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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 none his empire share.

V

One morn in kirtle green arrayed
Deep in the wood the maiden strayed,
And where a fountain sprung
She sate her down unseen to thread
The scarlet berry's mimic braid,

And while the beads she strung,
Like the blithe lark whose carol gay
Gives a good-morrow to the day,
So lightsomely she sung.

VI

SONG

377

'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 gawds and jewels deck their hair,
Yet better loves the dew-drops still
That pearl the locks of Metelill.

'The pious palmer loves, iwis,
Saint Cuthbert's hallowed 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.

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'My nurse has told me many a tale,
How vows of love are weak and frail;
My mother says that courtly youth
By rustic maid means seldom sooth.
What should they mean? it cannot be
That such a warning 's meant for me,
For nought—O, nought of fraud or ill
Can William mean to Metelill!'

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Sudden and clamorous from the ground 190
Upstarted slumbering brach and hound;
Loud knocking next the lodge alarms
And Wulfstane snatches at his arms,
When
open flew the yielding door
And that grim warrior pressed the floor.

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fail?

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All peace be here - What! none replies ? Dismiss your fears and your surprise. "T is I-that maid hath told my tale, — Or, trembler, did thy courage It recks not it is I demand Fair Metelill in marriage band; Harold the Dauntless I, whose name Is brave men's boast and caitiff's shame.' The parents sought each other's eyes With awe, resentment, and surprise: Wulfstane, to quarrel prompt, began The stranger's size and thews to scan; But as he scanned his courage sunk, And from unequal strife he shrunk, Then forth to blight and blemish flies 210 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 wildered gaze.

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Appalled awhile the parents stood,
Then changed their fear to angry mood,
And foremost fell their words of ill
On unresisting Metelill:

Was she not cautioned and forbid,
Forewarned, implored, accused, and chid,
And must she still to greenwood roam
To marshal such misfortune home?
'Hence, minion - to thy chamber hence
There prudence learn and penitence.'
She went her lonely couch to steep
In tears which absent lovers weep;
Or if she gained a troubled sleep,
Fierce Harold's suit was still the theme
And terror of her feverish dream.

XIV

Scarce was she gone, her dame and sire Upon each other bent their ire;

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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 You gloomy brow and frame so strong. But thou is this thy promise fair, That your Lord William, wealthy heir 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's storms to steep, Or thorough fog and fen to sweep

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And hag-ride some poor rustic's sleep? Is such mean mischief worth the fame Of sorceress and witch's name?

379

Fame, which with all men's wish conspires, With thy deserts and my desires,

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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?'

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 Rookhope, thou shalt know
If I can venge me on a foe.

Believe the while that whatso'er
I spoke in ire of bow and spear,
It is not Harold's destiny

The death of pilfered 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 the moody sire

To cherish or to slake his ire.

XVI

280

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Far faster than belonged to age
Has Jutta made her pilgrimage.
A priest has met her as she passed,
And crossed himself and stood aghast:
She traced a hamlet not a cur
His throat would ope, his foot would stir;
By crouch, by trembling, and by groan, 300
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,
Screamed 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, screamed, and started from her

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XVII

INVOCATION

'From thy Pomeranian throne,
Hewn in rock of living stone,
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 Christian's hated gore,
Hear me, Sovereign of the Rock!
Hear me, mighty Zernebock!

'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 seamed
Hundred victims' blood hath streamed!
Now one woman comes alone
And but wets it with her own,
The last, the feeblest of thy flock,-
Hear and be present, Zernebock !

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'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 uttered once
Shall wake thy Master from his trance,
Shake his red mansion-house of pain
And burst his seven times - twisted
chain ! -

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So! com'st thou ere the spell is spoke ? I own thy presence, Zernebock.'.

XVIII

350

'Daughter of dust,' the Deep Voice said

Shook while it spoke the vale for dread,
Rocked on the base that massive stone,

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'And is this all,' said Jutta stern,
'That thou canst teach and I can learn? 380
Hence! to the land of fog and waste,
There fittest is thine influence placed,
Thou powerless, sluggish Deity!
But ne'er shall Briton bend the knee
Again before so poor a god.'
She struck the altar with her rod;
Slight was the touch as when at need
A damsel stirs her tardy steed;
But to the blow the stone gave place,
And, starting from its balanced base,
Rolled thundering down the moonlight

dell, -
Re-echoed moorland, rock, and fell;
Into the moonlight tarn it dashed,
Their shores the sounding surges
lashed,
And there was ripple, rage, and foam;
But on that lake, so dark and lone,
Placid and pale the moonbeam shone
As Jutta hied her home.

CANTO THIRD

I

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Well yet I love thy mixed and massive piles,

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Half church of God, half castle 'gainst the Scot,

And long to roam these venerable aisles, With records stored of deeds long since forgot;

There might I share my Surtees' happier lot,

Who leaves at will his patrimonial field To ransack every crypt and hallowed spot,

And from oblivion rend the spoils they yield, Restoring priestly chant and clang of knightly shield.

Vain is the wish - since other cares demand

Each vacant hour, and in another clime;

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But still that northern harp invites my hand

Which tells the wonder of thine earlier

time;

And fain its numbers would I now command

To paint the beauties of that dawning fair

When Harold, gazing from its lofty

stand

Upon the western heights of Beaurepaire, Saw Saxon Eadmer's towers begirt by winding Wear.

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The morning mists rose from the ground, Each merry bird awakened round

As if in revelry;

Afar the bugle's clanging sound
Called to the chase the lagging hound;

The gale breathed soft and free,
And seemed to linger on its way
To catch fresh odors from the spray,
And waved it in its wanton play

So light and gamesomely.

The scenes which morning beams reveal,
Its sounds to hear, its gales to feel
In all their fragrance round him steal,
It melted Harold's heart of steel,
And, hardly wotting why,

He doffed his helmet's gloomy pride
And hung it on a tree beside,

Laid mace and falchion by,
And on the greens ward sate him down
And from his dark habitual frown

Relaxed his rugged browWhoever hath the doubtful task From that stern Dane a boon to ask Were wise to ask it now.

IV

His place beside young Gunnar took
And marked his master's softening look,
And in his eye's dark mirror spied
The gloom of stormy thoughts subside,
And cautious watched the fittest tide

To speak a warning word.
So when the torrent's billows shrink,
The timid pilgrim on the brink
Waits long to see them wave and sink
Ere he dare brave the ford,
And often after doubtful pause
His step advances or withdraws;
Fearful to move the slumbering ire
Of his stern lord, thus stood the squire
Till Harold raised his eye,

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That glanced as when athwart the shroud Of the dispersing tempest-cloud

The bursting sunbeams fly.

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