INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD
TO WILLIAM ERSKINE, ESQAshestiel, Ettrick ForestLike April morning clouds, that pass,
With varying shadow, oer the grass,
And imitate, on field and furrow,
Lifes chequerd scene of joy and sorrow;
Like streamlet of the mountain north, 5
Now in a torrent racing forth,
Now winding slow its silver train,
And almost slumbering on the plain;
Like breezes of the autumn day,
Whose voice inconstant dies away, 10
And ever swells again as fast,
When the ear deems its murmur past;
Thus various, my romantic theme
Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning dream.
Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace 15
Of Light and Shades inconstant race;
Pleased, views the rivulet afar,
Weaving its maze irregular;
And pleased, we listen as the breeze
Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn trees; 20
Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or gale,
Flow on, flow unconfined, my Tale!
Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell
I love the license all too well,
In sounds now lowly, and now strong, 25
To raise the desultory song?
Oft, when mid such capricious chime,
Some transient fit of lofty rhyme
To thy kind judgment seemd excuse
For many an error of the muse, 30
Oft hast thou said, If, still misspent,
Thine hours to poetry are lent,
Go, and to tame thy wandering course,
Quaff from the fountain at the source;
Approach those masters, oer whose tomb 35
Immortal laurels ever bloom:
Instructive of the feebler bard,
Still from the grave their voice is heard;
From them, and from the paths they showd,
Choose honourd guide and practised road; 40
Nor ramble on through brake and maze,
With harpers rude of barbarous days.
Or deemst thou not our later time
Yields topic meet for classic rhyme?
Hast thou no elegiac verse 45
For Brunswicks venerable hearse?
What! not a line, a tear, a sigh,
When valour bleeds for liberty? -
Oh, hero of that glorious time,
When, with unrivalld light sublime, 50
Though martial Austria, and though all
The might of Russia, and the Gaul,
Though banded Europe stood her foes-
The star of Brandenburgh arose!
Thou couldst not live to see her beam 55
For ever quenchd in Jenas stream.
Lamented Chief! it was not given
To thee to change the doom of Heaven,
And crush that dragon in its birth,
Predestined scourge of guilty earth. 60
Lamented Chief! not thine the power,
To save in that presumptuous hour,
When Prussia hurried to the field,
And snatchd the spear, but left the shield!
Valour and skill twas thine to try, 65
And, tried in vain, twas thine to die.
Ill had it seemd thy silver hair
The last, the bitterest pang to share,
For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riven,
And birthrights to usurpers given; 70
Thy lands, thy childrens wrongs to feel,
And witness woes thou couldst not heal!
On thee relenting Heaven bestows
For honourd life an honourd close;
And when revolves, in times sure change, 75
The hour of Germanys revenge,
When, breathing fury for her sake,
Some new Arminius shall awake,
Her champion, ere he strike, shall come
To whet his sword on BRUNSWICKS tomb, 80
Or of the Red-Cross hero teach
Dauntless in dungeon as on breach:
Alike to him the sea, the shore,
The brand, the bridle, or the oar:
Alike to him the war that calls 85
Its votaries to the shatterd walls,
Which the grim Turk, besmeard with blood,
Against the Invincible made good;
Or that, whose thundering voice could wake
The silence of the polar lake, 90
When stubborn Russ, and metald Swede,
On the warpd wave their death-game playd;
Or that, where Vengeance and Affright
Howld round the father of the fight,
Who snatchd, on Alexandrias sand, 95
The conquerors wreath with dying hand.
Or, if to touch such chord be thine,
Restore the ancient tragic line,
And emulate the notes that rung
From the wild harp, which silent hung 100
By silver Avons holy shore,
Till twice an hundred years rolld oer;
When she, the bold Enchantress, came,
With fearless hand and heart on flame!
From the pale willow snatchd the treasure, 105
And swept it with a kindred measure,
Till Avons swans, while rung the grove
With Montforts hate and Basils love,
Awakening at the inspired strain,
Deemd their own Shakspeare lived again. 110
Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronging,
With praises not to me belonging,
In task more meet for mightiest powers,
Wouldst thou engage my thriftless hours.
But say, my Erskine, hast thou weighd 115
That secret power by all obeyd,
Which warps not less the passive mind,
Its source conceald or undefined;
Whether an impulse, that has birth
Soon as the infant wakes on earth, 120
One with our feelings and our powers,
And rather part of us than ours;
Or whether fitlier termd the sway
Of habit, formd in early day?
Howeer derived, its force confest 125
Rules with despotic sway the breast,
And drags us on by viewless chain,
While taste and reason plead in vain.
Look east, and ask the Belgian why,
Beneath Batavias sultry sky, 130
He seeks not eager to inhale
The freshness of the mountain gale,
Content to rear his whitend wall
Beside the dank and dull canal?
Hell say, from youth he loved to see 135
The white sail gliding by the tree.
Or see yon weatherbeaten hind,
Whose sluggish herds before him wind,
Whose tatterd plaid and rugged cheek
His northern clime and kindred speak; 140
Through Englands laughing meads he goes,
And Englands wealth around him flows;
Ask, if it would content him well,
At ease in those gay plains to dwell,
Where hedge-rows spread a verdant screen, 145
And spires and forests intervene,
And the neat cottage peeps between?
No! not for these will he exchange
His dark Lochabers boundless range;
Not for fair Devons meads forsake 150
Bennevis grey, and Carrys lake.
Thus while I ape the measure wild
Of tales that charmd me yet a child,
Rude though they be, still with the chime
Return the thoughts of early time; 155
And feelings, roused in lifes first day,
Glow in the line, and prompt the lay.
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower
Which charmd my fancys wakening hour.
Though no broad river swept along, 160
To claim, perchance, heroic song;
Though sighd no groves in summer gale,
To prompt of love a softer tale;
Though scarce a puny streamlets speed
Claimd homage from a shepherds reed; 165
Yet was poetic impulse given,
By the green hill and clear blue heaven.
It was a barren scene, and wild,
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled;
But ever and anon between 170
Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green;
And well the lonely infant knew
Recesses where the wall-flower grew,
And honey-suckle loved to crawl
Up the low crag and ruind wall. 175
I deemd such nooks the sweetest shade
The sun in all its round surveyd;
And still I thought that shatterd tower
The mightiest work of human power;
And marvelld as the aged hind 180
With some strange tale bewitchd my mind,
Of forayers, who, with headlong force,
Down from that strength had spurrd their horse,
Their southern rapine to renew,
Far in the distant Cheviots blue, 185
And, home returning, filld the hall
With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl.
Methought that still with trump and clang,
The gateways broken arches rang;
Methought grim features, seamd with scars, 190
Glared through the windows rusty bars,
And ever, by the winter hearth,
Old tales I heard of woe or mirth,
Of lovers slights, of ladies charms,
Of witches spells, of warriors arms; 195
Of patriot battles, won of old
By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold;
Of later fields of feud and fight,
When, pouring from their Highland height,
The Scottish clans, in headlong sway, 200
Had swept the scarlet ranks away.
While stretchd at length upon the floor,
Again I fought each combat oer,
Pebbles and shells, in order laid,
The mimic ranks of war displayd; 205
And onward still the Scottish Lion bore,
And still the scattered Southron fled before.
Still, with vain fondness, could I trace,
Anew, each kind familiar face,
That brightend at our evening fire! 210
From the thatchd mansions grey-haird Sire,
Wise without learning, plain and good,
And sprung of Scotlands gentler blood;
Whose eye, in age, quick, clear, and keen,
Showd what in youth its glance had been; 215
Whose doom discording neighbours sought,
Content with equity unbought;
To him the venerable Priest,
Our frequent and familiar guest,
Whose life and manners well could paint 220
Alike the student and the saint;
Alas! whose speech too oft I broke
With gambol rude and timeless joke:
For I was wayward, bold, and wild,
A self-willd imp, a grandames child; 225
But half a plague, and half a jest,
Was still endured, beloved, caressd.
From me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask
The classic poets well-connd task?
Nay, Erskine, nay-On the wild hill 230
Let the wild heath-bell flourish still;
Cherish the tulip, prune the vine,
But freely let the woodbine twine,
And leave untrimmd the eglantine:
Nay, my friend, nay-Since oft thy praise 235
Hath given fresh vigour to my lays;
Since oft thy judgment could refine
My flattend thought, or cumbrous line;
Still kind, as is thy wont, attend,
And in the minstrel spare the friend. 240
Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale,
Flow forth, flow unrestraind, my Tale!
CANTO THIRD.
CANTO THIRD.
THE HOSTEL, OR INN
IThe livelong day Lord Marmion rode:
The mountain path the Palmer showd
By glen and streamlet winded still,
Where stunted birches hid the rill.
They might not choose the lowland road, 5
For the Merse forayers were abroad,
Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey,
Had scarcely faild to bar their way.
Oft on the trampling band, from crown
Of some tall cliff, the deer lookd down; 10
On wing of jet, from his repose
In the deep heath, the black-cock rose;
Sprung from the gorse the timid roe,
Nor waited for the bending bow;
And when the stony path began, 15
By which the naked peak they wan,
Up flew the snowy ptarmigan.
The noon had long been passd before
They gaind the height of Lammermoor;
Thence winding down the northern way, 20
Before them, at the close of day,
Old Giffords towers and hamlet lay.
No summons calls them to the tower,
To spend the hospitable hour.
To Scotlands camp the Lord was gone; 25
His cautious dame, in bower alone,
Dreaded her castle to unclose,
So late, to unknown friends or foes.
On through the hamlet as they paced,
Before a porch, whose front was graced 30
With bush and flagon trimly placed,
Lord Marmion drew his rein:
The village inn seemd large, though rude;
Its cheerful fire and hearty food
Might well relieve his train. 35
Down from their seats the horsemen sprung,
With jingling spurs the court-yard rung;
They bind their horses to the stall,
For forage, food, and firing call,
And various clamour fills the hall: 40
Weighing the labour with the cost,
Toils everywhere the bustling host.
Soon, by the chimneys merry blaze,
Through the rude hostel might you gaze;
Might see, where, in dark nook aloof, 45
The rafters of the sooty roof
Bore wealth of winter cheer;
Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store,
And gammons of the tusky boar,
And savoury haunch of deer. 50
The chimney arch projected wide;
Above, around it, and beside,
Were tools for housewives hand;
Nor wanted, in that martial day,
The implements of Scottish fray, 55
The buckler, lance, and brand.
Beneath its shade, the place of state,
On oaken settle Marmion sate,
And viewd around the blazing hearth.
His followers mix in noisy mirth; 60
Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide,
From ancient vessels ranged aside,
Full actively their host supplied.
Theirs was the glee of martial breast,
And laughter theirs at little jest; 65
And oft Lord Marmion deignd to aid,
And mingle in the mirth they made;
For though, with men of high degree,
The proudest of the proud was he,
Yet, traind in camps, he knew the art 70
To win the soldiers hardy heart.
They love a captain to obey,
Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May;
With open hand, and brow as free,
Lover of wine and minstrelsy; 75
Ever the first to scale a tower,
As venturous in a ladys bower: -
Such buxom chief shall lead his host
From Indias fires to Zemblas frost.
Resting upon his pilgrim staff, 80
Right opposite the Palmer stood;
His thin dark visage seen but half,
Half hidden by his hood.
Still fixd on Marmion was his look,
Which he, who ill such gaze could brook, 85
Strove by a frown to quell;
But not for that, though more than once
Full met their stern encountering glance,
The Palmers visage fell.
By fits less frequent from the crowd 90
Was heard the burst of laughter loud;
For still, as squire and archer stared
On that dark face and matted beard,
Their glee and game declined.
All gazed at length in silence drear, 95
Unbroke, save when in comrades ear
Some yeoman, wondering in his fear,
Thus whispered forth his mind: -
Saint Mary! sawst thou eer such sight?
How pale his cheek, his eye how bright, 100
Wheneer the firebrands fickle light
Glances beneath his cowl!
Full on our Lord he sets his eye;
For his best palfrey, would not I
Endure that sullen scowl. 105
But Marmion, as to chase the awe
Which thus had quelld their hearts, who saw
The ever-varying fire-light show
That figure stern and face of woe,
Now calld upon a squire: 110
Fitz-Eustace, knowst thou not some lay,
To speed the lingering night away?
We slumber by the fire.-
So please you, thus the youth rejoind,
Our choicest minstrels left behind. 115
Ill may we hope to please your ear,
Accustomd Constants strains to hear.
The harp full deftly can he strike,
And wake the lovers lute alike;
To dear Saint Valentine, no thrush 120
Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush,
No nightingale her love-lorn tune
More sweetly warbles to the moon.
Woe to the cause, whateer it be,
Detains from us his melody, 125
Lavishd on rocks, and billows stern,
Or duller monks of Lindisfarne.
Now must I venture as I may,
To sing his favourite roundelay.
A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had, 130
The air he chose was wild and sad;
Such have I heard, in Scottish land,
Rise from the busy harvest band,
When falls before the mountaineer,
On Lowland plains, the ripend ear. 135
Now one shrill voice the notes prolong,
Now a wild chorus swells the song:
Oft have I listend, and stood still,
As it came softend up the hill,
And deemd it the lament of men 140
Who languishd for their native glen;
And thought how sad would be such sound,
On Susquehannas swampy ground,
Kentuckys wood-encumberd brake,
Or wild Ontarios boundless lake, 145
Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain,
Recalld fair Scotlands hills again!
Song
Where shall the lover rest,
Whom the fates sever
From his true maidens breast, 150
Parted for ever?
Where, through groves deep and high,
Sounds the far billow,
Where early violets die,
Under the willow. 155
CHORUS.
Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow.
There, through the summer day,
Cool streams are laving;
There, while the tempests sway,
Scarce are boughs waving; 160
There, thy rest shalt thou take,
Parted for ever,
Never again to wake,
Never, O never!
CHORUS.
Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never! 165
Where shall the traitor rest,
He, the deceiver,
Who could win maidens breast,
Ruin, and leave her?
In the lost battle, 170
Borne down by the flying,
Where mingles wars rattle
With groans of the dying.
CHORUS.
Eleu loro, &c. There shall he be lying.
Her wing shall the eagle flap 175
Oer the false-hearted;
His warm blood the wolf shall lap,
Ere life be parted.
Shame and dishonour sit
By his grave ever; 180
Blessing shall hallow it, -
Never, O never.
CHORUS.
Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never!
It ceased, the melancholy sound;
And silence sunk on all around. 185
The air was sad; but sadder still
It fell on Marmions ear,
And plaind as if disgrace and ill,
And shameful death, were near.
He drew his mantle past his face, 190
Between it and the band,
And rested with his head a space,
Reclining on his hand.
His thoughts I scan not; but I ween,
That, could their import have been seen, 195
The meanest groom in all the hall,
That eer tied courser to a stall,
Would scarce have wished to be their prey,
For Lutterward and Fontenaye.
High minds, of native pride and force, 200
Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse!
Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have,
Thou art the torturer of the brave!
Yet fatal strength they boast to steel
Their minds to bear the wounds they feel, 205
Even while they writhe beneath the smart
Of civil conflict in the heart.
For soon Lord Marmion raised his head,
And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said,
Is it not strange, that, as ye sung, 210
Seemd in mine ear a death-peal rung,
Such as in nunneries they toll
For some departing sisters soul?
Say, what may this portend?-
Then first the Palmer silence broke, 215
(The livelong day he had not spoke)
The death of a dear friend.
Marmion, whose steady heart and eye
Neer changed in worst extremity;
Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, 220
Even from his King, a haughty look;
Whose accents of command controlld,
In camps, the boldest of the bold-
Thought, look, and utterance faild him now,
Falln was his glance, and flushd his brow: 225
For either in the tone,
Or something in the Palmers look,
So full upon his conscience strook,
That answer he found none.
Thus oft it haps, that when within 230
They shrink at sense of secret sin,
A feather daunts the brave;
A fools wild speech confounds the wise,
And proudest princes vail their eyes
Before their meanest slave. 235
Well might he falter! By his aid
Was Constance Beverley betrayd.
Not that he augurd of the doom,
Which on the living closed the tomb:
But, tired to hear the desperate maid 240
Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid;
And wroth, because, in wild despair,
She practised on the life of Clare;
Its fugitive the Church he gave,
Though not a victim, but a slave; 245
And deemd restraint in convent strange
Would hide her wrongs, and her revenge,
Himself, proud Henrys favourite peer,
Held Romish thunders idle fear,
Secure his pardon he might hold, 250
For some slight mulct of penance-gold.
Thus judging, he gave secret way,
When the stern priests surprised their prey.
His train but deemd the favourite page
Was left behind, to spare his age; 255
Or other if they deemd, none dared
To mutter what he thought and heard:
Woe to the vassal, who durst pry
Into Lord Marmions privacy!
His conscience slept-he deemd her well, 260
And safe secured in yonder cell;
But, wakend by her favourite lay,
And that strange Palmers boding say,
That fell so ominous and drear,
Full on the object of his fear, 265
To aid remorses venomd throes,
Dark tales of convent-vengeance rose;
And Constance, late betrayd and scornd,
All lovely on his soul returnd;
Lovely as when, at treacherous call, 270
She left her convents peaceful wall,
Crimsond with shame, with terror mute,
Dreading alike escape, pursuit,
Till love, victorious oer alarms,
Hid fears and blushes in his arms. 275
Alas! he thought, how changed that mien!
How changed these timid looks have been,
Since years of guilt, and of disguise,
Have steeld her brow, and armd her eyes!
No more of virgin terror speaks 280
The blood that mantles in her cheeks;
Fierce, and unfeminine, are there,
Frenzy for joy, for grief despair;
And I the cause-for whom were given
Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven! 285
Would, thought he, as the picture grows,
I on its stalk had left the rose!
Oh, why should mans success remove
The very charms that wake his love! -
Her convents peaceful solitude 290
Is now a prison harsh and rude;
And, pent within the narrow cell,
How will her spirit chafe and swell!
How brook the stern monastic laws!
The penance how-and I the cause! 295
Vigil, and scourge-perchance even worse!-
And twice he rose to cry, To horse!
And twice his Sovereigns mandate came,
Like damp upon a kindling flame;
And twice he thought, Gave I not charge 300
She should be safe, though not at large?
They durst not, for their island, shred
One golden ringlet from her head.
While thus in Marmions bosom strove
Repentance and reviving love, 305
Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway
Ive seen Loch Vennachar obey,
Their Host the Palmers speech had heard,
And, talkative, took up the word:
Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray 310
From Scotlands simple land away,
To visit realms afar,
Full often learn the art to know
Of future weal, or future woe,
By word, or sign, or star; 315
Yet might a knight his fortune hear,
If, knight-like, he despises fear,
Not far from hence; if fathers old
Aright our hamlet legend told.-
These broken words the menials move,
(For marvels still the vulgar love,) 320
And, Marmion giving license cold,
His tale the host thus gladly told: -
The Hosts Tale
A Clerk could tell what years have flown
Since Alexander filld our throne, 325
(Third monarch of that warlike name,)
And eke the time when here he came
To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord:
A braver never drew a sword;
A wiser never, at the hour 330
Of midnight, spoke the word of power:
The same, whom ancient records call
The founder of the Goblin-Hall.
I would, Sir Knight, your longer stay
Gave you that cavern to survey. 335
Of lofty roof, and ample size,
Beneath the castle deep it lies:
To hew the living rock profound,
The floor to pave, the arch to round,
There never toild a mortal arm, 340
It all was wrought by word and charm;
And I have heard my grandsire say,
That the wild clamour and affray
Of those dread artisans of hell,
Who labourd under Hugos spell, 345
Sounded as loud as oceans war,
Among the caverns of Dunbar.
The King Lord Giffords castle sought,
Deep labouring with uncertain thought;
Even then he mustered all his host, 350
To meet upon the western coast;
For Norse and Danish galleys plied
Their oars within the Frith of Clyde.
There floated Hacos banner trim,
Above Norweyan warriors grim, 355
Savage of heart, and large of limb;
Threatening both continent and isle,
Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle.
Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground,
Heard Alexanders bugle sound, 360
And tarried not his garb to change,
But, in his wizard habit strange,
Came forth, a quaint and fearful sight;
His mantle lined with fox-skins white;
His high and wrinkled forehead bore 365
A pointed cap, such as of yore
Clerks say that Pharaohs Magi wore:
His shoes were markd with cross and spell,
Upon his breast a pentacle;
His zone, of virgin parchment thin, 370
Or, as some tell, of dead mans skin,
Bore many a planetary sign,
Combust, and retrograde, and trine;
And in his hand he held prepared,
A naked sword without a guard. 375
Dire dealings with the fiendish race
Had markd strange lines upon his face;
Vigil and fast had worn him grim,
His eyesight dazzled seemd and dim,
As one unused to upper day; 380
Even his own menials with dismay
Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly Sire,
In his unwonted wild attire;
Unwonted, for traditions run,
He seldom thus beheld the sun. 385
I know, he said, his voice was hoarse,
And broken seemd its hollow force, -
I know the cause, although untold,
Why the King seeks his vassals hold:
Vainly from me my liege would know 390
His kingdoms future weal or woe;
But yet, if strong his arm and heart,
His courage may do more than art.
Of middle air the demons proud,
Who ride upon the racking cloud, 395
Can read, in fixd or wandering star,
The issue of events afar;
But still their sullen aid withhold,
Save when by mightier force controlld.
Such late I summond to my hall; 400
And though so potent was the call,
That scarce the deepest nook of hell
I deemd a refuge from the spell,
Yet, obstinate in silence still,
The haughty demon mocks my skill. 405
But thou, who little knowst thy might,
As born upon that blessed night
When yawning graves, and dying groan,
Proclaimd hells empire overthrown, -
With untaught valour shalt compel 410
Response denied to magic spell.-
Gramercy, quoth our Monarch free,
Place him but front to front with me,
And, by this good and honourd brand,
The gift of Coeur-de-Lions hand, 415
Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide,
The demon shall a buffet bide.-
His bearing bold the wizard viewd,
And thus, well pleased, his speech renewd: -
There spoke the blood of Malcolm! mark: 420
Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark,
The rampart seek, whose circling crown
Crests the ascent of yonder down:
A southern entrance shalt thou find;
There halt, and there thy bugle wind, 425
And trust thine elfin foe to see,
In guise of thy worst enemy:
Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed-
Upon him! and Saint George to speed!
If he go down, thou soon shalt know 430
Whateer these airy sprites can show: -