XII

Trembling at first and deadly pale,
Had Gunnar heard the visioned tale;
But when he learned the dubious close
He blushed like any opening rose,
And, glad to hide his tell-tale cheek,
Hied back that glove of mail to seek;
When soon a shriek of deadly dread
Summoned his master to his aid.

XIII

240

250

What sees Count Harold in that bower
So late his resting-place?
The semblance of the Evil Power,
Adored by all his race!
Odin in living form stood there,
His cloak the spoils of Polar bear;
For plumy crest a meteor shed
Its gloomy radiance o'er his head,
Yet veiled its haggard majesty
To the wild lightnings of his eye.
Such height was his as when in stone
O'er Upsal's giant altar shown:
So flowed his hoary beard;
Such was his lance of mountain-pine,
So did his sevenfold buckler shine;

260

But when his voice he reared, Deep without harshness, slow and strong, T. The powerful accents rolled along, And while he spoke his hand was laid On captive Gunnar's shrinking head.

Then in the mirrored pool he peered, 340 Blamed his rough locks and shaggy beard, The stains of recent conflict cleared,

And thus the Champion proved
That he fears now who never feared,
And loves who never loved.

And Eivir- life is on her cheek
And yet she will not move or speak,
Nor will her eyelid fully ope;
Perchance it loves, that half-shut eye,
Through its long fringe, reserved and
shy,

Affection's opening dawn to spy;
And the deep blush, which bids its dye
O'er cheek and brow and bosom fly,
Speaks shamefacedness and hope.

XIX

350

Be cheered 't is ended- and I will not borrow,

To try thy patience more, one anecdote From Bartholine or Perinskiold or Snorro.

Then pardon thou thy minstrel, who hath

wrote

A tale six cantos long, yet scorned to add

a note.

380

From the time when Scott wrote the first of his long poems, The Lay of the Last Minstrel, till he deliberately abandoned the writing of long poems in Harold the Dauntless, twelve years later, he wrote about twoscore poems, and in the twelve years which then followed till he ceased writing altogether, only a dozen more, and a large number of these were occasional. This does not take account, however, of the bits of verse interspersed in the novels, some of which were among his most characteristic pieces. In 1806, after publishing The Lay

of the Last Minstrel and before publishing Marmion, Scott issued a collection of Ballads and Lyrical Pieces, containing most of the matter included in our division, Early Ballads and Lyrics; but not again was any collection made till his distribution of all his writings toward the end of his life. It has seemed best, in our arrangement, not to interrupt the series of long poems by inserting these scattered verses between them, but to group them all in this general division, in as closely chronological order as seemed practicable.

Unconquered thy warriors and matchless thy maids!

And thou whose faint warblings my weakness can tell,

Farewell, my loved harp! my last treasure, farewell!

THE NORMAN HORSE-SHOE

The Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous country, and possessing only an inferior breed of horses, were usually unable to encounter the shock of the Anglo-Norman cavalry. Occasionally, however, they were successful in repelling the invaders; and the following verses are supposed to celebrate a defeat of Clare, Earl of Striguil and Pembroke, and of Neville, Baron of Chepstow, Lords-Marchers of Monmouthshire. Published in 1806.

RED glows the forgé in Striguil's bounds,
And hammers din, and anvil sounds,
And armorers with iron toil
Barb many a steed for battle's broil.
Foul fall the hand which bends the steel
Around the courser's thundering heel,
That e'er shall dint a sable wound
On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground!

From Chepstow's towers ere dawn of morn
Was heard afar the bugle-horn,
And forth in banded pomp and pride
Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride.
They swore their banners broad should
gleam

In crimson light on Rymny's stream;
They vowed Caerphili's sod should feel
The Norman charger's spurning heel.

And sooth they swore - the sun arose,
And Rymny's wave with crimson glows;
For Clare's red banner, floating wide,
Rolled down the stream to Severn's tide!
And sooth they vowed- the trampled
green

Showed where hot Neville's charge had been:

In every sable hoof-tramp stood

A Norman horseman's curdling blood!

Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil
That armed stout Clare for Cambrian broil;
Their orphans long the art may rue,
For Neville's war-horse forged the shoe.

All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle,

With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail,

Till the shout and the groan and the conflict's dread rattle,

And the chase's wild clamor, came loading the gale.

Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary;

Slowly approaching a warrior was seen; Life's ebbing tide marked his footsteps so weary,

Cleft was his helmet and woe was his mien.

'You hear the Ettrick's sullen roar,

Dark, deep, and strong is he, And I must ford the Ettrick o'er, Unless you pity me.

'The iron gate is bolted hard,

At which I knock in vain;
The owner's heart is closer barred,
Who hears me thus complain.

'Farewell, farewell! and Mary grant,
When old and frail you be,
You never may the shelter want
That's now denied to me.'

The ranger on his couch lay warm,
And heard him plead in vain;
But oft amid December's storm
He'll hear that voice again:

THE MAID OF NEIDPATH

'There is a tradition in Tweeddale,' says Scott, 'that, when Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the Earls of March, a mutual passion subsisted between a daughter of that noble family and a son of the Laird of Tushielaw, in Ettrick Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuitable by her parents, the young man went abroad. During his absence the lady fell into a consumption; and at length, as the only means of saving her life, her father consented that her lover should be recalled. On the day when he was expected to pass through Peebles, on the road to Tushielaw, the young lady, though much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to the balcony of a house in Peebles belonging to the family, that she might see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and eagerness gave such force to her organs, that she is said to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at an incredible distance. But Tushielaw, unprepared for the change in her appearance, and not expecting to see her in that place, rode on without recognizing her, or even slackening his pace. The lady was unable to support the shock; and, after a short struggle, died in the arms of her attendants.' Published, 1806, in Haydn's Collection of Scot

tish Airs.

Can lend an hour of cheering.

i

Disease had been in Mary's bower,
And slow decay from mourning,
Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower
To watch her love's returning.

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,
Her form decayed by pining,

Till through her wasted hand at night
You saw the taper shining;
By fits, a sultry hectic hue
Across her cheek were flying;
By fits, so ashy pale she grew,
Her maidens thought her dying.

Yet keenest powers to see and hear
Seemed in her frame residing;
Before the watch-dog pricked his ear,
She heard her lover's riding;
Ere scarce a distant form was kenned,
She knew, and waved to greet him;
And o'er the battlement did bend,
As on the wing to meet him.

401

an heedless gaze,

As o'er some stranger glancing; Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, Lost in his courser's prancing The castle arch, whose hollow tone Returns each whisper spoken, Could scarcely catch the feeble moan Which told her heart was broken.