We must nowResume the legendary strainOf the bold Knight of Triermain.That lord, on high adventure bound,Hath wandered forth alone,And day and night keeps watchful roundIn the valley of Saint John.When first began his vigil bold,The moon twelve summer nights was old,And shone both fair and full;High in the vault of cloudless blue,O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she threwHer light composed and cool.Stretched on the brown hill's heathy breast,Sir Roland eyed the vale;Chief where, distinguished from the rest,Those clustering rocks upreared their crest,The dwelling of the fair distressed,As told grey Lyulph's tale.Thus as he lay, the lamp of nightWas quivering on his armour bright,In beams that rose and fell,And danced upon his buckler's boss,That lay beside him on the moss,As on a crystal well.Ever he watch'd, and oft he deemed,While on the mound the moonlight streamed,It altered to his eyes;Fain would he hope the rocks 'gan changeTo buttress'd walls their shapeless range,Fain think, by transmutation strange,He saw grey turrets rise.But scarce his heart with hope throbb'd high,Before the wild illusions fly,Which fancy had conceived.For, seen by moon of middle night,Or by the blaze of noontide bright,Or by the dawn of morning light,Or evening's western flame,In every tide, at every hour,In mist, in sunshine, and in shower,The rocks remain'd the same.Oft has he traced the charmed mound,Oft climb'd its crest, or paced it round,Yet nothing might explore,Save that the crags so rudely piled,At distance seen, resemblance wildTo a rough fortress bore.Yet still his watch the Warrior keeps,Feeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps,And drinks but of the well;Ever by day he walks the hill,And when the evening gale is chill,He seeks a rocky cell,Like hermit poor to bid his bead,And tell his Ave and his Creed,Invoking every saint at need,For aid to burst his spell.And now the moon her orb has hid,And dwindled to a silver thread,Dim seen in middle heaven,While o'er its curve careering fast,Before the fury of the blastThe midnight clouds are driven.The brooklet raved, for on the hillsThe upland showers had swoln the rills,And down the torrents came;Mutter'd the distant thunder dread,And frequent o'er the vale was spreadA sheet of lightning flame.De Vaux, within his mountain cave(No human step the storm durst brave),To moody meditation gaveEach faculty of soul,Till, lull'd by distant torrent sound,And the sad winds that whistled round,Upon his thoughts, in musing drown'd,A broken slumber stole.Twas then was heard a heavy sound(Sound, strange and fearful there to hear,'Mongst desert hills, where, leagues around,Dwelt but the gorcock and the deer):As, starting from his couch of fern,Again he heard, in clangor stern,That deep and solemn swell,—Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke,Like some proud minster's pealing clock,Or city's larum bell.What thought was Roland's first when fell,In that deep wilderness, the knellUpon his startled ear?To slander, warrior, were I loth,Yet must I hold my minstrel troth,—It was a thought of fear.But lively was the mingled thrillThat chased that momentary chill,For Love's keen wish was there,And eager Hope, and Valour high,And the proud glow of Chivalry,That burn'd to do and dare.Forth from the cave the Warrior rush'd,Long ere the mountain-voice was hush'd,That answer'd to the knell;For long and far the unwonted sound,Eddying in echoes round and round,Was toss'd from fell to fell;And Glaramara answer flung,And Grisdale-pike responsive rung,And Legbert heights their echoes swung,As far as Derwent's dell.Forth upon trackless darkness gazedThe Knight, bedeafen'd and amazed,Till all was hush'd and still,Save the swoln torrent's sullen roar,And the night-blast that wildly boreIts course along the hill.Then on the northern sky there cameA light, as of reflected flame,And over Legbert-head,As if by magic art controll'd,A mighty meteor slowly roll'dIts orb of fiery red;Thou wouldst have thought some demon direCame mounted on that car of fire,To do his errand dread.Far on the sloping valley's course,On thicket, rock, and torrent hoarse,Shingle and Scree, and Fell and Force,A dusky light arose:Display'd, yet alter'd was the scene;Dark rock, and brook of silver sheen,Even the gay thicket's summer green,In bloody tincture glows.De Vaux had mark'd the sunbeams set,At eve, upon the coronetOf that enchanted mound,And seen but crags at random flung,That, o'er the brawling torrent hung,In desolation frown'd.What sees he by that meteor's lour?—A banner'd castle, keep, and tower,Return the lurid gleam,With battled walls and buttress fast,And barbican and ballium vast,And airy flanking towers, that castTheir shadows on the stream.'Tis no deceit! distinctly clearCrenell and parapet appear,While o'er the pile that meteor drearMakes momentary pause;Then forth its solemn path it drew,And fainter yet and fainter grewThose gloomy towers upon the view,As its wild light withdraws.Forth from the cave did Roland rush,O'er crag and stream, through brier and bush;Yet far he had not sped,Ere sunk was that portentous lightBehind the hills, and utter nightWas on the valley spread.He paused perforce, and blew his horn,And, on the mountain echoes borne,Was heard an answering sound,A wild and lonely trumpet-note,—In middle air it seemed to floatHigh o'er the battled mound;And sounds were heard, as when a guardOf some proud castle, holding ward,Pace forth their nightly round.The valiant Knight of TriermainRung forth his challenge-blast again,But answer came there none;And 'mid the mingled wind and rain,Darkling he sought the vale in vain,Until the dawning shone;And when it dawn'd, that wondrous sight,Distinctly seen by meteor-light,It all had passed away!And that enchanted mount once moreA pile of granite fragments bore,As at the close of day.Steel'd for the deed, De Vaux's heartScorn'd from his venturous quest to part,He walks the vale once more;But only sees, by night or day,That shatter'd pile of rocks so gray,Hears but the torrent's roar.Till when, through hills of azure borne,The moon renew'd her silver horn,Just at the time her waning ray,Had faded in the dawning day,A summer mist arose;Adown the vale the vapours float,And cloudy undulations moatThat tufted mound of mystic note,As round its base they close.And higher now the fleecy tideAscends its stern and shaggy side,Until the airy billows hideThe rock's majestic isle;It seem'd a veil of filmy lawn,By some fantastic fairy drawnAround enchanted pile.The breeze came softly down the brook,And sighing as it blew,The veil of silver mist it shook,And to De Vaux's eager lookRenew'd that wondrous view,For, though the loitering vapour bravedThe gentle breeze, yet oft it wavedIt's mantle's dewy fold:And still, when shook that filmy screen,Were towers and bastions dimly seen,And Gothic battlements betweenTheir gloomy length unroll'd,Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on thine eyeOnce more the fleeting vision die!—The gallant knight can speedAs prompt and light as when the houndIs opening, and the horn is wound,Careers the hunter's steed.Down the steep dell his course amainHath rivall'd archer's shaft;But ere the mound he could attain,The rocks their shapeless form regain,And, mocking loud his labour vain,The mountain spirits laugh'd.Far up the echoing dell was borneTheir wild unearthly shout of scorn.Wroth wax'd the Warrior.—"Am I thenFool'd by the enemies of men,Like a poor hind, whose homeward wayIs haunted by malicious fay?Is Triermain become your taunt,De Vaux your scorn? False fiends, avaunt!"A weighty curtal-axe he bare;The baleful blade so bright and square,And the tough shaft of heben wood,Were oft in Scottish gore imbrued.Backward his stately form he drew,And at the rocks the weapon threw,Just where one crag's projected crestHung proudly balanced o'er the rest,Hurl'd with main force, the weapon's shockRent a huge fragment of the rock,If by mere strength, 'twere hard to tell,Or if the blow dissolved some spell,But down the headlong ruin came,With cloud of dust and flash of flame.Down bank, o'er bush, its course was borne,Crush'd lay the copse, the earth was torn,Till staid at length, the ruin dreadCumber'd the torrent's rocky bed,And bade the waters' high-swoln tideSeek other passage for its pride.When ceased that thunder, TriermainSurvey'd the mound's rude front again;And lo! the ruin had laid bare,Hewn in the stone, a winding stair,Whose moss'd and fractured steps might lendThe means the summit to ascend;And by whose aid the brave De VauxBegan to scale these magic rocks,And soon a platform won,Where, the wild witchery to close,Within three lances' length aroseThe Castle of Saint John!No misty phantom of the air,No meteor-blazon'd show was there:In morning splendour, full and fair,The massive fortress shone.Embattled high and proudly tower'd,Shaded by pond'rous flankers, lower'dThe portal's gloomy way.Though for six hundred years and more,Its strength had brook'd the tempest's roar,The scutcheon'd emblems which it boreHad suffer'd no decay:But from the eastern battlementA turret had made sheer descent,And, down in recent ruin rent,In the mid torrent lay.Else, o'er the castle's brow sublime,Insults of violence or of timeUnfelt had pass'd away.In shapeless characters of yore.The gate this stern inscription bore:—
We must nowResume the legendary strainOf the bold Knight of Triermain.That lord, on high adventure bound,Hath wandered forth alone,And day and night keeps watchful roundIn the valley of Saint John.
When first began his vigil bold,The moon twelve summer nights was old,And shone both fair and full;High in the vault of cloudless blue,O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she threwHer light composed and cool.Stretched on the brown hill's heathy breast,Sir Roland eyed the vale;Chief where, distinguished from the rest,Those clustering rocks upreared their crest,The dwelling of the fair distressed,As told grey Lyulph's tale.Thus as he lay, the lamp of nightWas quivering on his armour bright,In beams that rose and fell,And danced upon his buckler's boss,That lay beside him on the moss,As on a crystal well.
Ever he watch'd, and oft he deemed,While on the mound the moonlight streamed,It altered to his eyes;Fain would he hope the rocks 'gan changeTo buttress'd walls their shapeless range,Fain think, by transmutation strange,He saw grey turrets rise.But scarce his heart with hope throbb'd high,Before the wild illusions fly,Which fancy had conceived.For, seen by moon of middle night,Or by the blaze of noontide bright,Or by the dawn of morning light,Or evening's western flame,In every tide, at every hour,In mist, in sunshine, and in shower,The rocks remain'd the same.
Oft has he traced the charmed mound,Oft climb'd its crest, or paced it round,Yet nothing might explore,Save that the crags so rudely piled,At distance seen, resemblance wildTo a rough fortress bore.Yet still his watch the Warrior keeps,Feeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps,And drinks but of the well;Ever by day he walks the hill,And when the evening gale is chill,He seeks a rocky cell,Like hermit poor to bid his bead,And tell his Ave and his Creed,Invoking every saint at need,For aid to burst his spell.
And now the moon her orb has hid,And dwindled to a silver thread,Dim seen in middle heaven,While o'er its curve careering fast,Before the fury of the blastThe midnight clouds are driven.The brooklet raved, for on the hillsThe upland showers had swoln the rills,And down the torrents came;Mutter'd the distant thunder dread,And frequent o'er the vale was spreadA sheet of lightning flame.De Vaux, within his mountain cave(No human step the storm durst brave),To moody meditation gaveEach faculty of soul,Till, lull'd by distant torrent sound,And the sad winds that whistled round,Upon his thoughts, in musing drown'd,A broken slumber stole.
Twas then was heard a heavy sound(Sound, strange and fearful there to hear,'Mongst desert hills, where, leagues around,Dwelt but the gorcock and the deer):As, starting from his couch of fern,Again he heard, in clangor stern,That deep and solemn swell,—Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke,Like some proud minster's pealing clock,Or city's larum bell.What thought was Roland's first when fell,In that deep wilderness, the knellUpon his startled ear?To slander, warrior, were I loth,Yet must I hold my minstrel troth,—It was a thought of fear.
But lively was the mingled thrillThat chased that momentary chill,For Love's keen wish was there,And eager Hope, and Valour high,And the proud glow of Chivalry,That burn'd to do and dare.Forth from the cave the Warrior rush'd,Long ere the mountain-voice was hush'd,That answer'd to the knell;For long and far the unwonted sound,Eddying in echoes round and round,Was toss'd from fell to fell;And Glaramara answer flung,And Grisdale-pike responsive rung,And Legbert heights their echoes swung,As far as Derwent's dell.
Forth upon trackless darkness gazedThe Knight, bedeafen'd and amazed,Till all was hush'd and still,Save the swoln torrent's sullen roar,And the night-blast that wildly boreIts course along the hill.Then on the northern sky there cameA light, as of reflected flame,And over Legbert-head,As if by magic art controll'd,A mighty meteor slowly roll'dIts orb of fiery red;Thou wouldst have thought some demon direCame mounted on that car of fire,To do his errand dread.Far on the sloping valley's course,On thicket, rock, and torrent hoarse,Shingle and Scree, and Fell and Force,A dusky light arose:Display'd, yet alter'd was the scene;Dark rock, and brook of silver sheen,Even the gay thicket's summer green,In bloody tincture glows.
De Vaux had mark'd the sunbeams set,At eve, upon the coronetOf that enchanted mound,And seen but crags at random flung,That, o'er the brawling torrent hung,In desolation frown'd.What sees he by that meteor's lour?—A banner'd castle, keep, and tower,Return the lurid gleam,With battled walls and buttress fast,And barbican and ballium vast,And airy flanking towers, that castTheir shadows on the stream.'Tis no deceit! distinctly clearCrenell and parapet appear,While o'er the pile that meteor drearMakes momentary pause;Then forth its solemn path it drew,And fainter yet and fainter grewThose gloomy towers upon the view,As its wild light withdraws.
Forth from the cave did Roland rush,O'er crag and stream, through brier and bush;Yet far he had not sped,Ere sunk was that portentous lightBehind the hills, and utter nightWas on the valley spread.He paused perforce, and blew his horn,And, on the mountain echoes borne,Was heard an answering sound,A wild and lonely trumpet-note,—In middle air it seemed to floatHigh o'er the battled mound;And sounds were heard, as when a guardOf some proud castle, holding ward,Pace forth their nightly round.The valiant Knight of TriermainRung forth his challenge-blast again,But answer came there none;And 'mid the mingled wind and rain,Darkling he sought the vale in vain,Until the dawning shone;And when it dawn'd, that wondrous sight,Distinctly seen by meteor-light,It all had passed away!And that enchanted mount once moreA pile of granite fragments bore,As at the close of day.
Steel'd for the deed, De Vaux's heartScorn'd from his venturous quest to part,He walks the vale once more;But only sees, by night or day,That shatter'd pile of rocks so gray,Hears but the torrent's roar.Till when, through hills of azure borne,The moon renew'd her silver horn,Just at the time her waning ray,Had faded in the dawning day,A summer mist arose;Adown the vale the vapours float,And cloudy undulations moatThat tufted mound of mystic note,As round its base they close.And higher now the fleecy tideAscends its stern and shaggy side,Until the airy billows hideThe rock's majestic isle;It seem'd a veil of filmy lawn,By some fantastic fairy drawnAround enchanted pile.
The breeze came softly down the brook,And sighing as it blew,The veil of silver mist it shook,And to De Vaux's eager lookRenew'd that wondrous view,For, though the loitering vapour bravedThe gentle breeze, yet oft it wavedIt's mantle's dewy fold:And still, when shook that filmy screen,Were towers and bastions dimly seen,And Gothic battlements betweenTheir gloomy length unroll'd,Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on thine eyeOnce more the fleeting vision die!—The gallant knight can speedAs prompt and light as when the houndIs opening, and the horn is wound,Careers the hunter's steed.Down the steep dell his course amainHath rivall'd archer's shaft;But ere the mound he could attain,The rocks their shapeless form regain,And, mocking loud his labour vain,The mountain spirits laugh'd.Far up the echoing dell was borneTheir wild unearthly shout of scorn.
Wroth wax'd the Warrior.—"Am I thenFool'd by the enemies of men,Like a poor hind, whose homeward wayIs haunted by malicious fay?Is Triermain become your taunt,De Vaux your scorn? False fiends, avaunt!"A weighty curtal-axe he bare;The baleful blade so bright and square,And the tough shaft of heben wood,Were oft in Scottish gore imbrued.Backward his stately form he drew,And at the rocks the weapon threw,Just where one crag's projected crestHung proudly balanced o'er the rest,Hurl'd with main force, the weapon's shockRent a huge fragment of the rock,If by mere strength, 'twere hard to tell,Or if the blow dissolved some spell,But down the headlong ruin came,With cloud of dust and flash of flame.Down bank, o'er bush, its course was borne,Crush'd lay the copse, the earth was torn,Till staid at length, the ruin dreadCumber'd the torrent's rocky bed,And bade the waters' high-swoln tideSeek other passage for its pride.
When ceased that thunder, TriermainSurvey'd the mound's rude front again;And lo! the ruin had laid bare,Hewn in the stone, a winding stair,Whose moss'd and fractured steps might lendThe means the summit to ascend;And by whose aid the brave De VauxBegan to scale these magic rocks,And soon a platform won,Where, the wild witchery to close,Within three lances' length aroseThe Castle of Saint John!No misty phantom of the air,No meteor-blazon'd show was there:In morning splendour, full and fair,The massive fortress shone.
Embattled high and proudly tower'd,Shaded by pond'rous flankers, lower'dThe portal's gloomy way.Though for six hundred years and more,Its strength had brook'd the tempest's roar,The scutcheon'd emblems which it boreHad suffer'd no decay:But from the eastern battlementA turret had made sheer descent,And, down in recent ruin rent,In the mid torrent lay.Else, o'er the castle's brow sublime,Insults of violence or of timeUnfelt had pass'd away.In shapeless characters of yore.The gate this stern inscription bore:—
"Patience waits the destined day,Strength can clear the cumber'd way.Warrior, who hast waited long,Firm of soul, of sinew strong,It is given to thee to gazeOn the pile of ancient days.Never mortal builder's handThis enduring fabric plann'd;Sign and sigil, word of power,From the earth raised keep and tower.View it o'er, and pace it round,Rampart, turret, battled mound.Dare no more! To cross the gateWere to tamper with thy fate;Strength and fortitude were vain,View it o'er—and turn again."—"That would I," said the warrior bold,"If that my frame were bent and old,And my thin blood dropp'd slow and coldAs icicle in thaw;But while my heart can feel it dance,Blithe as the sparkling wine of France,And this good arm wields sword or lance,I mock these words of awe!"He said; the wicket felt the swayOf his strong hand, and straight gave way,And, with rude crash and jarring bray,The rusty bolts withdraw;But o'er the threshold as he strode,And forward took the vaulted road,An unseen arm, with force amain,The ponderous gate flung close again,And rusted bolt and barSpontaneous took their place once more,While the deep arch with sullen roarReturn'd their surly jar."Now closed is the gin and the prey withinBy the Rood of Lanercost!But he that would win the war-wolf's skin,May rue him of his boast."Thus muttering, on the Warrior went,By dubious light down steep descent.Unbarr'd, unlock'd, unwatch'd, a portLed to the Castle's outer court:There the main fortress, broad and tall,Spread its long range of bower and hall,And towers of varied size,Wrought with each ornament extreme,That Gothic art, in wildest dreamOf fancy, could devise;But full between the Warrior's wayAnd the main portal arch, there layAn inner moat;Nor bridge nor boatAffords De Vaux the means to crossThe clear, profound, and silent fosse.His arms aside in haste he flings,Cuirass of steel and hauberk ringsAnd down falls helm, and down the shield,Rough with the dints of many a field.Fair was his manly form, and fairHis keen dark eye, and close curl'd hair,When, all unarm'd, save that the brandOf well-proved metal graced his hand,With nought to fence his dauntless breastBut the close gipon's under-vest,Whose sullied buff the sable stainsOf hauberk and of mail retains,—Roland De Vaux upon the brimOf the broad moat stood prompt to swim.Accoutred thus he dared the tide,And soon he reached the farther side,And enter'd soon the Hold,And paced a hall, whose walls so wideWere blazon'd all with feats of pride,By warriors done of old.In middle lists they counter'd here,While trumpets seem'd to blow;And there, in den or desert drear,They quell'd gigantic foe,Braved the fierce griffon in his ire,Or faced the dragon's breath of fire.Strange in their arms, and strange in face,Heroes they seem'd of ancient race,Whose deeds of arms, and race, and name,Forgotten long by later fame,Were here depicted, to appalThose of an age degenerate,Whose bold intrusion braved their fateIn this enchanted hall.For some short space, the venturous KnightWith these high marvels fed his sight,Then sought the chamber's upper end,Where three broad easy steps ascendTo an arch'd portal door,In whose broad folding leaves of stateWas framed a wicket window-grate,And ere he ventured more,The gallant Knight took earnest viewThe grated wicket-window through.O, for his arms! Of martial weedHad never mortal Knight such need!—He spied a stately gallery; allOf snow-white marble was the wall,The vaulting, and the floor;And, contrast strange! on either handThere stood array'd in sable bandFour maids whom Afric bore;And each a Lybian tiger led,Held by as bright and frail a threadAs Lucy's golden hair,For the leash that bound these monsters dreadWas but of gossamer,Each Maiden's short barbaric vest,Left all unclosed the knee and breast,And limbs of shapely jet;White was their vest and turban's fold,On arms and ankles rings of goldIn savage pomp were set;A quiver on their shoulders lay,And in their hand an assagay.Such and so silent stood they there,That Roland wellnigh hopedHe saw a band of statues rare,Station'd the gazer's soul to scare;But, when the wicket oped,Each grisly beast 'gan upward draw,Roll'd his grim eye, and spread his claw,Scented the air, and lick'd his jaw;While these weird Maids, in Moorish tongue,A wild and dismal warning sung."Rash adventurer, bear thee back!Dread the spell of Dahomay!Fear the race of Zaharak,[25]Daughters of the burning day!"When the whirlwind's gusts are wheeling,Ours it is the dance to braid;Zarah's sands in pillars reeling,Join the measure that we tread,When the Moon has donn'd her cloak,And the stars are red to see,Shrill when pipes the sad Siroc,Music meet for such as we."Where the shatter'd columns lie,Showing Carthage once had been,If the wandering Santon's eyeOur mysterious rites hath seen,—Oft he cons the prayer of death,To the nations preaches doom,'Asrael's brand hath left the sheath!Moslems, think upon the tomb!'"Ours the scorpion, ours the snake,Ours the hydra of the fen,Ours the tiger of the brake,All that plagues the sons of men.Ours the tempest's midnight wrack,Pestilence that wastes by day—Dread the race of Zaharak!Fear the spell of Dahomay!"Uncouth and strange the accents shrillRung those vaulted roofs among,Long it was ere, faint and still,Died the far-resounding song.While yet the distant echoes roll,The Warrior communed with his soul."When first I took this venturous quest,I swore upon the rood,Neither to stop, nor turn, nor rest,For evil or for good.My forward path too well I ween,Lies yonder fearful ranks between;For man unarm'd, 'tis bootless hopeWith tigers and with fiends to cope—Yet, if I turn, what waits me there,Save famine dire and fell despair?—Other conclusion let me try,Since, choose howe'er I list, I die.Forward, lies faith and knightly fame;Behind, are perjury and shame.In life or death I hold my word!"With that he drew his trusty sword,Caught down a banner from the wall,And enter'd thus the fearful hall.On high each wayward Maiden threwHer swarthy arm, with wild haloo!On either side a tiger sprung—Against the leftward foe he flungThe ready banner, to engageWith tangling folds the brutal rage;The right-hand monster in mid airHe struck so fiercely and so fair,Through gullet and through spinal boneThe trenchant blade hath sheerly gone.His grisly brethren ramp'd and yell'd,But the slight leash their rage withheld,Whilst, 'twixt their ranks, the dangerous roadFirmly, though swift, the champion strode.Safe to the gallery's bound he drew,Safe pass'd an open portal through;And when against pursuit he flungThe gate, judge if the echoes rung!Onward his daring course he bore,While, mix'd with dying growl and roar,Wild jubilee and loud hurraPursued him on his venturous way."Hurra, hurra! Our watch is done!We hail once more the tropic sun.Pallid beams of northern day,Farewell, farewell! Hurra, hurra!"Five hundred years o'er this cold glenHath the pale sun come round again;Foot of man, till now, hath ne'erDared to cross the Hall of Fear."Warrior! thou, whose dauntless heartGives us from our ward to part.Be as strong in future trial,Where resistance is denial."Now for Afric's glowing sky,Zwenga wide and Atlas high,Zaharak and Dahomay!——Mount the winds! Hurra, hurra!"The wizard song at distance died,As if in ether borne astray,While through waste halls and chambers wideThe Knight pursued his steady way.Till to a lofty dome he came,That flash'd with such a brilliant flame,As if the wealth of all the worldWere there in rich confusion hurl'd.For here the gold, in sandy heaps,With duller earth incorporate, sleeps;Was there in ingots piled, and thereCoin'd badge of empery it bare;Yonder, huge bars of silver lay,Dimm'd by the diamond's neighbouring ray,Like the pale moon in morning day;And in the midst four maidens stand,The daughters of some distant land.Their hue was of the dark-red dye,That fringes oft a thunder sky;Their hands palmetto baskets bare,And cotton fillets bound their hair;Slim was their form, their mien was shy,To earth they bent the humbled eye,Folded their arms, and suppliant kneel'd,And thus their proffer'd gifts reveal'd.
"Patience waits the destined day,Strength can clear the cumber'd way.Warrior, who hast waited long,Firm of soul, of sinew strong,It is given to thee to gazeOn the pile of ancient days.Never mortal builder's handThis enduring fabric plann'd;Sign and sigil, word of power,From the earth raised keep and tower.View it o'er, and pace it round,Rampart, turret, battled mound.Dare no more! To cross the gateWere to tamper with thy fate;Strength and fortitude were vain,View it o'er—and turn again."—"That would I," said the warrior bold,"If that my frame were bent and old,And my thin blood dropp'd slow and coldAs icicle in thaw;But while my heart can feel it dance,Blithe as the sparkling wine of France,And this good arm wields sword or lance,I mock these words of awe!"He said; the wicket felt the swayOf his strong hand, and straight gave way,And, with rude crash and jarring bray,The rusty bolts withdraw;But o'er the threshold as he strode,And forward took the vaulted road,An unseen arm, with force amain,The ponderous gate flung close again,And rusted bolt and barSpontaneous took their place once more,While the deep arch with sullen roarReturn'd their surly jar."Now closed is the gin and the prey withinBy the Rood of Lanercost!But he that would win the war-wolf's skin,May rue him of his boast."Thus muttering, on the Warrior went,By dubious light down steep descent.
Unbarr'd, unlock'd, unwatch'd, a portLed to the Castle's outer court:There the main fortress, broad and tall,Spread its long range of bower and hall,And towers of varied size,Wrought with each ornament extreme,That Gothic art, in wildest dreamOf fancy, could devise;But full between the Warrior's wayAnd the main portal arch, there layAn inner moat;Nor bridge nor boatAffords De Vaux the means to crossThe clear, profound, and silent fosse.His arms aside in haste he flings,Cuirass of steel and hauberk ringsAnd down falls helm, and down the shield,Rough with the dints of many a field.Fair was his manly form, and fairHis keen dark eye, and close curl'd hair,When, all unarm'd, save that the brandOf well-proved metal graced his hand,With nought to fence his dauntless breastBut the close gipon's under-vest,Whose sullied buff the sable stainsOf hauberk and of mail retains,—Roland De Vaux upon the brimOf the broad moat stood prompt to swim.
Accoutred thus he dared the tide,And soon he reached the farther side,And enter'd soon the Hold,And paced a hall, whose walls so wideWere blazon'd all with feats of pride,By warriors done of old.In middle lists they counter'd here,While trumpets seem'd to blow;And there, in den or desert drear,They quell'd gigantic foe,Braved the fierce griffon in his ire,Or faced the dragon's breath of fire.Strange in their arms, and strange in face,Heroes they seem'd of ancient race,Whose deeds of arms, and race, and name,Forgotten long by later fame,Were here depicted, to appalThose of an age degenerate,Whose bold intrusion braved their fateIn this enchanted hall.For some short space, the venturous KnightWith these high marvels fed his sight,Then sought the chamber's upper end,Where three broad easy steps ascendTo an arch'd portal door,In whose broad folding leaves of stateWas framed a wicket window-grate,And ere he ventured more,The gallant Knight took earnest viewThe grated wicket-window through.
O, for his arms! Of martial weedHad never mortal Knight such need!—He spied a stately gallery; allOf snow-white marble was the wall,The vaulting, and the floor;And, contrast strange! on either handThere stood array'd in sable bandFour maids whom Afric bore;And each a Lybian tiger led,Held by as bright and frail a threadAs Lucy's golden hair,For the leash that bound these monsters dreadWas but of gossamer,Each Maiden's short barbaric vest,Left all unclosed the knee and breast,And limbs of shapely jet;White was their vest and turban's fold,On arms and ankles rings of goldIn savage pomp were set;A quiver on their shoulders lay,And in their hand an assagay.Such and so silent stood they there,That Roland wellnigh hopedHe saw a band of statues rare,Station'd the gazer's soul to scare;But, when the wicket oped,Each grisly beast 'gan upward draw,Roll'd his grim eye, and spread his claw,Scented the air, and lick'd his jaw;While these weird Maids, in Moorish tongue,A wild and dismal warning sung.
"Rash adventurer, bear thee back!Dread the spell of Dahomay!Fear the race of Zaharak,[25]Daughters of the burning day!
"When the whirlwind's gusts are wheeling,Ours it is the dance to braid;Zarah's sands in pillars reeling,Join the measure that we tread,When the Moon has donn'd her cloak,And the stars are red to see,Shrill when pipes the sad Siroc,Music meet for such as we.
"Where the shatter'd columns lie,Showing Carthage once had been,If the wandering Santon's eyeOur mysterious rites hath seen,—Oft he cons the prayer of death,To the nations preaches doom,'Asrael's brand hath left the sheath!Moslems, think upon the tomb!'
"Ours the scorpion, ours the snake,Ours the hydra of the fen,Ours the tiger of the brake,All that plagues the sons of men.Ours the tempest's midnight wrack,Pestilence that wastes by day—Dread the race of Zaharak!Fear the spell of Dahomay!"
Uncouth and strange the accents shrillRung those vaulted roofs among,Long it was ere, faint and still,Died the far-resounding song.While yet the distant echoes roll,The Warrior communed with his soul."When first I took this venturous quest,I swore upon the rood,Neither to stop, nor turn, nor rest,For evil or for good.My forward path too well I ween,Lies yonder fearful ranks between;For man unarm'd, 'tis bootless hopeWith tigers and with fiends to cope—Yet, if I turn, what waits me there,Save famine dire and fell despair?—Other conclusion let me try,Since, choose howe'er I list, I die.Forward, lies faith and knightly fame;Behind, are perjury and shame.In life or death I hold my word!"With that he drew his trusty sword,Caught down a banner from the wall,And enter'd thus the fearful hall.
On high each wayward Maiden threwHer swarthy arm, with wild haloo!On either side a tiger sprung—Against the leftward foe he flungThe ready banner, to engageWith tangling folds the brutal rage;The right-hand monster in mid airHe struck so fiercely and so fair,Through gullet and through spinal boneThe trenchant blade hath sheerly gone.His grisly brethren ramp'd and yell'd,But the slight leash their rage withheld,Whilst, 'twixt their ranks, the dangerous roadFirmly, though swift, the champion strode.Safe to the gallery's bound he drew,Safe pass'd an open portal through;And when against pursuit he flungThe gate, judge if the echoes rung!Onward his daring course he bore,While, mix'd with dying growl and roar,Wild jubilee and loud hurraPursued him on his venturous way.
"Hurra, hurra! Our watch is done!We hail once more the tropic sun.Pallid beams of northern day,Farewell, farewell! Hurra, hurra!
"Five hundred years o'er this cold glenHath the pale sun come round again;Foot of man, till now, hath ne'erDared to cross the Hall of Fear.
"Warrior! thou, whose dauntless heartGives us from our ward to part.Be as strong in future trial,Where resistance is denial.
"Now for Afric's glowing sky,Zwenga wide and Atlas high,Zaharak and Dahomay!——Mount the winds! Hurra, hurra!"
The wizard song at distance died,As if in ether borne astray,While through waste halls and chambers wideThe Knight pursued his steady way.Till to a lofty dome he came,That flash'd with such a brilliant flame,As if the wealth of all the worldWere there in rich confusion hurl'd.For here the gold, in sandy heaps,With duller earth incorporate, sleeps;Was there in ingots piled, and thereCoin'd badge of empery it bare;Yonder, huge bars of silver lay,Dimm'd by the diamond's neighbouring ray,Like the pale moon in morning day;And in the midst four maidens stand,The daughters of some distant land.Their hue was of the dark-red dye,That fringes oft a thunder sky;Their hands palmetto baskets bare,And cotton fillets bound their hair;Slim was their form, their mien was shy,To earth they bent the humbled eye,Folded their arms, and suppliant kneel'd,And thus their proffer'd gifts reveal'd.
CHORUS.
"See the treasures Merlin piled,Portion meet for Arthur's child.Bathe in Wealth's unbounded stream,Wealth that avarice ne'er could dream!"
"See the treasures Merlin piled,Portion meet for Arthur's child.Bathe in Wealth's unbounded stream,Wealth that avarice ne'er could dream!"
FIRST MAIDEN.
"See these clots of virgin gold!Sever'd from the sparry mould,Nature's mystic alchemyIn the mine thus bade them lie;And their orient smile can winKings to stoop, and saints to sin."—
"See these clots of virgin gold!Sever'd from the sparry mould,Nature's mystic alchemyIn the mine thus bade them lie;And their orient smile can winKings to stoop, and saints to sin."—
SECOND MAIDEN.
"See these pearls that long have slept;These were tears by Naiads weptFor the loss of Marinel.Tritons in the silver shellTreasured them, till hard and whiteAs the teeth of Amphitrite."—
"See these pearls that long have slept;These were tears by Naiads weptFor the loss of Marinel.Tritons in the silver shellTreasured them, till hard and whiteAs the teeth of Amphitrite."—
THIRD MAIDEN.
"Does a livelier hue delight?Here are rubies blazing bright,Here the emerald's fairy green,And the topaz glows between;Here their varied hues unite,In the changeful chrysolite."—
"Does a livelier hue delight?Here are rubies blazing bright,Here the emerald's fairy green,And the topaz glows between;Here their varied hues unite,In the changeful chrysolite."—
FOURTH MAIDEN.
"Leave these gems of poorer shine,Leave them all, and look on mine!While their glories I expand,Shade thine eyebrows with thy hand.Mid-day sun and diamond's blazeBlind the rash beholder's gaze."—
"Leave these gems of poorer shine,Leave them all, and look on mine!While their glories I expand,Shade thine eyebrows with thy hand.Mid-day sun and diamond's blazeBlind the rash beholder's gaze."—
CHORUS.
"Warrior, seize the splendid store;Would 'twere all our mountains bore!We should ne'er in future story,Read, Peru, thy perish'd glory!"Calmly and unconcerned, the KnightWaved aside the treasures bright:"Gentle Maidens, rise, I pray!Bar not thus my destined way.Let these boasted brilliant toysBraid the hair of girls and boys!Bid your streams of gold expandO'er proud London's thirsty land.De Vaux of wealth saw never need,Save to purvey him arms and steed,And all the ore he deign'd to hoardInlays his helm and hilts his sword."Thus gently parting from their hold,He left, unmoved, the dome of gold.And now the morning sun was high,De Vaux was weary, faint, and dry;When lo! a plashing sound he hears,A gladsome signal that he nearsSome frolic water-run;And soon he reach'd a court-yard square,Where, dancing in the sultry air,Toss'd high aloft, a fountain fairWas sparkling in the sun.On right and left, a fair arcade,In long perspective view displayedAlleys and bowers, for sun or shade:But, full in front, a door,Low-brow'd and dark, seem'd as it ledTo the lone dwelling of the dead,Whose memory was no more.Here stopp'd De Vaux an instant's space,To bathe his parched lips and face,And mark'd with well-pleased eye,Refracted on the fountain stream,In rainbow hues, the dazzling beamOf that gay summer sky.His senses felt a mild control,Like that which lulls the weary soul,From contemplation highRelaxing, when the ear receivesThe music that the greenwood leavesMake to the breezes' sigh.And oft in such a dreamy mood,The half-shut eye can frameFair apparitions in the wood,As if the nymphs of field and floodIn gay procession came.Are these of such fantastic mould,Seen distant down the fair arcade,These maids enlink'd in sister-fold,Who, late at bashful distance staid,Now tripping from the greenwood shade,Nearer the musing champion draw,And, in a pause of seeming awe,Again stand doubtful now?—Ah, that sly pause of witching powers!That seems to say, "To please be ours,Be yours to tell us how."Their hue was of the golden glowThat suns of Candahar bestow,O'er which in slight suffusion, flowsA frequent tinge of paly rose;Their limbs were fashion'd fair and free,In nature's justest symmetry;And, wreathed with flowers, with odours graced,Their raven ringlets reached the waist:In eastern pomp, its gilding paleThe hennah lent each shapely nail,And the dark sumah gave the eyeMore liquid and more lustrous dye.The spotless veil of misty lawn,In studied disarrangement, drawnThe form and bosom o'er,To win the eye, or tempt the touch,For modesty show'd all too much—Too much, yet promised more."Gentle Knight, a while delay,"Thus they sung, "thy toilsome way,While we pay the duty dueTo our Master and to you.Over Avarice, over Fear,Love triumphant led thee here;Warrior, list to us, for weAre slaves to Love, are friends to thee.Though no treasured gems have we,To proffer on the bended knee,Though we boast nor arm nor heartFor the assagay or dart,Swains allow each simple girlRuby lip and teeth of pearl!Or, if dangers more you prize,Flatterers find them in our eyes."Stay, then, gentle Warrior, stay,Rest till evening steal on day;Stay, O, stay!—in yonder bowersWe will braid thy locks with flowers,Spread the feast and fill the wine,Charm thy ear with sounds divine,Weave our dances till delightYield to languor, day to night."Then shall she you most approve,Sing the lays that best you love,Soft thy mossy couch shall spread,Watch thy pillow, prop thy head,Till the weary night be o'er—Gentle Warrior, wouldst thou more?Wouldst thou more, fair Warrior,—sheIs slave to Love and slave to thee."O, do not hold it for a crimeIn the bold hero of my rhyme.For Stoic look,And meet rebuke,He lack'd the heart or time;And round the band of sirens trip,He kiss'd one damsel's laughing lip,And press'd another's proffer'd hand,Spoke to them all in accents bland,But broke their magic circle through;"Kind Maids," he said, "adieu, adieu!My fate, my fortune, forward lies."He said, and vanish'd from their eyes;But, as he dared that darksome way,Still heard behind their lovely lay:"Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart!Go, where the feelings of the heartWith the warm pulse in concord move;Go, where Virtue sanctions Love!"Downward De Vaux through darksome waysAnd ruin'd vaults has gone,Till issue from their wilder'd maze,Or safe retreat, seem'd none,And e'en the dismal path he straysGrew worse as he went on.For cheerful sun, for living air,Foul vapours rise and mine-fires glare,Whose fearful light the dangers show'dThat dogg'd him on that dreadful road.Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun,They show'd, but show'd not how to shun,These scenes of desolate despair,These smothering clouds of poison'd air,How gladly had De Vaux exchanged,Though 'twere to face yon tigers ranged!Nay, soothful bards have said,So perilous his state seem'd now,He wish'd him under arbour boughWith Asia's willing maid.When, joyful sound! at distance nearA trumpet flourish'd loud and clear,And as it ceased, a lofty laySeem'd thus to chide his lagging way:—"Son of Honour, theme of story,Think on the reward before ye!Danger, darkness, toil despise;'Tis ambition bids thee rise."He that would her heights ascend,Many a weary step must wend;Hand and foot and knee he tries,Thus ambition's minions rise."Lag not now, though rough the way,Fortune's mood brooks no delay;Grasp the boon that's spread before ye,Monarch's power, and Conqueror's glory!"It ceased. Advancing on the sound,A steep ascent the Wanderer found,And then a turret stair:Nor climb'd he far its steepy roundTill fresher blew the air,And next a welcome glimpse was given,That cheer'd him with the light of heaven.At length his toil had wonA lofty hall with trophies dress'd,Where, as to greet imperial guest,Four maidens stood, whose crimson vestWas bound with golden zone.Of Europe seem'd the damsels all;The first a nymph of lively Gaul,Whose easy step and laughing eyeHer borrow'd air of awe belie;The next a maid of Spain,Dark-eyed, dark-hair'd, sedate, yet bold;White ivory skin and tress of gold,Her shy and bashful comrade toldFor daughter of Almaine,These maidens bore a royal robe,With crown, with sceptre, and with globe,Emblems of empery;The fourth a space behind them stood,And leant upon a harp, in moodOf minstrel ecstacy.Of merry England she, in dressLike ancient British Druidess:Her hair an azure fillet bound,Her graceful vesture swept the ground,And, in her hand displayed,A crown did that fourth Maiden hold,But unadorned with gems and gold,Of glossy laurel made.At once to brave De Vaux knelt downThese foremost maidens three,And proffer'd sceptre, robe, and crown,Liegedom and seignorie,O'er many a region wide and fair,Destined, they said, for Arthur's heir;But homage would he none:—"Rather," he said, "De Vaux would ride,A Warden of the Border-side,In plate and mail, than, robed in pride,A monarch's empire own;Rather, far rather, would he be,A free-born knight of England free,Than sit on Despot's throne."So pass'd he on, when that fourth Maid,As starting from a trance,Upon the harp her finger laid;Her magic touch the chords obey'd,Their soul awaked at once!
"Warrior, seize the splendid store;Would 'twere all our mountains bore!We should ne'er in future story,Read, Peru, thy perish'd glory!"
Calmly and unconcerned, the KnightWaved aside the treasures bright:"Gentle Maidens, rise, I pray!Bar not thus my destined way.Let these boasted brilliant toysBraid the hair of girls and boys!Bid your streams of gold expandO'er proud London's thirsty land.De Vaux of wealth saw never need,Save to purvey him arms and steed,And all the ore he deign'd to hoardInlays his helm and hilts his sword."Thus gently parting from their hold,He left, unmoved, the dome of gold.
And now the morning sun was high,De Vaux was weary, faint, and dry;When lo! a plashing sound he hears,A gladsome signal that he nearsSome frolic water-run;And soon he reach'd a court-yard square,Where, dancing in the sultry air,Toss'd high aloft, a fountain fairWas sparkling in the sun.On right and left, a fair arcade,In long perspective view displayedAlleys and bowers, for sun or shade:But, full in front, a door,Low-brow'd and dark, seem'd as it ledTo the lone dwelling of the dead,Whose memory was no more.
Here stopp'd De Vaux an instant's space,To bathe his parched lips and face,And mark'd with well-pleased eye,Refracted on the fountain stream,In rainbow hues, the dazzling beamOf that gay summer sky.His senses felt a mild control,Like that which lulls the weary soul,From contemplation highRelaxing, when the ear receivesThe music that the greenwood leavesMake to the breezes' sigh.
And oft in such a dreamy mood,The half-shut eye can frameFair apparitions in the wood,As if the nymphs of field and floodIn gay procession came.Are these of such fantastic mould,Seen distant down the fair arcade,These maids enlink'd in sister-fold,Who, late at bashful distance staid,Now tripping from the greenwood shade,Nearer the musing champion draw,And, in a pause of seeming awe,Again stand doubtful now?—Ah, that sly pause of witching powers!That seems to say, "To please be ours,Be yours to tell us how."Their hue was of the golden glowThat suns of Candahar bestow,O'er which in slight suffusion, flowsA frequent tinge of paly rose;Their limbs were fashion'd fair and free,In nature's justest symmetry;And, wreathed with flowers, with odours graced,Their raven ringlets reached the waist:In eastern pomp, its gilding paleThe hennah lent each shapely nail,And the dark sumah gave the eyeMore liquid and more lustrous dye.The spotless veil of misty lawn,In studied disarrangement, drawnThe form and bosom o'er,To win the eye, or tempt the touch,For modesty show'd all too much—Too much, yet promised more.
"Gentle Knight, a while delay,"Thus they sung, "thy toilsome way,While we pay the duty dueTo our Master and to you.Over Avarice, over Fear,Love triumphant led thee here;Warrior, list to us, for weAre slaves to Love, are friends to thee.Though no treasured gems have we,To proffer on the bended knee,Though we boast nor arm nor heartFor the assagay or dart,Swains allow each simple girlRuby lip and teeth of pearl!Or, if dangers more you prize,Flatterers find them in our eyes.
"Stay, then, gentle Warrior, stay,Rest till evening steal on day;Stay, O, stay!—in yonder bowersWe will braid thy locks with flowers,Spread the feast and fill the wine,Charm thy ear with sounds divine,Weave our dances till delightYield to languor, day to night.
"Then shall she you most approve,Sing the lays that best you love,Soft thy mossy couch shall spread,Watch thy pillow, prop thy head,Till the weary night be o'er—Gentle Warrior, wouldst thou more?Wouldst thou more, fair Warrior,—sheIs slave to Love and slave to thee."
O, do not hold it for a crimeIn the bold hero of my rhyme.For Stoic look,And meet rebuke,He lack'd the heart or time;And round the band of sirens trip,He kiss'd one damsel's laughing lip,And press'd another's proffer'd hand,Spoke to them all in accents bland,But broke their magic circle through;"Kind Maids," he said, "adieu, adieu!My fate, my fortune, forward lies."He said, and vanish'd from their eyes;But, as he dared that darksome way,Still heard behind their lovely lay:"Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart!Go, where the feelings of the heartWith the warm pulse in concord move;Go, where Virtue sanctions Love!"
Downward De Vaux through darksome waysAnd ruin'd vaults has gone,Till issue from their wilder'd maze,Or safe retreat, seem'd none,And e'en the dismal path he straysGrew worse as he went on.
For cheerful sun, for living air,Foul vapours rise and mine-fires glare,Whose fearful light the dangers show'dThat dogg'd him on that dreadful road.Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun,They show'd, but show'd not how to shun,These scenes of desolate despair,These smothering clouds of poison'd air,How gladly had De Vaux exchanged,Though 'twere to face yon tigers ranged!Nay, soothful bards have said,So perilous his state seem'd now,He wish'd him under arbour boughWith Asia's willing maid.When, joyful sound! at distance nearA trumpet flourish'd loud and clear,And as it ceased, a lofty laySeem'd thus to chide his lagging way:—
"Son of Honour, theme of story,Think on the reward before ye!Danger, darkness, toil despise;'Tis ambition bids thee rise.
"He that would her heights ascend,Many a weary step must wend;Hand and foot and knee he tries,Thus ambition's minions rise.
"Lag not now, though rough the way,Fortune's mood brooks no delay;Grasp the boon that's spread before ye,Monarch's power, and Conqueror's glory!"
It ceased. Advancing on the sound,A steep ascent the Wanderer found,And then a turret stair:Nor climb'd he far its steepy roundTill fresher blew the air,And next a welcome glimpse was given,That cheer'd him with the light of heaven.At length his toil had wonA lofty hall with trophies dress'd,Where, as to greet imperial guest,Four maidens stood, whose crimson vestWas bound with golden zone.
Of Europe seem'd the damsels all;The first a nymph of lively Gaul,Whose easy step and laughing eyeHer borrow'd air of awe belie;The next a maid of Spain,Dark-eyed, dark-hair'd, sedate, yet bold;White ivory skin and tress of gold,Her shy and bashful comrade toldFor daughter of Almaine,These maidens bore a royal robe,With crown, with sceptre, and with globe,Emblems of empery;The fourth a space behind them stood,And leant upon a harp, in moodOf minstrel ecstacy.Of merry England she, in dressLike ancient British Druidess:Her hair an azure fillet bound,Her graceful vesture swept the ground,And, in her hand displayed,A crown did that fourth Maiden hold,But unadorned with gems and gold,Of glossy laurel made.
At once to brave De Vaux knelt downThese foremost maidens three,And proffer'd sceptre, robe, and crown,Liegedom and seignorie,O'er many a region wide and fair,Destined, they said, for Arthur's heir;But homage would he none:—"Rather," he said, "De Vaux would ride,A Warden of the Border-side,In plate and mail, than, robed in pride,A monarch's empire own;Rather, far rather, would he be,A free-born knight of England free,Than sit on Despot's throne."So pass'd he on, when that fourth Maid,As starting from a trance,Upon the harp her finger laid;Her magic touch the chords obey'd,Their soul awaked at once!