"Portents and miracles impeach Our sloth-the dumb our duties teach

And he that gives the mute his speech, Can bid the weak be strong. To us, as to our lords, are given A native earth, a promised heaven; To us, as to our lords, belongs The vengeance for our nation's wrongs; The choice, 'twixt death or freedom,

warms

Our breasts as theirs-To arms! to arms!"

To arms they flew,-axe, club, or spear,—
And mimic ensigns high they rear,
And, like a banner'd host afar,
Bear down on England's wearied war.

XXXI.

Already scatter'd o'er the plain,
Reproof, command, and counsel vain,
The rearward squadrons fled amain,

Or made but doubtful stay ;--
But when they mark'd the seeming show
Of fresh and fierce and marshall'd foe,
The boldest broke array.
O give their hapless prince his due!
In vain the Royal Edward threw

His person 'mid the spears,
Cried, "Fight!" to terror and despair,
Menaced, and wept, and tore his hair,

And cursed their caitiff fears;
Till Pembroke turn'd his bridle rein,
And forced him from the fatal plain.
With them rode Argentine, until
They gain'd the summit of the hill,
But quitted there the train :-
"In yonder field a gage I left,
I must not live of fame bereft ;

I needs must turn again.
Speed hence, my Liege, for on your trace
The fiery Douglas takes the chase,

I know his banner well. God send my Sovereign joy and bliss, And many a happier field than this!Once more, my Liege, farewell!"

XXXII.

Again he faced the battle-field,—— Wildly they fly, are slain, or yield. "Now then," he said, and couch'd his

spear,

"My course is run, the goal is near;

One effort more, one brave career,

Must close this race of mine." Then in his stirrups rising high, He shouted loud his battle-cry,

"Saint James for Argentine !" And, of the bold pursuers, four The gallant knight from saddle bore; But not unharm'd-a lance's point Has found his breastplate's loosen'd joint, An axe has razed his crest; Yet still on Colonsay's fierce lord, Who press'd the chase with gory sword, He rode with spear in rest,

And through his bloody tartans bored, And through his gallant breast. Nail'd to the earth, the mountaineer Yet writhed him up against the spear,

And swung his broadsword round! -Stirrup, steel-boot, and cuish gave way, Beneath that blow's tremendous sway,

The blood gush'd from the wound; And the grim Lord of Colonsay

Hath turn'd him on the ground, And laugh'd in death-pang, that his blade The mortal thrust so well repaid.

XXXIII.

Now toil'd the Bruce, the battle done,
To use his conquest boldly won;
And gave command for horse and spear
To press the Southron's scatter'd rear,
Nor let his broken force combine,
-When the war-cry of Argentine

66

Fell faintly on his ear;

'Save, save his life," he cried, "O save The kind, the noble, and the brave!" The squadrons round free passage gave, The wounded knight drew near; He raised his red-cross shield no more, Helm, cuish, and breastplate stream'd with gore,

Yet, as he saw the King advance,
He strove even then to couch his lance-
The effort was in vain!
The spur-stroke fail'd to rouse the horse;
Wounded and weary, in mid course

He stumbled on the plain.
Then foremost was the generous Bruce
To raise his head, his helm to loose;—
"Lord Earl, the day is thine!
My sovereign's charge, and adverse fate,
Have made our meeting all too late:

Nor for De Argentine alone,
Through Ninian's church these torches
shone,

And rose the death-prayer's awful tone.
That yellow lustre glimmer'd pale,
On broken plate and bloodied mail,
Rent crest and shatter'd coronet,
Of Baron, Earl, and Banneret ;
And the best names that England knew,
Claim'd in the death-prayer dismal due.

Yet mourn not, Land of Fame! Though ne'er the Leopards on thy shield Retreated from so sad a field,

Since Norman William came. Oft may thine annals justly boast Of battles stern by Scotland lost;

Grudge not her victory,

When for her freeborn rights she strove;
Rights dear to all who freedom love,
To none so dear as thee!

Even upon Bannock's bloody plain, Heap'd then with thousands of the slain, 'Mid victor monarch's musings high, Mirth laugh'd in good King Robert's

eye:

"And bore he such angelic air,
Such noble front, such waving hair?
Hath Ronald kneel'd to him?" he said;
"Then must we call the church to aid-
Our will be to the Abbot known,
Ere these strange news are wider blown,
To Cambuskenneth straight ye pass,
And deck the church for solemn mass,
Το
pay for high deliverance given,
A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven.
Let him array, besides, such state,
As should on princes' nuptials wait.
Ourself the cause, through fortune's spite,
That once broke short that spousal rite,
Ourself will grace, with early morn,
The Bridal of the Maid of Lorn."*

*It may be inferred from one of the author's private notes to James Ballantyne, that he originally contemplated a description of the wedding ceremonial. From some cause, however, which can now only be conjectured, he altered his design and left the bridal to the reader's imagination.

Page 13. As when the Champion of the Lake
Enters Morgana's fated house,
Or in the Chapel Perilous,
Despising spells and demons' force,
Holds converse with the unburied

corse.

THE romance of the Morte d'Arthur contains a sort of abridgment of the most celebrated adventures of the Round Table; and, being written in comparatively modern language, gives the general reader an excellent idea of what romances of chivalry actually were. It has also the merit of being written in pure old English; and many of the wild adventures which it contains are told with a simplicity bordering upon the sublime. Several of these are referred to in the text; and I would have illustrated them by more full extracts, but as this curious work is about to be republished, I confine myself to the tale of the Chapel Perilous, and of the quest of Sir Launcelot after the Sangreal.

Right so Sir Launcelot departed, and when be came to the Chapell Perilous, he alighted downe, and tied his horse to a little gate. And as soon as he was within the churchyard, he saw, on the front of the chapell, many faire rich shields turned upside downe; and many of the shields Sir Launcelot had seene knights have before; with that he saw stand by him thirtie great knights, more, by a yard, than any man that ever he had seene, and all those grinned and gnashed at Sir Launcelot; and when he saw their countenance, hee dread them sore, and so put his shield afore him, and tooke his sword in his hand, ready to doe battaile; and they were all armed in black harneis, ready, with their shields and swords drawn. And when Sir Launcelot would have gone through them, they scattered on every side of him, and gave him the way; and therewith he waxed all bold, and entered into the chapell, and then hee saw no light but a dimme lampe burning, and then was he ware of a corps covered with a cloath of silke; then Sir Launcelot stooped downe, and cut a piece of that cloth away, and then it fared under him as the earth had quaked a ittle, whereof he was afeard, and then hee saw a faire sword lye by the dead knight, and that he gat in his hand, and hied him out of the chappell. As soon as he was in the chappellyerd, all the knights spoke to him with a grimly voice, and said, 'Knight, Sir Launcelot, lay that sword from thee, or else thou shalt die.'Whether I live or die,' said Sir Launcelot,

'with no great words get yee it againe, therefore fight for it an yee list.' Therewith he passed through them; and, beyond the chappell-yerd, there met him a faire damosell, and said, 'Sir Launcelot. leave that sword behind thee, or thou wilt die for it.'-'I will not leave it,' said Sir Launcelot, for no threats.'-' No?' said she; and ye did leave that sword, Queen Guenever should ye never see.'-Then were I a fool and I would leave this sword,' said Sir Launcelot. 'Now, gentle knight,' said the damosell, I require thee to kiss me once.''Nay,' said Sir Launcelot, that God forbid !' 'Well, sir,' said she, 'an thou haddest kissed me thy life dayes had been done; but now alas !' said she, I have lost my labour; for I ordeined this chappell for thy sake, and for Sir Gawaine: and once I had Sir Gawaine within it and at that time he fought with that knight which there lieth dead in yonder chappell, Sir Gilbert the bastard, and at that time hee smote off Sir Gilbert the bastard's left hand. And so, Sir Launcelot, now I tell thee, that I have loved thee this seaven yeare; but there may no woman have thy love but Queene Guenever; but sithen I may not rejoyce thee to have thy body alive, I had kept no more joy in this world, but to have had thy dead body; and I would have balmed it and served, and so have kept it in my life daies, and daily I should have clipped thee, and kissed thee, in the despite of Queen Guenever.'-'Yee say well,' said Sir Launcelot; Jesus preserve me from your subtill craft.' And therewith he took his horse, and departed from her."

13. A sinful man, and unconfess'd,
He took the Sangreal's holy quest
And, slumbering, saw the vision high,
He might not view with waking eye.

One day when Arthur was holding a high feast with his Knights of the Round Table, the Sangreal, or vessel out of which the last passever was eaten (a precious relic, which had long remained concealed from human eyes, because of the sins of the land), suddenly appeared to him and all his chivalry. The consequence of this vision was, that all the knights took on them a solemn vow to seek the Sangreal. alas! it could only be revealed to a knight at once accomplished in earthly chivalry, and pure and guiltless of evil conversation. All Sir Launcelot's noble accomplishments were therefore rendered vain by his guilty intrigue with Queen Guenever, or Ganore; and in his holy

But,

quest he encountered only such disgraceful disasters as that which follows:

64

But Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wild forest, and held no path but as wild adventure led him; and at the last, he came unto a stone cross, which departed two wayes, in wast land; and, by the crosse, was a stone that was of marble; but it was so dark, that Sir Launcelot might not well know what it was. Then Sir Launcelot looked by him, and saw an old chappell, and there he wend to have found people. And so Sir Launcelot tied his horse to a tree, and there he put off his shield, and hung it upon a tree, and then hee went unto the chappell doore, and found it wasted and broken. And within he found a faire altar, full richly arrayed with cloth of silk, and there stood a faire candlestick, which beare six great candles, and the candlesticke was of silver. And when Sir Launcelot saw this light, hee had a great will for to enter into the chappell, but he could find no place where hee might enter. Then was he passing heavie and dismaied. Then he returned, and came againe to his horse, and tocke off his saddle and his bridle, and let him pasture, and unlaced his helme, and ungirded his sword, and laid him downe to sleepe upon his shield, before the

crosse.

"And so he fell on sleepe; and, halfe waking and halfe sleeping, he saw come by him two palfreys, both faire and white, the which beare a litter, therein lying a sick knight. And when he was nigh the crosse, he there abode still. All this Sir Launcelot saw and beheld, for hee slept not verily, and hee heard him say, 'O sweete Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me, and when shall the holy vessel come by me, where through I shall be blessed, for I have endured thus long for little trespasse!' And thus a great while complained the knight, and alwaies Sir Launcelot heard it. With that Sir Launcelot saw the candlesticke, with the fire tapers, come before the crosse; but he could see nobody that brought it. Also there came a table of silver, and the holy vessell of the Sancgreall, the which Sir Launcelot had seen before that time in King Petchour's house. And therewithal the sicke knight set him upright, and held up both his hands and said, 'Faire swete Lord, which is here within the holy vessell, take heede to mee, that I may bee hole of this great malady!' And therewith upon his hands, and upon his knees, he went so nigh, that he touched the holy vessell and kissed it: And anon he was hole, and then he said, 'Lord God, I thank thee, for I am healed of this malady.' So when the holy vessell had been there a great while, it went into the chappelle againe, with the candlesticke and the light, so that Sir Launcelot wist not where it became, for he was overtaken with sinne, that hee had no power to arise against the holy vessell, wherefore afterward many men said of him shame. But he tooke repentance afterward. Then the sicke knight dressed him upright, and kissed the crosse. Then anon his squire brought

him his armes, and asked his lord how he did. 'Certainly,' said hee, 'I thanke God right heartily, for through the holy vessell I am healed: But I have right great mervaile of this sleeping knight, which hath had neither grace nor power to awake during the time that this holy vessell hath beene here present. ''I dare it right well say,' said the squire, that this same knight is defouled with some manner of deadly sinne, whereof he has never confessed.''By my faith,' said the knight, 'whatsoever he be, he is unhappie; for, as I deeme, he is of the fellowship of the Round Table, the which is entered into the quest of the Sancgreall.' Sir,' said the squire, 'here I have brought you all your armes, save your helme and your sword; and, therefore, by mine assent, now may ye take this knight's helme and his sword; and so he did. And when he was clean armed, he took Sir Launcelot's horse, for he was better than his owne, and so they departed from the crosse.

"Then anon Sir Launcelot awaked, and set himselfe upright, and he thought him what hee had there seene, and whether it were dreames or not right so he heard a voice that said, 'Sir Launcelot, more hardy than is the stone, and more bitter than is the wood, and more naked and bare than is the liefe of the fig-tree, therefore go thou from hence, and withdraw thee from this holy place; ' and when Sir Launcelot heard this, he was passing heavy, and wist not what to doe. And so he departed sore weeping, and cursed the time that he was borne; for then he deemed never to have had more worship; for the words went unto his heart, till that he knew wherefore that hee was so called."

13. And Dryden, in immortal strain,

Had raised the Table Round again. Dryden's melancholy account of his projected Epic Poem, blasted by the selfish and sordid parsimony of his patrons, is contained in an

Essay on Satire," addressed to the Earl of Dorset, and prefixed to the Translation of Juvenal. After mentioning a plan of supplying machinery from the guardian angels of kingdoms, mentioned in the book of Daniel, he adds

"Thus, my lord, I have, as briefly as I could, given your lordship, and by you the world, a rude draught of what I have been long labouring in my imagination, and what I had intended to have put in practice (though far unable for the attempt of such a poem); and to have left the stage, to which my genius never much inclined me, for a work which would have taken up my life in the performance of it. This, too, I had intended chiefly for the honour of my native country, to which a poet is particularly obliged. Of two subjects both relating to it. I was doubtful whether I should choose that of King Arthur conquering the Saxons, which, being farther distant in time, gives the greater scope for my invention; or that of Edward the Black Prince, in subduing Spain, and restoring it to the lawful prince though a great tyrant,