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SAMOR, LORD OF THE BRIGHT CITY
by
H. H. MILMAN
PREFACE.
The Historians [Note 1] of the Empire near the period of time, at which this Poem commences, make mention of a Constantine, who assumed the purple of the western empire, gained possession of Gaul and Spain, but was defeated and slain at the battle of Arles. He had a son named Constans, who became a monk, and was put to death at Vienna.
About the same time a Constantine appears in the relations of the old British Chronicles and Romances. He was brother of the king of Armorica, and became himself King, or rather an elected sovereign of the petty Kings of Britain [Note 2], who continued their succession under the Roman dominion. He was called Vendigard [Note 3] and Waredur, the Defender and Deliverer. He had three sons, Constans, who became a hermit, and was murthered, either (for the traditions vary) by the Picts, by Vortigern, or by the Saxons; Emrys, called by the Latin writers Aurelius Ambrosius; and Uther Pendragon, the father of Arthur. These two Constantines are here identified, and Vortigern supposed to have been named King of Britain, as the person of greatest authority and conduct in the wreck of the British army, defeated at Arles. Many, however, of the chiefs in the Island advancing the hereditary right, before formally settled on the sons of Constantine, Vortigern, mistrusting the Britons, and prest by invasions of the Caledonians, introduced the Saxons to check the barbarians and strengthen his own sovereignty.
The Hero of the Poem is an historical character, as far as such legends can be called History. He appears in most of the Chronicles, as Edol, or Eldol, but the fullest account of his exploits is in Dugdale's Baronage under his title of Earl of Gloucester. William Harrison, however, in the Description of Britain prefixed to Holinshed, calls him Eldulph de Samor. But all concur in ascribing to him the acts which make the chief subject of the fifth and last Books of this Poem.
Most of our present names of places being purely Saxon, and the old British having little of harmony or association to recommend them, I have frequently, on the authority of Camden and others, translated them. Thus the Saxon Gloucester, called by the Britons, Caer Gloew, is the Bright City. The Dobuni, the inhabitants of the Vales, are called by that name. Some few sanctioned by old usage of Poetry and Romance I retain, as Kent, Thanet, Cornwall. London is Troynovant, as the City of the Trinobantes.
Some passages in the Poem will be easily traced to their acknowledged sources, the Poets of Greece and Italy; one however, in the third book, relating to the Northern mythology, has been remarkably anticipated in a modern Poem. The honourable Author may be assured that the conincidence is unintentional, as that part of this Poem was the earliest written, and previous to the appearance of his production.
BOOK I.
Land of my birth, oh Britain! and my love,
Whose air I breathe, whose earth I tread, whose tongue
My song would speak, its strong and solemn tones
Most proud, if I abase not. Beauteous Isle,
And plenteous! what though in thy atmosphere [5]
Float not the taintless luxury of light,
The dazzling azure of the Southern skies;
Around thee the rich orb of thy renown
Spreads stainless, and unsullied by a cloud.
Though thy hills blush not with the purple vine, [10]
And softer climes excel thee in the hue
And fragrance of thy summer fruits and flowers,
Nor flow thy rivers over golden beds;
Thou in the Soul of man, thy better wealth,
Art richest: nature's noblest produce thou, [15]
The immortal Mind in perfect height and strength,
Bear'st with a prodigal opulence; this thy right,
Thy privilege of climate and of soil,
Would I assert: nor, save thy fame, invoke,
Or Nymph, or Muse, that oft 'twas dream'd of old [20]
By falls of waters under haunted shades,
Her extacy of inspiration pour'd
O'er Poet's soul, and flooded all his powers
With liquid glory: so may thy renown
Burn in my heart, and give to thought and word
The aspiring and the radiant hue of fire. [25]
Forth from the gates of Troynovant hath past
King Vortigern; the Princes of the Isle
Around him; on the walls, for then (though now
Scorn bounds her mighty wilderness of streets,
And in magnificence of multitude [30]
Spread, and illimitable grandeur,) walls
With jealous circuit and embattled range
Girt Britain's narrow Capital; where swarm'd
Eager her wondering citizens to see
The Monarch. Him the Saxon Hengist met, [35]
And Horsa, with their bands in triumph led,
As from a recent victory; their blue eyes
Sparkled, and proud they shook their saffron hair;
And in the bicker of their spears, the toss
Of ponderous mallets, the quick flash of swords, [40]
Th' emblazon'd White Horse on their banners waved,
Was triumph. Thus king Vortigern began:
"Welcome, Deliverers! of our kingdom's foes,
Welcome, thrice-honour'd Conquerors! never more
Shall painted Caledonian o'er our realm [45]
The chariots of his rapine wheel, so full
The desolation, havoc so complete
Hath smote and blasted in Erle Hengist's path.
The mouldering ruins of our Roman wall,
Leagued with the terror of the Saxon name, [50]
Shall be defence more mighty, than when soared
Its battlements unbroken, and above
The imperial Eagle shook its wings of gold.
Oh, toil'd with victory, burthen'd with renown,
For ye our baths float cool and clear, our air [55]
Is redolent with garland wreaths, and rich
Within our royal citadel is crown'd
For ye the banquet; welcome once again,
Mighty to save, and potent to defend!" --
A faint acclaim, a feeble sullen din [60]
Ensued, with less of gladness than fierce grief,
And wrath ill stifled. Seeming all unmoved,
Elate the Monarch onward led the way;
Slow follow'd Saxon Hengist's martial train,
Clashing their armour loud, as they would daunt [65]
All Britain with the clamour: march'd behind
The island Nobles, save some restless hands
Were busy with their sheathed swords, they mov'd
Silent, and cold, and gloomy, as a range
Of mountain pines, when cloudy lowers the storm. [70]
Upon the azure bosom of the Thames
Reclining, with its ponderous mass of shade,
Arose the royal Citadel, the work
Of the great Cæsar. Danger he and dread
Of Rome and Pompey; yet 'gainst savage foes [75]
Vantage of trench and tower and massy wall
Scorn'd not, so swift, so perilous, so fierce
Cassivelan his painted charioteers
Whirl'd to the frantic onset, standing forth
Portent of freedom mid a world enslav'd. [80]
They pass'd the portal arch; the sumptuous hall
Flung back its gates; around the banquet board
Rang'd Prince and Chieftain, where luxurious art
Shower'd prodigal her dainties, poisons sweet,
And baleful splendour. Fierce the Saxon gaz'd [85]
On goblet, and huge charger carved with gold,
Contemptuous wonder. But the Monarch's brow
'Gan lighten, as with greedy joy he quaff'd
Oblivious bliss; thus ever guilty soul
Woos frenzy, and, voluptuous from despair, [90]
Forgets itself to pleasure. High aloof,
Each in his azure robe, the band of Bards
Mingled the wanton luxuries of sound;
Gentle melodious languour, melting fall,
With faint effeminate flattery the soul [95]
Guiling of manhood. Silent veil'd his harp
White-hair'd Aneurin, and indignant tears
Stood in the old man's eye, for wrathful shame
To hear his godlike and heaven-breathing art
Pampering loose revels with officious chime. [100]
Then rose the glorious madness; forth he sprung,
With one rude stroke along the clashing chords
Won silence deep as of a summer eve
After a noontide storm; his silver locks
Wav'd proud, the kindling frenzy of his eye [105]
Flash'd triumph, as the song of Chariots rose.
The song that o'er the van of battle shower'd
Pale horror, when that scourg'd Icenian Queen
Through the square legions drove her car; were heard
Her brazen wheels to madden, the keen scythes [110]
Gride through their iron harvest; then rush'd route,
Wail'd havoc; seem'd Bonduca fiercer urg'd
The trampling steeds; behind her silence sank
Along the dreary path of her revenge.
Ceas'd the bold strain, then deep the Saxon drain'd
The ruddy cup, and savage joy uncouth [116]
Lit his blue gleaming eyes: nor sate unmov'd
The Briton Chiefs; fierce thoughts began to rise
Of ancient wars, and high ancestral fame.
Sudden came floating through the hall an air [120]
So strangely sweet, the o'erwrought sense scarce felt
Its rich excess of pleasure; softer sounds
Melt never on the enchanted midnight cool,
By haunted spring, where elfin dancers trace
Green circlets on the moonlight dews; nor lull [125]
Becalmed mariner from rocks, where basks
At summer noon the Sea-maid; he his oar
Breathless suspends, and motionless his bark
Sleeps on the sleeping waters. Now the notes
So gently died away, the silence seem'd [130]
Melodious; merry now and light and blithe
They danced on air: anon came tripping forth
In frolic grace a maiden troop, their locks
Flower-wreath'd, their snowy robes from clasped zone
Fell careless drooping, quick their glittering feet [135]
Glanc'd o'er the pavement. Then the pomp of sound
Swell'd up, and mounted; as the stately swan,
Her milk-white neck embower'd in arching spray,
Queens it along the waters, entered in
The lofty hall a shape so fair, it lull'd [140]
The music into silence, yet itself
Pour'd out, prolonging the soft extacy,
The trembling and the touching of sweet sound.
Her grace of motion and of look, the smooth
And swimming majesty of step and tread, [145]
The symmetry of form and feature, set
The soul afloat, even like delicious airs
Of flute or harp: as though she trod from earth,
And round her wore an emanating cloud
Of harmony, the Lady mov'd. Too proud [150]
For less than absolute command, too soft
For aught but gentle amorous thought: her hair
Cluster'd, as from an orb of gold cast out
A dazzling and o'erpowering radiance, save
Here and there on her snowy neck repos'd
In a sooth'd brilliance some thin wandering tress. [155]
The azure flashing of her eye was fring'd
With virgin meekness, and her tread, that seem'd
Earth to disdain, as softly fell on it
As the light dew-shower on a tuft of flowers.
The soul within seem'd feasting on high thoughts, [160]
That to the outward form and feature gave
A loveliness of scorn, scorn that to feel
Was bliss, was sweet indulgence. Fast sank back
Those her fair harbingers, their modest eyes,
Downcast, and drooping low their slender necks [165]
In graceful reverence; she, by wond'ring gaze
Unmov'd, and stifled murmurs of applause,
Nor yet unconscious, slowly won her way
To where the King, amid the festal pomp,
Sate loftiest; as she rais'd a fair-chas'd cup, [170]
Something of sweet confusion overspread
Her features; something tremulous broke in
On her half-failing accents, as she said,
"Health to the King!" -- the sparkling wine laugh'd up,
As eager 'twere to touch so fair a lip. [175]
A moment, and the apparition bright
Had parted; as before, the sound of harps
Was wantoning about the festive hall.
As one just waking from a blissful dream
Nor moves, nor breathes, lest breath or motion break [180]
The beauteous tissue of fine form woven o'er
His fancy, sate king Vortigern. "Whence came,
And whither went she? of what race and stem
Sprang this bright wonder of our earth, that leaves
The rapture of her presence in our hall, [185]
Though parted thence too swiftly?" -- "King (replied
Erle Hengist) -- in our ancient Saxon faith,
Ill bodes the joyless feast, where maiden's lips
Pledge not the wassail goblet." -- "By my soul,"
Cried Vortigern, "a gallant faith! and I [190]
Omen so sweet discredit not; the health
Those smooth lips wish'd me, well those lips might give,
A fragrance and a sparkling have they left
Even on the wine they touch'd." -- He said, and prest
The goblet to his own. "A father's ear, [195]
King Vortigern, must love the flattering tongue
That descants lavish on his daughter's praise."
"Thy daughter? Saxon!" -- "Mine, though vaunt not I
Her beauty, many a German Erle and King
Hath vow'd at his life's peril to proclaim [200]
Her far-surpassing comeliness." -- None heard
The secret converse that ensued. Lo, rose
King Vortigern, and from his brow transferr'd
A coronet of radiant Eastern gems
To the white hair of Hengist, and drank off [205]
A brimming cup, and cried, "To Kent's high King
A health, a health to Vortigern's fair bride,
The golden-hair'd Rowena." -- Seiz'd at once
Each Saxon the exulting strain, and struck
The wine-drain'd goblet down, "Health, King of Kent!"
As mid the fabled Libyan bridal stood [211]
Perseus, in stern tranquillity of wrath,
Half stood, half floated at his ancle plumes
Out-swelling, while the bright face on his shield
Look'd into stone the raging fray; so rose, [215]
But with no magic arms, wearing alone
Th' appalling and control of his firm look,
The solemn indignation of his brow,
The Briton Samor; at his rising, awe
Went abroad, and the riotous hall was mute; [220]
But like unruffled summer waters flow'd
His speech, and courtly reverence smooth'd its tone.
"Sovereign of Britain's Sovereigns! of our crowns
The highest! in our realm of many thrones
Enthron'd the loftiest! mighty as thou art, [225]
Thou dost outstep thy amplitude of sway;
Thine is our isle to govern not to give;
A free and sacred property hast thou
In our allegiance; for a master's right
Over our lives, our princedoms, and our souls, [230]
King Vortigern, as well mayst thou presume
To a dominion o'er our winds, to set
Thy stamp and impress on our light from heaven.
This Britain cannot rest beneath the shade
Of Saxon empire, this our Christian soil [235]
The harvest of obedience will not bear
To Heathen sway; and hear me, Vortigern,
The golden image that thou settest up,
Like the pride-drunken Babylonian king,
Though dulcimer and psaltery soothe us down [240]
To the soft humour of submission tame,
We will not worship." -- From the hall he past,
Thus saying. Him the Island's brave and proud
Follow'd, the high and fame-enamour'd souls,
Never to Britain wanting, though in hours [245]
Loosest of revels soft, and wanton ease.
But Vortigern, more largely pouring in
The vine's delicious poison, sate, and cried,
"Whom the flax binds not, must the iron gyve,
Whom sceptres daunt not, must the sword control."
Evening fell gentle, and the brilliant sun [251]
Was going down into the waveless Thames,
As bearing light and warmth to her cold Nymphs
Within their crystal chambers, when the King
Left the hall of banquet. Lofty and alone, [255]
Even as the Pillar great Alcides set,
The limit of the world and his renown,
On Calpe, round whose shaft the daylight wreathed
Its last empurpling, on the battlements
Stood Samor in the amethystine light, [260]
And "Go to darkness, thou majestic orb!
To-morrow shall the nations bask again
In thy full glory." -- Thus he said, and turn'd
To where the King went rapid past. -- "And thou,
Thou to thy setting hastest, never more [265]
Thou thy benighted splendour to renew;
Late at thy noon of pride, now sunk, declined
For ever from thy fair meridian, go
Into thy cloudy rest!" -- The solemn tone
Of his deep voice seized on the King, as frosts [270]
Arrest the rapid flowing stream. -- "What means
The Sovereign of the Vales, even in my halls,
And on my castle battlements, to cast
Bold scorn on Britain's king? Ingrate, and blind,
When I the valiant Saxon have brought in [275]
To check the Caledonian, through your isle
Marching by wild light of your burning towns;
Ye, wedded to your sorrow and your shame,
Mock at the safety my free love provides."
"Ah, provident! ah, sage! ah, generous King! [280]
That sets the emaciate wolf to dog the flock;
The hawk to guard the dovecote." -- "Wise-lipp'd chief,
I thank thee for thy phrase: doves are ye, doves
That fly with piteous and most delicate speed
Before the Scottish kites, that swoop your nests [285]
And flesh their greedy talons in your young." --
"Monarch! the eaglet, were it smoothly nurst
In the dove's downy nest, at its first flight
Would shrink down dazzled from the morning sun;
But with strong plumes refresh'd, anon 'twould claim
Its old aspiring birthright, and unblench'd [291]
Bathe in the bickering of the noontide car.
Oh, we have slumber'd on soft luxury's lap,
To her loose tabret; but, misjudging King!
Britain is like her soil; above the turf [295]
Lies velvet smooth, hard iron lurks beneath.
I know the northern Pagans waste our land,
And the tame mission to the Roman sent
I know, 'The fierce Barbarian to the sea
Drives us, the sea to the Barbarian back [300]
Merciless': so ran the plaintive legend. True!
But soldiers would it cast us back; despair
Hath its own valour; war makes warriors. King!
Calamities are on us, evil days
O'er our isle darken, but the noble wear [305]
Disaster, as an Angel wears his wings,
To elevate and glorify. Nor us
Shroudeth along the enveloping gloom, the frame
And fabric of our world is breaking up.
Rome's dome of empire, that o'ervaulted earth [310]
With its capacious shadow, rent and split,
Disorders the smooth course of human things,
Leaving confusion lord of this wide ball,
While to and fro the Nations sway perplex'd,
Like a tempestuous sea. Oh, mid such wreck, [315]
Our Britain in lone safety to uphold,
On every side 'gainst gathering foes present
A rampire of hard steel, or firmer far,
The bulwark of a haughty spirit pour'd
From the thron'd Sovereign through her sons, were pride,
Were honour, might arrest Heaven's plumed hosts. [321]
And in their sphere-born music win renown.
So He whose sceptre glitters in thy grasp,
He the Deliverer, the Defender nam'd,
So Constantine had done, had the high Soul's bane, [325]
Ambition, never maddened him to wear
The purple, madly worn, yet nobly lost
On the sad plain by Arles." -- "I knew, I knew
'Twould come to this, that Constantine would end
The high-wrought orat'ry. This too I know, [330]
And this I tell thee, Samor! nor yet add
Rebel! thy secret commerce with his sons,
To undermine my stately throne; the right,
So babble ye in your licentious phrase,
Conferr'd by our assembled British Kings [335]
On Constantine for ever and his heirs." --
"Alas! how better were it to know nought,
Than, like Kings, darkly. Constantine's brave sons
And Samor oft have met, have met to wail
The hazard of their native land, to swear [340]
Before the altar of the eternal God,
Never, amid these rude and perilous times,
To blow the trump of civil strife, to prop
With their allegiance Britain's throne, though fill'd
By one they deem usurping. Vortigern! [345]
I am upon the string that jars thy soul,
And it must vibrate to its highest pitch.
Oh what a royal madness, that might build
Upon the strong rock of a people's love,
Yet chooseth the loose quicksand of distrust, [350]
And overlays the palace of his pride
With a rude Saxon buttress, whose stern weight
Must crush it. Thou dost fear thy subjects arm'd,
Fear, lest the old valiance in their hearts inure,
And therefore fight'st their wars with foreign steel; [355]
And is this he, the noble and the wise,
The Vortigern, that Britain on the plain
Of Arles, that fatal plain, hail'd Captain, King?
Arise, be King, be Captain, be thyself!
And we will stand around thy throne, and mock [360]
The ruinous fashion of the times." -- "Away!
My royal word is to the Saxon given."
"Oh, Vortigern! this knee hath never bow'd,
Save to the King of Kings, thus low on earth
I sue thee, cast the Saxon off." -- At once [365]
The swift contagious grandeur set on fire
The Monarch -- "I am thine, am Britain's all:
Now by my throne, thus, thus I have not felt,
Since first this circling gold eat in my brow,
So free, so upright, and so kingly, chains [370]
Fall from me, mists are curling off my soul."
Like two bold Venturers, silently they stand,
Launching amid the sun-light their rich bark
O'er glassy waters to the summer airs:
Their solemn pondering hath the lofty look [375]
Of vaunting, over each high brow flames out
A noble rivalry of hope and pride.
The sound of wheels, lo, sliding came and smooth
A car, wherein, like some fair Idol led
Through the mute tumult of adoring streets, [380]
Bright-hair'd Rowena pass'd the portal arch.
Have ye a sense, ye gales, a conscious joy
In beauty, that with such an artful touch
And light ye float about her garment folds,
Displaying what is exquisite display'd, [385]
And thinly scattering the light veil where'er
Its shadowing may enhance the grace, and swell
With sweet officiousness the clustering hair
Where fairest tufts its richness, and let fall
Where drooping most becomes; that thus ye love [390]
To lose yourselves about her, and expire
Upon her shape, or snow-white robes? She stood,
Her ivory arm in a soft curve stretch'd out,
As only in the obedience of her steeds
Rejoicing; they their necks arch'd proud and high, [395]
And by her delicate and flower-soft hands
Sway'd, as enamour'd of her mastery mov'd,
Lovingly on their bright-chaf'd bits repos'd,
Or in gay sport upon each other fawn'd.
But as the Monarch she beheld, she caught [400]
The slack rein up, and with unconscious check
Delay'd the willing coursers, and her head,
Upon her ivory shoulder half declin'd
In langour of enjoyment, rising wore
Rosy confusion, and disorder fair [405]
Transiently on her pride of motion broke.
Or chance, or meaning wander'd to his face
Her eye, with half command, entreating half;
Haughty to all the world, but mild to him,
Th' all admir'd admiring, and th' all-awing awed -- [410]
She look'd on him, and trembled as she look'd.
Alone she came, along she went not on.
BOOK II.
Noon is ablaze in Heaven, but gloom, the gloom
Of the brown forest's massy vault of shade,
Is o'er the Kings of Britain; the broad oaks,
As in protection of that conclave proud,
Like some old temple's dome, with mingling shade [5]
Meet overheard, around their rugged trunks
Shew like fantastic pillars closely set
By Druids in mysterious circle, wont
Here, when the earth abroad was bright and clear
With moonshine, to install their midnight rites [10]
By blue nor earthly kindled fires, while Bards
Pour'd more than music from their charmed harps.
Each on his mossy seat, in arms that cast
A glimmer which is hardly light, they sit
Colossal, stern, and still; on every brow [15]
Indignant sorrow and sad vengeance lowers.
Them had the Pagan peasant deem'd his Gods,
In cloudy wrath down stooping from the heavens
To blast the mighty of mankind, and wreak
On some old empire ruin and revenge. [20]
And first majestical yet mild arose
A lofty shape, nor less than monarch seem'd,
Whose royal look from souls bold, brave, and free,
Not stooping slavery claim'd, but upright awe
And noble homage; yet uncrown'd, he wore [25]
Dominion, him with stately reverence heard
That armed Senate. "Princes of the land,
Lords of the old hereditary thrones
Of Britain, we, the sons of Constantine,
Emrys and Uther, come not here to charge [30]
Inconstant counsel on your wisdom, nought
Arraigning, that the sceptre to our line
Solemnly given, in those disastrous days,
When for the Empire of the Occident,
For Gaul o'er-master'd, and submitted Spain, [35]
Warr'd Constantine, and warring nobly fell,
Ye placed in elder hand, our right foregone
For the more precious public weal: oh, Chiefs,
'Twas well and wisely done; a stripling's arm
May rear the kingly standard in its pomp [40]
To play with Zephyrs under cloudless skies,
But when the rude storm shakes it ponderous folds
'Twere hard for less than the consummate man
Aloft to bear it, yet unstooping. Well
Stemm'd your new standard-bearer Vortigern [45]
The o'ershadowing tempest, nor abas'd his front
Your crown's old glories; till alas! dire change!
Dread fall! the sceptre that ye fondly hoped,
Would blossom, like the Hebrew Hierarch's rod,
With the almond bloom of mercy and of love, [50]
Liker the Egyptian magic-worker's wand
Became a serpent, withering all your peace
With its infection: then your virtues wrought
Your sorrows, from your valour grew your shame.
Your borders were o'erleap'd, your towns on fire, [55]
And the land groan'd beneath fierce Rapine's wheels.
Ye cried unto your King for arms, he sage
In cold and jealous wisdom fear'd to arm,
Whose arms might brave himself, and cast control
On the fierce wanderings of his royal will. [60]
Saxons must fight our wars, our hard-wrung gold
Buy us ignoble safety, till the slaves
Swell'd into Lords, and realms must pamper
Our hirelings into Princes; Kent, fair Kent,
The frontlet of our isle, where yet are seen [65]
The graves great Cæsar peopled with his dead,
When on his rear the Briton conqueror hung,
Where first the Banner of the Cross was wav'd,
Sinks to a Heathen province. Warriors! Kings!
This must not be among baptized men, [70]
This cannot be 'mong Britons. Therefore here,
Here in your presence dare we call again,
Your throne our throne, and challenge in your love
A Sovereign's title, by our youth we fell
From that great height, but Vortigern hath fall'n [75]
By his own guilt, we therefore rise again
In majesty renew'd; he falls, no more
To soar into the sacred royal seat."
Thereat with concord loud, and stern acclaim,
Gave answer that proud Senate, and denounc'd [80]
Judgment irrevocable. But with mien
Somewhat appall'd, as one in high debate
And solemn council unassay'd, arose
Prince Uther; ere he spake his clanging mail
Smote with fierce stroke, an audience to enchain, [85]
Himself the battle sound enkindling, high
His haughty brow and crested helm upflung,
Thus rude his fiery eloquence pour'd forth.
"Warriors of Britain! me nor pomp of words
Beseems, nor strife of smooth and liquid phrase, [90]
In the debate of swords, the fray of steeds
No combatant unskill'd. I will not boast
That I have brook'd with Emrys' patient pride
A sceptre's loss; a boy, I wept to hear
My father's crown was on a stranger's brow. [95]
But when my arm gan grasp a sword, those tears
Those soft unseemly waters, turn'd to hues
Of burning indignation; every crown
Shew'd, every kingly title to my ear
Sounded a scorn and shame. Even at his height [100]
And plenitude of power I yearned to rise
Against th' enthron'd Usurper -- now, oh Kings!
Thus charter'd, thus commission'd, thus array'd,
With what a noble phrenzy will we rush,
Trampling the wreck of Saxon and of King; [105]
Our path shall be as rapid and as bright
As summer meteor, more pernicious, that
Waning into the dull unkindling air,
We burning, desolating as we pass.
On, Britons, on, a tyrant fills your throne, [110]
Nor fitter monument may tyrant find
Than his throne's ruins; let the flat earth close
O'er both at once; the stranger Saxon lord's
Within our isle, the seas that bore him here,
In his storm-braving navy, bear him back [115]
Weltering and tossing in their drowning surge.
Low'ring he stood, still in fierce act of speech,
Yet speechless. Sudden, then, in dread uproar
Rose shout of war, with thundering clash of arms
Mingled, then hurrying spears and nodding helms [120]
With glittering tumult in the pale gloom flash'd;
War, war each voice, each striken shield denounc'd.
Amid the multitudinous din arose
Solemnly the Bright City's Lord, down sunk
Instant all tumult, broke abruptly off [125]
Fierce voice and clash of arms: so mute and deep
Settled the silence, the low sound was heard
Of distant waterfall, the acorn drop
From the green arch above. Still and abash'd
Sate the fierce conclave, while with mild reproof [130]
Winning all hearts, the gracious Chieftain spake.
"Brave sight for earth and heaven! it doth not fail
A nation's cry for freedom and for faith,
Nor faint, nor deaden in the mist and gloom
Of this low earth, it takes the morning's wings, [135]
Passeth the crystal skies, and beats heaven's gate;
There glideth through the gladdening Angel choirs,
That fan it onward with their favouring plumes,
To the eternal sapphire throne, and him
That sits thereon, Ineffable. Oh Kings, [140]
Our council thus appealing may not wear
Seeming of earthly passion, lust of sway,
Or phrenetic vengeance: we must rise in wrath,
But wear it as a mourner's robe of grief,
Not as a garb of joy: must boldly strike, [145]
But like the Roman, with reverted face,
In sorrow to be so enforc'd. Brave Chiefs,
It would misseem a son of this proud isle,
To trample on the fallen, though a King;
It would misseem a Christian to rejoice [150]
Where virtue hath play'd false, and fame's pure light
Hath sicken'd to dishonourable gloom.
Vortigern is our foe, no more our King,
Yet King he hath been, King he had been still,
Had never his high vaulting pride disdain'd [155]
The smooth dominion of old use, nor striven
To fix on our impatient necks the yoke
Of foreign usurpation; our free land
Will not endure the heathen Saxons rule,
Nor him that rules by heathen Saxon power. [160]
So march we forth in th' armour of our right,
From our once King not falling off in hate
Of fickleness, but by severe constraint
Of duty to ourselves and to our God.
So march we forth, and in such state may make [165]
Our mother land to vaunt of us; raise up,
Side by side, the fair airs to captivate
To an approval of our upright deed,
Our royal banner and the Cross of Christ;
And move within their cirque of splendour, calm, [170]
And yet resistless as the bright-man'd steeds
That bear the Morn to disenthrone old Night.
And now our kingly sceptre, forced aside,
By stress and pressure of disorder'd times,
Devious into an alien hand, reverts [175]
To the old line; the heir of Constantine,
Constans, the elder than this noble pair,
Stands foremost on succession's golden roll.
Nor know not I his gentle soul more apt,
To listen to the soft flowing vesper hymn, [180]
Than danger's spirit-stirring trump, yet deem,
Thus once forewarn'd, 'tis dangerous to divert
The stream of royal blood, that broken, pours
Waters of bitterness and civil strife
O'er th' harass'd land, and therefore thus hail I [185]
Constans the King of Britain. Speak I right?
I pause, and wait, oh Chiefs, your high award."
He ceased, nor time for voice or swift acclaim,
Scowling a sullen laugh of scorn, leaped forth
The mountain King, the Sovereign of the lakes [190]
And dales this side the Caledonian bound;
He only, when the Kings sate awe-struck, stood
Elate with mocking pity in his frown;
A mighty savage, he of God and man
Alike contemptuous; nought of Christian lore [195]
Knew he, yet scoff'd unknown, 'twas peaceful, meek,
Thence worthless knowledge. Him delighted more
Helvellyn's cloud-wrapt brow to climb, and share
The eagle's stormy solitude; 'mid wreck
Of whirlwinds and dire lightnings huge he stood, [200]
Where his own Gods he deem'd on volleying clouds
Abroad were riding and black hurricane.
Them in their misty pride assail'd he oft
With impious threat, and laugh'd when th' echoing glens
His wild defiance cast unanswered back. [205]
Now with curl'd lip of scorn, and brow uplift,
Lordly command, not counsel, fierce he spake.
-- "Shame, coward shame! as though the fowls of heaven,
When in dusk majesty and pride of wing
Sails forth the monarch eagle, down should stoop [210]
In homage to the daw. Oh craven souls,
When Snowdon or high Skiddaw's brow is bare,
To plant the stately standard of revolt
Upon a molehill. Constans! that to him
Caswallon should bow down; aloft our crown [215]
Upon the giddy banner staff, that rocks
On Troynovant's tall citadel, uphang,
And who the dizzy glory will rend down,
Or Constans or Caswallon? The bright throne
Environ with grim ranks of steel-girt men: [220]
Huge Saxons black with grisly scars of war,
Who first will hew to that triumphal seat
His ruinous path? Hear, sceptred Britons, hear,
A counsel worthy the deep thoughts of kings:
Of valorous achievement and bold deeds [225]
Be guerdon to the mightiest of our Isle,
The Sov'reignty of Britain; spurn my voice,
And I renounce your counsels, cast you off,
And with my hardy vassals of the north
I join the Saxon." -- Then fierce sounds again [230]
Broke out, wan flames of brandish'd armour flash'd.
In rude disorder and infuriate haste
Sprang every warrior from his seat, as clouds
Amid the sultry heaven, thunderous and vast,
Gather their blackening disarray to burst [235]
Upon some mountain turrets, so the chiefs
Banded their fierce confusion to rush on,
And whelm in his insulting pride the foe.
He stood as one in joy, and lower'd a smile,
With wolf-skin robe flung back, broad shield outstrech'd,
And battle axe uplift: vaunting and huge [241]
As fabled giant on embattled Heaven
Glaring not less than utter overthrow,
And total wreck; forthwith a youth rush'd out,
His moony buckler high upheld to bar [245]
The onset, and with voice, which youthful awe
Temper'd to tone less resolute, address'd
The haughty Chieftain. "Father, deem not thou,
Malwyn confederate in thy lawless thought,
Mine is a Briton's soul, a Briton's sword, [250]
But mortal man that seeks thy life, must pass
O'er Malwyn's corpse." Back Chief and King recoil'd,
In breathless admiration. Nobler pride,
And human joy almost to softness smooth'd
Caswallon's rugged brow. "Well hast thou said, [255]
Son of Caswallon, worthy of thy sire!
On thine own track mount thou to fame, nor swerve
For man, or more than man." -- Awhile the Kings
Brief parley held, then stately and severe
Rose Emrys, and pronounc'd their stern arrest. [260]
"Caswallon of the Mountains, long our isle
Hath mark'd thy wavering mood, now friend now foe;
Now in the Caledonian inroad prompt
To bear thy share in rapine, foremost now
In our high councils. This we further say, [265]
We scorn thy war, Caswallon, hate thy peace,
And deem it of our mercy that, unscath'd,
We ban thee from our presence." Nor reply
Caswallon deign'd; calm strode he as in scorn
Of wrath 'gainst foes so lowly. Far was heard [270]
His tread along the rocky path, the crash
Of branches rent by his unstooping helm.
They in blank wonder sate, nor wholly quell'd
Wrath and insulted majesty, with look
As he were still in presence fix'd, and stern. [275]
Then spake Prince Emrys, "Not of trivial toil
To shape the rude trunk of our enterprize
To smooth perfection; deeply must we found,
And strongly build the fabric of our hopes,
And each must hold his charge. Be, Samor, thine [280]
To bear our brother Constans Britain's crown,
In name of our assembled Kings. Be mine
From the Armoric shore, King Hoel's realm,
(Our father's brother, Hoel) to embark
The succours of his high-fam'd Chivalry. [285]
Thou, Uther, to the West; each other King
Unto his own, at signal of revolt
To lead his armed Vassallage abroad."
So saying, each departed; fell again
The ancient silence on the solemn place. [290]
Together from the forest pass'd the friends,
Samor and Elidure; below their way
Went wandering on through flowery meads, or sank
Beneath green arches dim of beechen shade.
Around the golden hills in summer wealth [295]
Bask'd in the sunshine; on a river bank
Long gleaming down its woodland course, repos'd
Many a white hamlet: even fierce shrines of war
Wore aspect mild of peace; towers dark of yore
And rugged in the Roman war array, [300]
With wanton ivy and gray moss o'ergrown,
Their green crowns melted in the azure heavens.
"Oh grief! o'er yon fair meads and smiling lawns
Must steeds of carnage batten, men of blood
Their fell magnificence of murtherous pomp [305]
Pavilion in yon placid groves of peace.
The blood-thirst savages of wood and air,
In meet abodes of wilderness and woe,
Shroud their abhorred revels; the gaunt wolf
Prowls gloomy o'er the wintry blasted heath; [310]
Brood desolate on some bare mountain peak
Raven and screaming vulture. Man, fell man,
Envious of bliss he scorns, 'mid haunts of peace,
Spots fair and blissful, the rare stars of earth,
Plays ever his foul game of spoil and death, [315]
Ruthless, then vaunts himself Creation's pride,
Supreme o'er all alone in deeds of blood."
Thus Elidure; him Samor, from deep trance
Wakening, addrest: "Soft man of peace, my prayer
Would ask of heaven no theatre of strife [320]
Save yon fair plain, there forth the weak would start
In the tumultuous valour of despair,
The timorous proudly tower in scorn of death:
There, where each tree, each dell, each grassy knoll,
Lovely from memory of some past delight, [325]
Is kindred to the soul; his house of prayer,
The altar of his bridal vow, the font
Of his sweet infants baptism, kindred all,
Holiest and last, his fathers peaceful graves:
Oh, were all Britain, like yon beauteous plain, [330]
Blissful and free, that angels there might walk
Forgetful of their heavenly bowers of light,
Friend of my boyhood, these all-conquering foes,
Who fetter the free winds, and ride the sea
Kinglike, their menacing prows would turn aloof, [335]
And bitterly, in baffled lust of prey,
Curse the proud happiness that mock'd their might."
Lo, ere he paus'd, gay files of dazzling light
Slow o'er the plain advancing, indistinct
From their full brightness, gradual the long blaze [340]
Broke into form, and lance and bow and helm,
Standard and streamer, chariot and fair steed,
Start from the mingled splendour. On their height
Unseen, the Chieftains watch'd the winding pomp.
And all before the azure-vested Bards [345]
From glancing instruments shook bridal glee.
Then came the gorgeous chariots, rough with gold,
And steeds their proud heads nodding with rich weight
Of frontlet wreathed with flowers and shadowy plumes;
Therein sate ladies robed in costly state, [350]
Each like a Queen; the noble charioteers,
Briton in garb, with purple mantle loose,
O'er steel, in network bright, or scale o'er scale,
Glittering, and aventayle barr'd close and firm,
As yet the gaudy traitors shamed to meet [355]
The cold keen glance of countryman betray'd.
Dark in their iron arms, some wildly girt
With Caledonian spoils, their yellow hair
Down from the casque in broad luxuriant flow
Spreading, and lofty banner wide display'd, [360]
Whereon a milk-white courser reinless shone,
Pace forth the Saxon warriors. High o'er all,
Tempestuous Horsa, chafing his hot steed,
And Hengist with his wreath of amber beads, [Note 4]
His hoary strength, in spite of age or toil, [365]
A tower of might: with that tall grove of spears,
Circled, and rampire close of serried shields,
The bridegroom Monarch rode, his bright attire
Peaceful, as fitting nuptial pomp, his robe
Rich-floating strew'd the earth with purple shade, [370]
And on his lofty brow a regal crown,
Bright as a wreath of sunbeams; high his arm
The ivory sceptre bore of kingly sway:
Yet who his mien and bearing watch'd had seen
Dim gleam of jealous steel, or lurking mail [375]
Beneath those glorious trappings, for his gaze,
Now jocund, chang'd anon to wandering stare,
Fearful and wild, as the still air were rife
With vengeful javelins showering death, his pace
Hurried, yet tardy, as of one who rides [380]
O'er land still tottering with an earthquake shock.
And him beside, on snowy palfrey, deck'd
With silver bells its pendant mane profuse,
Of silver and of stainless ermelin
The bright caparisons, and all her robes [385]
White as of woven lily cups, the Bride
Majestic rode as on a moving throne.
Her sunbright hair she wav'd, and smil'd around,
As though, of less than kingly Paramour
Scornful, she said, Lo, Britain, through your land [390]
I lead the enthralled Sovereign of your isle.
Yet so surpassing fair, brief instant wish'd
Those wrathful Briton Chiefs their leafy screen
A thin transparent cloud: of his high charge
Brief while forgetful, Samor stood entranced, [395]
Fearing her form should fleet too swift away.
Came it from earth or air, yon savage shape,
His garb, if garb it be, of shaggy hair
Close folding o'er his dusky limbs, his locks
And waving matted beard like cypress boughs [400]
On bleak heath swaying to the midnight storm?
Came he from yon deep wood? On the light spray
No leaf is stirring. On the winged winds
Rode he? No breeze awakes the noontide air.
'Mid that arm'd throng, dismaying, undismay'd [405]
With a strange eye dilated, as unus'd
To common sights of earth, and voice that seem'd
Rarely to hold discourse with human ears,
"Joy," and again, and thrice he uttered "Joy."
Cower'd Horsa on his palsied steed; aghast, [410]
As toiling to despise that thing he fear'd,
Sate Hengist. "Joy to Bridegroom and to Bride!
Why should not man rejoice, and earth be glad?
Beyond the sphere of man, the round of earth,
There's loud rejoicing, 'tis not in the heavens! [415]
And many ministrant Angels shake their wings
In gladness, wings that are not plum'd with light.
The dead are jocund, not the dead in bliss.
Your couch is blest -- by all whose blessings blast,
All things unlovely gratulate your love. [420]
I see the nuptial pomp, the nuptial song
I hear, and full the pomp, for Hate, and Fear,
And excellent Dishonour, and bright Shame,
And rose-cheek'd Grief, and jovial Discontent,
And that majestic herald, Infamy, [425]
And that high noble, Servitude, are there,
A blithesome troop, a gay and festive crew.
And the Land's curses are the bridal hymn;
Sweetly and shrilly doth th' accordant Isle
Imprecate the glad Hymenean song. [430]
So joy again, I say, to Britain's King,
That taketh to his bosom Britain's fate,
Her beautiful destruction to his bed.
And joy to Britain's Queen, who bears her Lord
So bright a dow'ry and profuse, long years [435]
Of war and havoc, and fair streams of blood,
And plenteous ruin, loss of crown and fame,
And full perdition of the immortal soul;
So thrice again I utter 'joy,' 'joy,' 'joy!'"
Then upsprung spear to strike, and bicker'd bow; [440]
Ere spear could strike, or shaft could fly, the path
Was bare and vacant; shape nor sound remain'd;
Only the voice of Vortigern moan'd out,
"Merlin;" -- and on the long procession past.
Down in a quiet dale, where beechen groves [445]
With interchanging gold and glossy green
O'ermantled the smooth slopes, that fell around
Like a fair amphitheatre, beneath
A brook went wand'ring through fresh meadow banks,
With a cool summer dashing, here the Chiefs [450]
The royal Hermit met, his gentle brow
Smooth as a slumbering Angel's plumes (effaced
All traces of this rude and wearing earth,
All brands of fiery passions, wild desires)
Wore that calm holiness the sainted dead [455]
Smile on the visions of their lov'd on earth:
His life was like a sleep, with heavenly sights,
And harmonies, as of angelic sounds
Visited ever, nor his barren heart
Touch'd not the light affections, trembled not [460]
His spirit with loves fervent swell, but all
Most wont to bear man's soul to earth, round him
As the thin morning clouds around the lark,
Gather'd, to float him upward to the heavens.
They at his feet down laid the kingly crown, [465]
Fulfill'd their lofty mission. He, the while,
With that mild sadness he had watch'd the leaves
Drip from the sere autumnal bough, survey'd
Its stately glittering. "Men of earth, why mock,
With gaudy pageantry, and titled pomp, [470]
The frail and transient pilgrims of this world.
The fading flag-flower on yon streamlet brink,
Were garland meeter for our mortal brows
Than yon rich blaze of gems." "Prince," Samor spake
"Sweet is it down the silent vale of life [475]
To glide away, of all but Heaven forgot,
Forgetting all but Heaven. Of king-born men,
Lords of mankind, high delegates of Heaven,
Loftier the doom, their rare prerogative
The luxury of conferring bliss. Oh, Prince, [480]
Not by the stream to slumber, not to waste
Idly in joyous dreams the drowsy hours,
Hath Heaven thy kingly heritage ordain'd:
Set badge of Empery on thy brow: of God
The noblest service is to serve mankind, [485]
To save a nation all a mortal's power,
To imitate the Saviour of the world."
Calm answer'd Constans, "Earth's exalted fame,
Grandeurs and glories gleam upon my soul
Like wintery sun-light on a plain of snow. [490]
With prayers, a Hermit's arms, I aid your cause,
Farewell. Why pause ye, as to question more
The wisdom of my choice -- lo, yon fair orb;
How spotless the fine azure where he holds
His secret palace, knows not his pure light [495]
A stain of dimness, till th'abode of men
Pours o'er it its infectious mists." "Oh, Prince,
'Tis not the glory of that peerless light,
The barren glittering, the unfruitful waste
Of splendour on the still inanimate skies, [500]
It is the life, the motion, and the joy
It breathes along this world of man, the broad
Munificence of blessing that awakes,
And in its rapturous gratitude springs up,
To glorify its bounteous source of pride." [505]
"I see thy brow at thine own words on fire;
Mine, Samor, yet is calm and cold." "Dost thou,
Constans, all title, claim, and right renounce
To Britain's throne?" "Even free as I renounce
The everlasting enemy of man." [510]
"Will thy voice mingle with the general cry,
'Long live King Emrys?'" -- "Long may Emrys live,
Even the eternal life beyond the grave."
"Yet one word more; 'tis perilous in the storm
For the tall pine, nor less, in evil days, [515]
For the high born and exalted of the state.
The Saxon blood-hounds are abroad for prey,
Seek thou some quiet solitude remote
Beyond their prowling range." -- His arm to Heaven
Slowly uplifted, "Will they reach me there?" [520]
Spake the meek Hermit, "there is rest secure."
They parted; gentle Elidure alone,
Lingering with somewhat of an envious gaze,
View'd the deep quiet of that placid dell.
That night were seen along the dusky wood, [525]
Of more than human stature moving forms,
Pale faces circled with black iron helms,
Not of the Briton shape their garb or arms;
Stealthy their pace and slow; the peasants thought
Demons of evil that sad night had power, [530]
And pray'd Heaven's grace to guard the saintly man.
At morn roved forth the peasant, down the dale
His dog went bounding to the Hermit's cell,
For all mute creatures loved the man of God.
A quick and desolate moaning nearer call'd [535]
The peasant; in officious grief the dog
Stood licking the cold hand that drooping hung
Lifeless; the mild composure of his brow
On the cross rested; praying he had died,
And his cold features yet were smiling prayer. [540]
BOOK III.
Orient the bright-hair'd Charioteer of heaven
Pour'd daylight from his opal wheels, and struck
From the blue pavement of the sky clear flakes
Of azure light upon the Eastern sea.
And as the gray mists slowly curl'd away, [5]
Rose the white cliffs of Kent, like palace fair,
On fane of snowy marble, to enshrine
Blue Amphitrite, or the Sea-Gods old
Of Pagan mariner. Rode tall below
The Saxon navy, as from midnight sleep [10]
Wakening; the gray sails in the breeze of morn
'Gan tremble, gleaming oars flash in the spray.
The Sea Kings on the beach in parley stern
Were met, nor less than nation's doom and fate
Of kingdoms in their voice. Lo, in the midst [15]
Stood huge Caswallon, words of mild salute
Deign'd not, but thus addrest the Ocean Lord.
"Saxon! that o'er this fair and princely isle
Thou would'st win empire by the sword of war,
I marvel not, arraign not -- 'tis a dream, [20]
Noble as o'er the heavens to walk abroad,
Companion of yon bright majestic sun.
Now by my glory, Saxon, mortal peer
Never Caswallon brook'd, save thee alone,
Thee, rival in his race of pride and power. [25]
Arm'd with myself and all th' embattled North,
Not Roman Britons, sons of sires who dash'd
The purple Conquerors' haughty wall to earth,
And trampled their strewn ramparts; who ne'er deign'd
Barter for gaudy robe and marble pile,
Fierce naked freedom, and wild mountain cave,
Will I, and thou with Saxon spears begirt,
Bow this fair Britain to our lordly sway.
Then will we two, from pale perplexed earth
Seen, like twin meteors battling in high heaven, [35]
On some lone eminence wage glorious strife,
Sole empire meed of conquest, of defeat
Utter annihilation, dark and full
Solace, and lofty comfort." Bold he paus'd,
Nor Hengist with pale sign of awe or dread [40]
Shamed the proud peerage, but with hardy speech
Guileful, won faith by seeming scorn of guile.
"Briton, to dare high deeds, and to disown,
Argues a wavering valour; the firm soul
Vaunts resolute its lofty dangerous scope. [45]
To us our Gods o'er ocean and its shores
Kingly dominion and wide sway have given;
Were insult to our might and base reproach,
The freedom of one sea-girt isle, to thee
Honouring, not fearing, 'mid our prime we grant [50]
Transcendent state, and eminence of power.
Now speed we of th' immortal Powers in Heaven,
Our high ominiscient Fathers, to demand
If on the eternal shield of fate be graven
Ruin or Conquest, ere to bold emprize [55]
We gird our brazen arms." -- "Of mighty men
The Gods are mighty, whom the Saxon fears,
The paramount of men, 'twere rash to scorn,
No calm and sunshine deities of peace." --
So spake Caswallon, the mild faith of Christ [60]
Scoffing with covert mockery; thus th' All Wise
The imaginations of the proud on earth
Silent endures, till some brief point of time
Crumbles the high-built insolence of years.
"Wilt thou behold our Gods?" fierce Horsa cried [65]
"Then mount the bark, abroad her wings are spread,
And fleet along the obedient deep she speeds.
Fear not, proud Briton." -- "Fear!" Caswallon cried;
All iron as he stood, o'er surf, surge, wave
He bounded, hollow rang his heavy arms, [70]
The bark her tall side to the troubling waves
Stoop'd groaning, nor delay'd the Ocean King.
"Brother, farewell! not singly the bold wolf
Scatters the mountain herd; in grim repose
He rests expectant of his kindred troop, [75]
Numberless from their shaggy dens they sweep,
And spacious o'er the antler'd monarch's realm
Spreads the wide ravage of their muster'd might."
Stern Horsa bow'd assent, yet paus'd to watch
The proud bark tilting o'er the azure plain. [80]
Stately she rode her path of light, her sails
In dalliance with the courteous winds: bold Man!
Well may thy full heart bound: in earth and air
The thunder-maned steed, the eagle thron'd
In the pavilion of his plumes, stand forth [85]
Creation's glories; but the noblest shape
That walks the deep thy workmanship sublime
Owneth, and starts from thee to life. Vaunt thou,
Yet humbly vaunt, all greatness is from God.
What dolphin glancing in his silver sport, [90]
More graceful with translucent pinion parts
The liquid azure? what Leviathan,
Huge heaving on the thick Norwegian foam,
More lordly than the white-wing'd bark, that wafts
The Sea King o'er his empire? the fair waves [95]
Rise in their gamesome turbulence, and pay
Wild homage to that royal Mariner.
The motion and the murmur of the deep,
The rushing of the silent, solemn sky,
Each in its deep abyss and pure expanse, [100]
Seeming its secret mysteries of might,
Its ruling soul of everlasting change,
To veil from mortal knowledge, ever pour
O'er savage ev'n and rude tumultuous awe,
And exultation of a pleasing dread. [105]
From dizzy notions of infinity,
Vague sense of ever-during sights and sounds,
Inactive though the body, the free spirit,
Vagrant along the illimitable void,
Perils uncouth and rich uncertainties [110]
Ranges in restless round, plucks treasures rare,
That gem the caverns of the hoary deep,
Or bathes with sea-maids in their crystal bowers,
Or with gay creatures and fantastical
Peoples some dreamy land; such joys of old [115]
Lured the fierce Saxon from his darksome woods,
To launch along the vast and barren sea.
Such joys through this long voyage, wean'd brief while
From thoughts of war and war-won empire wide,
Haughty Caswallon, or from him assum'd [120]
Fierce aspect, and a battailous character.
'Twas midnight, but a rich unnatural dawn
Sheets the fir'd Arctic heaven; forth springs an arch,
O'erspanning with a crystal pathway pure
The starry sky, as though for Gods to march, [125]
With show of heavenly warfare daunting earth,
To that wild revel of the northern clouds;
That now with broad and bannery light distinct,
Stream in their restless wavings to and fro,
While the sea billows gleam them mellower back; [130]
Anon like slender lances bright upstart,
And clash and cross with hurtle and with flash,
Tilting their airy tournament." -- "Brave signs,"
Cried Hengist; "lo, our Gods their standards rear,
And with glad omen of immortal strife [135]
Salute our high-wing'd purpose." -- "Yea (return'd
Caswallon) from mine own Helvellyn's brow,
Never a brighter conflict in the skies
Taught me that war was dear in Heaven: dream ye
Of tamer faith in gentle Southern skies [140]
Your smooth and basking deities, our North
Wooes not with tender hues and sunny smiles
Soft worship, but emblazons all the air
With semblance of celestial strife, unveils
To us of their empyreal halls the pomp, [145]
The secret majesty of godlike war."
Oh Lord of Lords! incessant thus assail'd
That Pagan with his frantic railings Thee,
Th' Ineffable, yet worshipp'd of thy power
A faint and pale effect, reflection dim [150]
From thy soul-blinding glories. On they sail'd,
Till o'er the dark deep now the wintry winds
Swept on their murky pinions, huge and high
The liquid legions of the main arose;
Like snow upon the sable pines, the foam [155]
Hung hoary on their towered fronts; but slow,
Like a triumphant warrior, their bold bark
Wore onward, now upon the loftiest height
Shaking its streamers gay defiance, now
With brave devotion to the prone abyss [160]
Down rushing, but the sternest Saxon cheek
Put not to shame the dauntless Landsman; he
In the strong passion of a new delight
On the fierce tumult feasts, and almost grieves,
When now beneath the haven rocks embayed, [165]
The angry waves seem wearying to repose,
And the slack sails slow droop their flagging folds.
Their port was southward of that Strait, where bursts
The Baltic, with her massy waves of ice
Encumbering far and wide the Northern main. [170]
South, North, and East, the rapid heralds speed,
Summoning from fen or forest, moor or wild,
Britain! on thee to banquet, all who bathe
In Weser, Elbe, or Rhine, their saffron locks,
Hertog and Erle and King; the huntsman bold [175]
Of bear, or bison, o'er the quaking moss,
Or grim Vikinger, who but sues his Gods
For tempests, so upon some wealthy coast
Bursts unforeseen his midnight frigate fierce,
And freights its greedy hold with amplest spoil. [180]
And now have Hengist and Caswallon climb'd
The chariot of the Oracle; no wheels
Bear that strange car; like wind along the sea,
It glides along the rapid rein deer's track.
Beauteous those gentle rein deer arch'd their necks, [185]
And cast their palmy antlers back, and spread
Their broad red nostrils to the wind; they hear
Old Hengist's voice, like arrows down the wind,
Like shot-stars through the welkin start they forth.
The car slides light, the deer bound fleet: they pass [190]
Dark leagues of pine and fir, the filmy light,
Shivering with every motion of the wind
On their brown path lies tremulous, o'er them sails,
Heard through the dismal foliage hissing shrill,
And hoarser groaning of the swaying boughs, [195]
The funeral descant of the ominous birds.
Around them the prophetic milk white steeds, [Note 5]
Their necks yet virgin of the taming curb,
With all their loose long glories, arch, and pass
In solemn silence, and regardless paw [200]
The unechoing earth. But that old German, set
Inflexible with bolder hand to draw
The veil of dusk futurity, disdains
These tamer omens. Still the car slides light,
The deer bound fleet, they pause not, save to quaff [205]
The narrow cruise, to share their scanty store.
Like swallows o'er the glassy rivers smooth,
O'er the pellucid lake, with glittering breast
Yet wrinkled with its rippling waves, they skim,
The dead unstirring ocean bears them on, [210]
Amid the immortal ice-hills wind they now.
In restless change, God's softer summer works
Glitter and fade, are born and die, but these,
Endiadem'd by undissolving snows,
High Potentates of winter's drear domain, [215]
Accumulate their everlasting bulk,
Eternal and imperishable, stand
Amid Creation's swift inconstant round,
In majesty of silence undisturb'd,
Save when from their long-menacing brows they shake
The ruining Avalanche; unvisited [221]
By motion, but of sailing clouds, when sleets
From their unwasting granary barb their darts,
And the grim North-wind loads his rimy wings.
Nor trace of man, save many a fathom deep, [225]
Haply dark signs of some tall people strange,
That walk'd the infant earth, may shroud profound
Their legends inaccessible. They soar
In headlong precipice, or pyramid
Linking the earth and heaven, to which the piles [230]
Where those Egyptian despots rot sublime,
Or even that frantic Babylonian tower,
Were frivolous domes for laughter and for scorn.
Nor wants soft interchange of vale, where smiles
White mimicry of foliage and thin flower. [235]
Feathery and fanlike spreads the leafy ice,
With dropping cup, and roving tendril loose,
As though the glassy dews o'er flower and herb
Their silken moisture had congeal'd, and yet
Within that slender veil their knots profuse [240]
Blossom'd and blush'd with tender life, the couch
Less various where the fabled Zephyr fans
With his mild wings his Flora's bloomy locks;
But colourless and cold, these flowering vales
Seem meeter for decrepit Winter's head [245]
To lie in numb repose. The car slides light,
The deer bound fleet, the long gray wilderness
Hath something of a roseate glimmering dim,
And widens still its pale expanse: when lo,
A light of azure, wavering to display [250]
No sights, no shapes of darkness and of fear.
Tremblingly flash'd the inconstant meteor light,
Shewing thin forms, like virgins of this earth,
Save that all signs of human joy or grief,
The flush of passion, smile or tear had seem'd [255]
On the fix'd brightness of each dazzling cheek,
Strange and unnatural: statues not unlike
By nature, in fantastic mood congeal'd
From purest snow, the fair of earth to shame,
Surpassing beauteous: breath of mortal life [260]
Heaved not their bosoms, and no rosy blood
Tinged their full veins, yet mov'd they, and their steps
Were harmony. But three of that bright troop,
The loveliest and the wildest, stood aloof,
Enwrapt by what in human form were like [265]
Impulse divine, of their fine nature seem'd
The eternal instinct. Them no less survey'd
Caswallon with the knitted brow of scorn,
Bitter he spake -- "No marvel Saxon souls
Revel in war's delights, so stern, so fierce [270]
Their deities." Severe with wrath supprest,
As one ill-brooking that irreverent mirth
Scoff'd the wild lore, himself ne'er dar'd to doubt,
Answer'd the Son of Woden. "These, proud Chief,
So snowy, soft, and airy gentle, these [275]
Are ministers of destiny and death,
The viewless Riders of the battle field:
When sounds the rushing of their sable steeds,
Down sink the summon'd mighty, and expand
Valhalla's cloudy portals; to their thrones [280]
They the triumphant strangers lead, and pour
Lavish the eternal beverage of the Gods.
Mark thou yon bright-hair'd three? and would thy soul
Grasp the famed deeds of ancient time, or know
The master spirits of our present world. [285]
Lo Gudur, she whose deep mysterious soul
Treasureth the past, and Rosta, who beholds
All acts and agents of this living earth;
She too is there before whose spacious sight
The years that have not been start up and live, [290]
Who reads within the soul of man unborn
The unimagin'd purpose, of the sage
Skulda the sagest. Ask and thou shalt know."
-- "I am not King of Britain, have not been,
Hateful the present and the past, my soul [295]
Thirsteth for what shall be." -- The Hengist spake
In tone of mix'd authority and prayer,
"Queen of the Future, Valkyr, hear and speak,
Speak to the Son of Woden." -- All the troop
Instant the thin bright air absorb'd, alone [300]
Stood Skulda with her white hair waving wide,
As trembling on the verge of palpable being,
Ready to languish too in light away.
"O'er Britain's isle doth Woden to his sons
Give empire?" She, but in no human tone, [305]
E'er from the soul's emotion harsh or soft,
One glittering rich unvarying tone replied,
"To thine, but not to thee." -- And, "I am thine,"
Caswallon shouted loud, and sternly shook
His visionary sceptre. "Whence the foe [310]
Fatal to Hengist, and to Hengist's sway?"
"Not from the Mountain, Saxon, from the Vale."
Heard, heeded not the Mountain Chief that strain
Dire and ill-boding, or if heard, disdain'd [314]
Adverse what prosperous seem'd a voice from Heaven.
"By what rich rite," he cried, "may Briton Chief
Win favour from high Woden?" -- "Not the blood
Of steed or stag; a flower of earth must fade.
Blest o'er all virgins of the earth, the chaste,
The beautiful, by Heaven ordain'd to lead [320]
The souls of valiant men to the pale hall
Of the Immortal; air her path, and Heaven
Her dwelling, with the fair and brave of earth
Her sole communion?" -- "By my future throne,
Proud office for the daughter of a King! [325]
A royal damsel, mine own blood, shall join
Your cloudy mysteries." -- A hue like joy
Overspread all her face and form, while slow
Into the air she brighten'd, indistinct
Even now, and now invisible. Sad seem'd [330]
In gloomy converse with his own dark mind
Old Hengist, nor despair'd that bold of soul,
In pride of human wisdom to revoke
The irrevocable, what himself deem'd fate,
By force or fraud t' o'ermaster or elude. [335]
O glorious eminence of virtuous fame,
Glorious from peril! Warriors of the Vales,
Fate-signal'd Samor, vaunt not thou the love
Of a blind people, or weak prince: thy boast
The sworn unerring hate of Britain's foe. [340]
So pass'd they forth, one in wild joy elate,
Already in his high disdainful thought
Wielding supremacy; each of fix'd fate
Nought heeding, but what fed his fierce desires.
The car slides light, the deer bound fleet, nor sun [345]
Nor star in all the hazy heavens. Snow, snow,
Above, around, beneath. Unblinded yet,
Drive on the kingly charioteers, and shake
The showery plumage from their locks; fast fades
The long pale plain, the giant ice-hills sink, [350]
Lakes, rivers, seas are patient of their speed,
Huge, dim, and dusk the forest pines rush back,
Now pant the brown deer by the ocean bay.
How desolate are now thy unplough'd waves,
Dark Baltic! wandering Elbe, thy icy breast [355]
How silent of thy hunters. Sleep thou calm
Amid thy wanton vineyards, Gaul! no more
The blue-eyed Plunderers, bridging thy broad Rhine,
Waste thy inebriate harvests clustering pride.
Sing songs of joy, soft Italy! o'er thee [360]
But Alaric and Attila drive on
Their chariot wheels of conquest, this their peer
In majesty of havoc, in renown
Of devastation, this, the fiercer third
Of human Furies, scap'st thou, therefore sing, [365]
Soft Italy; for lo, at Hengist's call,
Vast Germany dispeoples her wide realm,
Deserts to silence and the beasts of game
Her long and soundless forests. Seems the North
The forge of Nations, in one fleet t' exhaust [370]
Her iron wealth of warriors; helmed high
The Suevian with his towery knotted locks, [Note 6]
Frisian and Scandinavian, Cimbrian rich
In ancient vauntage of his sires, who clomb
The Alpine snows, and shook free Rome with dread. [375]
And others nameless, numberless, sweep forth
Their bands; but three almost in nations came:
The Jute, the Anglian, and the Saxon, each
Leaving earth bare for many a lonesome league,
His wives, his children, and his Gods embarks, [380]
On the fierce quest of peril and of power.
Then forth arose each Chieftain to salute
The polestar of their baleful galaxy,
Prime Architect of ruin: him who sway'd
Their hot marauding, desultory strife [385]
To cool and steady warfare, of their limbs
The domineering soul. As each past on
Shook up the Scald his harsh-strung shell, and cast
The war tones of each nation to the winds;
And Hengist with imperious flattery met [390]
Each tall and titled Leader: "Art thou here,
Bold Frisian Hermengard! a broader isle
And fairer than thy azure Rhine laves round,
Spreads for thee her green vallies. How brook'st thou,
Strong Scandinavian Lodbrog, thou the Chief [395]
Of the renown'd Vikinger, while the waves
So nobly riot with the wintry storms,
The tame and steadfast land? Now freely leap,
Arngrim, along thy Suevian forests brown
The bear and foam-tusk'd wild boar; let them leap, [400]
A braver game is up on Britain's shore.
O Cedric, gray in glory, young in power,
The Drave ran purple with thy boyish deeds,
A darker, redder dye, o'er silver Thames
Shall spread before thy ancient battle axe. [405]
Ho, Offa, the rich-flowing mead hath worn
Your Jutland cups, beneath the British helms
Capacious goblets smooth and fair await
Offa's carousals. Heir of Cimbric fame, [Note 7]
Frotho, how these, of late the Roman's slaves, [410]
Will the race daunt, who set our Thor afront
The Roman's Capitolian Jove. And thou,
My gold-hair'd brother, are the British maids,
Or British warriors, Abisa, the first
In the fierce yearnings of thy boyish soul? [415]
And lo the mighty Anglian; oh, unfold
Ocean more wide, more wealthy realms, too brief,
Too narrow for Argantyr's fame, the round
Of this the choice, the Sovereign of thine isles.
Thereat a sound of clattering shields arose, [420]
As all the rocks around with one harsh rift
Had rent asunder: "Fair must be the land,
And brave the conquest, plenteous the renown,
Where Hengist leads strong Woden's sceptred sons!"
But inly laugh'd Caswallon, as he long'd [325]
With each or all to match his Briton strength;
On the prophetic Valkyr thought, and glanced
Proud pity on the legends of their praise.
Advanced Argantyr, his bold grasp apart,
As peer his peer, led Hengist. "Thou and I, [430]
Saxon, must have our compact; dark I know
Thy paths of strife, while my frank valour loves
The broad bright sunshine; thou by sleight and art
Min'st thy slow conquest; I with naked sword
Affront my peril, till its menacing height [435]
Bow to the dust before me; for bold war,
For noonday battling, tender I mine arm,
But no allegiance own to subtle craft;
To peace Argantyr doth revolt when thou
Array'st stern war in the smooth garb of guile." [440]
"The weak, Argantyr, and the friendless, need
Such politic skill; I take thee at thy word.
Who skulks a fox when he dare prowl a wolf?
Power charters force, where strong Argantyr stands
Is power. -- And now aboard, brave Chiefs, aboard, [445]
Or the soft spring o'ertakes our tardy keels,
And with her slothful breezes smooths the skies."
Wonderous that ocean armament; in shoals
Ride boat and bark, innumerous as the waves
That show white slender streaks of foam between [450]
Their tawny sides, save here and there towers up
Some statelier admiral in lordly height
O'er the frail comm'nalty, whose limber ribs
Are the light wicker, cased with sturdy hides
Their level bottoms smooth. [Note 8] Oh, that frail Man, [455]
Loose-woven frame of dissolube stuff,
Uncharter'd from the boisterous license rude
Of pitiless winds and fierce unfetter'd waves,
To that unshackled libertine, wild Chance,
Amenable, unguaranteed from burst [460]
And inroad of invading surge, that he,
With such thin barrier between life and death,
Should sit and skim along the ocean waste,
Careless as maiden in a flowery field;
Valour or phrenzy is it? They their toil [465]
Ply nimbly, and with gallant oar chastise
The insurgent billows, their despotic sails
Lords o'er the wild democracy of air.
Less vast, and mann'd with tamer, feebler spirits,
In later days, against our Virgin Queen, [470]
The Spaniard's mad Armada; but the flag
Of Howard, and the Almighty's stormy hand,
Belied their braggard baptism, so they won
Brave conquest! graves in ocean's barren caves,
Or on the whirlpool-girded Orcades. [475]
But onward rides that Pagan fleet: young Spring
Hath scarcely tipt the leafless woods with green;
Tyne's jetty tide is blanch'd with German oars.
Now wither with that dark-brow'd priest set forth
Old Hengist and the Briton Mountain Lord? [480]
Is it, fell Hengist, that Caswallon's name
Paragon thine in British hate, close link'd
By fellowship in nameless rites accurst,
Be hence more deeply, execrably thine?
Or, from weak credence in such impious Gods, [485]
Urgest thou that fell sacrifice? Oh, where
The spotless Virgin doom'd (so wild the creed)
The Valkyr's airy troop to join, and glide
Immortal through Valhalla's cloudy halls?
BOOK IV.
Sunk was the sun, and up the eastern heaven,
Like maiden on a lonely pilgrimage,
Moved the meek Star of Eve; the wandering air
Breathed odours; wood, and waveless lake, like man,
Slept, weary of the garish babbling day. [5]
Dove of the wilderness, thy snowy wing
In slumber droops not; Lilian, thou alone,
'Mid the deep quiet, wakest. Dost thou rove,
Idolatress of yon majestic moon,
That like a crystal-throned queen in Heaven, [10]
Seems with her present diety to hush
To beauteous adoration all the earth?
Might seem the solemn silent mountain tops
Stand up and worship, the translucent streams
Down th' hill sides glittering cherish the pure light [15]
Beneath the shadowy foliage o'er them flung
At intervals; the lake, so silver white,
Glistens, all indistinct the snowy swans
Bask in the radiance cool: doth Lilian muse
To that apparent Queen her vesper hymn? [20]
Nursling of solitude, her infant couch
Never did mother watch, within the grave
She slept unwaking; scornful turn'd aloof
Caswallon, of those pure instinctive joys
By father's felt, when playful infant grace, [25]
Touch'd with a feminine softness, round the heart
Winds its light maze of undefin'd delight,
Contempuous; he with haughty joy beheld
His boy, fair Malwyn, him in bossy shield
Rock'd proudly, him upbore to mountain steep, [30]
Fierce and undaunted, for their dangerous nest
To battle with the eagle's clamorous brood.
But she the while from human tenderness
Estranged, and gentler feelings that light up
The cheek of youth with rosy joyous smile, [35]
Like a forgotten lute, play'd on alone
By chance-caressing airs, amid the wild
Beauteously pale, and sadly playful grew,
A lonely child, by not one human heart
Belov'd, and loving none; nor strange, if learnt [40]
Her native fond affections to embrace
Things senseless and inanimate: she lov'd
All flow'rets that with rich embroidery fair
Enamel the green earth, the odorous thyme,
Wild rose, and roving eglantine, nor spar'd [45]
To mourn their fading forms with childish tears.
Gray birch and aspen light she lov'd, that droop
Fringing the crystal stream; the sportive breeze
That wanton'd with her brown and glossy locks,
The sunbeam chequering the fresh bank. Ere dawn [50]
Wandering, and wandering still at dewy eve,
By Glenderamakin's flower-empurpled marge,
Derwent's blue lake, or Greta's wildering glen.
Rare sound to her was human voice, scarce heard,
Save of her aged nurse, or shepherd maid [55]
Soothing the child with simple tale or song.
Hence, all she knew of earthly hopes and fears,
Life's sins and sorrows; better known the voice
Belov'd of lark from misty morning cloud
Blithe carolling, and wild melodious notes [60]
Heard mingling in the summer wood, or plaint,
By moonlight, of the lone night-warbling bird.
Nor they of love unconscious, all around
Fearless, familiar they their descants sweet
Tun'd emulous. Her knew all living shapes [65]
That tenant wood or rock, dun roe or deer,
Sunning his dappled side at noontide crouch'd,
Courting her fond caress, nor fled her gaze
The brooding dove, but murmur'd sounds of joy.
One summer noon, the silvery birchen shade [70]
Pendant above from dripping crag her brow
Veil'd from the fiery sunbeam, gems of spray
Gleam'd cool around with watery rainbow-light,
From a pure streamlet down its rocky bed
Dashing sweet music; she on mossy couch [75]
Sate listening the blithe thrush, whose airy notes
In amorous contention Echo caught
Responsive. Sudden droop'd its flagging wing
The timorous bird of song, and fluttering sought
Soft refuge in the maiden's snowy breast. [80]
She o'er the nestling prisoner folding light
Her careless vest, stood gazing, where, awhile
Dark in the sun-cloud's white, came fiercely down
A swooping falcon: at her sight it check'd,
Its keen eye bright with joy, th' admiring bird [85]
Fearfully beauteous floated in the air,
Its silver wings, and glossy plumage gray,
Glanc'd in the sun light. Up the maiden gaz'd,
Smiling a pale and terrified delight,
And seem'd for that lov'd warbler in her breast [90]
Beseeching mercy. 'Mid the green wood sank
Th' obedient bird; she, joyous at his flight,
Her bosom half reveal'd, with gentle hand
Caressing smooth'd her captive's ruffled plumes.
Anon around a frighted thankful look [95]
Glancing, what seem'd a human shape she saw,
Or more than human; stately on his arm
The falcon sate, and proudly flapp'd his wings.
She turn'd to fly, yet fled not, turn'd to gaze,
Yet dared not raise her downcast eye; she felt [100]
Her warm cheek, why she knew not, blush, her hand
Unconscious closer drew her bosom's fold.
With accent mild the Stranger brief delay
Entreated; she, albeit his gentle words
Fell indistinct on her alarmed ear, [105]
Listening delay'd, and still at fall of eve
Delay'd, e'en then with dim reverted eye,
Slow lingering on her winding homeward path.
No more in pomp of war, or vaulting steed,
Joyeth the Son of Vortigern, nor feast [110]
With jocund harpings, and rich-jewell'd dames,
Outshining in their pride the starry heavens.
As fair the spring-flower's bloom, as graceful droops
The wild ash spray, as sweet the mountain bee
Murmurs, melodious breathes the twilight grove, [115]
Unheard of her, unheeded, who erewhile
Visited, constant as the morning dew,
Those playmates and sweet sisters of her soul.
In one sole image sees the enamour'd maid
Concentrated all qualities of love, [120]
All beauty, grace, and majesty. The step
Of tall stag prancing stately down the glen,
The keen bright fierceness of the eagle's glance,
And airy gentleness of timorous roe,
And, more than all, a voice more soothing soft [125]
Than wild-bird's carol, or the murmuring brook,
With eloquence endued and melting words
So wond'rous; though unheard since eve, the sounds
Come mingling with her midnight sleep, and make
The damask of her slumbering cheek grow warm. [130]
And she is now beneath the moonlight rock,
Chiding the rippling waters that efface
That image on its azure breast indistinct,
Garb, form, and feature, Vortimer, though mute,
As prodigal of fondness, his bright face [135]
Looks up to her with glance of tenderer love,
Than wild-dove to its mate at earliest spring.
Oft hath that moonlight wax'd and wan'd, since last
He parted, all of him that could depart;
Save that no distance could remove the words, [140]
The look, the touch, that lives within her still,
The promise of return sworn on her lips.
And hark it comes, his steed along the glen;
She o'er the lucid mirror stooping low,
'Gins prank her dark-brown tresses, bashful smiles [145]
Of virgin vanity flit o'er her cheek,
Tinging its settled paleness. Now 'tis near,
But ne'er did Vortimer with iron hoof
Bruise the green flowery sward that Lilian loves.
A gentle frown of winning fond reproach [150]
Arch'd her dark eyelash, as her head she turn'd,
Ah! not on Vortimer. Her father stood
Before her, stern and dark, his trembling child
Cheer'd nor fond word, nor greeting kiss; his arm
Clasp'd round her, on his steed again he sprung. [155]
And on through moon-light and through shade he spurr'd
Gleam'd like a meteor's track his flinty road,
Like some rude hunter with a snow-white fawn,
His midnight prey. Anon, the mountain path
'Gan upward wind, the fiery courser paus'd [160]
Breathless, and faintly raising her thin form;
"Oh, whither bear ye me?" with panting voice,
Murmur'd. Caswallon spake unmov'd, "to death."
"Death, Father, death is comfortless and cold?
Aye me! when maiden dies, the smiling morn, [165]
The wild birds singing on the twinkling spray,
Wake her no more; the summer wind breathes soft,
Waving the fresh grass o'er her narrow bed,
Gladdening to all but her. Senseless and cold
She lies; while all she lov'd, unheard, unseen, [170]
Mourn round her." There broke off her faltering voice.
Dimly, with farewell glance, she rov'd around,
Never before so beautiful the lake
Like a new sky, distinct with stars, the groves,
Green banks and shadowy dells, her haunts of bliss, [175]
Smil'd, ne'er before so lovely, their last smile;
The fountains seem'd to wail, the twilight mists,
On the wet leaves were weeping all for her,
Had not her own tears blinded her; there too
She surely had beheld a youthful form, [180]
Wandering the solitary glen. But loud
The courser neigh'd, down bursting, wood and rock
Fly backward, the wide plain its weary length
Vainly outspreads; and now 'tis midnight deep.
Ends at a narrow glen was pal'd with rude black rocks,
There slowly roll'd a brook its glassy depth;
Now in the moon-beams white, now dark in gloom.
She liv'd, she breath'd, she felt, to her denied
That sole sad happiness the wretched know, [190]
Ev'n from excess of feeling, not to feel.
Behold her gentle, delicate, and frail,
Where all around, through rifted rock and wood,
Grim features glare, huge helmed forms obscure
People the living gloom, with dreary light [195]
Glimmering, as of the moon from iron arms
Coldly reflected, lovely stands she there,
Like a blest Angel 'mid th' accurst of Hell.
A voice is heard. -- "Lo, mighty Monarch, here
The stream of sacrifice; to man alone [200]
Fits the proud privilege of bloody death
By shaft or mortal steel; to Hela's realm,
Unblooded, woundless, must the maid descend;
So in the bright Valhalla shall she crown
For Woden and his Peers the cup of bliss. [205]
Her white arms round her father's rugged neck
Winding with desperate fondness, she 'gan pour,
As to some dear, familiar, long-lov'd heart,
Most eloquent her inarticulate prayers.
Is the dew gleaming on his cheek? or weeps [210]
The savage and the stern, yet still her sire?
But some rude arm of one, whose dreadful face
She dared not gaze on, seiz'd her. Gloomy stood,
Folding his wolf-skin mantle to conceal
The shuddering of his huge and mailed form, [215]
Caswallon. Then again the voice came forth,
"Fast wanes the night, the Gods brook no delay,
Monarch of Britain, speed." He, at that name
Shaking all human from his soul, flung back
The foldings of his robe, and stood elate, [220]
As haughty of some glorious deed, nor knew
Barbarian blind as proud, who feels no more
The mercies and affections of his kind,
Casts off the image of God, a man of ill,
With all his nature's earth, without its heaven. [225]
A sound is in the silent night abroad,
A sound of broken waters; rings of light
Float o'er the dark stream, widening to the shore. [NOTE 9]
And lo, her re-appearing form, as soft
As fountain Nymph by weary hunter seen, [230]
In the lone twilight glen; the moonlight gleam
Falls tenderly on her beseeching face,
Like th' halo of expiring Saint, she seems
Lingering to lie upon the water top,
As to enjoy once more that light belov'd; [235]
And tremulously mov'd her soundless lips
As syllabling the name of Vortimer;
Then deep she sank, and quiet the cold stream,
Unconscious of its guilt, went eddying on,
And look'd up lovely to the gazing moon. [240]
What deepest thoughts, young Vortimer, have place
Within thy secret breast? thou slowly rid'st
By Eamont's alder brink, thy silver arms
Through the brown copse with moonshine glittering dim.
Is't that late fight by Thanet, when the fire [245]
From thine and Horsa's steel, frequent and red,
Burnt the pale sea-spray? or thy stately charge,
With show of British war, to curb and check
The threatening Caledonian? or what bathes
Youth's cheek in bitterest and most gall-like tears; [250]
Thy father's shame, the curse that, unredeem'd
By thy young valour, his once kingly name
Brands with the deep-sear'd characters of hate?
Or is 't that gentle Maid by Derwent lake,
Her flower-prankst tresses and her pale sweet smile?
How pleasant, after war and journeying fleet [256]
To Britain's Northern realm, from Kent's white cliffs,
Once more to see her early gliding foot
Skimming the morning dews, to hear her voice,
As artless, as melodious, melt on air, [260]
Among the wood-birds matins, to surprise
Thine own dear name upon her bashful lips!
What floateth down the stream a deep dead white
Amid the glittering moonshine, where the stream
Runs black beneath the thicket boughs, still white, [265]
Still slowly drifting, like a dying swan,
In snowy beauty, on its watery bier?
Oh, were but Lilian here! perchance its neck
May struggle up, to the still waves to chaunt
Its own soft requiem, the most gentle breath, [270]
Most fancifully, delicately sweet,
That ever soothes the midnight's dewy calm.
Near, and more near, it takes a human shape;
Some luckless maiden; haply her lov'd youth
Awaits her at the well known place, upbraids [275]
Her broken faith, as fond as Vortimer,
As full of love. 'Tis closer now; he leaps
From his high steed, he draws it to the shore.
Scarce time for fancy or for fear, the moon
Quench'd her broad light behind a rushing cloud, [280]
And utter darkness settled round. He sate
In solitude, with that cold lifeless thing;
He dared not leave it, for a hideous thought
Was in his brain. -- "Why is it like to thee,
My Lilian! be it any one but thou -- [285]
Hopelessly cold, irrevocably cold:
It cannot be, and yet 'twas like: her height,
Her slender waist like Lilian's, and her hair
As dainty soft, and trick'd with flowers; 'tis she,
And I will kiss her, pardon if I err, [290]
If stranger lips -- round, smooth like thine; but oh!
So coldly passive! when we parted, thine
Thwarted me with a struggling bashfulness,
And, won at length, with meek surrender swell'd.
Wild and delirious fancy! many a maid [295]
Hath full round lips, to trick the hair with flowers
'Tis common vanity. If dead, even dead,
So chilly senseless Lilian could not be
To Vortimer's embrace. Oh, but for light,
Though dim and scanty as a glow-worm's fire, [300]
To make me surely, hopelessly undone!
Aught but this racking ignorance. Dawn forth,
Thou tortoise-footed sluggard, Morn! one beam,
Thou pitiless cold Moon!" -- Morn dawn'd not yet,
And pale and thick remain'd the moonless sky. [305]
Darkness around, the dead within his arms,
He sate, even like a poison'd man, that waits,
Yet haunted by a miserable hope,
The palpable cold sickness in his veins,
And yearns to live or die, scarce cares he which, [310]
So one were certain. But when slow the dawn
Unveil'd its filmy light, he turn'd away
From that which might be Lilian's face, and pray'd
Even for the hateful, dun, uncertain gloom,
As now by habit the slow-creeping grief, [315]
Winding like ivy round and round his heart,
Were rapture, and not lightly to be lost.
It seem'd unconsciously his hand held up,
Unconsciously declin'd his heavy eye,
Where slowly brighten'd on that lifeless face [320]
The intrusive beauty; one tress lay across,
O'erspreading yet a thin and shadowy doubt;
Move it he dare not, but the officious wind
At length dispers'd it. As the thought, the fear
Were new, were sudden; like the lightning flash [325]
That sears the infant in its mother's arms,
Smote on him the dire certainty. He clasp'd
Her dampy dead cheek to his. -- "Thus, meet we thus,
Lilian, my Lilian, silent, strange, and cold?
I do not bid thee fondly gaze, nor ask [330]
Long garrulous welcoming, -- but speak, but move!
Lilian; ne'er thought I, I should live to loathe
Thy gentle presence. -- Most ungrateful girl,
And I for thee forsook my warrior trust,
Was truant to my country's cause for thee. [335]
By the green Tees my murmuring camp upbraids
My soft unwarlike absence -- aye, unbraid!
Henceforth finds Fortune no where on this soul
To fasten misery on; I laugh at Fate,
For I am past its wavering malice now. [340]
Thinks she with hollow gauds of fame, and clang
Of cymbal praise, to lure me forth, a bland
And courteous parasite in her fond train?
No; hang thou there, my helm, my broad-barr'd shield
Rust on yon bank, my sword, one duty more, [345]
To shape the smooth turf for my Lilian's grave;
Thy bridal bed, sweet Maid, it should have been,
Where thou and Vortimer had met. Thy grave
Shall be my field of fame, my wreath of pride
The flowers the courteous spring shall lavish there;
And I'll have glory -- in my depth of woe -- [351]
A wild and strange delight -- in my despair --
Not yet, the cold earth must not part us yet,
One glimmer more from thine eye's dark-fring'd blue,
One throb, one tremor, though it be the last [355]
In thy soft limbs -- dead, sightless, icy dead!" --
O'er his lost Love, thus that sad Prince, undream'd
The hell-born secret of her fate, arraign'd
Blind Chance for keen-ey'd Man's earth-sullying sins.
But southward far the savage fleet bore on. [360]
On Flamborough-head the morning sun look'd dusk
Through their dim sails; where Scarborough's naked foot
Spurns back, and saith, "no further," to the waves,
From cleft and cave the sullen sea birds sprang,
Wheeling in air with dizzy flight, and shriek'd [365]
Their dreary fears abroad. The Shepherd, wont
O'er level Lindesay view the watery plain,
Blue trembling to the soft horizon's line,
Sees, like a baleful portent from the heavens,
That sable train of gloom warp slowly past. [370]
Th' Icenian coast (that sceptered woman's realm,
Bonduca, who from her fair body slaked
The stain of Roman lust in Roman blood,)
Looks haggard, with distracted faces wan,
Hoar age, fair youth, the woman and the child, [375]
From beech or steep cliff, gazing now to Heaven,
Now on that ocean army's watery march.
Oh Nelson! if the unborn soul distinct
Amid the loose infinity of space,
Be visited by apparitions dim [380]
Of this earth's fleeting Present, and inhale
Faint foretaste of its mortal passions, thou,
When, with usurping prow, that foreign fleet
Daunted thy Britain, thou didst surely yearn
To unordained maturity to force [385]
Thy unripe being, to foreseize from Fate
Thy slow existence. Oh, the days must dawn,
When Saxon and when Briton, melted off
All feud, all hate, all discord, of their strength
And valour blent th' abstract and essence rich, [390]
One sword, one name, one glory, and one God,
From their bright armoury of Captains, thee
Their chosen thunderbolt shall usher forth,
From the leagued Nations' frantic grasp to wrest
Britain's allotted sceptre of the sea. [395]
A brighter and more British battlement,
Than tender forms of women, the pale dread
Of infants and decrepit eld, from Thames
To Thanet crown the pale-brow'd cliffs of Kent.
As when from Aulis that immortal fleet [400]
Swept the Ægean, all the hollow beach,
And every Phyrgian promontory glow'd
With brazen battle, here the Morning's Son,
Swarth Memnon, here the invulnerable strength
Of Cycnus, here the beardless Troilus, [405]
Unwounded by soft Cresseide's arrowy eyes;
Here Hector, seeking through the watery route
The tall Thessalian prow, with fatal thirst
Furious even then, the silver-footed Queen
To orphan of her heaven-soul'd boy. So broad, [410]
So brave in splendour tower'd the rampart bold
Of British Warriors on that pallid shore.
On Thanet are the Sea King Brethren met.
Their greeting in that fiercely sportive strain
That, elevate with imminent success, [415]
Scoffs at past ill. -- "On Thanet's marge well met,
Erle Horsa; now meseems our spacious realm
Is somewhat waste and shrunken, since we last
View'd its fair confines, for such noble guests
And numerous as attend our royal march, [420]
Our kingdom's harbours shew too close, our land
Narrow and brief for such free spirits' range.
Ill husbandry! our fertile province wide
To barter for this spare and meagre isle.
Horsa, for anchorage and breathing space [425]
Our weary mariners must e'en go sue
Their gentle Briton neighbours; haply they,
Knowing our native courtesy, may cede
From their abundance some fair leagues of earth.
"Ingrate and blind (cried Horsa), they forswear [430]
Our mild dominion; to their King's behest
Rebellious, they proclaim the British earth
The undivided, indivisible right
Of their old British sires, nor may't descend
Sever'd and mutilate to their British sons. [435]
They shook not off the Roman's gentle sway,
To slave it to Barbarians. Specious terms,
And with such cogent arguments enforc'd,
We were fain shroud us in this narrow isle
From such hot disputants; a desperate spirit [440]
Was that old Caesar, who first planted here
The tree of conquest." -- "Holds the King his faith?"
"Oh, thy fair daughter hath a soft-link'd chain
For the old royal Lion; he obeys,
Like a slim greyhound in a silken leash, [445]
Her eye-won empire. But there walks abroad
A youngling of the brood; no blood but mine
Might flesh the ravine of his dainty jaws.
This Vortimer, this bright-ey'd, beardless boy,
Aye, front to front I met him, but their bands [450]
Rent us asunder, and my crest-lopp'd helm,
My scatter'd blood, past unaveng'd. Now earth
Swallow me in my wrath, heaven's bolt sear up
My constant heart, if I forget thee, Boy,
Nor shear the gay sprouts of thy budding fame!" [455]
"A child their mightiest!" -- "Scornful Hengist, no;
A manlier spirit rideth the fierce storm,
One in whom bravery and counsel vie
For excellence: wild battle wears the shape
His will ordains; and if the rebel swerve, [460]
He forceth it with his strong sword t' obey
His high behest, and take the fate he gives."
"His name -- his name!" -- "The Chieftain of the Vales,
So sounds his title." -- Then a bitter groan,
'Twere hard to tell from what bad passion, hate [465]
Or dread, or hideous hope, from Hengist's breast
Burst forth; with his mail'd hand he clasp'd his head,
As though to mould the discord of his thoughts
To one strong mass: then, as the birth were ripe,
A light and laughing carelessness relax'd [470]
Those knitted furrows, seem'd his eager soul
Clasp'd the dim future with a wanton joy.
But on the mainland, in sad council, meet
The Baronage of Britain, timorous hearts
In hollow unsubstantial valour trick'd, [475]
While those who dare shew fear, fear undisguis'd.
Their first fierce rush of courage pass'd, like flame
The mountain heath devouring, with fleet blaze,
But transitory; they of generous thoughts,
Of appetites whose sole rich draught is fame, [480]
Wanting the steadfast fuel, the strong wind
Wanting of love devotional, heart-deep
To their own native land, that passion proud
That is all passions, that hath breath to fan
To a broad light beyond the noon-day Sun [485]
The waning embers of faint zeal; they hence
Powerful but now with gallant charge to sweep
From Kent's fair valleys Horsa's Saxon train,
Downcast in mien and mind, with prospect sad
Now count that countless navy's gathering sails. [490]
Not now the rapture and the restlessness,
The riding and the racing, burst and shock,
And sudden triumph, or as sudden death;
Now long, long wasting of the limbs and life,
The circumspect cold strife, drear march, long watch,
Forepining day, and vigilant sleepless night, [496]
Eternal and interminable war,
Before them spreads its comfortless wide tract.
Gone all soft joys, all courtly luxuries gone:
The languor of the bath, the harp, the song [500]
By twilight in the Lady's sleepless porch,
The loitering in the sunny colonnade,
The circus and the theatre, the feast
Usurping the mild midnight's solemn hours;
From holier hearts, the chapel and the prayer, [505]
The matins, and melodious vesper hymn,
The bridal with its gay and jocund route,
The baptism with its revel, gone - all gone.
The burial on cold battle field, unhymn'd,
Unmourn'd, untomb'd; nor taper, tear, nor rite: [510]
Gentle commercing between God and man
Broke off, save hasty prayer ere battle morn,
Cold orison upon the midnight watch.
Sole pillar of the quaking temple, firm,
Inflexible, on the foundation deep [515]
Of his broad spirit, Samor bears the weight
Of imminent danger, and his magic voice
With shame, with praise, with soothing, and with scorn,
Scatters the languid mist, that wreathes their souls,
And from their blanch'd cheecks drives the white dismay.
What ho! a trumpet from the Thanet shore, [521]
Truce for the Saxon's embassage; his hand
Outholding the white wand of peace, comes on
Old Cerdic, and before the assemblage proud
Speaks frank and bold that gray Plenipotent [525]
"Britons, most strange 'twill sound, while our vast fleet
Affronts your pale cliffs with fierce shew of war,
Yet would we peace with Britain. Deem not this,
In the blown arrogance of brief success,
The hard-wrung cowering of faint fear; look round [530]
Your own brief camp, then gaze abroad, our sails
Outnumber your thin helms, and that pale fear
Is not familiar with our German souls.
This know ye further, what we Saxons dare,
That dare we nobly, openly. Far south [535]
A rich and wanton land it champaign green
Spreads to the sun, there all the basking hill
Glow with the red wine, there the fresh air floats
So fragrant, that 'tis pleasure but to breathe,
Aye, one blue summer, in the cloudless skies; [540]
And our old Bards have legends, how of yore
From that soft land bright eagles, fledged with gold,
Danube or Rhine o'erflew, their Caesars fired
Our holy groves with insolent flames, and girt
Our fierce free foresters with slavish chains, [545]
That scarce bold Herman rent their massive links.
Not to despoil a mild and gentle isle,
For full fierce vengeance on Imperial Rome
Pours forth embattled Germany. Then hear,
Brave Islanders! our Saxon terms of peace: [550]
For this fair province, our's by royal boon
Of your King, Vortigern, give plenteous gold,
And with it take the gift, that deepest wrings
Our German souls to part with, our revenge.
With most unwonted patience will we bear [555]
Erle Horsa's camp with fierce assault o'er-borne,
And British wolves full-gorged with Saxon gore.
Then not as foes, but friends, we disembark
Our sea-worn crews, ourselves, the Chiefs of war,
In solemn festival to your high Lords, [560]
Pledge on the compact our unwavering faith.
But if ye still with lavish thirst pursue
War's crimson goblets, freely let them flow.
If the fierce pastime of the fire and sword
Be jocund to ye, ho, let slip the game. [565]
Your city walls are not as airy high,
But our fleet flames may climb their dizzy towers,
And revel on their pinnacles of pride;
Your breastplate not so adamantine proof,
But our keen falchions to your hearts may find [570]
A direful passage. And not we alone,
Caswallon, at our call, o'er the wide North
Wakes the hoarse music of his rushing cars;
Then choose your bride, oh Britons, lo, each courts
Your arms with rival beauties, Peace and War. [575]
Thus half in courtesy, defiant half,
To wait their answer he withdrew. Ere died
His voice, ere from a single lip assent
Had parted, Samor rose, and cried aloud --
"Britons! oh Britons! hinds fear fawning wolves, [580]
The peasant flies the snake that smoothly coils
Round his numb foot its gay enamell'd rings;
I dread a peaceful Saxon. 'Tis too rare,
Prodigious, and unnatural, like a star
Seen in the noon day. Was't for this, for this [585]
Round Vortigern's tame soul that proud-ey'd Queen
Wound her voluptuous trammels? did the meek,
The hermit Constans, bleed for this? Oh, Peace
Is like the rain from heaven, the clouds must burst
Ere earth smile lovely with its lucid dews. [590]
Peace must be won by war, swords, and swords alone
Work the strong treaty. Shall our slaves, that sold
Their blood, their lives unto us for base hire,
On our fair provinces set now their price?
Nor feast, nor metal give we, but cold steel! [595]
Give gold! as wisely might the miser lead
The robber to his treasury, and then cry,
"Go hence, and plunder;" 'twere to tempt, to bribe
The undream'd perjury, and spread a lure,
To bring the parted spoiler swiftly back. [600]
Outnumber us! and are we sunk so low
To count our valour by our helmet crests? --
Oh, every soul that loves his native land,
It is a legion; where the fire shall sear
The hydra heads of Liberty? Our earth [605]
Shall burst to bearing of as boon a crop
Of sworded soldiers, as of bladed grass,
And all our hills branch out in groves of steel.
So thought our fathers, so they bravely strove
For the bleak freedom of their steamy moors, [610]
Their black oaks' fruitage coarse, and rites uncouth
Of Druid, by the beal-fire's lurid flame.
But we, less drossy beings, filter'd off
Our natures rude and gross, create anew
Souls of fine wants, and delicate desires, [615]
Rich in the fair civilities of life,
Endued with sensitiveness keen and clear
Of earth's best pleasures, shall we tamely yield
Our beauteous Britain, our own pleasant isle,
To dreary-soul'd Barbarians? 'Tis not now [620]
Merely to 'scape the heaven-branded name of slaves,
For license to breathe where we choose, and wield
At our own wayward will unfetter'd limbs.
Oh, if we fail, free Christians must sink down
To Heathen slaves, our gilded palace roofs [625]
Shout the loose riot of new Lords, our wives
Be like base plunder, vilely bought and sold;
Worse shame! worse sin! the murky Heathen groves
O'er our fall'n Churches their pale gloom advance;
Our holy air go hot and reeking up [630]
With impious incense to blood-beverag'd Gods;
The deep damnation of a Pagan creed
Rot in our children's souls! Then be our peace
Not hasty, as of timorous souls that snatch
At every feeble reed, but stoop we to it [635]
As with a conqueror's pride, with steel-glov'd hand
Seal our stern treaty. So if they depart,
And with their spread sails hunt their mad emprize;
But while one prow dash menace on our shore,
Our earth be patient of one armed hoof, [640]
Tame treaty, temporizing truce, avaunt!
The foreign banner that usurps our winds,
Be it a foe, strange steel that both divert
One ray of sunlight from our shores, be that
The scope and centre of all British swords. [645]
So build we up our peace on the strong rock
Of brave defiance, cement it with scorn,
Set bright-arm'd Valour in its jealous porch,
Bold warden; from our own intrinsic strength,
Not from the mercy of our foes, be free." -- [650]
Oh the soul's fire, of that swift element
Th' intensest, broadest spreads the nimblest mounts,
With flaky fierce contagion; it hath caught
In that Baronial conclave, it hath blazed.
But then rose Elidure, with bashful mien, [655]
Into himself half shrinking, from his lips
The dewy words dropt, delicate and round,
And crept into the chambers of the soul,
Like the bee's liquid honey: -- "And thou too,
Enamour'd of this gaudy murderer, War! [660]
Samor, in hunger's meagre hour who scorns
A fair-skinn'd fruit, because its inward pulp
May be or black or hollow? this bland Peace
May be a rich-rob'd evil; war, stern war,
Wears manifest its hideousness, and bares [665]
Deformities the Sun shrinks to behold.
Because 'tis in the wanton roll of chance
That he may die, who desperately leaps
Into the pit, with mad untimely arms
To clasp annihilation? Were no path [670]
But through the grim and haunted wilds of strife,
To the mild shrine of peace, maids would not wear
Their bridal chaplets with more joy, than I
Th' oppressive morion: then th' old vaunt were wise,
To live in freedom, or for freedom die. [675]
Then would I too dissemble, with vain boast,
Our island's weakness; wear an iron front,
Though all within were silken, soft, and smooth.
For what are we, slight sunshine birds, thin-plum'd,
For dalliance with the mild, luxurious airs, [680]
To grapple with these vultures, whose broad vans,
Strung with their icy tempests, but with wind
Of their forth rushing down would swoop us? Then,
Then, Samor, eminent in strength and power,
It were most proud for thee alone to break [685]
The hot assault, with single arm't arrest
The driving ruin -- ruin, ah! too sure.
Oh, t'were most proud; to us sad comfort; sunk,
Amerc'd of all our fair, smooth sliding hours,
Our rich abodes the wandering war-flame's feast. [690]
Samor, our fathers fear'd not death; cast off
Most careless their coarse lives; with nought to lose,
They fear'd no loss; our breathing is too rich,
Too precious this our sensitive warm mould,
Its joyances, affections, hopes, desires, [695]
For such light venture. Oh, then, be we not
Most wretched from the fear of wretchedness?
If war must be, in God's name let war be;
But, oh, with clinging hand, with lingering love,
Clasp we our mistress, Peace. Gold! what is gold? [700]
My fair and wealthy palace set to sale,
Cast me a beggar to the elements' scorn;
But leave me peace, oh, leave my country peace,
And I will call it mercy, bounty, love!" --
So spake he, with vain shew of public zeal [705]
Blazoning his weak intent; and so prevail'd
His loose and languid eloquence. Each rent
The golden frontlet from his helm, cast down
His breastplate's golden scales, in contest free
Prodigal rivals at rich price to buy [710]
That baleful merchandize, their country's shame.
Oh, where the royal Brethren now? the pride
Serene of Emrys? where thy Dragon crest,
Prince Uther? for thy voice, young Vortimer!
Seal, Samor, thy prophetic lips; in vain [715]
The trumpet of thy warning shouts abroad.
Will the winds hear thee? will the rocks obey?
Or hearts than wind more light, than rocks more cold?
Gray Cerdic hath their faint award; they part
Jocund, and light of hope; but Samor grasp'd [720]
The hand of Elidure: -- "My childhood's friend,
I sue thee by all joys we two have shared,
Our interchange of souls, communion free
Of every thought and motion of our hearts,
Our infant pastimes, and our graver joys, [725]
Go not thou to this feast." -- "Doth Samor go?"
"Britain must have no danger, gentle friend,
That Samor shares not; thou art noted well
To hate the riotous and brawling feast.
With thy fond bride, thy Evelene, await [730]
Silent the knowledge whether thou or I
Have err'd in this day's council." -- "No, best friend,
Samor must have no danger Elidure
Shares not; oh, why this cold and gloomy dread?
In the deep centre of our isle be held [735]
This dreaded banquet. Samor, ne'er thought I,
While my mild blood ran contrast, thine would flag,
And curdle with the pallid frost of fear."
'Tis famed, that then, albeit amid the rush
Of clamorous joy unmark'd, in drearier days [740]
Remember'd, signs on earth, and signs in heaven,
With loud and solemn interdict arraign'd
That hasty treaty; maniacs kindled up
With horrible intelligence that pits
Of their deep hollow eyes, and meaning strange [745]
Gave order to their wandering utterance: stream'd
Amid the dusky woods broad sheeted flames;
The blue fires on the fen at noon-day danc'd
Their wavering morrice, and the bold ey'd wolves
Howl'd on the sun. Life, ominous and uncouth, [750]
Seiz'd upon ancient and forgotten things;
The Cromlechs rock'd, the Druids circles wept
Cold ruddy dews; as of that neighbouring feast
Conscious, the tall Stone Henge did shrilly shriek
As with a whirlwind, though no cloud was mov'd [755]
In the still skies. A wailing, as of harps,
Sad with no mortal sorrow, sail'd abroad
Through the black oaks of Mona. Old deep graves
Were restless, and arm'd bones of buried men
Lay clattering in their stony cells. 'Twas faith, [760]
White women upon sable steeds were seen
In fleet career 'neath the rank air; the earth
Gave up no echo to their noiseless feet,
And on them look'd the Moon with leprous light
Prodigious, haply like those slender shapes [765]
In the ice desert by Caswallon seen.
From Mona to the snowy Dover cliffs,
From Skiddaw to St. Michael's vision'd mount,
Unknown from heaven, or earth, or nether pit,
Unknown or from the living or the dead,
From being of this world, or nature higher,
Pass'd one long shriek, whereat old Merlin leap'd
From his hoar haunt by Snowdon, and in dusk
And dreary descant mutter'd all abroad
What the thin air grew cold and dim to hear. [775]
'Tis said, rude portents in the Church of God,
With insolent noises, brake the holy calm.
The gray owl hooted at the noontide chaunt,
The young owl clamour'd at the matin song,
The pies and ravens, from the steeple top, [780]
To the priest's Benedicite moan'd back
A sullen hoarse Amen, and obscene bats
Around the altar candlesticks did flap
Their leathern wings. Yea, from his stricken hand
The white-stol'd Bishop to the earth let fall [785]
The consecrated chalice; th' holy wine
(Ineffable!) flow'd on the pavement stone.
BOOK V.
Swan of the Ocean, on thy throne of waves
Exultant dost thou sit, thy mantling plumes
Ruffled with joy, thy pride of neck elate,
To hail fair Peace, like Angel visitant,
Descending, amid joy of earth and heaven, [5]
To bless thy fair abode. The laughing skies
Look bright, oh, Britain! on thy hour of bliss.
In sunshine fair the blithe and bounteous May
O'er hill and vale goes dancing; blooming flowers
Under her wanton feet their dewy bells [10]
Shake joyous; clouds of fragrance round her float.
City to city cries, and town to town
Wafting glad tidings: wide their flower-hung gates
Throw back the churches, resonant with pomp
Of priests and people, to the Lord their prayers [15]
Pouring, the richest incense of pure hearts.
With garland and with song the maids go forth,
And mingle with the iron ranks of war
Their forms of melting softness; gentle gales
Blow music o'er the festal land, from harp [20]
And merry rebeck, till the floating air
Seem harmony: still all fierce sounds of war;
No breath within the clarion's brazen throat;
Soft slumber in the war-steed's drooping mane.
Not in the palace proud, or gorgeous hall, [25]
The banqueting of Peace; on Ambri plain
Glitter the white pavilions, to the sun
Their snowy pomp unfolding; there the land
Pours its rejoicing multitudes to gaze,
Briton and Saxon, in majestic league, [30]
Mingling their streaming banners blazon'd waves.
Blithe as a virgin bridal, rich and proud
As gorgeous triumph for fair kingdom won,
Flows forth the festal train; with arms elate
The mothers bear their infants to behold [35]
That Hengist, whose harsh name erewhile their cheeks
Blanch'd to cold paleness; they their little hands
Clap, smiling, half delighted, half in dread.
Upon that hated head, from virgin hands,
Rain showers of bloom; beneath those hated feet [40]
Is strewn a flowery pavement; harp and voice
Hymn blessings on the Saxon, late denounc'd
Th' implacable, inexorable foe.
Lordly they pass'd and lofty; other land
Save Britain, of such mighty despots proud, [45]
Had made a boast of slavery; giant men
In soul as body. Not the Goth more dread,
Tall Alaric, who through imperial Rome
March'd conqueror, nor that later Orient chief,
Turban'd Mohammed, who o'er fall'n Byzance [50]
His moony ensign planted: they, unarm'd,
Yet terrible, went haughty on, of power
A world to vanquish, not one narrow isle.
The hollow vault of heaven is rent with shouts,
Wild din and hurry of tumultuous joy [55]
Waves the wide throng, for lo, in perfect strength,
Consummate height of manhood, but the glow,
The purple grace of youth, th' ambrosial hue
Of life's fresh morning, on his glossy hair,
His smooth and flushing features, Samor comes. [60]
His name is on the lisping infant's lips,
Floats on the maiden's song; him warrior men
Hail with proud crest elate; him present, deem
Peace timorous mercy on the invading foe.
Around the Kings of Britain, some her shame, [65]
Downy and silken with luxurious ease,
Others more hardy, in whose valiant looks
Were freedom and command: of princely stem
Alone were absent the forsaken King
And his sad Son, and those twin royal youths, [70]
Emrys and Uther; nor the Mountain Lord,
With that young eaglet of his race; deign share
The gaudy luxuries of peace; save these,
All Britain's valiance, princedom, and renown
March'd jubilant, with symphony and song. [75]
Noon; from his high empyreal throne the Sun
Floods with broad light the living plain; more rich
Ne'er blaz'd his summer couch, when sea and sky,
In royal pomp of cloudy purple and gold,
Curtain his western chambers, breathing men [80]
Gorgeous and numberless as those bright waves
Flash, in their motion, the quick light; aloof
The banqueters, like Gods at nectar feast,
Sit sumptuous and pavilion'd; all glad tones
From trembling string, or ravishing breath or voice, [85]
In clouds of harmony melt up to Heaven;
O'erwhelming splendour all of sight and sound,
One rich oppression of eye, ear, and mind.
Midnight, in darkness heavy, thick, and chill;
In silence rigid, deep and breathless, stands [90]
On the wide plain one lonely Man. Wan light,
From dim decaying firebrand in his grasp,
Feebly, with gleam inconstant, shews his mien
Hopeless, too haughty to despair: His eye,
As jealous of dark foe, goes wandering round: [95]
Yet seems he one more fear'd than fearing; rent
His robes' rich splendour; and his ponderous arm,
With its wild weapon wearily declin'd,
Bears token of rude strife -- though rude, though fierce,
By thy brow's pride, thou sad and stately Man! [100]
No faint inglorious craven hast thou shrunk,
In dread of death, or avarice base of blood.
At that dead hour, in Caesar's city gates [NOTE 10]
The Briton wives and mothers sate; at eve
They, from the plain, had homeward turn'd, to rock [105]
Their infants' rosy sleep, or trim the couch
For him belov'd and loving; some, from joy
Sleepless, sate watching the gray shadows fall,
In luxury of impatience; slumbering some,
From weariness of pleasure, in light dreams [110]
Liv'd o'er again the morning's jocund hours.
That hour, one horn with long and solemn blast
Went wailing up the heavens; less shrill, less drear,
Blew through the fatal Roncesvalles pass,
In after times, Roland's deep bugle, heard [115]
Dolorous, so poets feign, on Paris' wall.
The air seem'd shivering where the knell pass'd on,
As with a cold wind shudder'd the thick trees.
But those fond women hail that brazen sound,
Joy's harbinger, sweet signal of return; [120]
As the fond maid her lover's moonlight lute,
They drink in its dire harshness, busy round
Gazing, if aught neglected, careless aught
Belie the welcome, or to wakening child
Smile the glad tidings, or along the walls [125]
People the dim air with the forms they love.
Oh, fond of fancy! credulous of hope!
Ye hear but pleasure in that horn; but see,
In the dim tumult of yon moving lights,
Swift homeward hurrying. Now the slow delay [130]
Is but a lengthen'd rapture: steps are heard,
And figures indistinct are in the gloom
Advancing; yet no festal pomp proclaim'd
By music's merry breath, but mute and slow,
As from dark funeral: haply wearied all [135]
With the long revel day. But ye 'gin trace
Some well-known gesture, dear familiar step,
Each boastful of her lover's speedier pace.
Saxon the first, how wearily slow they pass!
Still are they Saxon, Saxon still, the last [140]
Saxon; in wonder they, nor yet in fear,
Question the dark air with their searching eyes,
Incredulous arraign the deepening gloom,
That with an envious melancholy shroud
Palls the long-look'd for, late-returning. Them, [145]
Ah, deeper darkness covers; to their homes
Never more to return! Lo, all at once
The bloody knives, borne boastful, their red light
Flash murtherous; known is all ere aught is fear'd.
And yet are there unfaded on their brows [150]
The garlands that ye fondly wove, the air
Not silent of your blessings. From these walls,
At morn, three hundred breathing valiant men
Went proudly forth -- in solitary life
Moves o'er the plain that one majestic shape, [155]
Like Spirit of Vengeance o'er some ghastly land
That scoff'd erewhile, in high portentous guilt,
The slumbering of God's wrath, now blasted lies,
Infecting with the ashes of its wreck
The late chastising heavens. So lone, so dark, [160]
But pale with human sorrows at his heart,
The King of that Bright City in the Vales,
Walks the waste gloom, around him the cold winds
Speak voices from the dead, and oft he turns,
Brandishing defiance on the air, and smites [165]
Some seeming Saxon with his smouldering brand.
Now rests he in that old mysterious ring,
The dateless and the numberless Stonehenge,
That is, and hath been, whence or how, none knows.
But even the Master Druid with slow dread [170]
Its dangerous precincts trod, though noontide bright
Revell'd in the rich heavens, and holiest harps
Purified the calm air: rose like the wreck
Of some old world the shadowy temple huge,
Shapeless magnificence! here souls profane [175]
Deem'd rites so potent held as made the oaks
Stand still and motionless 'mid the wild storm,
And with a light, nor of the stars nor moon,
Sheeted the midnight heavens: deem'd some, more sage,
Th' Invisible his cloudy presence here [180]
Embodied, and with wisdom heavenly and high
Full feasted the tranced soul; all the dire place
Fled, fearing more, unknowing what they fear'd.
Amid those stony giants that uptower
In massy darkness, or in the wind's rush [185]
Seem swaying on their dizzy balance, stands,
If virtue of aught earthly may feel awe,
Awe-struck the Christian; now his calmer soul
Had time for grief, for memory; o'er him flows
Deep-lulling quiet; here the light and gay [190]
Had felt a motion on their lips like prayer,
Nor marvel then that holy thoughts oppress'd
With a full extacy the Christian soul.
"Merciful! by whose will mine arm hath pav'd
With the strewn corpses of my murtherous foes [195]
A dismal passage, while around me Death
Mow'd Britain with his secret scythe! oh God,
I thank thee, if I die, a warrior's death
May be my brave distinction: if this life
Be worthy thy upholding, though all lost, [200]
The friendships and the prides, that made its course
Blissful and bright, I thank thee for my life:
Thank thee, that yet on British earth shall breathe
A Briton, resolute on that last crag,
That knows not the rude Saxon's tread, to rise [205]
Erect in stately freedom, and o'er-brood
The dim and desert beacon of revenge.
Or deign'st thou this low frame of dust to choose
Thy minister of wrath, I not with prayer
Vain and presumptuous, summon from the clouds [210]
Thy thunders, nor invoke prodigious Death
To smite my foes. Hopes perishable man,
At his wild bidding, thou the laws wilt burst,
Wherewith thou fetterest thy Omnipotence?
Harden to stern endurance these frail limbs, [215]
With adamantine patience sheathe my soul,
That nor pale shrinking of the coward flesh,
Nor inward palsying swerve from its brave scope
Th' aspiring spirit; grant thou this sole prayer,
And I thus lone, thus desolate proclaim, [220]
Single, yet dauntless, to yon Saxon host
Stubborn defiance, haughty to bear up
The wreck of Britain with unstooping neck."
Now over all the orient sky, the Morn
Spread rosy in her youth of light, as fair, [225]
As bright her rising on this plain of death,
As yesterday, when festal multitudes
Greeted her dawn; so vain the boast of man,
That earth, and air, and sky, their mimic hues
Borrow from his frantic woes and joys. [230]
And o'er the plain began his lonely way
The Warrior, on his brow the unheeded wind
Fannd freshness, and the wandering lark unheard,
Quiver'd her blithe song, like an airy voice,
Bathing in light. Anon a dale beneath [235]
Open'd, and slow withdrew the misty veil
That o'er her hamlets roofs and bowery trees
Ting'd with a liquid azure the thin air.
Along the winding path he roves, that none,
Save feet habituate to its maze, could thread, [240]
Heedless that here to Elidure's green home
He came, unweeting visitant. Within,
Breathless, as though she listen'd in her sleep,
Close to the door, as jealous lest some ear
Earlier than her own should catch the sound [245]
Of Elidure's returning tread, or voice
Anticipate the welcome of her own,
Reclin'd the bride, soft Evelene. The step
Up from the pillowing hand her flushing cheek
Waken'd, or ere the threshold he o'erpast, [250]
The form yet indistinct to her quick sight,
Murmur'd her fond upbraiding. "Truant Lord,
Art thou too chang'd, thou too of midnight feast
Enamour'd? time hath been the rosy cup,
Thou Saxon in thy revels, had look'd pale [255]
To Evelen's cheek." -- 'Tis wretched solace, yet
'Tis solace in the drear extreme of grief,
To find one human heart whose deeper woe
Makes weakness of our wailing. Though alone
Of the fray's dizzy tumult lay distinct [260]
Elidure's image on the Wanderer's soul,
His image as beneath the Saxon steel
Dying, he struggled back to life from joy
His stern friend to behold with fiery brand
Piercing his path of flight, less bitter seem'd [265]
His cup of woe, when f