THE ETRURIAN NÆNIÆ.Where art thou, pale and melancholy ghost?No funeral rites appease thy tombless clay;Unburied, glidest thou by the dismal coast,O exile from the day?There, where the voice of love is heard no more,Where the dull wave moans back the eternal wail,Dost thou recall the summer suns of yore,Thine own melodious vale?Thy Lares stand on thy deserted floors,And miss their last sweet daughter's holy face;What hand shall wreathe with flowers the threshold doors?What child renew the race?Thine are the nuptials of the dreary shades,Of all thy groves what rests?—the cypress tree!As from the air a strain of music fades,Dark silence buries thee!Yet no, lost child of more than mortal sires,Thy stranger bridegroom bears thee to his home,Where the stars light the Æsars' nuptial firesIn Tina's azure dome;From the fierce wave the god's celestial wingRapt thee aloft along the yielding air;With amaranths fresh from heaven's eternal spring,Bright Cupra[13]braids thy hair,Ah, in those halls for us thou wilt not mourn,Far are the Æsars' joys from human woe:But not the less forsaken and forlornThose thou hast left below!Never, oh never more, shall we behold thee,The last spark dies upon the sacred hearth;Art thou less lost, though heavenly arms enfold thee—Art thou less lost to earth?Slow swells the sorrowing Næniæ's chanted strain:Time, with slow flutes, our leaden footsteps keep;Sad earth, whate'er the happier heaven may gain,Hath but a loss to weep.THE CHRISTIAN FUNERAL HYMNSing we Halleluiah—singingHalleluiah to the Three;Where, vain Death, oh, where thy stinging?Where, O Grave, thy victory?As a sun a soul hath risen,Rising from a stormy main;When a captive breaks the prison,Who but slaves would mourn the chainFear for age subdued by trial,Heavy with the years of sin:When the sunlight leaves the dial,And the solemn shades begin;—Notfor youth!—although the bosomWith a sharper grief be wrung;For the May wind strews the blossom,And the angel takes the young!Saved from sins, while yet forgiven;—From the joys that lead astray,From the earth at war with heaven,Soar, O happy soul, away!From the human love that fadeth,In the falsehood or the tomb;From the cloud that darkly shadeth;From the canker in the bloom;Thou hast pass'd to suns unsetting,Where the rainbow spans the flood,Where no moth the garb is fretting,Where no worm is in the bud.Let the arrow leave the quiver,It was fashioned but to soar;Let the wave pass from the river,Into ocean evermore!Mindful yet of mortal feeling,In thy fresh immortal birth;By the Virgin mother kneeling,Plead for those beloved on earth.Whisper them thou hast forsaken,"Woe but borders unbelief!"Comfort smiles in faith unshaken:Shall thy glory be their grief?Let one ray on them descending,From the prophet Future stream;Bliss is daylight never ending,Sorrow but a passing dream.O'er the grave in far communion,With the choral Seraphim,Chaunt in notes that hail reunion,Chaunt the Christian's funeral hymn;—Singing Halleluiah—singingHalleluiah to the Three;Where, vain Death, oh where thy stinging?Where, O Grave, thy victory?
THE ETRURIAN NÆNIÆ.Where art thou, pale and melancholy ghost?No funeral rites appease thy tombless clay;Unburied, glidest thou by the dismal coast,O exile from the day?There, where the voice of love is heard no more,Where the dull wave moans back the eternal wail,Dost thou recall the summer suns of yore,Thine own melodious vale?Thy Lares stand on thy deserted floors,And miss their last sweet daughter's holy face;What hand shall wreathe with flowers the threshold doors?What child renew the race?Thine are the nuptials of the dreary shades,Of all thy groves what rests?—the cypress tree!As from the air a strain of music fades,Dark silence buries thee!Yet no, lost child of more than mortal sires,Thy stranger bridegroom bears thee to his home,Where the stars light the Æsars' nuptial firesIn Tina's azure dome;From the fierce wave the god's celestial wingRapt thee aloft along the yielding air;With amaranths fresh from heaven's eternal spring,Bright Cupra[13]braids thy hair,Ah, in those halls for us thou wilt not mourn,Far are the Æsars' joys from human woe:But not the less forsaken and forlornThose thou hast left below!Never, oh never more, shall we behold thee,The last spark dies upon the sacred hearth;Art thou less lost, though heavenly arms enfold thee—Art thou less lost to earth?Slow swells the sorrowing Næniæ's chanted strain:Time, with slow flutes, our leaden footsteps keep;Sad earth, whate'er the happier heaven may gain,Hath but a loss to weep.
THE ETRURIAN NÆNIÆ.
Where art thou, pale and melancholy ghost?No funeral rites appease thy tombless clay;Unburied, glidest thou by the dismal coast,O exile from the day?
There, where the voice of love is heard no more,Where the dull wave moans back the eternal wail,Dost thou recall the summer suns of yore,Thine own melodious vale?
Thy Lares stand on thy deserted floors,And miss their last sweet daughter's holy face;What hand shall wreathe with flowers the threshold doors?What child renew the race?
Thine are the nuptials of the dreary shades,Of all thy groves what rests?—the cypress tree!As from the air a strain of music fades,Dark silence buries thee!
Yet no, lost child of more than mortal sires,Thy stranger bridegroom bears thee to his home,Where the stars light the Æsars' nuptial firesIn Tina's azure dome;
From the fierce wave the god's celestial wingRapt thee aloft along the yielding air;With amaranths fresh from heaven's eternal spring,Bright Cupra[13]braids thy hair,
Ah, in those halls for us thou wilt not mourn,Far are the Æsars' joys from human woe:But not the less forsaken and forlornThose thou hast left below!
Never, oh never more, shall we behold thee,The last spark dies upon the sacred hearth;Art thou less lost, though heavenly arms enfold thee—Art thou less lost to earth?
Slow swells the sorrowing Næniæ's chanted strain:Time, with slow flutes, our leaden footsteps keep;Sad earth, whate'er the happier heaven may gain,Hath but a loss to weep.
THE CHRISTIAN FUNERAL HYMNSing we Halleluiah—singingHalleluiah to the Three;Where, vain Death, oh, where thy stinging?Where, O Grave, thy victory?As a sun a soul hath risen,Rising from a stormy main;When a captive breaks the prison,Who but slaves would mourn the chainFear for age subdued by trial,Heavy with the years of sin:When the sunlight leaves the dial,And the solemn shades begin;—Notfor youth!—although the bosomWith a sharper grief be wrung;For the May wind strews the blossom,And the angel takes the young!Saved from sins, while yet forgiven;—From the joys that lead astray,From the earth at war with heaven,Soar, O happy soul, away!From the human love that fadeth,In the falsehood or the tomb;From the cloud that darkly shadeth;From the canker in the bloom;Thou hast pass'd to suns unsetting,Where the rainbow spans the flood,Where no moth the garb is fretting,Where no worm is in the bud.Let the arrow leave the quiver,It was fashioned but to soar;Let the wave pass from the river,Into ocean evermore!Mindful yet of mortal feeling,In thy fresh immortal birth;By the Virgin mother kneeling,Plead for those beloved on earth.Whisper them thou hast forsaken,"Woe but borders unbelief!"Comfort smiles in faith unshaken:Shall thy glory be their grief?Let one ray on them descending,From the prophet Future stream;Bliss is daylight never ending,Sorrow but a passing dream.O'er the grave in far communion,With the choral Seraphim,Chaunt in notes that hail reunion,Chaunt the Christian's funeral hymn;—Singing Halleluiah—singingHalleluiah to the Three;Where, vain Death, oh where thy stinging?Where, O Grave, thy victory?
THE CHRISTIAN FUNERAL HYMN
Sing we Halleluiah—singingHalleluiah to the Three;Where, vain Death, oh, where thy stinging?Where, O Grave, thy victory?
As a sun a soul hath risen,Rising from a stormy main;When a captive breaks the prison,Who but slaves would mourn the chain
Fear for age subdued by trial,Heavy with the years of sin:When the sunlight leaves the dial,And the solemn shades begin;—
Notfor youth!—although the bosomWith a sharper grief be wrung;For the May wind strews the blossom,And the angel takes the young!
Saved from sins, while yet forgiven;—From the joys that lead astray,From the earth at war with heaven,Soar, O happy soul, away!
From the human love that fadeth,In the falsehood or the tomb;From the cloud that darkly shadeth;From the canker in the bloom;
Thou hast pass'd to suns unsetting,Where the rainbow spans the flood,Where no moth the garb is fretting,Where no worm is in the bud.
Let the arrow leave the quiver,It was fashioned but to soar;Let the wave pass from the river,Into ocean evermore!
Mindful yet of mortal feeling,In thy fresh immortal birth;By the Virgin mother kneeling,Plead for those beloved on earth.
Whisper them thou hast forsaken,"Woe but borders unbelief!"Comfort smiles in faith unshaken:Shall thy glory be their grief?
Let one ray on them descending,From the prophet Future stream;Bliss is daylight never ending,Sorrow but a passing dream.
O'er the grave in far communion,With the choral Seraphim,Chaunt in notes that hail reunion,Chaunt the Christian's funeral hymn;—
Singing Halleluiah—singingHalleluiah to the Three;Where, vain Death, oh where thy stinging?Where, O Grave, thy victory?
So rests the child of creeds before the Greek's,102In our Lord's holy ground—between the wallsOf the grey convent and the verdant creeksOf the sequester'd mere; afar the fallsOf the fierce torrent from her native vale,Vex the calm wave, and groan upon the gale.Survives that remnant of old races still,103In its strange haven from the surge of Time?There yet do Camsee's songs at sunset thrill,At the same hour when here, the vesper chimeHymns the sweet Mother? Ah, can granite gate,Cataract, and Alp, exclude the steps of Fate?World-wearied man, thou knowest not on the earth104What regions lie beyond, yet near, thy ken!But couldst thou find them, where would be the worth?Life but repeats its triple tale to men.Three truths unite the children of the sod—All love—all suffer—and all feel a God!By Ægle's grave the royal mourner sate,105And from his bended eyes the veiling handShut out the setting sun; thus, desolate,He sate, with Memory in her spirit-land,And took no heed of Lancelot's soothing words,Vain to the oak, bolt-shatter'd, sing the birds!Vain is their promise of returning spring!106Spring may give leaves, can spring reclose the core?Comfort not sorrow—sorrow's self must bringIts own stern cure!—All wisdom's holiest lore,The "KNOW THYSELF" descends from heaven in tears;The cloud must break before the horizon clears.The dove forsook not:—now its poisèd wing,107Bathed in the sunset, rested o'er the lake;Now brooded o'er the grave beside the King;Now with hush'd plumes, as if it fear'd to wakeSleep, less serene than Death's, it sought his breast,And o'er the heart of misery claim'd its nest.Night falls—the moon is at her full;—the mere108Shines with the sheen pellucid; not a breeze!And through the hush'd and argent atmosphereSharp rise the summits of the breathless trees.When Lancelot saw, all indistinct and pale,Glide o'er the liquid glass a mistlike sail.Now, first from Arthur's dreams of fever gain'd,109And since (for grief unlocks the secret heart)Briefly confess'd, the triple toil ordain'dThe knightly brother knew;—so with a startHe strain'd the eyes, to which a fairy gaveVision of fairy forms, along the wave.Then in his own the King's cold hand he took,110And spoke—"Arise, thy mission calls thee now!Let the dead rest—still lives thy country!—look,And nerve thy knighthood to redeem its vow.This is the lake whose waves the falchion hide,And yon the bark that becks thee to the tide!"The mourner listless rose, and look'd abroad,111Nor saw the sail;—though nearer, clearer gliding,The Fairy nurseling, by the vapoury shroudAnd vapoury helm, beheld a phantom guiding."Not this," replied the King, "the lake decreed;Where points thy hand, but floats a broken reed!"Where are the dangers on that placid tide?112Where are the fiends that guard the enchanted boonBehold, where rests the pilgrim's plumèd guideOn the cold grave—beneath the quiet moon!So night gives rest to grief—with labouring dayLet the dove lead, and life resume, the way!"Then answer'd Lancelot—for he was wise113In each mysterious Druid parable:—"Oft in the things most simple to our eyes,The real genii of our doom may dwell—The enchanter spoke of trials to befal;And the lone heart has trials worse than all!"Weird triads tell us that our nature knows114In its own cells the demons it should brave;And oft the calm of after glory flowsClear round the marge of early passion's grave!"And the dove came ere Lancelot ceased to speak,To its lord's hand—a leaflet in its beak,Pluck'd from the grave! Then Arthur's labouring thought115Recall'd the prophet words—and doubt was o'er;He knew the lake that hid the boon he soughtBoth by the grave, and by the herb it bore;He took the bitter treasure from the dove,And tasted Knowledge at the grave of Love,And straight the film fell from his heavy eyes;116And moor'd beside the marge, he saw the bark,And by the sails that swell'd in windless skies,The phantom Lady in the robes of dark.O'er moonlit tracks she stretch'd the shadowy hand,And lo, beneath the waters bloom'd the land!Forests of emerald verdure spread below,117Through which proud columns glisten far and wide,On to the bark the mourner's footsteps go;The pale King stands by the pale phantom's side;And Lancelot sprang—but sudden from his reachGlanced the wan skiff, and left him on the beach.Chain'd to the earth by spells, more strong than love,118He saw the pinnace steal its noiseless way,And on the mast there sate the steadfast dove,With white plume shining in the steadfast ray—Slow from the sight the airy vessel glides,Till Heaven alone is mirror'd on the tides.
So rests the child of creeds before the Greek's,102In our Lord's holy ground—between the wallsOf the grey convent and the verdant creeksOf the sequester'd mere; afar the fallsOf the fierce torrent from her native vale,Vex the calm wave, and groan upon the gale.
Survives that remnant of old races still,103In its strange haven from the surge of Time?There yet do Camsee's songs at sunset thrill,At the same hour when here, the vesper chimeHymns the sweet Mother? Ah, can granite gate,Cataract, and Alp, exclude the steps of Fate?
World-wearied man, thou knowest not on the earth104What regions lie beyond, yet near, thy ken!But couldst thou find them, where would be the worth?Life but repeats its triple tale to men.Three truths unite the children of the sod—All love—all suffer—and all feel a God!
By Ægle's grave the royal mourner sate,105And from his bended eyes the veiling handShut out the setting sun; thus, desolate,He sate, with Memory in her spirit-land,And took no heed of Lancelot's soothing words,Vain to the oak, bolt-shatter'd, sing the birds!
Vain is their promise of returning spring!106Spring may give leaves, can spring reclose the core?Comfort not sorrow—sorrow's self must bringIts own stern cure!—All wisdom's holiest lore,The "KNOW THYSELF" descends from heaven in tears;The cloud must break before the horizon clears.
The dove forsook not:—now its poisèd wing,107Bathed in the sunset, rested o'er the lake;Now brooded o'er the grave beside the King;Now with hush'd plumes, as if it fear'd to wakeSleep, less serene than Death's, it sought his breast,And o'er the heart of misery claim'd its nest.
Night falls—the moon is at her full;—the mere108Shines with the sheen pellucid; not a breeze!And through the hush'd and argent atmosphereSharp rise the summits of the breathless trees.When Lancelot saw, all indistinct and pale,Glide o'er the liquid glass a mistlike sail.
Now, first from Arthur's dreams of fever gain'd,109And since (for grief unlocks the secret heart)Briefly confess'd, the triple toil ordain'dThe knightly brother knew;—so with a startHe strain'd the eyes, to which a fairy gaveVision of fairy forms, along the wave.
Then in his own the King's cold hand he took,110And spoke—"Arise, thy mission calls thee now!Let the dead rest—still lives thy country!—look,And nerve thy knighthood to redeem its vow.This is the lake whose waves the falchion hide,And yon the bark that becks thee to the tide!"
The mourner listless rose, and look'd abroad,111Nor saw the sail;—though nearer, clearer gliding,The Fairy nurseling, by the vapoury shroudAnd vapoury helm, beheld a phantom guiding."Not this," replied the King, "the lake decreed;Where points thy hand, but floats a broken reed!
"Where are the dangers on that placid tide?112Where are the fiends that guard the enchanted boonBehold, where rests the pilgrim's plumèd guideOn the cold grave—beneath the quiet moon!So night gives rest to grief—with labouring dayLet the dove lead, and life resume, the way!"
Then answer'd Lancelot—for he was wise113In each mysterious Druid parable:—"Oft in the things most simple to our eyes,The real genii of our doom may dwell—The enchanter spoke of trials to befal;And the lone heart has trials worse than all!
"Weird triads tell us that our nature knows114In its own cells the demons it should brave;And oft the calm of after glory flowsClear round the marge of early passion's grave!"And the dove came ere Lancelot ceased to speak,To its lord's hand—a leaflet in its beak,
Pluck'd from the grave! Then Arthur's labouring thought115Recall'd the prophet words—and doubt was o'er;He knew the lake that hid the boon he soughtBoth by the grave, and by the herb it bore;He took the bitter treasure from the dove,And tasted Knowledge at the grave of Love,
And straight the film fell from his heavy eyes;116And moor'd beside the marge, he saw the bark,And by the sails that swell'd in windless skies,The phantom Lady in the robes of dark.O'er moonlit tracks she stretch'd the shadowy hand,And lo, beneath the waters bloom'd the land!
Forests of emerald verdure spread below,117Through which proud columns glisten far and wide,On to the bark the mourner's footsteps go;The pale King stands by the pale phantom's side;And Lancelot sprang—but sudden from his reachGlanced the wan skiff, and left him on the beach.
Chain'd to the earth by spells, more strong than love,118He saw the pinnace steal its noiseless way,And on the mast there sate the steadfast dove,With white plume shining in the steadfast ray—Slow from the sight the airy vessel glides,Till Heaven alone is mirror'd on the tides.
Description of the Cymrian fire-beacons—Dialogue between Gawaine and Caradoc—The raven—Merlin announces to Gawaine that the bird selects him for the aid of the King—The knight's pious scruples—He yields reluctantly, and receives the raven as his guide—His pathetic farewell to Caradoc—He confers with Henricus on the propriety of exorcising the raven—Character of Henricus—The knight sets out on his adventures—The company he meets, and the obligation he incurs—The bride and the sword—The bride's choice and the hound's fidelity—Sir Gawaine lies down to sleep under the fairy's oak—What there befalls him—The fairy banquet—The temptation of Sir Gawaine—The rebuke of the fairies—Sir Gawaine, much displeased with the raven, resumes his journey—His adventure with the Vikings, and how he comforts himself in his captivity.
Description of the Cymrian fire-beacons—Dialogue between Gawaine and Caradoc—The raven—Merlin announces to Gawaine that the bird selects him for the aid of the King—The knight's pious scruples—He yields reluctantly, and receives the raven as his guide—His pathetic farewell to Caradoc—He confers with Henricus on the propriety of exorcising the raven—Character of Henricus—The knight sets out on his adventures—The company he meets, and the obligation he incurs—The bride and the sword—The bride's choice and the hound's fidelity—Sir Gawaine lies down to sleep under the fairy's oak—What there befalls him—The fairy banquet—The temptation of Sir Gawaine—The rebuke of the fairies—Sir Gawaine, much displeased with the raven, resumes his journey—His adventure with the Vikings, and how he comforts himself in his captivity.
On the bare summit of the loftiest peak—1Crowning the hills round Cymri's Iscan home,Rose the grey temple of the Faith Antique,Before whose priests had paused the march of Rome,When the Dark Isle reveal'd its drear abodes,And the last Hades of Cimmerian gods;While dauntless Druids, by their shrines profaned,2Stretch'd o'er the steel-clad hush, their swordless hands,[1]And dire Religion, horror-breathing, chain'dThe frozen eagles,—till the shuddering bandsShamed into slaughter, broke the ghastly spell,And, lost in reeks of carnage, sunk the hellQuiver'd on column-shafts the poisèd rock,3As if a breeze could shake the ruin down;But storm on storm had sent its thunder-shock,Nor reft the temple of its mystic crown—So awe of Power Divine on human breastsVibrates for ever, and for ever rests.Within the fane awaits a giant pyre,4Around the pyre assembled warriors stand;A pause of prayer;—and suddenly the fireFlings its broad banner reddening o'er the land.Shoot the fierce sparks and groan the crackling pines,Toss'd on the Wave of Shields the glory shines.Lo, from dark night flash Carduel's domes of gold,5Glow the jagg'd rampires like a belt of light.And to the stars springs up the dragon-hold,With one lone image on the lonely height—O'er those who saw a thrilling silence fell;There, the still Prophet watch'd o'er Carduel!Forth on their mission rush'd the wings of flame;6Hill after hill the land's grey warders rose;First to the Mount of Bards the splendour came,Wreath'd with large halo Trigarn's stern repose;On, post by post, the fiery courier rode,Blood-red Edeirnion's dells of verdure glow'd;Uprose the hardy men of Merioneth,7When, o'er the dismal strata parch'd and bleak,Like some revived volcano's lurid breathSprang the fierce fire-jet from the herbless peak;Flash'd down on meeting streams the Basalt walls,In molten flame Rhaiadyr's thunder falls.Thy Faban Mount, Caernarvon, seized the sign,8And pass'd the watchword to the Fairies' Hill;All Mona blazed—as if the isle divineTo Bel, the sun-god, drest her altars still;Menai reflects the prophet hues, and farTo twofold ocean knells the coming war.Then wheeling round, the lurid herald swept9To quench the stars yet struggling with the glareBlithe to his task, resplendent Golcun leapt—The bearded giant rose on Moel-y-Gaer—Rose his six giant brothers,—Eifle rose,And great Eryri lit his chasms of snows.So one vast altar was that father-land!10But nobler altars flash'd in souls of men,Sublimer than the mountain-tops, the brandFound pyres in every lowliest hamlet glenSoon on the rocks shall die the grosser fire—Souls lit to freedom burn till suns expire.Slowly the chiefs desert the blazing fane,11(Sure of steel-harvests from the dragon seed)Descend the mountain and the walls regain;As suns to systems, there to each decreedHis glorious task,—to marshal star on star,And weave with fate the harmonious pomp of war.Last of the noble conclave, linger'd two;12Gawaine the mirthful, Caradoc the mild,And, as the watchfires thicken'd on their view.War's fearless playmate raised his hand and smiled,Pointing to splendours, linking rock to rock;—And while he smiled—sigh'd earnest Caradoc."Now by my head—(an empty oath and light!)13No taller tapers ever lit to restRome's stately Cæsar;—sigh'st thou, at the sight,For cost o'er-lavish, when so mean the guest?""Was it for this the gentle Saviour died?Is Cain so glorious?" Caradoc replied."Permit, Sir Bard, an argument on that,"14True to his fame, said golden-tongued Gawaine,"The hawk may save his fledglings from the cat,Nor yet deserve comparisons with Cain;And Abel's fate, to hands unskill'd, proclaimsThe use of practice in gymnastic games."Woes that have been are wisdom's lesson-books—15From Abel's death, the men of peace should learnTo add an inch of iron to their crooksAnd strike, when struck, a little in return—Had Abel known his quarterstaff, I wot,Those Saxon Ap-Cains ne'er had been begot!"More had he said, but a strange, grating note,16Half laugh—half croak, was here discordant heard;Anaverose—but died within his throat,As close before him perch'd the enchanter's bird,With head aslant, and glittering eye askew,It near'd the knight—the knight in haste withdrew."All saints defend me, and excuse a jest!"17Mutter'd Sir Gawaine—"bird or fiend avaunt:Oh, holy Abel, let this matter rest,I do repent me of my foolish taunt!"With that the cross upon his sword he kist,And stared aghast—the bird was on his wrist."Hem—vade Satanas!—discede! retro,"18The raven croak'd, and fix'd himself afresh;"Avis damnata!—salus sit in Petro,"Ten pointed claws here fasten'd on his flesh;The knight, sore smarting, shook his arm—the birdPeck'd in reproach, and kept its perch unstirr'd.Quoth Caradoc—whose time had come to smile,19And smile he did in grave and placid wise—"Let not thine evil thoughts, my friend, defileThe harmless wing descended from the skies.""Skies!!!" said the knight—"black imps from skies descendWith claws like these!—the world is at an end!""Now shame, Gawaine, O knight of little heart,20How, if a small and inoffensive ravenDismay thee thus, couldst thou have track'd the chartBy which Æneas won his Alban-haven?On Harpies, Scylla, Cerberus, reflect—And undevour'd—rejoice to be but peckt.""True," said a voice behind them,—"gentle bard,21In life as verse, the art is—to compare."Gawaine turn'd short, gazed keenly, and breathed hardAs on the dark-robed magian stream'd the glareOf the huge watch-fire—"Prophet," quoth Gawaine,"My friend scorns pecking—let him try the pain!"Please to call back this—offspring of the skies!22Unworthy I to be his earthly rest!""Methought," said Merlin, "that thy King's emprizeHad found in thine a less reluctant breast;Again is friendship granted to his side—Thee the bird summons, be the bird thy guide."Dumb stared the knight—stared first upon the seer,23Then on the raven,—who, demure and sly,Turn'd on his master a respectful ear,And on Gawaine a magisterial eye."What hath a king with ravens, seer, to do?""Odin, the king of half the world, had two."Peace—if thy friendship answer to its boast,24Arm, take thy steed and with the dawn depart—The bird will lead thee to the ocean coast;Strange are thy trials, stalwart be thy heart.""Seer," quoth Gawaine, "my heart I hope is toughNor needs a prop from this portentous chough."You know the proverb—'birds of the same feather,'25A proverb much enforced in penal laws,[2]—In certain quarters were we seen togetherIt might, I fear, suffice to damn my cause:You cite examples apt and edifying—Odin kept ravens!—well, and Odin's frying!"The enchanter smiled, in pity or in scorn;26The smile was sad, but lofty, calm, and cold—"The straws," he said, "on passing winds upborneDismay the courser—is the man more bold?Dismiss thy terrors, go thy ways, my son,To do thy duty is the fiend to shun."Not for thy sake the bird is given to thee,27But for thy King's."—"Enough," replied the knight,And bow'd his head. The bird rose jocundly,Spread its dark wing and rested in the light—"Sir Bard," to Caradoc the chosen saidIn the close whisper of a knight well bred:"Vow'd to my King—come man, come fiend, I go,28But ne'er expect to see thy friend again,That bird carnivorous hath designs I knowMost Anthropophagous on doom'd Gawaine;I leave you all the goods that most I prize—Three steeds, six hawks, four gre-hounds, two blue eyes."Beat back the Saxons—beat them well, my friend,29And when they're beaten, and your hands at leisure,Set to your harp a ditty on my end—The most appropriate were the shortest measure:Forewarn'd by me all light discourses shun,And mostly—jests on Adam's second son."He said, and wended down the glowing hill.30Long watch'd the minstrel with a wistful gaze,Then join'd the musing seer—and both were still,Still 'mid the ruins—girded with the rays:Twin heirs of light and lords of time, grey TruthThat ne'er is young—and Song the only youth.At dawn Sir Gawaine through the postern stole,31But first he sought one reverend friend—a bishop,By him assoil'd and shrived, he felt his soulToo clean for cooks that fry for fiends to dish up;And then suggested, lighter and elater,To cross the raven with some holy water.Henricus—so the prelate sign'd his name—32Was lord high chancellor in things religious;With him church militant in truth became(Nam cedant arma togæ) church litigious;He kept his deacons notably in aweBy flowers epistolar perfumed with law.No man more stern, morefortiter in re,33No man more mild, moresuaviter in modo;When knots grew tough, it was sublime to seeSuch polish'd shears go clippinglyin nodo;A hand so supple, pliant, glib, and quick,Ne'er smooth'd a band, nor burn'd a heretic.He seem'd to turn to you his willing cheek,34And beg you not to smite too hard the other;He seized his victims with a smile so meek,And wept so fondly o'er his erring brother,No wolf more righteous on a lamb could sup,You vex'd his stream—he grieved—and eat you up."Son," said Henricus, "what you now propose35Is wise and pious—fit for a beginning;But sinful things, I fear me, but disclose,In sin, perverted appetite for sinning;Hopeless to cure—we only can detect it,First cross the bird and then (he groan'd)dissect it!"Till now, the raven perch'd on Gawaine's chair36Had seem'd indulging in a placid doze,And if he heard, he seem'd no jot to careFor threats of sprinkling his demoniac clothes,But when the priest the closing words let dropHe hopp'd away as fast as he could hop.Gain'd a safe corner, on a pile of tomes,37Tracts against Arius—bulls against Pelagius,The church of Cymri's controverse with Rome's—Those fierce materials seem'd to be contagious,For there, with open beak and glowering eye,The bird seem'd croaking forth, "Dissect me! try!"This sight, perchance, the prelate's pious plan38Relax'd; he gazed, recoil'd, and faltering said,"'Tis clear the monster is the foe of man,His beak how pointed! and his eyes how red!Demons are spirits;—spirits, on reflexion,Are forms phantasmal, that defy dissection.""Truly," sigh'd Gawaine, "but the holy water!"39"No," cried the Prelate, "ineffective here.Try, but not now, a simplenoster-pater,Or chaunt a hymn. I dare not interfere;Act for yourself—and say your catechism;Were I to meddle, it would cause a schism.""A schism!"—"The church, though always in the right,40Holds two opinions, both extremely able;This makes the rubric rest on gowns of white,That makes the church itself depend on sable;Were I to exorcise that raven-back'Twould favour white, and raise the deuce in black.[3]"Depart my son—at once, depart, I pray,41Pay up your dues, and keep your mind at ease,And call that creature—no, the other way—When fairly out, acredo, if you please;—Go,—pax vobiscum;—shut the door I beg,And stay;—On Friday, flogging,—with an egg!"Out went the knight, more puzzled than before;42And out, unsprinkled, flew the Stygian bird;The bishop rose, and doubly lock'd the door;His pen he mended, and his fire he stirr'd;Then solved that problem—"Pons Diaconorum,"White equals black, plus x y botherorum.So through the postern stole the troubled knight;43Still as he rode, from forest, mount, and vale,Rung lively horns, and in the morning lightFlash'd the sheen banderoll, and the pomp of mail,The welcome guests of War's blithe festival,Keen for the feast, and summon'd to the hall.Curt answer gave the knight to greeting gay,44And none to taunt from scurril churl unkind,Oft asking, "if he did mistake the way?"—Or hinting, "war was what he left behind;"As noon came on, such sights and comments cease,Lone through the pastures rides the knight in peace.Grave as a funeral mourner rode Gawaine—45The bird went first in most indecent glee,Now lost to sight, now gamb'ling back again—Now munch'd a beetle, and now chaced a bee—Now pluck'd the wool from meditative lamb,Now pick'd a quarrel with a lusty ram.Sharp through his visor, Gawaine watch'd the thing,46With dire misgivings at that impish mirth:Day wax'd—day waned—and still the dusky wingSeem'd not to find one resting-place on earth."Saints," groan'd Gawaine, "have mercy on a sinner,And move that devil—just to stop for dinner!"The bird turn'd round, as if it understood.47Halted the wing, and seem'd awhile to muse;Then dives at once into a dismal wood,And grumbling much, the hungry knight pursues,To hear (and hearing, hope once more revives),Sweet-clinking horns, and gently-clashing knives.An opening glade a pleasant group displays;48Ladies and knights amidst the woodland feast;Around them, reinless, steed and palfrey graze;To earth leaps Gawaine—"I shall dine at least."His casque he doffs—"Good knights and ladies fair,Vouchsafe a famish'd man your feast to share."Loud laugh'd a big, broad-shoulder'd, burly host;49"On two conditions, eat thy fill," quoth he;"Before one dines, 'tis well to know the cost—Thou'lt wed my daughter, and thou'lt fight with me.""Sir Host," said Gawaine, as he stretch'd his platter,"I'll first the pie discuss, and then—the matter."The ladies look'd upon the comely knight50His arch bright eye provoked the smile it found;The men admired that vasty appetite,Meet to do honour to the Table Round;The host, reseated, sent the guest his horn,Brimm'd with pure drinks distill'd from barley corn.Drinks rare in Cymri, true to milder mead,51But long familiar to Milesian lays,So huge that draught, it had dispatch'd with speedTen Irish chiefs in these degenerate days:Sir Gawaine drain'd it, and Sir Gawaine laugh'd,"Cool is your drink, though scanty is the draught;"But, pray you pardon (sir, a slice of boar),52Judged by your accent, mantles, beards, and wine,(If wine this be) ye come fromHuerdan's[4]shore,To aid, no doubt, our kindred Celtic line;Ye saw the watch-fires on our hills at nightAnd march to Carduel? read I, sirs, aright?""Stranger," replied the host, "your guess is wrong,53And shows your lack of history and reflection;Huerdan with Cymri is allied too long,We come, my friend, to sever the connection:But first (your bees are wonderful for honey),Yield us your hives—in plainer words your money.""Friend," said the golden-tongued Gawaine, "methought54Your mines were rich in wealthier ore than ours.""True," said the host, superbly, "were they wrought!But shall Milesians waste in work their powers?Base was that thought, the heartless insult masking,""Faith," said Gawaine, "gold's easier got by asking."Upsprung the host, upsprung the guests in ire—55Unsprung the gentle dames, and fled affrighted;High rose the din, than all the din rose higherThe croak of that curs'd raven quite delighted;Sir Gawaine finish'd his last slice of boar,And said, "Good friends, more business and less roar."If you want peace—shake hands, and peace, I say,56If you want fighting, gramercy! we'll fight.""Ho," cried the host, "your dinner you must pay—The two conditions."—"Host, you're in the right,To fight I'm willing, but to wed I'm loth:I choose the first."—"Your word is bound toboth:"Me first engaged, if conquer'd you are—dead,57And then alone your honour is acquitted:But conquer me, and then you must be wed;You ate!—the contract in that act admitted.""Host," cried the knight, half-stunn'd by all the clatter,"I only said I would discuss the matter."But if your faith upon my word reposed,58That thought alone King Arthur's knight shall bind."Few moments more, and host and guest had closed—For blows come quick when folks are so inclined:They foin'd, they fenced, changed play, and hack'd, and hew'd—Paused, panted, eyed each other and renew'd;At length a dexterous and back-handed blow59Clove the host's casque and bow'd him to his knee."Host," said the Cymrian to his fallen foe;"But for thy dinner wolves should dine on thee;Yield—thou bleed'st badly—yield and ask thy life.""Content," the host replied—"embrace thy wife!""O cursed bird," cried Gawaine, with a groan,60"To what fell trap my wretched feet were carried!My darkest dreams had ne'er this fate foreshown—I sate to dine, I rise—and I am married!O worse than Esau, miserable elf,He sold his birthright—but he kept himself."While thus in doleful and heart-rending strain61Mourn'd the lost knight, the host his daughter led,Placed her soft hand in that of sad Gawaine—"Joy be with both!"—the bridegroom shook his head!"I have a castle which I won by force—Mount, happy man, for thither wends our course:"Page, bind my scalp—to broken scalps we're used.62Your bride, brave son, is worthy of your merit;No man alive has Erin's maids accused,And leastthatmaiden, of a want of spirit;She plies a sword as well as you, fair sir,When out of hand, just try your hand on her."Not once Sir Gawaine lifts his leaden eyes,63To mark the bride by partial father praised,But mounts his steed—the gleesome raven fliesBefore; beside him rides the maid amazed:"Sir Knight," said she at last, with clear loud voice,"I hope your musings do not blame your choice?""Damsel," replied the knight of golden tongue,64As with some effort be replied at all,"Sith our two skeins in one the Fates have strung,My thoughts were guessing when the shears would fall;Much irks it me, lest vow'd to toil and strife,I doom a widow where I make a wife."And sooth to say, despite those matchless charms65Which well might fire our last new saint, Dubricius,To-morrow's morn must snatch me from thine arms;Led to far lands by auguries, not auspicious—Wise to postpone a bond, how dear soever,Till my return."—"Return! that may be never:"What if you fall? (since thus you tempt the Fates)66The yew will flourish where the lily fades;The laidliest widows find consoling matesWith far less trouble than the comeliest maids;Wherefore, Sir Husband, have a cheerful mind,Whate'er may chance your wife will be resign'd."That loving comfort, arguing sense discreet,67But coldly pleased the knight's ungrateful ear,But while devising still some vile retreat,The trumpets flourish and the walls frown near;Just as the witching night begins to fallThey pass the gates and enter in the hall.Soon in those times primæval came the hour68When balmy sleep did wasted strength repair,They led Sir Gawaine to the lady's bower,Unbraced his mail, and left him with the fair;Then first, demurely seated side by side,The dolorous bridegroom gazed upon the bride.No iron heart had he of golden tongue,69To beauty none by nature were politer;The bride was tall and buxom, fresh and young,And while he gazed, his tearful eyes grew brighter;"'For good, for better,' runs the sacred verse,Sith now no better—let me brave the worse."With that he took and kiss'd the lady's hand,70The lady smiled, and Gawaine's heart grew bolder,When from the roof by some unseen command,Flash'd down a sword and smote him on the shoulder—The knight leapt up, sore-bleeding from the stroke,While from the lattice caw'd the merriest croak!Aghast he gazed—the sword within the roof71Again had vanish'd; nought was to be seen—He felt his shoulder, and remain'd aloof."Fair dame," quoth he, "explain what this may mean."The bride replied not, hid her face and wept;Slow to her side, with caution, Gawaine crept."Nay, weep not, sweetheart, but a scratch—no more,"72He bent to kiss the dew-drops from his rose,When presto down the glaive enchanted shore—Gawaine leapt back in time to save his nose."Ah, cruel father," groan'd the lady then,"I hoped, at least, thou wert content with ten!""Ten what?" said Gawaine.—"Gallant knights like thee,73Who fought and conquer'd my deceitful sire;Married, as thou, to miserable me,And doom'd, as thou, beneath the sword to expire—By this device he gains their arms and steeds,So where force fails him, there the fraud succeeds.""Foul felon host," the wrathful knight exclaims,74"Foul wizard bird, no doubt in league with him!Have they no dread lest all good knights and damesSave fiends their task, and rend them limb from limb?But thou for Gawaine ne'er shalt be a mourner,Thou keep the couch, and I—yon farthest corner!"This said, the prudent knight on tiptoe stealing75Went from his bride as far as he could go,Then laid him down, intent upon the ceiling;Noses, once lost, no second crop will grow—So watch'd Sir Gawaine, so the lady wept,Perch'd on the lattice-sill the raven slept.Blithe rose the sun, and blither still Gawaine;76Steps climb the stair, a hand unbars the door—"Saints," cries the host, and stares upon the twain,Amazed to see that living guest once more.—"Did you sleep well?"—"Why, yes," replied the knight,"One gnat, indeed;—but gnats were made to bite."Man must leave insects to their insect law;—77Now thanks, kind host, for board and bed and all—Depart I must,"—the raven gave a caw."And I with thee," chimed in that damsel tall."Nay," said Gawaine, "I wend on ways of strife.""Sir, hold your tongue—I choose it; I'm your wife."With that the lady took him by the hand,78And led him, fall'n of crest, adown the stair;Buckled his mail, and girded on his brand,Brimm'd full the goblet, nor disdain'd to share—The host saith nothing or to knight or bride;Forth comes the steed—a palfrey by its side.Then Gawaine flung from the untasted board79His manchet to a hound with hungry face;Sprung to his selle, and wish'd, too late, that swordHad closed his miseries with acoup de grace.They clear the walls, the open road they gain;The bride rode dauntless—daunted much Gawaine.Gaily the fair discoursed on many things,80But most on those ten lords—his time before,Unhappy wights, who, as old Homer sings,Had gone, "Proiapsoi," to the Stygian shore;Then, each described and praised,—she smiled and said,"But one live dog is worth ten lions dead."The knight prepared that proverb to refute.81When the bird beckon'd down a delving lane,And there the bride provoked a new dispute:That path was frightful—she preferr'd the plain."Dame," said the knight, "not I your steps compel—Take thou the plain!—adieu! I take the dell.""Ah, cruel lord," with gentle voice and mien82The lady murmur'd, and regain'd his side;"Little thou know'st of woman's faith, I ween,All paths alike save those that would divide;Ungrateful knight—too dearly loved!"—"But then,"Falter'd Gawaine, "you said the same toten!""Ah no; their deaths alone their lives endear'd83Slain for my sake, as I could die for thine;"And while she spoke so lovely she appear'dThe knight did, blissful, towards her cheek incline—But, ere a tender kiss his thanks could say,A strong hand jerk'd the palfrey's neck away.Unseen till then, from out the bosky dell84Had leapt a huge, black-brow'd, gigantic wight;Sudden he swung the lady from her selle,And seized that kiss defrauded from the knight,While, with loud voice and gest uncouth, he sworeSo fair a cheek he ne'er had kiss'd before!With mickle wrath Sir Gawaine sprang from steed,85And, quite forgetful of his wonted parle,He did at once without a word proceedTo make a ghost of that presuming carle.The carle, nor ghost nor flesh inclined to yield,Took to his club, and made the bride his shield."Hold, stay thine hand!" the hapless lady cried,86As high in air the knight his falchion rears;The carle his laidly jaws distended wide,And—"Ho," he laugh'd, "for me the sweet one fears,Strike, if thou durst, and pierce two hearts in one,Or yield the prize—by love already won."In high disdain, the knight of golden tongue87Look'd this way, that, revolving where to smite;Still as he look'd, and turn'd, the giant swungThe unknightly buckler round from left to right.Then said the carle—"What need of steel and strife?A word in time may often save a life,"This lady me prefers, or I mistake,88Most ladies like an honest hearty wooer;Abide the issue, she her choice shall make;Dare you, sir rival, leave the question to her?If so, resheath your sword, remount your steed,I loose the lady, and retire."—"Agreed,"Sir Gawaine answer'd—sure of the result,89And charm'd the fair so cheaply to deliver;But ladies' hearts are hidden and occult,Deep as the sea, and changeful as the river.The carle released the fair, and left her free—"Caw," said the raven, from the willow tree.A winsome knight all know was fair Gawaine90(No knight more winsome shone in Arthur's court:)The carle's rough features were of homeliest grain,As shaped by Nature in burlesque and sport;The lady look'd and mused, and scann'd the two,Then made her choice—the carle had spoken true.The knight forsaken, rubb'd astounded eyes,91Then touch'd his steed and slowly rode away—"Bird," quoth Gawaine, as on the raven flies,"Be peace between us, from this blessed day;One single act has made me thine for life,—Thou hast shown the path by which I lost a wife!"While thus his grateful thought Sir Gawaine vents,92He hears, behind, the carle's Stentorian cries;He turns, he pales, he groans—"The carle repents!No, by the saints, he keeps her or he dies!"Here at his stirrups stands the panting wight—"The lady's hound, restore the hound, sir knight.""The hound," said Gawaine, much relieved, "what hound?"93And then perceived he that the dog he fed,With grateful steps the kindly guest had found,And there stood faithful.—"Friend," Sir Gawaine said,"What's just is just! the dog must have his due,The dame had hers, to choose between the two."The carle demurr'd; but justice was so clear,94He'd nought to urge against the equal law;He calls the hound, the hound disdains to hear,He nears the hound, the hound expands his jaw;The fangs were strong and sharp, that jaw within,The carle drew back—"Sir knight, I fear you win.""My friend," replies Gawaine, the ever bland,95"I took thy lesson, in return take mine;All human ties, alas, are ropes of sand,My lot to-day, to-morrow may be thine;But never yet the dog our bounty fedBetray'd the kindness, or forgot the bread."[5]With that the courteous hand he gravely waved,96Nor deem'd it prudent longer to delay;Tempt not the reflow, from the ebb just saved!He spurr'd his steed, and vanish'd from the way.Sure of rebuke, and troubled in his mind,An alter'd man, the carle his fair rejoin'd,That day the raven led the knight to dine97Where merry monks spread no abstemious board;Dainty the meat, and delicate the wine,Sir Gawaine felt his sprightlier self restored;When towards the eve the raven croak'd anew,And spread the wing for Gawaine to pursue.With clouded brow the pliant knight obey'd,98And took his leave and quaff'd his stirrup cup;And briskly rode he through glen and glade,Till the fair moon, to speak in prose, was up;Then to the raven, now familiar grown,He said—"Friend bird, night's made for sleep, you'll own."This oak presents a choice of boughs for you,99For me a curtain and a grassy mound."Straight to the oak the obedient raven flew,And croak'd with merry, yet malignant sound.The luckless knight thought nothing of the croak,And laid him down beneath the Fairy's Oak.Of evil fame was Nannau's antique tree,100Yet styled "the hollow oak of demon race;"[6]But blithe Gwyn ab Nudd's elfin familyWere the gay demons of the slander'd place;And ne'er in scene more elfin, near and far,On dancing fairies glanced the smiling star.Whether thy chafing torrents, rock-born Caine,101Flash through the delicate birch and glossy elm,Or prison'd Mawddach[7]clangs his triple chainOf waters, fleeing to the happier realm,Where his course broad'ning smiles along the land;—So souls grow tranquil as their thoughts expand.High over subject vales the brow serene102Of the lone mountain look'd on moonlit skies;Wide glades far opening into swards of green,With shimmering foliage of a thousand dyes,And tedded tufts of heath, and ivyed bolesOf trees, and wild flowers scenting bosky knolls.And herds of deer as slight as Jura's roe,[8]103Or Irân's shy gazelle, on sheenest places,Group'd still, or flitted the far alleys through;The fairy quarry for the fairy chaces;Or wheel'd the bat, brushing o'er brake and scaur,Lured by the moth, as lures the moth the star.Sir Gawaine slept—Sir Gawaine slept not long,104His ears were tickled, and his nose was tweak'd;Light feet ran quick his stalwart limbs along,Light fingers pinch'd him, and light voices squeak'd.He oped his eyes, the left and then the right,Fair was the scene, and hideous was his fright!The tiny people swarm around, and o'er him,105Here on his breast they lead the morris-dance,There, in each ray diagonal before him,They wheel, leap, pirouette, caper, shoot askance,Climb row on row each other's pea-green shoulder,And point and mow upon the shock'd beholder.And some had faces lovelier than Cupido's,106With rose-bud lips, all dimpling o'er with glee;And some had brows as ominous as Dido's,When Ilion's pious traitor put to sea;Some had bull heads, some lions', but in small,And some (the finer drest) no heads at all.By mortal dangers scared, the wise resort107To means fugacious,licet et licebit;But he who settles in a fairy's court,Loses that option,sedet et sedebit;Thrice Gawaine strove to stir, nor stirr'd a jot,Charms, cramps, and torments nail'd him to the spot.Thus of his limbs deprived, the ingenious knight108Straightway betook him to his golden tongue—"Angels," quoth he, "or fairies, with delightI see the race my friends the bards have sungMuch honour'd that, in any way expedient,You make a ball-room of your most obedient."Floated a sound of laughter, musical—109As when in summer noon, melodious beesCluster o'er jasmine roofs, or as the fallOf silver bells, on the Arabian breeze;What time with chiming feet in palmy shadesMove, round the soften'd Moor, his Georgian maids.Forth from the rest there stepped a princely fay—110"And well, sir mortal, dost thou speak," quoth he,"We elves are seldom froward to the gay,Rise up, and welcome to our companie."Sir Gawaine won his footing with a spring,Low bow'd the knight, as low the fairy king."By the bright diadem of dews congeal'd,111And purple robe of pranksome butterfly,Your royal rank," said Gawaine, "is reveal'd,Yet more, methinks, by your majestic eye;Of kings with mien august I know but two,Men have their Arthur,—happier fairies, you.""Methought," replied the elf, "thy first accost112Proclaim'd thee one of Arthur's peerless train;Elsewhere alas!—our later age hath lostThe blithe good-breeding of King Saturn's reign,When, some four thousand years ago, with Fauns,We Fays made merry on Arcadian lawns."Time flees so fast it seems but yesterday!113And life is brief for fairies as for men.""Ha," said Gawaine, "can fairies pass away?""Pass like the mist on Arran's wave, what then?At least we're young as long as we survive;Our years six thousand—I have number'd five."But we have stumbled on a dismal theme,114As always happens when one meets a man—Ho! stop that zephyr!—Robin, catch that beam!And now, my friend, we'll feast it while we can."The moonbeam halts, the zephyr bows his wing,Light through the leaves the laughing people spring.Then Gawaine felt as if he skirr'd the air,115His brain grew dizzy, and his breath was gone;He stopp'd at last, and such inviting fareNever plump monk set lustful eyes upon.Wild sweet-briars girt the banquet, but the brakeOped where in moonlight rippled Bala's lake.Such dainty cheer—such rush of revelry—116Such silver laughter—such arch happy faces—Such sportive quarrels from excess of glee—Hush'd up with such sly innocent embraces,Might well maketwicesix thousand years appearTo elfin minds a sadly nipp'd career!The banquet o'er, the royal Fay intent117To do all honour to King Arthur's knight,Smote with his rod the bank on which they leant,And Fairy-land flash'd glorious on the sight;Flash'd, through a silvery, soft, translucent mist,The opal shafts and domes of amethyst;Flash'd founts in shells of pearl, which crystal walls118And phosphor lights of myriad hues redouble;There, in the blissful subterranean halls,When morning wakes the world of human trouble,Glide the gay race; each sound our discord knows,Faint-heard above, but lulls them to repose.O Gawaine, blush! Alas! that gorgeous sight,119But woke the latent mammon in the man,While fairy treasures shone upon the knight,His greedy thoughts on lands and castles ran.He stretch'd his hands, he felt the fingers itch,"Sir Fay," quoth he, "you must be monstrous rich!"Scarce fall the words from those unlucky lips,120Than down rush'd darkness, flooding all the place;His feet a fairy in a twinkling trips;The angry winglets swarm upon his face;Pounce on their prey the tiny torturers flew,And sang this moral while they pinch'd him blue:
On the bare summit of the loftiest peak—1Crowning the hills round Cymri's Iscan home,Rose the grey temple of the Faith Antique,Before whose priests had paused the march of Rome,When the Dark Isle reveal'd its drear abodes,And the last Hades of Cimmerian gods;
While dauntless Druids, by their shrines profaned,2Stretch'd o'er the steel-clad hush, their swordless hands,[1]And dire Religion, horror-breathing, chain'dThe frozen eagles,—till the shuddering bandsShamed into slaughter, broke the ghastly spell,And, lost in reeks of carnage, sunk the hell
Quiver'd on column-shafts the poisèd rock,3As if a breeze could shake the ruin down;But storm on storm had sent its thunder-shock,Nor reft the temple of its mystic crown—So awe of Power Divine on human breastsVibrates for ever, and for ever rests.
Within the fane awaits a giant pyre,4Around the pyre assembled warriors stand;A pause of prayer;—and suddenly the fireFlings its broad banner reddening o'er the land.Shoot the fierce sparks and groan the crackling pines,Toss'd on the Wave of Shields the glory shines.
Lo, from dark night flash Carduel's domes of gold,5Glow the jagg'd rampires like a belt of light.And to the stars springs up the dragon-hold,With one lone image on the lonely height—O'er those who saw a thrilling silence fell;There, the still Prophet watch'd o'er Carduel!
Forth on their mission rush'd the wings of flame;6Hill after hill the land's grey warders rose;First to the Mount of Bards the splendour came,Wreath'd with large halo Trigarn's stern repose;On, post by post, the fiery courier rode,Blood-red Edeirnion's dells of verdure glow'd;
Uprose the hardy men of Merioneth,7When, o'er the dismal strata parch'd and bleak,Like some revived volcano's lurid breathSprang the fierce fire-jet from the herbless peak;Flash'd down on meeting streams the Basalt walls,In molten flame Rhaiadyr's thunder falls.
Thy Faban Mount, Caernarvon, seized the sign,8And pass'd the watchword to the Fairies' Hill;All Mona blazed—as if the isle divineTo Bel, the sun-god, drest her altars still;Menai reflects the prophet hues, and farTo twofold ocean knells the coming war.
Then wheeling round, the lurid herald swept9To quench the stars yet struggling with the glareBlithe to his task, resplendent Golcun leapt—The bearded giant rose on Moel-y-Gaer—Rose his six giant brothers,—Eifle rose,And great Eryri lit his chasms of snows.
So one vast altar was that father-land!10But nobler altars flash'd in souls of men,Sublimer than the mountain-tops, the brandFound pyres in every lowliest hamlet glenSoon on the rocks shall die the grosser fire—Souls lit to freedom burn till suns expire.
Slowly the chiefs desert the blazing fane,11(Sure of steel-harvests from the dragon seed)Descend the mountain and the walls regain;As suns to systems, there to each decreedHis glorious task,—to marshal star on star,And weave with fate the harmonious pomp of war.
Last of the noble conclave, linger'd two;12Gawaine the mirthful, Caradoc the mild,And, as the watchfires thicken'd on their view.War's fearless playmate raised his hand and smiled,Pointing to splendours, linking rock to rock;—And while he smiled—sigh'd earnest Caradoc.
"Now by my head—(an empty oath and light!)13No taller tapers ever lit to restRome's stately Cæsar;—sigh'st thou, at the sight,For cost o'er-lavish, when so mean the guest?""Was it for this the gentle Saviour died?Is Cain so glorious?" Caradoc replied.
"Permit, Sir Bard, an argument on that,"14True to his fame, said golden-tongued Gawaine,"The hawk may save his fledglings from the cat,Nor yet deserve comparisons with Cain;And Abel's fate, to hands unskill'd, proclaimsThe use of practice in gymnastic games.
"Woes that have been are wisdom's lesson-books—15From Abel's death, the men of peace should learnTo add an inch of iron to their crooksAnd strike, when struck, a little in return—Had Abel known his quarterstaff, I wot,Those Saxon Ap-Cains ne'er had been begot!"
More had he said, but a strange, grating note,16Half laugh—half croak, was here discordant heard;Anaverose—but died within his throat,As close before him perch'd the enchanter's bird,With head aslant, and glittering eye askew,It near'd the knight—the knight in haste withdrew.
"All saints defend me, and excuse a jest!"17Mutter'd Sir Gawaine—"bird or fiend avaunt:Oh, holy Abel, let this matter rest,I do repent me of my foolish taunt!"With that the cross upon his sword he kist,And stared aghast—the bird was on his wrist.
"Hem—vade Satanas!—discede! retro,"18The raven croak'd, and fix'd himself afresh;"Avis damnata!—salus sit in Petro,"Ten pointed claws here fasten'd on his flesh;The knight, sore smarting, shook his arm—the birdPeck'd in reproach, and kept its perch unstirr'd.
Quoth Caradoc—whose time had come to smile,19And smile he did in grave and placid wise—"Let not thine evil thoughts, my friend, defileThe harmless wing descended from the skies.""Skies!!!" said the knight—"black imps from skies descendWith claws like these!—the world is at an end!"
"Now shame, Gawaine, O knight of little heart,20How, if a small and inoffensive ravenDismay thee thus, couldst thou have track'd the chartBy which Æneas won his Alban-haven?On Harpies, Scylla, Cerberus, reflect—And undevour'd—rejoice to be but peckt."
"True," said a voice behind them,—"gentle bard,21In life as verse, the art is—to compare."Gawaine turn'd short, gazed keenly, and breathed hardAs on the dark-robed magian stream'd the glareOf the huge watch-fire—"Prophet," quoth Gawaine,"My friend scorns pecking—let him try the pain!
"Please to call back this—offspring of the skies!22Unworthy I to be his earthly rest!""Methought," said Merlin, "that thy King's emprizeHad found in thine a less reluctant breast;Again is friendship granted to his side—Thee the bird summons, be the bird thy guide."
Dumb stared the knight—stared first upon the seer,23Then on the raven,—who, demure and sly,Turn'd on his master a respectful ear,And on Gawaine a magisterial eye."What hath a king with ravens, seer, to do?""Odin, the king of half the world, had two.
"Peace—if thy friendship answer to its boast,24Arm, take thy steed and with the dawn depart—The bird will lead thee to the ocean coast;Strange are thy trials, stalwart be thy heart.""Seer," quoth Gawaine, "my heart I hope is toughNor needs a prop from this portentous chough.
"You know the proverb—'birds of the same feather,'25A proverb much enforced in penal laws,[2]—In certain quarters were we seen togetherIt might, I fear, suffice to damn my cause:You cite examples apt and edifying—Odin kept ravens!—well, and Odin's frying!"
The enchanter smiled, in pity or in scorn;26The smile was sad, but lofty, calm, and cold—"The straws," he said, "on passing winds upborneDismay the courser—is the man more bold?Dismiss thy terrors, go thy ways, my son,To do thy duty is the fiend to shun.
"Not for thy sake the bird is given to thee,27But for thy King's."—"Enough," replied the knight,And bow'd his head. The bird rose jocundly,Spread its dark wing and rested in the light—"Sir Bard," to Caradoc the chosen saidIn the close whisper of a knight well bred:
"Vow'd to my King—come man, come fiend, I go,28But ne'er expect to see thy friend again,That bird carnivorous hath designs I knowMost Anthropophagous on doom'd Gawaine;I leave you all the goods that most I prize—Three steeds, six hawks, four gre-hounds, two blue eyes.
"Beat back the Saxons—beat them well, my friend,29And when they're beaten, and your hands at leisure,Set to your harp a ditty on my end—The most appropriate were the shortest measure:Forewarn'd by me all light discourses shun,And mostly—jests on Adam's second son."
He said, and wended down the glowing hill.30Long watch'd the minstrel with a wistful gaze,Then join'd the musing seer—and both were still,Still 'mid the ruins—girded with the rays:Twin heirs of light and lords of time, grey TruthThat ne'er is young—and Song the only youth.
At dawn Sir Gawaine through the postern stole,31But first he sought one reverend friend—a bishop,By him assoil'd and shrived, he felt his soulToo clean for cooks that fry for fiends to dish up;And then suggested, lighter and elater,To cross the raven with some holy water.
Henricus—so the prelate sign'd his name—32Was lord high chancellor in things religious;With him church militant in truth became(Nam cedant arma togæ) church litigious;He kept his deacons notably in aweBy flowers epistolar perfumed with law.
No man more stern, morefortiter in re,33No man more mild, moresuaviter in modo;When knots grew tough, it was sublime to seeSuch polish'd shears go clippinglyin nodo;A hand so supple, pliant, glib, and quick,Ne'er smooth'd a band, nor burn'd a heretic.
He seem'd to turn to you his willing cheek,34And beg you not to smite too hard the other;He seized his victims with a smile so meek,And wept so fondly o'er his erring brother,No wolf more righteous on a lamb could sup,You vex'd his stream—he grieved—and eat you up.
"Son," said Henricus, "what you now propose35Is wise and pious—fit for a beginning;But sinful things, I fear me, but disclose,In sin, perverted appetite for sinning;Hopeless to cure—we only can detect it,First cross the bird and then (he groan'd)dissect it!"
Till now, the raven perch'd on Gawaine's chair36Had seem'd indulging in a placid doze,And if he heard, he seem'd no jot to careFor threats of sprinkling his demoniac clothes,But when the priest the closing words let dropHe hopp'd away as fast as he could hop.
Gain'd a safe corner, on a pile of tomes,37Tracts against Arius—bulls against Pelagius,The church of Cymri's controverse with Rome's—Those fierce materials seem'd to be contagious,For there, with open beak and glowering eye,The bird seem'd croaking forth, "Dissect me! try!"
This sight, perchance, the prelate's pious plan38Relax'd; he gazed, recoil'd, and faltering said,"'Tis clear the monster is the foe of man,His beak how pointed! and his eyes how red!Demons are spirits;—spirits, on reflexion,Are forms phantasmal, that defy dissection."
"Truly," sigh'd Gawaine, "but the holy water!"39"No," cried the Prelate, "ineffective here.Try, but not now, a simplenoster-pater,Or chaunt a hymn. I dare not interfere;Act for yourself—and say your catechism;Were I to meddle, it would cause a schism."
"A schism!"—"The church, though always in the right,40Holds two opinions, both extremely able;This makes the rubric rest on gowns of white,That makes the church itself depend on sable;Were I to exorcise that raven-back'Twould favour white, and raise the deuce in black.[3]
"Depart my son—at once, depart, I pray,41Pay up your dues, and keep your mind at ease,And call that creature—no, the other way—When fairly out, acredo, if you please;—Go,—pax vobiscum;—shut the door I beg,And stay;—On Friday, flogging,—with an egg!"
Out went the knight, more puzzled than before;42And out, unsprinkled, flew the Stygian bird;The bishop rose, and doubly lock'd the door;His pen he mended, and his fire he stirr'd;Then solved that problem—"Pons Diaconorum,"White equals black, plus x y botherorum.
So through the postern stole the troubled knight;43Still as he rode, from forest, mount, and vale,Rung lively horns, and in the morning lightFlash'd the sheen banderoll, and the pomp of mail,The welcome guests of War's blithe festival,Keen for the feast, and summon'd to the hall.
Curt answer gave the knight to greeting gay,44And none to taunt from scurril churl unkind,Oft asking, "if he did mistake the way?"—Or hinting, "war was what he left behind;"As noon came on, such sights and comments cease,Lone through the pastures rides the knight in peace.
Grave as a funeral mourner rode Gawaine—45The bird went first in most indecent glee,Now lost to sight, now gamb'ling back again—Now munch'd a beetle, and now chaced a bee—Now pluck'd the wool from meditative lamb,Now pick'd a quarrel with a lusty ram.
Sharp through his visor, Gawaine watch'd the thing,46With dire misgivings at that impish mirth:Day wax'd—day waned—and still the dusky wingSeem'd not to find one resting-place on earth."Saints," groan'd Gawaine, "have mercy on a sinner,And move that devil—just to stop for dinner!"
The bird turn'd round, as if it understood.47Halted the wing, and seem'd awhile to muse;Then dives at once into a dismal wood,And grumbling much, the hungry knight pursues,To hear (and hearing, hope once more revives),Sweet-clinking horns, and gently-clashing knives.
An opening glade a pleasant group displays;48Ladies and knights amidst the woodland feast;Around them, reinless, steed and palfrey graze;To earth leaps Gawaine—"I shall dine at least."His casque he doffs—"Good knights and ladies fair,Vouchsafe a famish'd man your feast to share."
Loud laugh'd a big, broad-shoulder'd, burly host;49"On two conditions, eat thy fill," quoth he;"Before one dines, 'tis well to know the cost—Thou'lt wed my daughter, and thou'lt fight with me.""Sir Host," said Gawaine, as he stretch'd his platter,"I'll first the pie discuss, and then—the matter."
The ladies look'd upon the comely knight50His arch bright eye provoked the smile it found;The men admired that vasty appetite,Meet to do honour to the Table Round;The host, reseated, sent the guest his horn,Brimm'd with pure drinks distill'd from barley corn.
Drinks rare in Cymri, true to milder mead,51But long familiar to Milesian lays,So huge that draught, it had dispatch'd with speedTen Irish chiefs in these degenerate days:Sir Gawaine drain'd it, and Sir Gawaine laugh'd,"Cool is your drink, though scanty is the draught;
"But, pray you pardon (sir, a slice of boar),52Judged by your accent, mantles, beards, and wine,(If wine this be) ye come fromHuerdan's[4]shore,To aid, no doubt, our kindred Celtic line;Ye saw the watch-fires on our hills at nightAnd march to Carduel? read I, sirs, aright?"
"Stranger," replied the host, "your guess is wrong,53And shows your lack of history and reflection;Huerdan with Cymri is allied too long,We come, my friend, to sever the connection:But first (your bees are wonderful for honey),Yield us your hives—in plainer words your money."
"Friend," said the golden-tongued Gawaine, "methought54Your mines were rich in wealthier ore than ours.""True," said the host, superbly, "were they wrought!But shall Milesians waste in work their powers?Base was that thought, the heartless insult masking,""Faith," said Gawaine, "gold's easier got by asking."
Upsprung the host, upsprung the guests in ire—55Unsprung the gentle dames, and fled affrighted;High rose the din, than all the din rose higherThe croak of that curs'd raven quite delighted;Sir Gawaine finish'd his last slice of boar,And said, "Good friends, more business and less roar.
"If you want peace—shake hands, and peace, I say,56If you want fighting, gramercy! we'll fight.""Ho," cried the host, "your dinner you must pay—The two conditions."—"Host, you're in the right,To fight I'm willing, but to wed I'm loth:I choose the first."—"Your word is bound toboth:
"Me first engaged, if conquer'd you are—dead,57And then alone your honour is acquitted:But conquer me, and then you must be wed;You ate!—the contract in that act admitted.""Host," cried the knight, half-stunn'd by all the clatter,"I only said I would discuss the matter.
"But if your faith upon my word reposed,58That thought alone King Arthur's knight shall bind."Few moments more, and host and guest had closed—For blows come quick when folks are so inclined:They foin'd, they fenced, changed play, and hack'd, and hew'd—Paused, panted, eyed each other and renew'd;
At length a dexterous and back-handed blow59Clove the host's casque and bow'd him to his knee."Host," said the Cymrian to his fallen foe;"But for thy dinner wolves should dine on thee;Yield—thou bleed'st badly—yield and ask thy life.""Content," the host replied—"embrace thy wife!"
"O cursed bird," cried Gawaine, with a groan,60"To what fell trap my wretched feet were carried!My darkest dreams had ne'er this fate foreshown—I sate to dine, I rise—and I am married!O worse than Esau, miserable elf,He sold his birthright—but he kept himself."
While thus in doleful and heart-rending strain61Mourn'd the lost knight, the host his daughter led,Placed her soft hand in that of sad Gawaine—"Joy be with both!"—the bridegroom shook his head!"I have a castle which I won by force—Mount, happy man, for thither wends our course:
"Page, bind my scalp—to broken scalps we're used.62Your bride, brave son, is worthy of your merit;No man alive has Erin's maids accused,And leastthatmaiden, of a want of spirit;She plies a sword as well as you, fair sir,When out of hand, just try your hand on her."
Not once Sir Gawaine lifts his leaden eyes,63To mark the bride by partial father praised,But mounts his steed—the gleesome raven fliesBefore; beside him rides the maid amazed:"Sir Knight," said she at last, with clear loud voice,"I hope your musings do not blame your choice?"
"Damsel," replied the knight of golden tongue,64As with some effort be replied at all,"Sith our two skeins in one the Fates have strung,My thoughts were guessing when the shears would fall;Much irks it me, lest vow'd to toil and strife,I doom a widow where I make a wife.
"And sooth to say, despite those matchless charms65Which well might fire our last new saint, Dubricius,To-morrow's morn must snatch me from thine arms;Led to far lands by auguries, not auspicious—Wise to postpone a bond, how dear soever,Till my return."—"Return! that may be never:
"What if you fall? (since thus you tempt the Fates)66The yew will flourish where the lily fades;The laidliest widows find consoling matesWith far less trouble than the comeliest maids;Wherefore, Sir Husband, have a cheerful mind,Whate'er may chance your wife will be resign'd."
That loving comfort, arguing sense discreet,67But coldly pleased the knight's ungrateful ear,But while devising still some vile retreat,The trumpets flourish and the walls frown near;Just as the witching night begins to fallThey pass the gates and enter in the hall.
Soon in those times primæval came the hour68When balmy sleep did wasted strength repair,They led Sir Gawaine to the lady's bower,Unbraced his mail, and left him with the fair;Then first, demurely seated side by side,The dolorous bridegroom gazed upon the bride.
No iron heart had he of golden tongue,69To beauty none by nature were politer;The bride was tall and buxom, fresh and young,And while he gazed, his tearful eyes grew brighter;"'For good, for better,' runs the sacred verse,Sith now no better—let me brave the worse."
With that he took and kiss'd the lady's hand,70The lady smiled, and Gawaine's heart grew bolder,When from the roof by some unseen command,Flash'd down a sword and smote him on the shoulder—The knight leapt up, sore-bleeding from the stroke,While from the lattice caw'd the merriest croak!
Aghast he gazed—the sword within the roof71Again had vanish'd; nought was to be seen—He felt his shoulder, and remain'd aloof."Fair dame," quoth he, "explain what this may mean."The bride replied not, hid her face and wept;Slow to her side, with caution, Gawaine crept.
"Nay, weep not, sweetheart, but a scratch—no more,"72He bent to kiss the dew-drops from his rose,When presto down the glaive enchanted shore—Gawaine leapt back in time to save his nose."Ah, cruel father," groan'd the lady then,"I hoped, at least, thou wert content with ten!"
"Ten what?" said Gawaine.—"Gallant knights like thee,73Who fought and conquer'd my deceitful sire;Married, as thou, to miserable me,And doom'd, as thou, beneath the sword to expire—By this device he gains their arms and steeds,So where force fails him, there the fraud succeeds."
"Foul felon host," the wrathful knight exclaims,74"Foul wizard bird, no doubt in league with him!Have they no dread lest all good knights and damesSave fiends their task, and rend them limb from limb?But thou for Gawaine ne'er shalt be a mourner,Thou keep the couch, and I—yon farthest corner!"
This said, the prudent knight on tiptoe stealing75Went from his bride as far as he could go,Then laid him down, intent upon the ceiling;Noses, once lost, no second crop will grow—So watch'd Sir Gawaine, so the lady wept,Perch'd on the lattice-sill the raven slept.
Blithe rose the sun, and blither still Gawaine;76Steps climb the stair, a hand unbars the door—"Saints," cries the host, and stares upon the twain,Amazed to see that living guest once more.—"Did you sleep well?"—"Why, yes," replied the knight,"One gnat, indeed;—but gnats were made to bite.
"Man must leave insects to their insect law;—77Now thanks, kind host, for board and bed and all—Depart I must,"—the raven gave a caw."And I with thee," chimed in that damsel tall."Nay," said Gawaine, "I wend on ways of strife.""Sir, hold your tongue—I choose it; I'm your wife."
With that the lady took him by the hand,78And led him, fall'n of crest, adown the stair;Buckled his mail, and girded on his brand,Brimm'd full the goblet, nor disdain'd to share—The host saith nothing or to knight or bride;Forth comes the steed—a palfrey by its side.
Then Gawaine flung from the untasted board79His manchet to a hound with hungry face;Sprung to his selle, and wish'd, too late, that swordHad closed his miseries with acoup de grace.They clear the walls, the open road they gain;The bride rode dauntless—daunted much Gawaine.
Gaily the fair discoursed on many things,80But most on those ten lords—his time before,Unhappy wights, who, as old Homer sings,Had gone, "Proiapsoi," to the Stygian shore;Then, each described and praised,—she smiled and said,"But one live dog is worth ten lions dead."
The knight prepared that proverb to refute.81When the bird beckon'd down a delving lane,And there the bride provoked a new dispute:That path was frightful—she preferr'd the plain."Dame," said the knight, "not I your steps compel—Take thou the plain!—adieu! I take the dell."
"Ah, cruel lord," with gentle voice and mien82The lady murmur'd, and regain'd his side;"Little thou know'st of woman's faith, I ween,All paths alike save those that would divide;Ungrateful knight—too dearly loved!"—"But then,"Falter'd Gawaine, "you said the same toten!"
"Ah no; their deaths alone their lives endear'd83Slain for my sake, as I could die for thine;"And while she spoke so lovely she appear'dThe knight did, blissful, towards her cheek incline—But, ere a tender kiss his thanks could say,A strong hand jerk'd the palfrey's neck away.
Unseen till then, from out the bosky dell84Had leapt a huge, black-brow'd, gigantic wight;Sudden he swung the lady from her selle,And seized that kiss defrauded from the knight,While, with loud voice and gest uncouth, he sworeSo fair a cheek he ne'er had kiss'd before!
With mickle wrath Sir Gawaine sprang from steed,85And, quite forgetful of his wonted parle,He did at once without a word proceedTo make a ghost of that presuming carle.The carle, nor ghost nor flesh inclined to yield,Took to his club, and made the bride his shield.
"Hold, stay thine hand!" the hapless lady cried,86As high in air the knight his falchion rears;The carle his laidly jaws distended wide,And—"Ho," he laugh'd, "for me the sweet one fears,Strike, if thou durst, and pierce two hearts in one,Or yield the prize—by love already won."
In high disdain, the knight of golden tongue87Look'd this way, that, revolving where to smite;Still as he look'd, and turn'd, the giant swungThe unknightly buckler round from left to right.Then said the carle—"What need of steel and strife?A word in time may often save a life,
"This lady me prefers, or I mistake,88Most ladies like an honest hearty wooer;Abide the issue, she her choice shall make;Dare you, sir rival, leave the question to her?If so, resheath your sword, remount your steed,I loose the lady, and retire."—"Agreed,"
Sir Gawaine answer'd—sure of the result,89And charm'd the fair so cheaply to deliver;But ladies' hearts are hidden and occult,Deep as the sea, and changeful as the river.The carle released the fair, and left her free—"Caw," said the raven, from the willow tree.
A winsome knight all know was fair Gawaine90(No knight more winsome shone in Arthur's court:)The carle's rough features were of homeliest grain,As shaped by Nature in burlesque and sport;The lady look'd and mused, and scann'd the two,Then made her choice—the carle had spoken true.
The knight forsaken, rubb'd astounded eyes,91Then touch'd his steed and slowly rode away—"Bird," quoth Gawaine, as on the raven flies,"Be peace between us, from this blessed day;One single act has made me thine for life,—Thou hast shown the path by which I lost a wife!"
While thus his grateful thought Sir Gawaine vents,92He hears, behind, the carle's Stentorian cries;He turns, he pales, he groans—"The carle repents!No, by the saints, he keeps her or he dies!"Here at his stirrups stands the panting wight—"The lady's hound, restore the hound, sir knight."
"The hound," said Gawaine, much relieved, "what hound?"93And then perceived he that the dog he fed,With grateful steps the kindly guest had found,And there stood faithful.—"Friend," Sir Gawaine said,"What's just is just! the dog must have his due,The dame had hers, to choose between the two."
The carle demurr'd; but justice was so clear,94He'd nought to urge against the equal law;He calls the hound, the hound disdains to hear,He nears the hound, the hound expands his jaw;The fangs were strong and sharp, that jaw within,The carle drew back—"Sir knight, I fear you win."
"My friend," replies Gawaine, the ever bland,95"I took thy lesson, in return take mine;All human ties, alas, are ropes of sand,My lot to-day, to-morrow may be thine;But never yet the dog our bounty fedBetray'd the kindness, or forgot the bread."[5]
With that the courteous hand he gravely waved,96Nor deem'd it prudent longer to delay;Tempt not the reflow, from the ebb just saved!He spurr'd his steed, and vanish'd from the way.Sure of rebuke, and troubled in his mind,An alter'd man, the carle his fair rejoin'd,
That day the raven led the knight to dine97Where merry monks spread no abstemious board;Dainty the meat, and delicate the wine,Sir Gawaine felt his sprightlier self restored;When towards the eve the raven croak'd anew,And spread the wing for Gawaine to pursue.
With clouded brow the pliant knight obey'd,98And took his leave and quaff'd his stirrup cup;And briskly rode he through glen and glade,Till the fair moon, to speak in prose, was up;Then to the raven, now familiar grown,He said—"Friend bird, night's made for sleep, you'll own.
"This oak presents a choice of boughs for you,99For me a curtain and a grassy mound."Straight to the oak the obedient raven flew,And croak'd with merry, yet malignant sound.The luckless knight thought nothing of the croak,And laid him down beneath the Fairy's Oak.
Of evil fame was Nannau's antique tree,100Yet styled "the hollow oak of demon race;"[6]But blithe Gwyn ab Nudd's elfin familyWere the gay demons of the slander'd place;And ne'er in scene more elfin, near and far,On dancing fairies glanced the smiling star.
Whether thy chafing torrents, rock-born Caine,101Flash through the delicate birch and glossy elm,Or prison'd Mawddach[7]clangs his triple chainOf waters, fleeing to the happier realm,Where his course broad'ning smiles along the land;—So souls grow tranquil as their thoughts expand.
High over subject vales the brow serene102Of the lone mountain look'd on moonlit skies;Wide glades far opening into swards of green,With shimmering foliage of a thousand dyes,And tedded tufts of heath, and ivyed bolesOf trees, and wild flowers scenting bosky knolls.
And herds of deer as slight as Jura's roe,[8]103Or Irân's shy gazelle, on sheenest places,Group'd still, or flitted the far alleys through;The fairy quarry for the fairy chaces;Or wheel'd the bat, brushing o'er brake and scaur,Lured by the moth, as lures the moth the star.
Sir Gawaine slept—Sir Gawaine slept not long,104His ears were tickled, and his nose was tweak'd;Light feet ran quick his stalwart limbs along,Light fingers pinch'd him, and light voices squeak'd.He oped his eyes, the left and then the right,Fair was the scene, and hideous was his fright!
The tiny people swarm around, and o'er him,105Here on his breast they lead the morris-dance,There, in each ray diagonal before him,They wheel, leap, pirouette, caper, shoot askance,Climb row on row each other's pea-green shoulder,And point and mow upon the shock'd beholder.
And some had faces lovelier than Cupido's,106With rose-bud lips, all dimpling o'er with glee;And some had brows as ominous as Dido's,When Ilion's pious traitor put to sea;Some had bull heads, some lions', but in small,And some (the finer drest) no heads at all.
By mortal dangers scared, the wise resort107To means fugacious,licet et licebit;But he who settles in a fairy's court,Loses that option,sedet et sedebit;Thrice Gawaine strove to stir, nor stirr'd a jot,Charms, cramps, and torments nail'd him to the spot.
Thus of his limbs deprived, the ingenious knight108Straightway betook him to his golden tongue—"Angels," quoth he, "or fairies, with delightI see the race my friends the bards have sungMuch honour'd that, in any way expedient,You make a ball-room of your most obedient."
Floated a sound of laughter, musical—109As when in summer noon, melodious beesCluster o'er jasmine roofs, or as the fallOf silver bells, on the Arabian breeze;What time with chiming feet in palmy shadesMove, round the soften'd Moor, his Georgian maids.
Forth from the rest there stepped a princely fay—110"And well, sir mortal, dost thou speak," quoth he,"We elves are seldom froward to the gay,Rise up, and welcome to our companie."Sir Gawaine won his footing with a spring,Low bow'd the knight, as low the fairy king.
"By the bright diadem of dews congeal'd,111And purple robe of pranksome butterfly,Your royal rank," said Gawaine, "is reveal'd,Yet more, methinks, by your majestic eye;Of kings with mien august I know but two,Men have their Arthur,—happier fairies, you."
"Methought," replied the elf, "thy first accost112Proclaim'd thee one of Arthur's peerless train;Elsewhere alas!—our later age hath lostThe blithe good-breeding of King Saturn's reign,When, some four thousand years ago, with Fauns,We Fays made merry on Arcadian lawns.
"Time flees so fast it seems but yesterday!113And life is brief for fairies as for men.""Ha," said Gawaine, "can fairies pass away?""Pass like the mist on Arran's wave, what then?At least we're young as long as we survive;Our years six thousand—I have number'd five.
"But we have stumbled on a dismal theme,114As always happens when one meets a man—Ho! stop that zephyr!—Robin, catch that beam!And now, my friend, we'll feast it while we can."The moonbeam halts, the zephyr bows his wing,Light through the leaves the laughing people spring.
Then Gawaine felt as if he skirr'd the air,115His brain grew dizzy, and his breath was gone;He stopp'd at last, and such inviting fareNever plump monk set lustful eyes upon.Wild sweet-briars girt the banquet, but the brakeOped where in moonlight rippled Bala's lake.
Such dainty cheer—such rush of revelry—116Such silver laughter—such arch happy faces—Such sportive quarrels from excess of glee—Hush'd up with such sly innocent embraces,Might well maketwicesix thousand years appearTo elfin minds a sadly nipp'd career!
The banquet o'er, the royal Fay intent117To do all honour to King Arthur's knight,Smote with his rod the bank on which they leant,And Fairy-land flash'd glorious on the sight;Flash'd, through a silvery, soft, translucent mist,The opal shafts and domes of amethyst;
Flash'd founts in shells of pearl, which crystal walls118And phosphor lights of myriad hues redouble;There, in the blissful subterranean halls,When morning wakes the world of human trouble,Glide the gay race; each sound our discord knows,Faint-heard above, but lulls them to repose.
O Gawaine, blush! Alas! that gorgeous sight,119But woke the latent mammon in the man,While fairy treasures shone upon the knight,His greedy thoughts on lands and castles ran.He stretch'd his hands, he felt the fingers itch,"Sir Fay," quoth he, "you must be monstrous rich!"
Scarce fall the words from those unlucky lips,120Than down rush'd darkness, flooding all the place;His feet a fairy in a twinkling trips;The angry winglets swarm upon his face;Pounce on their prey the tiny torturers flew,And sang this moral while they pinch'd him blue: