XIX

Now caracoled the steeds in air, Now plumes and pennons wantoned fair, As all around the lists so wide In panoply the champions ride. King Arthur saw with startled eye The flower of chivalry march by, The bulwark of the Christian creed, The kingdom's shield in hour of need. Too late he thought him of the woe Might from their civil conflict flow; For well he knew they would not part Till cold was many a gallant heart. His hasty vow he 'gan to rue, And Gyneth then apart he drew; To her his leading-staff resigned, But added caution grave and kind.

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King Arthur swore, "By crown and sword,
As belted knight and Britain's lord,
That a whole summer's day should strive
His knights, the bravest knights alive!"
"Recall thine oath! and to her glen
Poor Gyneth can return agen;
Not on thy daughter will the stain
That soils thy sword and crown remain.
But think not she will e'er be bride
Save to the bravest, proved and tried;
Pendragon's daughter will not fear
For clashing sword or splintered spear,

Nor shrink though blood should flow;
And all too well sad Guendolen
Hath taught the faithlessness of men
That child of hers should pity when
Their meed they undergo.'

XXII

430

'He frowned and sighed, the monarch bold:

"I give
- what I may not withhold;
For, not for danger, dread, or death,
Must British Arthur break his faith.
Too late I mark thy mother's art
Hath taught thee this relentless part.
I blame her not, for she had wrong,
But not to these my faults belong.
Use then the warder as thou wilt;
But trust me that, if life be spilt,
In Arthur's love, in Arthur's grace,
Gyneth shall lose a daughter's place."
With that he turned his head aside,
Nor brooked to gaze upon her pride,
As with the truncheon raised she sate
The arbitress of mortal fate;

Nor brooked to mark in ranks disposed
How the bold champions stood opposed,
For shrill the trumpet-flourish fell
Upon his ear like passing bell!
Then first from sight of martial fray
Did Britain's hero turn away.

XXIII

But Gyneth heard the clangor high As hears the hawk the partridge cry. O, blame her not! the blood was hers

440

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460

Then Brunor, Taulas, Mador, fell, Helias the White, and Lionel,

520

And many a champion more; Rochemont and Dinadam are down, And Ferrand of the Forest Brown Lies gasping in his gore. Vanoc, by mighty Morolt pressed Even to the confines of the list, Young Vanoc of the beardless face — Fame spoke the youth of Merlin's race — O'erpowered at Gyneth's footstool bled, His heart's-blood dyed her sandals red. But then the sky was overcast, Then howled at once a whirlwind's blast, And, rent by sudden throes, Yawned in mid lists the quaking earth, And from the gulf - tremendous birth!— The form of Merlin rose.

XXVI

530

'Sternly the Wizard Prophet eyed
The dreary lists with slaughter dyed,
And sternly raised his hand:-
"Madmen," he said, "your strife for-
bear!

And thou, fair cause of mischief, hear
The doom thy fates demand!

Long shall close in stony sleep
Eyes for ruth that would not weep;
Iron lethargy shall seal
Heart that pity scorned to feel.
Yet, because thy mother's art
Warped thine unsuspicious heart,
And for love of Arthur's race
Punishment is blent with grace,
Thou shalt bear thy penance lone
In the Valley of Saint John,
And this weird shall overtake thee;
Sleep until a knight shall wake thee,
For feats of arms as far renowned
As warrior of the Table Round.
Long endurance of thy slumber
Well may teach the world to number
All their woes from Gyneth's pride,
When the Red Cross champions died."

XXVII

'As Merlin speaks, on Gyneth's eye
Slumber's load begins to lie;
Fear and anger vainly strive
Still to keep its light alive.
Twice with effort and with pause
O'er her brow her hand she draws;
Twice her strength in vain she tries
From the fatal chair to rise;

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Merlin's magic doom is spoken,
Vanoc's death must now be wroken.
Slow the dark-fringed eyelids fall,
Curtaining each azure ball,
Slowly as on summer eves
Violets fold their dusky leaves.
The weighty baton of command
Now bears down her sinking hand,
On her shoulder droops her head;
Net of pearl and golden thread
Bursting gave her locks to flow
O'er her arm and breast of snow.
And so lovely seemed she there,
Spell-bound in her ivory chair,
That her angry sire repenting,
Craved stern Merlin for relenting,
And the champions for her sake
Would again the contest wake;
Till in necromantic night
Gyneth vanished from their sight.

XXVIII

'Still she bears her weird alone

In the Valley of Saint John;
And her semblance oft will seem,
Mingling in a champion's

Of her weary lot to plain

dream,

And crave his aid to burst her chain. While her wondrous tale was new Warriors to her rescue drew, East and west, and south and north, From the Liffy, Thames, and Forth. Most have sought in vain the glen, Tower nor castle could they ken; Not at every time or tide, Nor by every eye, descried. Fast and vigil must be borne, Many a night in watching worn, Ere an eye of mortal powers Can discern those magic towers. Of the persevering few Some from hopeless task withdrew When they read the dismal threat Graved upon the gloomy gate. Few have braved the yawning door, And those few returned no more. In the lapse of time forgot, Wellnigh lost is Gyneth's lot; Sound her sleep as in the tomb Till wakened by the trump of doom.

640

Or grant the hour be all too soon
For Hessian boot and pantaloon,
And grant the lounger seldom strays
Beyond the smooth and gravelled maze,
Laud we the gods that Fashion's train
Holds hearts of more adventurous strain.
Artists are hers who scorn to trace
Their rules from Nature's boundless grace,
But their right paramount assert
To limit her by pedant art,
Damning whate'er of vast and fair
Exceeds a canvas three feet square.
This thicket, for their gumption fit,
May furnish such a happy bit.
Bards too are hers, wont to recite
Their own sweet lays by waxen light,
Half in the salver's tingle drowned,
While the chasse-café glides around;
And such may hither secret stray
To labor an extempore:
Or sportsman with his boisterous hollo
May here his wiser spaniel follow,
Or stage-struck Juliet may presume
To choose this bower for tiring-room;
And we alike must shun regard
From painter, player, sportsman, bard.
Insects that skim in fashion's sky,
Wasp, blue-bottle, or butterfly,
Lucy, have all alarms for us,
For all can hum and all can buzz.

III

But O, my Lucy, say how long
We still must dread this trifling throng,
And stoop to hide with coward art
The genuine feelings of the heart!

650

660

What, neither? Can there be a third,
To such resistless swains preferred?
O why, my Lucy, turn aside

With that quick glance of injured pride?
Forgive me, love, I cannot bear
That altered and resentful air.

Were all the wealth of Russel mine
And all the rank of Howard's line,
All would I give for leave to dry
That dew-drop trembling in thine eye.
Think not I fear such fops can wile
From Lucy more than careless smile;
But yet if wealth and high degree
Give gilded counters currency,
Must I not fear when rank and birth

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710

a simple sound,

750

CANTO THIRD

INTRODUCTION I

LONG loved, long wooed, and lately won,
My life's best hope, and now mine own!
Doth not this rude and Alpine glen
Recall our favorite 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 crossed,
While round Ben-Cruach's mighty base
Wheel the slow steeds and lingering
chase.

An

bear

The keen old carle, with Scottish pride
He praised his glen and mountains wide;
eye 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 nor 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 doffed and bow applied
His legend to my bonny bride;
While Lucy blushed beneath his eye,
Courteous and cautious, shrewd and sly.

II

20

To the blue lake's retiring shore.

30

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: 40 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 sighed and sickened 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,
Distinguished but by greener hue,

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

IV

And now, my Lucy, wot'st thou why
I could thy bidding twice deny,
When twice you prayed 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.

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70

80

90