vision's air:
Even so, on yonder liquid lawn,
In hues of bright reflection drawn,
Distinct the shaggy mountains lie,
Distinct the rocks, distinct the sky;
The summer clouds so plain we note,
That we might count each dappled spot:
We gaze and we admire, yet know
The scene is all delusive show.

Such dreams of bliss would Arthur draw,
When first his Lucy's form he saw;
Yet sigh'd and sicken'd as he drew,
Despairing they could e'er prove true!

III.

But, Lucy, turn thee now, to view
Up the fair glen our destined way!
The fairy path that we pursue,
Distinguish'd but by greener hue,

Winds round the purple brae, While Alpine flowers of varied dye For carpet serve or tapestry.

Beal-na-paish, the Vale of the Bridal.

See how the little runnels leap,
In threads of silver, down the steep,
To swell the brooklet's moan!
Seems that the Highland Naiad grieves,
Fantastic while her crown she weaves,
Of rowan, birch, and alder-leaves,
So lovely, and so lone.

There's no illusion there, these flowers,
That wailing brook, these lovely bowers,
Are, Lucy, all our own;"

And, since thine Arthur call'd thee wife,
Such seems the prospect of his life,
A lovely path, on-winding still,
By gurgling brook and sloping hill.
'T is true that mortals cannot tell
What waits them in the distant dell;
But be it hap, or be it harm,
We tread the path-way arm in arm.

IV.

And now, my Lucy, wot'st thou why
I could thy bidding twice deny,
When twice you pray'd I would again
Resume the legendary strain

Of the bold Knight of Triermain?

• At length yon peevish vow you swore,
That you would sue to me no more,
Until the minstrel fit drew near,
And made me prize a listening ear.
But, loveliest, when thou first didst pray
Continuance of the knightly lay,
Was it not on the happy day

That made thy hand mine own?
When, dizzied with mine ecstasy,
Nought past, or present, or to be,
Could I or think on, hear, or see,

Save, Lucy, thee alone!

A giddy draught my rapture was,
As ever chemist's magic gas.

In

yon

V.

Again the summons I denied
fair capital of Clyde;
My harp-or let me rather chuse
The good old classic form-my Muse
(For harp's an over-scutched phrase,
Worn out by bards of modern days),
My Muse, then-seldom will she wake
Save by dim wood and silent lake.
She is the wild and rustic maid,
Whose foot unsandall'd loves to tread
Where the soft green-sward is inlaid
With varied moss and thyme;
And, lest the simple lily-braid,
That coronets her temples, fade,
She hides her still in green-wood shade,
To meditate her rhyme.

VI.

And now she comes! The murmur dear
Of the wild brook hath caught her ear,
The glade hath won her eye;
She longs to join with each blithe rill
That dances down the Highland hill,
Her blither melody.

And now, my Lucy's way to cheer,
She bids Ben-Cruach's echoes hear.
How closed the tale, my love whilere

Loyed for its chivalry.

List how she tells, in notes of flame, « Child Roland to the dark tower came!»>

CANTO III.

+ I.

BEWCASTLE NOW must keep the hold, Speir-Adam's steeds must hide in stall, Of Hartley-burn the bowmen bold

Must only shoot from battled wall; And Liddesdale may buckle spur,

And Teviot now may belt the brand, Tarras and Ewes keep nightly stir,

And Eskdale foray Cumberland. Of wasted field and plunder'd flocks

The Borderers bootless may complain; They lack the sword of brave De Vaux," There comes no aid from Triermain. That lord, on high adventure bound, Hath wander'd forth alone,

And day and night keeps watchful round In the valley of Saint John.

II.

When first began his vigil bold,

The moon twelve summer nights was old,
And shone both fair and full;
High in the vault of cloudless blue,
O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she threw
Her light composed and cool.

Stretch'd on the brown hill's heathy breast,
Sir Roland eyed the vale;

Chief, where, distinguish'd from the rest,
Those clustering rocks uprear'd their crest,
The dwelling of the fair distress'd,

As told gray Lyulph's tale.
Thus as he lay, the lamp of night
Was quivering on his armour bright,
In beams that rose and fell,

And danced upon his buckler's boss,
That lay beside him on the moss,
As on a crystal well.

Oft has he traced the charmed mound,
Oft climb'd its crest, or paced it round,
Yet nothing might explore,
Save that the crags so rudely piled,
At distance seen, resemblance wild

To a rough fortress bore.

Yet still his watch the warrior keeps, Feeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps,

And drinks but of the well; "Ever by day he walks the hill, And when the evening gale is chill,

He seeks a rocky cell,

Like hermit poor to bid his bead,
And fell his ave and his creed,
Invoking every saint at need,
For aid to burst the spell.

V.

And how the moon her orb has hid,
And dwindled to a silver thread,

Dim seen in middle heaven,
While o'er its curve careering fast,
Before the fury of the blast,

The midnight clouds are driven. The brooklet raved, for on the hills The upland showers had swoll'n the rills, And down the torrents came; Mutter'd the distant thunder dread, And frequent o'er the vale was spread A sheet of lightning flame. De Vaux, within his mountain cave (No human step the storm durst brave), To mocdy meditation gave

Each faculty of soul,

"

Till, lulled by distant torrent-sound, And the sad wind that whistled round, Upon his thoughts, in musing drown'd, A broken slumber stole.

VI.

T was then was heard a heavy sound,
(Sound strange and fearful there to hear,
'Mongst desert hills, where, leagues around,
Dwelt but the gor-cock and the deer :)
As starting from his couch of fern,
Again he heard, in clangour stern,
That deep and solemn swell;

Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke
Like some proud minster's pealing clock,
Or city's larum-bell.

What thought was Roland's first when fell,
In that deep wilderness, the knell
Upon his startled ear!

But lively was the mingled thrill
That chased that momentary chill;
For love's keen wish was there,
And eager hope, and valour high,
And the proud glow of chivalry,

That burn'd to do and dare.

Forth from the cave the warrior rush'd,
Long ere the mountain-voice was hush'd,
That answer'd to the knell;

For long and far the unwonted sound,
Eddying in echoes round and round,
Was toss'd from fell to fell;
And Glaramara answer flung,
And Grisdale-pike responsive rung,
And Legbert heights their echoes swung,
As far as Derwent's dell.

VIII.

Forth upon trackless darkness gazed
The knight, bedeafen'd and amazed,

Till all was hush'd and still,
Save the swoll'n torrent's sullen roar,
And the night-blast that wildly bore
Its course along the hill.

Then on the northern sky there came
A light, as of reflected flame,

And over Legbert-head,
As if by magic art controll'd,
A mighty meteor slowly roll'd
Its orb of fiery red;

Thou wouldst have thought some demon dire
Came mounted on that car of fire,

To do his errand dread.

Far on the sloping valley's course,
On thicket, rock, and torrent hoarse,
*Shingle and scrae, and fell and force,2

A dusky light arose:
Display'd, yet alter'd was the scene;
Dark rock, and brook of silver sheen,
E'en the gay thicket's summer green,
In bloody tincture glows.

→T is not deceit; distinctly clear
Crenell and parapet appear,
While o'er the pile that meteor drear
Makes momentary pause;

Then forth its solemn path it drew,
And fainter yet and fainter grew
Those gloomy towers upon the view,
As its wild light withdraws.

X.

Forth from the cave did Roland rush,

O'er crag and stream, through briar and bush;
Yet far he had not sped,

Ere sunk was that portentous light
Behind the hills, and utter night

Was on the valley spread.

He paused perforce, and blew his horn;
And on the mountain-echoes borne

Was heard an answering sound,
A wild and lonely trumpet-note,-
In middle air it seem'd to float

High o'er the battled mound;
And sounds were heard, as when a guard
Of some proud castle holding ward,
Pace forth their nightly round.
The valiant Knight of Triermain
Rung forth his challenge-blast again,
But answer came there none;
And 'mid the mingled wind and rain,
Darkling he sought the vale in vain,

Until the dawning shone;

And when it dawn'd, that wond'rous sight,
Distinctly seen by meteor-light,

It all had pass'd away!

And that enchanted mound once more

A pile of granite fragments bore,

As at the close of day.

XI.

Steel'd for the deed, De Vaux's heart

Scorn'd from his venturous quest to part,

He walks the vale once more;

But only sees, by night or day,
That shatter'd pile of rocks so gray,

Hears but the torrent's roar.
Till when, through hills of azure borne,
The moon renew'd her silver horn,
Just at the time her waning ray
Had faded in the dawning day,
A summer mist arose;
Adown the vale the vapours float,
And cloudy undulations moat
That tufted mound of mystic note,

As round its base they close. And higher now the fleecy tide Ascends its stern and shaggy side, Until the airy billows hide

The rock's majestic Isle;

It seem'd a veil of filmy lawn,
By some fantastic fairy drawn
Around enchanted pile.

The veil of silver mist it shook,
And to De Vaux's eager look

Renew'd that wond'rous view.

For, though the loitering vapour braved The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved

Its mantle's dewy fold;

And, still, when shook that filmy screen, Were towers and bastions dimly seen, And Gothic battlements between

Their gloomy length unroll'd. Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on thine eye Once more the fleeting vision die!

-The gallant knight can speed

As prompt and light as, when the hound Is opening, and the horn is wound,

Careers the hunter's steed.

Down the steep dell his course amain

Hath rivall'd archer's shaft;

But ere the mound he could attain, The rocks their shapeless form regain, And mocking loud his labour vain, The mountain spirits laugh'd

Wroth wax'd the warrior.-« Am I then
Fool'd by the enemies of men,

Like a poor hind, whose homeward way
Is haunted by malicious fay?

Is Triermain become your taunt,

De Vaux your scorn? False fiends, avaunt!»>

A weighty curtail-axe he bare;

The baleful blade so bright and square,
And the tough shaft of heben wood,
Were oft in Scottish gore embrucd.
Backward his stately form he drew,
And at the rocks the weapon threw
Just where one crag's projected crest
Hung proudly balanced o'er the rest.
Hurl'd with main force, the weapon's shock
Rent a huge fragment of the rock:
If by mere strength 't were hard to tell,

Or if the blow dissolved some spell,
But down the headlong ruin came,
With cloud of dust and flash of flame.
Down bank, o'er bush, its course was borne,
Crush'd lay the copse, the earth was torn,
Till, staid at length, the ruin dread
Cumber'd the torrent's rocky bed,
And bade the waters' high-swoll'n tide
Seek other passage for its pride.

XIV.

When ceased that thunder, Triermain
Survey'd the mound's rude front again;
And lo! the ruin had laid bare,
Hewn in the stone a winding stair,
Whose moss'd and fractured steps might lend
The means the summit to ascend;
And by whose aid the brave De Vaux
Began to scale these magic rocks,
And soon a platform won,
Where, the wild witchery to close,
Within three lances' length arose
The Castle of St John!

Patience waits the destined day,
Strength can clear the cumber'd way.
Warrior, who hast waited long,
Firm of soul, of sinews strong,
It is given to thee to gaze
On the pile of ancient days.
Never mortal builder's hand
This enduring fabric plann'd;
Sign and sigil, word of power,
From the earth raised keep and tower.
View it o'er, and pace it round,
Rampart, turret, battled mound.
Dare no more! to cross the gate
Were to tamper with thy fate;
Strength and fortitude were vain!
View it o'er-and turn again,»-

XVII.

« That would I,» said the warrior bold,
<< If that my frame were bent and old,
And
my thin blood dropp'd slow and cold
As icicle in thaw;

But while my heart can feel it dance
Blithe as the sparkling wine of France,
And this good arm wields sword or lance,
I mock these words of awe!»
He said; the wicket felt the sway

Of his strong hand, and straight gave way,
And with rude crash and jarring bray,

The rusty bolts withdraw;
But o'er the threshold as he strode,
And forward took the vaulted road,
An unseen arm with force amain
The ponderous gate flung close again,
And rusted bolt and bar
Spontaneous took their place once more,
While the deep arch with sullen roar
Return'd their surly jar.

«Now closed is the gin, and the prey within, By the rood of Lanercost!

But he that would win the war wolfs skin

May rue him of his boast.»>Thus muttering, on the warrior went, By dubious light down steep descent.

XVIII.

Unbarr'd, unlock'd, unwatch'd, a port
Led to the castle's outer court:

There the main fortress, broad and tall,
Spread its long range of bower and hall,

And towers of varied size, Wrought with each ornament extreme, That Gothic art, in wildest dream

Of fancy, could devise.

But full between the warrior's way

And the main portal-arch, there lay

An inner moat;

Nor bridge nor boat

Affords De Vaux the means to cross
The clear, profound, and silent fosse.
His arms aside in haste he flings,
Cuirass of steel and hauberk rings,

And down falls helm and down the shield,
Rough with the dints of many a field.
Fair was his manly form, and fair
His keen dark eye, and close-curl'd hair,
When, all unarm'd, save that the brand
Of well-proved metal graced his hand,
With nought to fence his dauntless breast
But the close gipon's under-vest,
Whose sullied buff the sable stains
Of hauberk and of mail retains,—
Roland De Vaux upon the brim

Of the broad moat stood prompt to swim.

XIX.

Accoutred thus he dared the tide,
And soon he reach'd the farther side,
And enter'd soon the hold,

And paced a hall, whose walls so wide
Were blazon'd all with feats of pride,
By warriors done of old.
In middle lists they counter'd here,

While trumpets seem'd to blow;
And there, in den or desert drear,

They quell'd gigantic foe,
Braved the fierce griffon in his ire,
Or faced the dragon's breath of fire.
Strange in their arms, and strange in face,
Heroes they seem'd of ancient race,
Whose deeds of arms, and race, and name,
Forgotten long by latter fame,

Were here depicted to appal
Those of an age degenerate,
Whose bold intrusion braved their fate,
In this enchanted hall.

For some short space the venturous knight
With these high marvels fed his sight;
Then sought the chamber's upper end,
Where three broad easy steps ascend
To an arch'd portal door,

In whose broad-folding leaves of state
Was framed a wicket window-grate;
And, ere he ventured more,

3 A sort of doublet, worn beneath the armour.

Each maiden's short barbaric vest

Left all unclosed the knee and breast,
And limbs of shapely jet;
White was their vest and turban's fold,
On arms and ancles rings of gold

In savage pomp were set;
A quiver on their shoulders lay
And in their hand an assagay.
Such and so silent stood they there,"
That Roland well nigh hoped
He saw a band of statues rare,
Station'd the gazer's soul to scare;
But, when the wicket oped,
Each grisly beast 'gan upward draw.

Roll'd his grim eye, and spread his claw,

Scented the air, and lick'd his jaw!

While these weird maids, in Moorish tongue, A wild and dismal warning sung.

XXI.

«Rash adventurer, bear thee back! Dread the spell of Dahomay!

Fear the race of Zaharak,
Daughters of the burning day!

When the whirlwind's gusts are wheeling, Ours it is the dance to braid; Zarah's sands, in pillars reeling,

Join the measure that we tread, When the moon hath don'd her cloak,

And the stars are red to see, Shrill when pipes the sad siroc, Music meet for such as we.

« Where the shatter'd columns lie, Showing Carthage once had been, If the wandering santon's eye

Our mysterious rites hath seen,-Oft he cons the prayer of death,

To the nations preaches doom," Azrael's brand hath left the sheath! Moslems think upon the tomb!'

« Ours the scorpion, ours the snake, Ours the hydra of the fen,. Ours the tiger of the brake,

All that plagues the sons of men. Ours the tempest's midnight wrack, Pestilence that wastes by day