II. ARGUMENT
Introductory reflections--Arthur's absence--Caradoc's suspended epic-- The deliberations of the three friends--Merlin seeks them--The trial of the enchanted forest--Merlin's soliloquy by the fountain--The return of the knights from the forest--Merlin's selection of the one permitted to join the King--The narrative returns to Arthur--The strange guide allotted to him--He crosses the sea, and arrives at the court of the Vandal--Ludovick, the Vandal King, described--His wily questions-- Arthur's answers--The Vandal seeks his friend Astutio--Arthur leaves the court--Conference between Astutio and Ludovick--Astutio's profound statesmanship and subtle schemes--The Ambassador from Mercia--His address to Ludovick--The Saxons pursue Arthur--Meanwhile the Cymrian King arrives at the sea-shore--Description of the caves that intercept his progress--He turns inland--The Idol-shrine--The wolf and the priest.
Oft in the sands, in idle summer days, 1 Will childlike fondness write some cherish'd name, Lull'd on the margin, while the wavelet plays, And tides still dreaming on:--Alas! the same On human hearts Affection prints a trace; The sands record it, and the tides efface.
If absence parts, Hope, ready to console, 2 Whispers, "Be soothed, the absent shall return;" If Death divides, a moment from the goal, Love stays the step, and decks, but leaves, the urn, Vowing remembrance;--let the year be o'er, And see, remembrance smiles like joy, once more!
In street and mart still plies the busy craft. 3 Still Beauty trims for stealthy steps the bower; By lips as gay the Hirlas horn[1] is quaft; To the dark bourne still flies as fast the hour, As when in Arthur men adored the sun; And Life's large rainbow took its hues from One!
Yet ne'er by Prince more loved a crown was worn, 4 And hadst thou ventured but to hint the doubt That loyal subjects ever ceased to mourn, And that without him, earth was joy without,-- Thou soon hadst join'd in certain warm dominions The horned friends of pestilent opinions.
Thrice bless'd, O King, that on thy royal head 5 Fall the night-dews; that the broad-spreading beech Curtains thy sleep; that in the paths of dread, Lonely thou wanderest,--so thy steps may reach RENOWN,--that bridge which spans the midnight sea, And joins two worlds,--Time and Eternity!
All is forgot save Poetry; or whether 6 Haunting Time's river from the vocal reeds, Or link'd not less in human souls together With ends, which make the poetry of deeds; For either poetry alike can shine-- From Hector's valour as from Homer's line.
Yet let me wrong ye not, ye faithful three, 7 Gawaine, and Caradoc, and Lancelot! Gawaine's light lip had lost its laughing glee And gentle Caradoc had half forgot That famous epic which his muse had hit on, Of Trojan Brut--from whom the name of Briton.
Therein Sir Brut, expell'd from flaming Troy,[2] 8 Comes to this isle, and seeks to build a city, Which Devils, then the Freeholders, destroy; Till the sweet Virgin on Sir Brut takes pity, And bids that Saint who now speaks Welsh on high,[3] Baptize the astonish'd heathen in the Wye!
This done, the fiends, at once disfranchised, fled; 9 And to the Saint the Trojan built a chapel, Where masses daily were for Priam said:-- While thrice a week, the priests, that golden apple By which three fiends, as goddesses disguised, Bewitch'd Sir Paris, anathematized.
But now this epic, in its course suspended, 10 Slept on the shelf--(a not uncommon fate); Ah, who shall tell, if, ere resumed and ended, That kind of poem be not out of date? For of all ladies there are none who chuse Such freaks and turns of fashion, as the Muse.
And then, sad Lancelot--but there I hold; 11 Some griefs there are which grief alone can guess, And so we leave whate'er he felt untold; Light steps profane the heart's deep loneliness. I, too, had once a friend, in happier years! He fled,--he owed,--forgot;--Forgive these tears!--
Much, their sole comfort, much conversed the three 12 Upon their absent Arthur; what the cause Of his self-exile, and its ends, could be; Much did they ponder, hesitate, and pause In high debate if loyal love might still Pursue his wanderings, though against his will.
But first the awe which kings command, restrain'd; 13 And next the ignorance of the path and goal; So, thus for weeks they communed and remain'd; Till o'er the woods a mellower verdure stole; The bell-flower clothed the river-banks; the moon Stood in the breathless firmament of June;
When--as one twilight near the forest-mount 14 They sate, and heard the vesper-bell afar Swing from the dim Cathedral, and the fount Hymn low its own sweet music to the star Lone in the west--they saw a shadow pass Where the pale beam shot silvering o'er the grass.
They turn'd, beheld their Cymri's mighty seer, 15 Majestic Merlin, and with reverence rose; "Knights," said the soothsayer, smiling, "be of cheer If yet alone (the stars themselves his foes) Wanders the King,--now, of his faithful three One, Fate permits; the choice with Fate must be.
"Enter the forest--each his several way; 16 Return as dies in air the vesper chime; The fiend the forest populace obey Hath not o'er mortals empire in the time When holy sounds the wings of Heaven invite, And prayer hangs charm-like on the wheels of Night.
"What seen, what heard, mark mindful, and relate! 17 Here will I tarry till your steps return." Ne'er leapt the captive from the prison grate With livelier gladness to the smiles of morn, Than sprang those rivals to the forest-gloom, And its dark arms closed round them like a tomb.
Before the fount, with thought-o'ershadow'd brow, 18 The prophet stood, and bent a wistful eye Along its starlit shimmer;--"Ev'n as now," He murmur'd, "didst thou lift thyself on high, O symbol of my soul, and make thy course One upward struggle to thy mountain source--
"When first, a musing boy, I stood beside 19 Thy sparkling showers, and ask'd my restless heart What secrets Nature to the herd denied, But might to earnest hierophant impart; Then, in the boundless space around and o'er, Thought whisper'd--'Rise, O seeker, and explore;
"'Can every leaf a teeming world contain, 20 In the least drop can race succeed to race, Yet one death-slumber in its dreamless reign Clasp all the illumed magnificence of space-- Life crowd the drop--from air's vast seas effaced-- The leaf a world--the firmament a waste?'--
"And while Thought whisper'd, from thy shining spring 21 The glorious answer murmur'd--'Soul of Man, Let the fount teach thee, and its struggle bring Truth to thy yearnings!--whither I began, Thither I tend; my law is to aspire: Spirit thy source, be spirit thy desire.'
"And I have made the life of spirit mine; 22 And, on the margin of my mortal grave, My soul, already in an air divine Ev'n in its terrors,--starlit, seeks to cleave Up to the height on which its source must be-- And falls again, in earthward showers, like thee.
"System on system climbing, sphere on sphere, 23 Upward for ever, ever, evermore, Can all eternity not bring more near? Is it in vain that I have sought to soar? Vain as the Has been, is the long To be? Type of my soul, O fountain, answer me!"
And while he spoke, behold the night's soft flowers, 24 Scentless to day, awoke, and bloom'd, and breathed; Fed by the falling of the fountain's showers, Round its green marge the grateful garland wreathed; The fount might fail its source on high to gain-- But ask the blossom if it soared in vain!
The prophet mark'd, and, on his mighty brow, 25 Thought grew resign'd, serene, though mournful still. Now ceased the vesper, and the branches now Stirr'd on the margin of the forest hill-- And Gawaine came into the starlit space-- Slow was his step, and sullen was his face.
"What didst thou see?"--"The green-wood and the sky." 26 "What hear?"--"The light leaf dropping on the sward." And now, with front elate and hopeful eye, Stood, in the starlight, Caradoc the bard; The prophet smiled on that fair face (akin Poet and prophet), "Child of Song, begin."
"I saw a glow-worm light his fairy lamp, 27 Close where a little torrent forced its way Through broad-leaved water-sedge, and alder damp; Above the glow-worm, from some lower spray Of the near mountain-ash, the silver song Of night's sweet chorister came clear and strong;
"No thrilling note of melancholy wail; 28 Ne'er pour'd the thrush more musical delight Through noon-day laurels, than that nightingale In the lone forest to the ear of Night-- Ev'n as the light web by Arachne spun, From bough to bough suspended in the sun,
"Ensnares the heedless insect,--so, methought 29 Midway in air my soul arrested hung In the melodious meshes; never aught To mortal lute was so divinely sung! Surely, O prophet, these the sound and sign, Which make the lot, the search determines mine,"
"O self-deceit of man!" the soothsayer sigh'd, 30 "The worm but lent its funeral torch the ray; The night-bird's joy but hail'd the fatal guide, In the bright glimmer, to its thoughtless prey. And thou, bold-eyed one--in the forest, what Met thy firm footstep?"--Out spoke Lancelot--
"I pierced the forest till a pool I reach'd, 31 Ne'er mark'd before--a dark yet lucid wave; High from a blasted oak the night-owl screech'd, An otter crept from out its water-cave, The owl grew silent when it heard my tread-- The otter mark'd my shadow, and it fled.
"This all I saw, and all I heard."--"Rejoice" 32 The enchanter cried, "for thee the omens smile; On thee propitious Fate hath fix'd the choice; And thou the comrade in the glorious toil. In death the poet only music heard; But death gave way when life's firm soldier stirr'd.
"Forth ride, a dauntless champion, with the morn; 33 But let the night the champion nerve with prayer; Higher and higher from the heron borne, Wheels thy brave falcon to the heavenliest air, Poises his wings, far towering o'er the foe, And hangs aloft, before he swoops below;
"Man let the falcon teach thee!--Now, from land 34 To land thy guide, receive this chrystal ring; See, in the chrystal moves a fairy hand, Still, where it moveth, moves the wandering King-- Or east, or north, or south, or west, where'er Points the sure hand, thy onward path be there!
"Thine hour comes soon, young Gawaine! to the port 35 The light heart boundeth o'er the stormiest wave; And thou, fair favourite[4] in the Fairy court, To whom its King a realm in fancy gave; Fear not from glory exiled long to be, What toil to others, Nature brings to thee."
Thus with kind word, well chosen, unto each 36 Spoke the benign enchanter; and the twain, Less favour'd, heart and comfort from his speech Hopeful conceived; the prophet up the plain, Gathering weird simples, pass'd--to Carduel they; And song escapes to Arthur's lonely way.
On towards the ocean-shore (for thus the seer 37 Enjoin'd) the royal knight, deep musing, rode; Winding green margins, till more near and near Unto the main the exulting river flow'd. Here too a guide, when reach'd the mightier wave, The heedful promise of the prophet gave.
Where the sea flashes on the argent sands, 38 Soars from a lonely rock a snow-white dove: No bird more beauteous to immortal lands Bore Psyche rescued side by side with Love. Ev'n as some thought which, pure of earthly taint, Springs from the chaste heart of a virgin saint.
It hovers in the heaven:--and from its wings 39 Shakes the clear dewdrops of unsullying seas; Then circling gently in slow-measured rings, Nearer and nearer to its goal it flees, And drooping, fearless, on that noble breast, Murmuring low joy, it coos itself to rest.
The grateful King, with many a soothing word, 40 And bland caress, the guileless trust repaid; When, gently gliding from his hand, the bird Went fluttering where the hollow headlands made A boat's small harbour; Arthur from the chain Released the raft,--it shot along the main.
Now in that boat, beneath the eyes of heaven, 41 Floated the three, the steed, the bird, the man; To favouring winds the little sail was given; The shore fail'd gradual, dwindling to a span; The steed bent wistful o'er the watery realm; And the white dove perch'd tranquil at the helm.
Haply by fisherman, its owner, left, 42 Within the boat were rude provisions stored; The yellow harvest from the wild bee reft, Bread, roots, dried fish, the luxuries of a board Health spreads for toil; while skins and flasks of reed Yield, these the water, those the strengthening mead.
Five days, five nights, still onward, onward o'er 43 Light-swelling waves, bounded the bark its way: At last the sun set reddening on a shore; Walls on the cliff, and war-ships in the bay; While from bright towers, o'erlooking sea and plain, The Leopard-banners told the Vandal's reign.
Amid those shifting royalties, the North 44 Pour'd from its teeming breast, in tumult driven, Now to, now fro, as thunder-clouds sent forth To darken, burst,--and bursting, clear the heaven; Ere yet the Nomad nations found repose, And order dawn'd as Charlemain arose;
Amidst that ferment of fierce races, won 45 To yonder shores a wandering Vandal horde, Whose chief exchanged his war-tent for a throne, And shaped a sceptre from a conqueror's sword; His sons, expell'd by rude intestine broil, Sought that worst wilderness--the Stranger's soil.
A distant kinsman, Ludovick his name, 46 With them was exiled, and with them return'd. A prince of popular and patriot fame; To roast his egg your house he would have burn'd! A patriot soul no ties of kindred knows-- His kinsman's palace was the house he chose.
A patriot gamester playing for a Crown, 47 He watch'd the hazard with indifferent air, Rebuked well-wishers with a gentle frown, Then dropp'd the whisper--"What I win I share." Who plays for power should make the odds so fall, That one man's luck should seem the gain of all.
The moment came, disorder split the realm; 48 Too stern the ruler, or too feebly stern; The supple kinsman slided to the helm, And trimm'd the rudder with a dexterous turn; A turn so dexterous, that it served to fling Both overboard--the people and the king!
The captain's post repaid the pilot's task, 49 He seized the ship as he had cleared the prow; Drop we the metaphor as he the mask: And, while his gaping Vandals wonder'd how, Behold the patriot to the despot grown, Filch'd from the fight, and juggled to the throne!
And bland in words was wily Ludovick! 50 Much did he promise, nought did he fulfil; The trickster Fortune loves the hands that trick, And smiled approving on her conjuror's skill! The promised freedom vanish'd in a tax, And bays, turn'd briars, scourged bewilder'd backs.
Soon is the landing of the stranger knight 51 Known at the court; and courteously the king Gives to his guest the hospitable rite; Heralds the tromp, and harpers wake the string; Rich robes of miniver the mail replace, And the bright banquet sparkles on the dais.
Where on the wall the cloth, goldwoven, glow'd, 52 Beside his chair of state, the Vandal lord Made room for that fair stranger, as he strode With a king's footstep, to the kingly board. In robes so nobly worn, the wise old man Saw some great soul, which cunning whisper'd "scan."
A portly presence had the realm-deceiver; 53 Ah eye urbane, a people-catching smile, A brow of webs the everlasting weaver, Where jovial frankness mask'd the serious guile; Each word, well aim'd, he feather'd with a jest, And, unsuspected, shot into the breast.
Gaily he welcomed Arthur to the feast, 54 And press'd the goblet, which unties the tongue; As the bowl circled so his speech increased, And chose such flatteries as seduce the young; Seeming in each kind question more to blend The fondling father with the anxious friend.
If frank the prince, esteem him not the less; 55 The soul of knighthood loves the truth of man; The boons he sought 'twas needful to suppress, Not mask the seeker; so the prince began-- "Arthur my name, from YNYS VEL[5] I come, And the steep homes of Cymri's Christendom.
"Five days ago, in Carduel's halls a king, 56 A lonely pilgrim now o'er lands and seas, I seek such fame as gallant deeds can bring, And hope from danger gifts denied to ease; Lore from experience, thought from toil to gain, And learn as man how best as king to reign."
The Vandal smiled, and praised the high design; 57 Then, careless, questioned of the Cymrian land: "Was earth propitious to the corn and vine? Was the sun genial?--were the breezes bland? Did gold and gem the mountain mines conceal?"-- "Our soil bears manhood, and our mountains steel,"
The Monarch answer'd; "and where these are found, 58 All plains yield harvests, and all mines the gold."-- "Your hills are doubtless," quoth the Vandal, "crown'd With castled tower, and fosse-defended hold?"-- "One hold the land--its mightiest fosse the sea; And its strong walls the bosoms of the free."
The Vandal mused, and thought the answers shrewd, 59 But little suited to the listeners by; So turn'd the subject, nor again renew'd Sharp questions blunted by such bold reply. Now ceased the banquet; to a chamber, spread With fragrant heath, his guest the Vandal led.
With his own hand unclasp'd the mantle's fold, 60 And took his leave in blessings without number; Bade every angel shelter from the cold, And every saint watch sleepless o'er the slumber; Then his own chamber sought, and rack'd his breast To find some use to which to put the guest.
Three days did Arthur sojourn in that court; 61 And much he marvell'd how that warlike race Bow'd to a chief, whom never knightly sport, The gallant tourney, nor the glowing chase Allured; and least those glory-lighted dyes Which make death lovely in a warrior's eyes.
Yet, 'midst his marvel, much the Cymrian sees 62 For king to imitate and sage to praise; Splendour and thrift in nicely-poised degrees, Caution that guards, and promptness that dismays; But Fraud will oftimes make the Fate it fears;-- Some day, found stifled by the mask it wears.
On his part, Arthur in such estimation 63 Did the host hold, that he proposed to take A father's charge of his forsaken nation. "He loved not meddling, but for Arthur's sake, Would leave his own, his guest's affairs to mind." An offer Arthur thankfully declined.
Much grieved the Vandal "that he just had given 64 His last unwedded daughter to a Frank, But still he had a wifeless son, thank Heaven! Not yet provision'd as beseem'd his rank, And one of Arthur's sisters----" Uther's son Smiled, and replied--"Sir king, I have but one,
"Borne by my mother to her former lord; 65 Not young."--"Alack! youth cannot last like riches." "Not fair."--"Then youth is less to be deplored." "A witch."[6]--"All women till they're wed are witches! Wived to my son, the witch will soon be steady!" "Wived to your son?--she is a wife already!"
O baseless dreams of man! The king stood mute! 66 That son, of all his house the favourite flower, How had he sought to force it into fruit, And graft the slip upon a lusty dower! And this sole sister of a king so rich, A wife already!--Saints consume the witch!
With brow deject, the mournful Vandal took 67 Occasion prompt to leave his royal guest, And sought a friend who served him, as a book Read in our illness, in our health dismiss'd; For seldom did the Vandal condescend To that poor drudge which monarchs call a friend!
And yet Astutio was a man of worth 68 Before the brain had reason'd out the heart; But now he learned to look upon the earth As peddling hucksters look upon the mart; Took souls for wares, and conscience for a till; And damn'd his fame to serve his master's will.
Much lore he had in men, and states, and things, 69 And kept his memory mapp'd in prim precision, With histories, laws, and pedigrees of kings, And moral saws, which ran through each division, All neatly colour'd with appropriate hue-- The histories black, the morals heavenly blue!
But state-craft, mainly, was his pride and boast; 70 "The golden medium" was his guiding star, Which means "move on until you're uppermost, And then things can't be better than they are!" Brief, in two rules he summ'd the ends of man-- "Keep all you have, and try for all you can!"
While these conferr'd, fair Arthur wistfully 71 Look'd from the lattice of his stately room; The rainbow spann'd the ocean of the sky, An arch of glory in the midst of gloom; So light from dark by lofty souls is won, And on the rain-cloud they reflect the sun.
As such, perchance, his thought, the snow-white dove, 72 Which at the threshold of the Vandal's towers Had left his side, came circling from above, Athwart the rainbow and the sparkling showers, Flew through the open lattice, paused, and sprung Where on the wall the abandon'd armour hung;
Hover'd above the lance, the mail, the crest, 73 Then back to Arthur, and with querulous cries, Peck'd at the clasp that bound the flowing vest, Chiding his dalliance from the arm'd emprize, So Arthur deem'd; and soon from head to heel Blazed War's dread statue, sculptured from the steel.
Then through the doorway flew the winged guide, 74 Skimm'd the long gallery, shunn'd the thronging hall, And, through deserted posterns, led the stride Of its arm'd follower to the charger's stall; Loud neigh'd the destrier[7] at the welcome clang And drowsy horseboys into service sprang.
Though threaten'd danger well the prince divined, 75 He deem'd it churlish in ungracious haste Thus to depart, nor thank a host so kind; But when the step the courteous thought retraced, With breast and wing the dove opposed his way, And warn'd with scaring scream the rash delay.
The King reluctant yields. Now in the court 76 Paws with impatient hoof the barbed steed; Now yawn the sombre portals of the fort; Creaks the hoarse drawbridge;--now the walls are freed. Through dun woods hanging o'er the ocean tide, Glimmers the steel, and gleams the angel-guide.
An opening glade upon the headland's prow 77 Sudden admits the ocean and the day. Lo! the waves cleft before the gilded prow, Where the tall war-ship, towering, sweeps to bay. Why starts the King?--High over mast and sail, The Saxon Horse rides ghastly in the gale!
Grateful to heaven, and heaven's plumed messenger, 78 He raised his reverent eyes, then shook the rein: Bounded the barb, disdainful of the spur, Clear'd the steep cliff, and scour'd along the plain. Still, while he sped, the swifter wings that lead Seem to rebuke for sloth the swiftening steed.
Nor cause unmeet for grateful thought, I ween, 79 Had the good King; nor vainly warn'd the bird; Nor idly fled the steed; as shall be seen, If, where the Vandal and his friend conferr'd, Awhile our path retracing, we relate What craft deems guiltless when the craft of state.
"Sire," quoth Astutio, "well I comprehend 80 Your cause for grief; the seedsman breaks the ground For the new plant; new thrones that would extend Their roots, must loosen all the earth around; For trees and thrones no rule than this more true, What most disturbs the old best serves the new.
"Thus all ways wise to push your princely son 81 Under the soil of Cymri's ancient stem; And if the ground the thriving plant had won, What prudent man will plants that thrive condemn? Sir, in your move a master hand is seen, Your well play'd bishop caught both tower and queen."
"And now checkmate!" the wretched sire exclaims, 82 With watering eyes, and mouth that water'd too. "Nay," quoth the sage; "a match means many games, Replace the pieces, and begin anew. You want this Cymrian's crown--the want is just."-- "But how to get it?"--"Sir, with ease, I trust.
"The witch is married--better that than burn 83 (A well-known text--to witches not applied); But let that pass:--great sir, to Anglia turn, And mate your Vandal with a Saxon bride. Her dower," cried Ludovick, "the dower's the thing." "The lands and sceptre of the Cymrian King."
Then to that anxious sire the learned man 84 Bared the large purpose latent in his speech; O'er Britain's gloomy history glibly ran; Anglia's new kingdoms, he described them each; But most himself to Mercia he addresses, For Mercia's king, great man, hath two princesses!
Long on this glowing theme enlarged the sage, 85 And turn'd, return'd, and turn'd it o'er again; Thus when a mercer would your greed engage In some fair silk, or cloth of comely grain, He spreads it out--upholds it to the day, Then sighs "So cheap, too!"--and your soul gives way.
He show'd the Saxon, hungering to devour 86 The last unconquer'd realm the Cymrian boasts; He dwelt at length on Mercia's gathering power, Swell'd, year by year, from Elbe's unfailing hosts. Then proved how Mercia scarcely could retain Beneath the sceptre what the sword might gain.
"For Mercia's vales from Cymri's hills are far, 87 And Mercian warriors hard to keep afield; And men fresh conquer'd stormy subjects are; What can't be held 'tis no great loss to yield; And still the Saxon might secure his end, If where the foe had reign'd he left the friend.
"Nay, what so politic in Mercia's king 88 As on that throne a son-in-law to place?" While thus they saw their birds upon the wing Ere hatched the egg,--as is the common case With large capacious minds, the natural heirs Of that vast property--the things not theirs!
In comes a herald--comes with startling news: 89 "A Saxon chief has anchor'd in the bay, From Mercia's king ambassador, and sues The royal audience ere the close of day." The wise old men upon each other stare, "While monarchs counsel, thus the saints prepare,"
Astutio murmur'd, with a pious smile. 90 "Admit the noble Saxon," quoth the King. The two laugh out, and rub their palms, the while The herald speeds the ambassador to bring; And soon a chief, fair-hair'd, erect, and tall, With train and trumpet, strides along the hall.
Upon his wrist a falcon, bell'd, he bore; 91 Leash'd at his heels six bloodhounds grimly stalk'd; A broad round shield was slung his breast before; The floors reclang'd with armour as he walk'd; He gained the dais; his standard-bearer spread Broadly the banner o'er his helmed head,
And thrice the tromp his blazon'd herald woke, 92 And hail'd Earl Harold from the Mercian king. Full on the Vandal gazed the earl, and spoke: "Greeting from Crida, Woden's heir, I bring, And these plain words:--'The Saxon's steel is bare, Red harvests wait it--will the Vandal share?
"'Hengist first chased the Briton from the vale; 93 Crida would hound the Briton from the hill; Stern hands have loosed the Pale Horse on the gale; The Horse shall halt not till the winds are still. Be ours your foemen,--be your foemen shown, And we in turn will smite them as our own.
"'We need allies--in you allies we call; 94 Your shores oppose the Cymrian's mountain sway; Your armed men stand idle in your hall; Your vessels rot within your crowded bay: Send three full squadrons to the Mercian bands-- Send seven tall war-ships to the Cymrian lands.
"'If this you grant, as from the old renown 95 Of Vandal valour, Saxon men believe, Our arms will solve all question to your crown; If not, the heirs you banish we receive; But one rude maxim Saxon bluntness knows-- We serve our friends, who are not friends are foes!
"'Thus speaks King Crida.'" Not the manner much 96 Of that brief speech wise Ludovick admired; But still the matter did so nearly touch The great state-objects recently desired, That the sage brows dismiss'd in haste the frown, And lips sore-smiling gulp'd resentment down.
Fair words he gave, and friendly hints of aid, 97 And pray'd the envoy in his halls to rest; And more, in truth, to please the earl had said, But that the sojourn of the earlier guest (For not the parting of the Cymrian known) Forbade his heart too plainly to be shown.
But ere a long and oily speech had closed, 98 Astutio, who the hall, when it begun, Had left, to seek the prince (whom he proposed, If yet the tidings to his ear had won Of his foe's envoy, by some smooth pretext To lull), came back with visage much perplext--
And whisper'd Ludovick--"The King has fled!" 99 The Vandal stammer'd, stared, but versed in all The quick resources of a wily head, That out of evil still a good could call, He did but pause, with more effect to wing The stone that chance thus fitted to his sling.
"Saxon," he said, "thus far we had premised, 100 And if still wavering, not our heart in fault. Three days ago, the Cymrian king, disguised, First drank our cup, and tasted of our salt, And hence our zeal to aid you we represt, Deeming your foe was still the Vandal's guest.
"Lo, while we speak, the saints the bond release; 101 Arthur hath gone from us;--the host is free." "Arthur--the Cymrian!" cried the envoy. "Peace; In deeds, not words, men's love the Saxons see: Gone!--whither wends he? But a word I need-- Leave to the rest my bloodhounds and my steed."
Dumb sate the Vandal, dumb with fear and shame: 102 No slave to virtue, but its shade was he; A tower of strength is in an honest name-- 'Tis wise to seem what oft 'tis dull to be! A kingly host a kingly guest betray! The chafing Saxon brook'd not that delay--
But turn'd his sparkling eyes behind, and saw 103 His knights and squires with zeal as fierce inflamed, And out he spoke,--"The hospitable law We will not trench, whate'er the guest hath claim'd Let the host yield! forgive, that, hotly stirr'd, His course I question'd; I retract the word.
"If on your hearth he stands, protect; within 104 Your realm if wandering, guard him as you may; This hearth not ours, nor this our realm;--no sin To chase our foeman, whatsoe'er his way: Up spear--forth sword! to selle each Saxon man-- Unleash the warhounds--stay us those who can!"
Loud rang the armed tumult in the hall; 105 Rush'd to the doors the Saxon's fiery band; Yell'd the gaunt bloodhounds loosen'd from the thrall; Steeds neigh'd; leapt forth the falchion to the hand; Low on the earth the bloodhounds track'd the scent, And where they guided there the hunters went.
Amazed the Vandal with his friend debates 106 What course were best in such extremes to choose; Nicely they weigh;--the Saxons pass the gates: Finely refine;--the chase its prey pursues. And while the chase pursues, to him, whose way The dove directs, well pleased, returns the lay.
Twilight was on the earth, when paused the King 107 Lone by the beach of far-resounding seas; Rock upon rock, behind, a Titan ring, Closed round a gorge o'erhung with breathless trees, A horror of still umbrage; and, before, Wave-hollow'd caves arch'd, ruinous, the shore.
Column and vault, and seaweed-dripping domes, 108 Long vistas opening through the streets of dark, Seem'd like a city's skeleton; the homes Of giant races vanish'd since the ark Rested on Ararat: from side to side Moan the lock'd waves that ebb not with the tide.
Here, path forbid; where, length'ning up the land, 109 The deep gorge stretches to a night of pine, Veer the white wings; and there the slacken'd hand Guides the tired steed; deeplier the shades decline; Dull'd with each step into the darker gloom Follows the ocean's hollow-sounding boom.
Sudden starts back the steed, with bristling mane 110 And nostrils snorting fear; from out the shade Loom the vast columns of a roofless fane, Meet for some god whom savage man hath made: A mighty pine-torch on the altar glow'd And lit the goddess of the grim abode--
So that the lurid idol, from its throne, 111 Glared on the wanderer with a stony eye; The King breathed quick the Christian orison, Spurr'd the scared barb, and pass'd abhorrent by-- Nor mark'd a figure on the floor reclined: It watch'd, it rose, it crept, it dogg'd behind.
Three days, three nights, within that dismal shrine, 112 Had couch'd that man, and hunger'd for his prey. Chieftain and priest of hordes that from the Rhine Had track'd in carnage thitherwards their way; Fell souls that still maintain'd their rites of yore, And hideous altars rank with human gore.
By monstrous Oracles a coming foe, 113 Whose steps appal his gods, hath been foretold; The fane must fall unless the blood shall flow; Therefore three days, three nights he watch'd;--behold At last the death-torch of the blazing pine Darts on the foe the lightning of the shrine!
Stealthily on, amidst the brushwood, crept 114 With practised foot and unrelaxing eye, The steadfast Murder;--where the still leaf slept The still leaf stirr'd not: as it glided by The mosses gave no echo; not a breath! Nature was hush'd as if in league with Death!
As moved the man, so, on the opposing side 115 Of the deep gorge, with purpose like his own, Did steps as noiseless to the blood-feast glide; And as the man before his idol's throne Had watch'd,--so watch'd, since daylight left the air, A giant wolf within its leafy lair.
Whether the blaze allured, or hunger stung, 116 There still had cower'd and crouch'd the beast of prey; With lurid eyes unwinking, spell-bound, clung To the near ridge that faced the torchlit way; As the steed pass'd, it rose! On either side, Here glides the wild beast, there the man doth glide.
But all unconscious of the double foe, 117 Paused Arthur, where his resting-place the dove Seem'd to select,--his couch a mound below; A bowering beech his canopy above: From his worn steed the barded mail released, And left it, reinless, to its herbage-feast.
Then from his brow the mighty helm unbraced, 118 And from his breast the hauberk's heavy load; On the tree's trunk the trophied arms he placed, And, ere to rest the weary limbs bestow'd, Thrice sign'd the cross the fiends of night to scare, And guarded helpless sleep with potent prayer.
Then on the moss-grown couch he laid him down, 119 Fearless of night and hopeful for the morn: On Slumber's lap the head without a crown Forgot the gilded trouble it had worn; The Warrior slept--the browsing charger stray'd-- The dove, unsleeping, watch'd amidst the shade.
And now, on either hand the dreaming King 120 Death halts to strike: the crouching wild beast, here, From the close crag prepares the rushing spring; There, from the thicket creeping, near and near, Steals the wild man, and listens for a sound-- Lifts the pale steel, and gathers for the bound.
But what befell? O thou, whose gentle heart 121 Lists, scornful not, this undiurnal rhyme; If, as thy steps to busier life depart, Still in thine ear rings low the haunting chime, When leisure suits once more forsake the throng, Call childhood back, and redemand the song.
NOTES TO BOOK II.
1.--Page 218, stanza iii.
By lips as gay the Hirlas horn is quaft.
The Hirlas, or drinking-horn, made of the buffalo horn, enriched with gold or silver. The Hirlas song of "Owen Prince of Powys" is familiar to all lovers of Welch literature.
2.--Page 219, stanza viii.
Therein Sir Brut, expell'd from flaming Troy.
Caradoc's version of the descent of Brut differs somewhat from that of Geoffrey of Monmouth, but perhaps it is quite as true. According to Geoffrey, Brut is great-grandson to AEneas, and therefore not expelled from "flaming Troy." Caradoc follows his own (no doubt authentic) legends, also, as to the aboriginal population of the island, which, according to Geoffrey, were giants, not devils. The cursory and contemptuous way in which that delicious romance-writer speaks of these poor giants is inimitable--"Albion a nemine, exceptis paucis gigantibus, inhabitabatur."--"Albion was inhabited by nobody--except, indeed, a few giants!"
3.--Page 219, stanza viii.
And bids that Saint, who now speaks Welch on high.
Saint BRAN, the founder of one of the three sacred lineages of Britain, was the first introducer of Christianity among the Cymry.
4.--Page 223, stanza xxxv.
And thou, fair favourite in the Fairy court.
Gwyn-ab-nudd, the king of the fairies. He is, also, sometimes less pleasingly delineated as the king of the infernal regions; the Welch Pluto--much the same as, in the chivalric romance-writers, Proserpine is sometimes made the queen of the fairies.
5.--Page 226, stanza lv.
"Arthur my name, from YNYS VEL I come.
Ynys Vel; one of the old Welch names for England.
6.--Page 227, stanza lxv.
"A witch."--"All women till they're wed are witches!
The witch MOURGE, or MORGANA (historically ANNA), was Arthur's sister.
7.--Page 228, stanza lxxiv.
Loud neigh'd the destrier at the welcome clang.
Destrier;--This word has been objected to, but it is so familiarly used by our Anglo-Norman minstrels, as well as by the great Masters of romantic poetry, that I have ventured, though not without diffidence, to retain it. MONTAIGNE, in his chapter on "the Warhorses called Destriers," derives the word from the Latin Dextrarius.
III. ARGUMENT
Arthur still sleeps--The sounds that break his rest--The war between the beast and the man--How ended--The Christian foe and the heathen--The narrative returns to the Saxons in pursuit of Arthur--Their chase is stayed by the caverns described in the preceding book, the tides having now advanced up the gorge through which Arthur passed, and blocked that pathway--The hunt is resumed at dawn--The tides have receded from the gorge--One of the hounds finds scent--The riders are on the track-- Harold heads the pursuit--The beech-tree--The man by the water spring-- The wood is left--The knight on the brow of the hill--Parley between the earl and the knight--The encounter--Harold's address to his men, and his foe--His foe's reply--The dove and the falcon--The unexpected succour-- And conclusion of the fray--The narrative passes on to the description of the Happy Valley--in which the dwellers await the coming of a stranger--History of the Happy Valley--a colony founded by Etrurians from Fiesole, forewarned of the destined growth of the Roman dominion-- Its strange seclusion and safety from the changes of the ancient world-- The law that forbade the daughters of the Lartian or ruling family to marry into other clans--Only one daughter (the queen) is left now, and the male line in the whole Lartian clan is extinct--The contrivance of the Augur for the continuance of the royal house, sanctioned by two former precedents--A stranger is to be lured into the valley--The simple dwellers therein to be deceived into believing him a god--He is to be married to the queen, and then, on the birth of a son, to vanish again amongst the gods (i.e. to be secretly made away with)--Two temples at the opposite ends of the valley give the only gates to the place--By the first, dedicated to Tina (the Etrurian Jove), the stranger is to be admitted--In the second, dedicated to Mantu (the god of the shades), he is destined to vanish--Such a stranger is now expected in the Happy Valley--He emerges, led by the Augur, from the temple of Tina--AEgle, the queen, described--Her stranger-bridegroom is led to her bower.
We raise the curtain where the unconscious king 1 Beneath the beech his fearless couch had made; Here, the fierce fangs prepared their deadly spring; There, in the hand of Murder gleam'd the blade; And not a sound to warn him from above; Where, still unsleeping, watch'd the guardian dove!
Hark, a dull crash!--a howling, ravenous yell! 2 Opening fell symphony of ghastly sound, Jarring, yet blent, as if the dismal hell Sent its strange anguish from the rent Profound: Through all its scale the horrible discord ran, Now mock'd the beast, now took the groan of man;
Wrath, and the grind of gnashing teeth; the growl 3 Of famine routed from its red repast; Sharp shrilling pain; and fury from some soul That fronts despair, and wrestles to the last. Up sprang the King--the moon's uncertain ray Through the still leaves just wins its glimmering way.
And lo, before him, close, yet wanly faint, 4 Forms that seem shadows, strife that seems the sport Of things that oft some holy hermit saint Lone in Egyptian plains (the dread resort Of Nile's dethroned demon gods) hath view'd; The grisly tempters, born of Solitude:--
Coil'd in the strong death-grapple, through the dim 5 And haggard air, before the Cymrian lay Writhing and interlaced with fang and limb, As if one shape, what seem'd a beast of prey And the grand form of Man!--The bird of Heaven Wisely no note to warn the sleep had given;
The sleep protected;--as the Savage sprang, 6 Sprang the wild beast;--before the dreamer's breast Defeated Murder found the hungry fang, The wolf the steel:--so, starting from his rest, The saved man woke to save! Nor time was here For pause or caution; for the sword or spear;
Clasp'd round the wolf, swift arms of iron draw 7 From their fierce hold the buried fangs;--on high Up-borne, the baffled terrors of its jaw Gnash vain;--one yell howls, hollow, through the sky; And dies abruptly, stifled to a gasp, As the grim heart pants crushing in the grasp.
Fit for a nation's bulwark, that strong breast 8 To which the strong arms lock'd the powerless foe!-- Nor oped the vice till breath's last anguish ceast; 'Tis done; and dumb the dull weight drops below. The kindred form, which now the King surveys, Those arms, all gentle as a woman's, raise.
Leaning the pale cheek on his pitying heart, 9 He wipes the blood from face, and breast, and limb, And joyful sees (for no humaner art Which Christian knighthood knows, unknown to him) That the fell fangs the nobler parts forbore, And, thanks, sweet Virgin! life returns once more.
The savage stared around: from dizzy eyes 10 Toss'd the loose shaggy hair; and to his knee,-- His reeling feet--up stagger'd--Lo, where lies The dead wild beast!--lo, in his saviour, see The fellow-man, whom--with a feeble bound He leapt, and snatch'd the dagger from the ground;
And, faithful to his gods, he sprang to slay; 11 The weak limb fail'd him; gleam'd and dropp'd the blade; The arm hung nerveless;--by the beast of prey Murder, still baffled, fell:--Then, soothing, said The gentle King--"Behold no foe in me!" And knelt by Hate like pitying Charity.
In suffering man he could not find a foe, 12 And the mild hand clasp'd that which yearn'd to kill! "Ha," gasp'd the gazing savage, "dost thou know That I had doom'd thee in thy sleep?--that still My soul would doom thee, could my hand obey?-- Wake thou, stern goddess--seize thyself the prey!"
"Serv'st thou a goddess," said the wondering King, 13 "Whose rites ask innocent blood?--O brother, learn In heaven, in earth, in each created thing, One God, whom all call 'FATHER' to discern!" "Can thy God suffer thy God's foe to live?"-- "God once had foes, and said to man, 'Forgive!'"
The Christian answer'd. Dream-like the mild words 14 Fell on the ear, as sense again gave way To swooning sleep; which woke but with the birds In the cold clearness of the dawning day.-- Strung by that sleep, the savage scowl'd around; Why droops his head? Kind hands his wounds have bound.
Lonely he stood, and miss'd that tender foe 15 The wolf's glazed eye-ball mutely met his own; Beyond, the pine-brand sent its sullen glow, Circling blood-red the awful altar-stone; Blood-red, as sinks the sun, from land afar, Ere tempests wreck the Amalfian mariner;
Or as, when Mars sits in the House of Death 16 For doom'd Aleppo, on the hopeless Moor Glares the fierce orb from skies without a breath, While the chalk'd signal on the abhorred door Tells that the Pestilence is come!--the pine Unheeded wastes upon the hideous shrine;
The priest returns not;--from its giant throne, 17 The idol calls in vain:--its realm is o'er; The Dire Religion flies the altar-stone, For love has breathed on what was hate before. Lured by man's heart, by man's kind deeds subdued, Him who had pardon'd, he who wrong'd pursued.
Meanwhile speeds on the Saxon chase, behind;-- 18 Baffled at first, and doubling to and fro, At last, the war-dogs, snorting, seize the wind, Burst on the scent, which gathers as they go; Day wanes, night comes; the star succeeds the sun, To light the hunt until the quarry's won.
At the first grey of dawn, they halt before 19 The fretted arches of the giant caves; For here the tides rush full upon the shore. The failing scent is snatch'd amidst the waves,-- Waves block the entrance of the gorge unseen; And roar, hoarse-surging, up the pent ravine.
And worn, and spent, and panting, flag the steeds, 20 With mail and man bow'd down; nor meet to breast The hell of waters, whence no pathway leads, And which no plummet sounds;--Reluctant rest Checks the pursuit, till sullenly and slow Back, threatening still, the hosts of Ocean go,--
And the bright clouds that circled the fair sun 21 Melt in the azure of the mellowing sky; Then hark again the human hunt begun, The ringing hoof, the hunter's cheering cry; Round and around by sand, and cave, and steep, The doubtful ban-dogs, undulating, sweep:
At length, one windeth where the wave hath left 22 The unguarded portals of the gorge, and there Far-wandering halts; and from a rocky cleft Spreads his keen nostril to the whispering air; Then, with trail'd ears, moves cowering o'er the ground, The deep bay booming breaks:--the scent is found.
Hound answers hound--along the dank ravine 23 Pours the fresh wave of spears and tossing plumes; On--on; and now the idol-shrine obscene The dying pine-brand flickeringly illumes; The dogs go glancing through the the shafts of stone, Trample the altar, hurtle round the throne:
Where the lone priest had watch'd, they pause awhile; 24 Then forth, hard breathing, down the gorge they swoop; Soon the swart woods that close the far defile Gleam with the shimmer of the steel-clad troop: Glinting through leaves--now bright'ning through the glade, Now lost, dispersed amidst the matted shade.
Foremost rode Harold, on a matchless steed, 25 Whose sire from Afric's coast a sea-king bore, And gave the Mercian, as his noblest meed, When (beardless yet) to Norway's Runic shore, Against a common foe, the Saxon Thane Led three tall ships, and loosed them on the Dane:
Foremost he rode, and on his mailed breast 26 Cranch'd the strong branches of the groaning oak. Hark, with full peal, as suddenly supprest, Behind, the ban-dog's choral joy-cry broke! Led by the note, he turns him back, to reach, Near the wood's marge, a solitary beech.
Clear space spreads round it for a rood or more; 27 Where o'er the space the feathering branches bend, The dogs, wedg'd close, with jaws that drip with gore, Growl o'er the carcass of the wolf they rend. Shamed at their lord's rebuke, they leave the feast-- Scent the fresh foot-track of the idol-priest;
And, track by track, deep, deeper through the maze, 28 Slowly they go--the watchful earl behind. Here the soft earth a recent hoof betrays; And still a footstep near the hoof they find;-- So on, so on--the pathway spreads more large, And daylight rushes on the forest marge.
The dogs bound emulous; but, snarling, shrink 29 Back at the anger of the earl's quick cry;-- Near a small water spring, had paused to drink A man half clad, who now, with kindling eye And lifted knife, roused by the hostile sounds, Plants his firm foot, and fronts the glaring hounds.
"Fear not, rude stranger," quoth the earl in scorn; 30 "Not thee I seek; my dogs chase nobler prey. Speak, thou hast seen (if wandering here since morn) A lonely horseman;--whither wends his way?" "Track'st thou his step in love or hate?"--"Why, so As hawk his quarry, or as man his foe."
"Thou dost not serve his God," the heathen said; 31 And sullen turn'd to quench his thirst again, The fierce earl chafed, but longer not delay'd; For what he sought the earth itself made plain In the clear hoof-prints; to the hounds he show'd The clue, and, cheering as they track'd, he rode.
But thrice, to guide his comrades from the maze, 32 Rings through the echoing wood his lusty horn. Now, o'er waste pastures where the wild bulls graze, Now labouring up slow-lengthening headlands borne, The steadfast hounds outstrip the horseman's flight, And on the hill's dim summit fade from sight.
But scarcely fade, before, though faint and far, 33 Fierce wrathful yells the foe at bay reveal. On spurs the Saxon, till, like some pale star, Gleams on the hill a lance--a helm of steel. The brow is gain'd; a space of level land, Bare to the sun--a grove at either hand;
And in the middle of the space a mound; 34 And on the mound a knight upon his barb. No need for herald there his tromp to sound!-- No need for diadem and ermine garb! Nature herself has crown'd that lion mien; And in the man the king of men is seen.
Upon his helmet sits a snow-white dove, 35 Its plumage blending with the plumed crest. Below the mount, recoiling, circling, move The ban-dogs, awed by the majestic rest Of the great foe; and, yet with fangs that grin, And eyes that redden, raves the madding din.
Still stands the steed; still, shining in the sun, 36 Sits on the steed the rider, statue-like: One stately hand upon his haunch, while one Lifts the tall lance, disdainful ev'n to strike; Calm from the roar obscene looks forth his gaze, Calm as the moon at which the watch-dog bays.
The Saxon rein'd his war-horse on the brow 37 Of the broad hill; and if his inmost heart Ever confest to fear, fear touch'd it now;-- Not that chill pang which strife and death impart To meaner men, but such religious awe As from brave souls a foe admired can draw:
Behind a quick and anxious glance he threw, 38 And pleased beheld spur midway up the hill His knights and squires: again his horn he blew, Then hush'd the hounds, and near'd the slope where still The might of Arthur rested, as in cloud Rests thunder; there his haughty crest he bow'd,
And lower'd his lance, and said--"Dread foe and lord, 39 Pardon the Saxon Harold, nor disdain To yield to warrior hand a kingly sword. Behold my numbers! to resist were vain, And flight----" Said Arthur, "Saxon, is a word Warrior should speak not, nor a King have heard.
"And, sooth to say, when Cymri's knights shall ride 40 To chase a Saxon monarch from the plain, More knightly sport shall Cymri's king provide, And Cymrian tromps shall ring a nobler strain. Warrior, forsooth! when first went warrior, say, With hound and horn--God's image for the prey?"
Gall'd to the quick, the fiery earl erect 41 Rose in his stirrups, shook his iron hand, And cried--"ALFADER! but for the respect Arm'd numbers owe to one, my Saxon brand Should--but why words? Ho, Mercia to the field! Lance to the rest!--yield, scornful Cymrian, yield!"
For answer, Arthur closed his bassinet. 42 Then down it broke, the thunder from that cloud! And, ev'n as thunder by the thunder met, O'er his spurr'd steed broad-breasted Harold bow'd; Swift through the air the rushing armour flash'd, And tempests in the shock commingling clash'd!
The Cymrian's lance smote on the Mercian's breast, 43 Through the pierced shield,--there, shivering in the hand, The dove had stirr'd not on the Prince's crest, And on his destrier bore him to the band, Which, moving not, but in a steadfast ring, With levell'd lances front the coming King.
His shiver'd lance thrown by, high o'er his head, 44 Pluck'd from the selle, his battle-axe he shook-- Paused for an instant--breathed his foaming steed, And chose his pathway with one lightning look: On either side, behind the Saxon foes, Cimmerian woods with welcome gloom arose;
These gain'd, to conflict numbers less avail. 45 He paused, and every voice cried--"Yield, brave King!" Scarce died the word ere through the wall of steel Flashes the breach, and backward reels the ring, Plumes shorn, shields cloven, man and horse o'erthrown, As the arm'd meteor flames and rushes on.
Till then, the danger shared, upon his crest, 46 Unmoved and calm, had sate the faithful dove, Serene as, braved for some beloved breast, All peril finds the gentle hero,--Love; But rising now, towards the dexter side Where darkest droop the woods, the pinions guide.
Near the green marge the Cymrian checks the rein, 47 And, ev'n forgetful of the dove, wheels round, To front the foe that follows up the plain: So when the lion, with a single bound, Breaks through Numidian spears,--he halts before His den,--and roots dread feet that fly no more.
Their riven ranks reform'd, the Saxons move 48 In curving crescent, close, compact, and slow Behind the earl; who feels a hero's love Fill his large heart for that great hero foe: Murmuring, "May Harold, thus confronting all, Pass from the spear-storm to The Golden Hall!"[1]
Then to his band--"If prophecy and sign 49 Paling men's cheeks, and read by wizard seers, Had not declared that Odin's threatened line, And the large birthright of the Saxon spears, Were cross'd by SKULDA,[2] in the baleful skein Of him who dares 'The Choosers of the Slain.'[3]
"If not forbid against his single arm 50 Singly to try the even-sworded strife, Since his new gods, or Merlin's mighty charm, Hath made a host, the were-geld of his life-- Not ours this shame!--here one, and there a field, But men are waxen when the Fates are steel'd.
"Seize we our captive, so the gods command-- 51 But ye are men, let manhood guide the blow; Spare life, or but with life-defending hand Strike--and Walhalla take that noble foe! Sound trump, speed truce."--Sedately from the rest Rode out the earl, and Cymri thus address'd:--
"Our steels have cross'd: hate shivers on the shield; 52 If the speech gall'd, the lance atones the word; Yield, for thy valour wins the right to yield; Unstain'd the scutcheon, though resign'd the sword. Grant us the grace, which chance (not arms) hath won Why strike the many who would save the one?"
"Fair foe, and courteous," answered Arthur, moved 53 By that chivalric speech, "too well the might Of Mercia's famous Harold have I proved, To deem it shame to yield as knight to knight; But a king's sword is by a nation given; Who guards a people holds his post from heaven.
"This freedom which thou ask'st me to resign 54 Than life is dearer; were it but to show That with my people thinks their King!--divine Through me all Cymri!--Streams shall cease to flow, Yon sun to shine, before to Saxon strife One Cymrian yields his freedom save with life.
"And so the saints assoil ye of my blood; 55 Return;--the rest we leave unto our cause And the just Heavens!" All silent, Harold stood And his heart smote him. Now, amidst that pause, Arthur look'd up, and in the calm above Behold a falcon wheeling round the dove!
For thus it chanced; the bird which Harold bore 56 (As was the Saxon wont), whate'er his way, Had, in the woodland, slipp'd the hood it wore, Unmark'd; and, when the bloodhounds bark'd at bay, Lured by the sound, had risen on the wing, Over the conflict vaguely hovering--
Till when the dove had left, to guide, her lord, 57 It caught the white plumes glancing where they went; High in large circles to its height it soar'd, Swoop'd;--the light pinion foil'd the fierce descent; The falcon rose rebounding to the prey; And closed escape--confronting still the way.
In vain the dove to Arthur seeks to flee; 58 Round her and round, with every sweep more near, The swift destroyer circles rapidly, Fixing keen eyes that fascinate with fear, A moment--and a shaft, than wing more fleet, Hurls the pierced falcon at the Saxon's feet.
Down heavily it fell;--a moment stirr'd 59 Its fluttering plumes, and roll'd its glazing eye; But ev'n before the breath forsook the bird, Ev'n while the arrow whistled through the sky, Rush'd from the grove which screen'd the marksman's hand, With yell and whoop, a wild barbarian band--
Half clad, with hides of beast, and shields of horn, 60 And huge clubs cloven from the knotted pine; And spears like those by Thor's great children borne, When Caesar bridged with marching[4] steel the Rhine, Countless they start, as if from every tree Had sprung the uncouth defending deity;
They pass the King, low bending as they pass; 61 Bear back the startled Harold on their way; And roaring onward, mass succeeding mass, Snatch the hemm'd Saxons from the King's survey. On Arthur's crest the dove refolds its wing; On Arthur's ear a voice comes murmuring,--
"Man, have I served thy God?" and Arthur saw 62 The priest beside him, leaning on his bow; "Not till, in all, thou hast fulfill'd the law-- Thou hast saved the friend--now aid to shield the foe;" And as a ship, cleaving the sever'd tides, Right through the sea of spears the hero rides.
The wild troop part submissive as he goes; 63 Where, like an islet in that stormy main, Gleam'd Mercia's steel; and like a rock arose, Breasting the breakers, the undaunted Thane; He doff'd his helmet, look'd majestic round; And dropp'd the murderous weapon on the ground;
And with a meek and brotherly embrace 64 Twined round the Saxon's neck the peaceful arm. Strife stood arrested--the mild kingly face, The loving gesture, like a holy charm, Thrill'd through the ranks: you might have heard a breath! So did soft Silence seem to bury Death.
On the fair locks, and on the noble brow, 65 Fell the full splendour of the heavenly ray; The dove, dislodged, flew up--and rested now, Poised in the tranquil and translucent day. The calm wings seem'd to canopy the head; And from each plume a parting glory spread.
So leave we that still picture on the eye; 66 And turn, reluctant, where the wand of Song Points to the walls of Time's long gallery: And the dim Beautiful of Eld--too long Mouldering unheeded in these later days, Starts from the canvass, bright'ning as we gaze.
O lovely scene which smiles upon my view, 67 As sure it smiled on sweet Albano's dreams; He to whom Amor gave the roseate hue And that harmonious colour-wand which seems Pluck'd from the god's own wing!--Arcades and bowers, Mellifluous waters, lapsing amidst flowers,
Or springing up, in multiform disport, 68 From murmurous founts, delightedly at play; As if the Naiad held her joyous court To greet the goddess whom the flowers obey; And all her nymphs took varying shapes in glee, Bell'd like the blossom--branching like the tree.
Adown the cedarn alleys glanced the wings 69 Of all the painted populace of air, Whatever lulls the noonday while it sings Or mocks the iris with its plumes,--is there-- Music and air so interfused and blent, That music seems life's breathing element.
And every alley's stately vista closed 70 With some fair statue, on whose gleaming base Beauty, not earth's, benignantly reposed, As if the gods were native to the place; And fair indeed the mortal forms, I ween, Whose presence brings no discord to the scene!
Oh, fair they are, if mortal forms they be! 71 Mine eye the lovely error must beguile; So bloom'd the Hours, when from the heaving sea[5] Came Aphrodite to the rosy isle. What time they left Olympian halls above, To greet on earth their best beguiler--Love?
Are they the Oreads from the Delphian steep 72 Waiting their goddess of the silver bow? Or shy Napaeae,[6] startled from their sleep, Where blue Cithaeron guards sweet vales below, Watching as home, from vanquished Ind afar, Comes their loved Evian in the panther-car?
Why stream ye thus from yonder arching bowers? 73 Whom wait, whom watch ye for, O lovely band, With spears that, thyrsus-like, glance, wreath'd with flowers, And garland-fetters, linking hand to hand, And locks, from which drop blossoms on your way, Like starry buds from the loose crown of May?
Behold how Alp on Alp shuts out the scene 74 From all the ruder world that lies afar; Deep, fathom-deep, the valley which they screen; Deep, as in chasms of cloud a happy star! What pass admits the stranger to your land? Whom wait, whom watch ye for, O lovely band?
Ages ago, what time the barbarous horde, 75 From whose rough bosoms sprang Imperial Rome, Drew the slow-widening circle of the sword Till kingdoms vanish'd in a robber's home, A wise Etrurian chief, forewarn'd ('twas said) By his dark Caere,[7] from the danger fled:
He left the vines of fruitful Fiesole, 76 Left, with his household gods and chosen clan, Intent beyond the Ausonian bounds to flee, And Rome's dark shadow on the world of man. So came the exiles to the rocky wall Which, centuries after, frown'd on Hannibal
Here, it so chanced, that down the deep profound 77 Of some huge Alp--a stray'd Etrurian fell; The pious rites ordain'd to explore the ground, And give the ashes to the funeral cell; Slowly they gain'd the gulf, to scare away A vulture ravening on the mangled clay;
Smit by a javelin from the leader's hand, 78 The bird crept fluttering down a deep defile, Through whose far end faint glimpses of a land, Sunn'd by a softer daylight, sent a smile; The Augur hail'd an omen in the sight, And led the wanderers towards the glimmering light.
What seem'd a gorge was but a vista'd cave, 79 Long-drawn and hollow'd through primaeval stone; Rude was the path, but as, beyond the grave Elysium shines, the glorious landscape shone, Broadening and brightening--till their wonder sees Bloom through the Alps the lost Hesperides.
There, the sweet sunlight, from the heights debarr'd, 80 Gather'd its pomp to lavish on the vale; A wealth of wild sweets glitter'd on the sward, Screen'd by the very snow-rocks from the gale; Murmur'd clear waters, murmur'd joyous birds, And o'er soft pastures roved the fearless herds.
His rod the Augur waves above the ground, 81 And cries, "In Tina's name I bless the soil."[8] With veiled brows the exiles circle round; Along the rod propitious lightnings coil; The gods approve; rejoicing hands combine, Swift springs a sylvan city from the pine.
What charm yet fails them in the lovely place? 82 Childhood's gay laugh--and woman's tender smile. A chosen few the venturous steps retrace; Love lightens toil for those who rest the while; And, ere the winter stills the sadden'd bird, The sweeter music of glad homes is heard;
And with the objects of the dearer care, 83 The parting gifts of the old soil are home; Soon Tusca's grape hangs flushing in the air, And the glebe ripples with the golden corn; Gleams on grey slopes the olive's silvery tree, In her lone Alpine child,--far Fiesole
Revives--reblooms, but under happier stars! 84 Age rolls on age,--upon the antique world Full many a storm hath graved its thunder scars; Tombs only speak the Etrurian's language;[9]--hurl'd To dust the shrines of Naith;[10]--the serpents hiss On Asia's throne in lorn Persepolis;
The seaweed rots upon the ports of Tyre: 85 On Delphi's steep the Pythian's voice is dumb; Sad Athens leans upon her broken lyre; From the doom'd East the Bethlem Star hath come; But Rome an empire from an empire's loss Gains in the god Rome yielded to the Cross!
And here, as in a crypt, the miser Time, 86 Hoards, from all else, embedded in the stone, One eldest treasure--fresh as when, sublime O'er gods and men, Jove thunder'd from his throne-- The garb, the arts, the creed, the tongue, the same As when to Tarquin Cuma's sibyl came.
The soil's first fathers, with elaborate hands, 87 Had closed the rocky portals of the place; No egress opens to unhappier lands: As tree on tree, so race succeeds to race, From sleep the passions no temptations draw, And strife bows childlike to the patriarch's law;
Lull'd was ambition; each soft lot was cast; 88 Gold had no use; with war expired renown; From priest to priest mysterious reverence past; From king to king the mild Saturnian crown: Like dews, the rest came harmless into birth; Like dews exhaling--after gladd'ning earth.
Not wholly dead, indeed, the love of praise-- 89 When can that warmth from heaven forsake the heart? The Hister's[11] lyre still thrill'd with Camsee's lays, Still urn and statue caught the Arretian art, And hands, least skill'd, found leisure still to cull Some flowers, in offering to the Beautiful.
Hence the whole vale one garden of delight; 90 Hence every home a temple for the Grace: Who worships Nature finds in Art the rite; And Beauty grows the Genius of the Place. Enough this record of the happy land: Whom watch, whom wait ye for, O lovely band?
Listen awhile!--The strength of that soft state, 91 The arch's key-stones, are the priest and king; To guard all power inviolate from debate, To curb all impulse, or direct its wing, In antique forms to mould from childhood all;-- This guards more strongly than the Alpine wall.
The regal chief might wed as choice inclined, 92 Not so the daughters sprung from his embrace, Law, strong as caste, their nuptial rite confined To the pure circle of the Lartian race; Hence with more awe the kingly house was view'd, Hence nipp'd ambition bore no rival feud.
But now, as on some eldest oak, decay 93 In the proud topmost boughs is serely shown; While life yet shoots from every humbler spray-- So, of the royal tribe one branch alone Remains; and all the honours of the race Lend their last bloom to smile in AEgle's face.[12]
The great arch-priest (to whom the laws assign 94 The charge of this sweet blossom from the bud), Consults the annals archived in the shrine, And, twice before, when fail'd the Lartian blood, And no male heir was found, the guiding page Records the expedient of the elder age.
Rather than yield to rival tribes the hope 95 That wakes aspiring thought and tempts to strife; And (lowering awful reverence) rashly ope The pales that mark the set degrees of life, The priest (to whom the secret only known) Unlock'd the artful portals of the stone;
And watch'd and lured some wanderer, o'er the steep, 96 Into the vale, return for ever o'er; The gate, like Death's, reclosed upon the keep-- Earth left its ghost as on the Funeral shore. And what more envied lot could earth provide Than calm Elysium--with a living bride?
A priestly tale the simple flock deceived: 97 The gods had care of their Tagetian child![13] The nuptial garlands for a god they weaved; A god himself upon the maid had smiled, A god himself renew'd the race divine, And gave new monarchs to the Lartian line.
Yet short, alas! the incense of delight 98 That lull'd the new-found Ammon of the Hour; Like love's own star, upon the verge of night, Trembled the torch that lit the bridal bower; Soon as a son was born--his mission o'er-- The stranger vanish'd to his gods once more.
Two temples closed the boundaries of the place, 99 One (vow'd to Tina) in its walls conceal'd The granite portals, by the former race So deftly fashion'd,--not a chink reveal'd Where (twice unbarr'd in all the ages flown) The stony donjon mask'd the door of stone.
The fane of Mantu[14] form'd the opposing bound 100 Of the long valley; where the surplus wave Of the main stream a gloomy outlet found, Split on sharp rocks beneath a night of cave, And there, in torrents, down some lost ravine Where Alps took root--fell heard, but never seen.
Right o'er this cave the Death-Power's temple rose; 101 The cave's dark vault was curtain'd by the shrine; Here by the priest (the sacred scrolls depose) Was led the bridegroom when renew'd the line; At night, that shrine his steps unprescient trod-- And morning came, and earth had lost the god!
Nine days had now the Augur to the flock 102 Announced the coming of the heavenly spouse; Nine days his steps had wander'd through the rock, And his eye watch'd through unfamiliar boughs, And not a foot-fall in those rugged ways! The lone Alps wearied on his lonely gaze--
But now this day (the tenth) the signal torch 103 Streams from the temple; the mysterious swell Of long-drawn music peals from aisle to porch:-- He leaves the bright hall where the AEsars[15] dwell, He comes, o'er flowers and fountains to preside, He comes, the god-spouse to the mortal bride--
He comes, for whom ye watch'd, O lovely band, 104 Scatter your flowers before his welcome feet! Lo, where the temple's holy gates expand, Haste, O ye nymphs, the bright'ning steps to meet Why start ye back?--What though the blaze of steel The form of Mars, the expanding gates reveal--
The face, no helmet crowns with war, displays 105 Not that fierce god from whom Etruria fled; Cull from far softer legends while ye gaze, Not there the aspect mortal maid should dread! Have ye no songs from kindred Castaly Of that bright Wanderer from the Olympian[16] sky,
Who, in Arcadian dells, with silver lute 106 Hush'd in delight the nymph and breathless faun? Or are your cold Etrurian minstrels mute Of him whom Syria worshipp'd as the Dawn And Greece as fair Adonis? Hail, O hail! Scatter your flowers, and welcome to the vale!
Wondering the stranger moves! That fairy land, 107 Those forms of dark yet lustrous loveliness,[17] That solemn seer who leads him by the hand; The tongue unknown, the joy he cannot guess, Blend in one marvel every sound and sight; And in the strangeness doubles the delight.
Young AEgle sits within her palace bower, 108 She hears the cymbals clashing from afar-- So Ormuzd's music welcomed in the hour When the sun hasten'd to his morning-star. Smile, Star of Morn--he cometh from above! And twilight melts around the steps of Love.
Save the grey Augur (since the unconscious child 109 Sprang to the last kiss of her dying sire) Those eyes by man's rude presence undefiled, Had deepen'd into woman's. As a lyre Hung on unwitness'd boughs, amidst the shade, And but to air her soul its music made.
Fair was her prison, wall'd with woven flowers, 110 In a soft isle embraced by softest waters, Linnet and lark the sentries to the towers, And for the guard Etruria's infant daughters; But stronger far than walls, the antique law, And more than hosts, religion's shadowy awe.
Thus lone, thus reverenced, the young virgin grew 111 Into the age, when on the heart's calm wave The light winds tremble, and emotions new Steal to the peace departing childhood gave; When for the vague Beyond the captive pines, And the soul misses--what it scarce divines.
Lo where she sits--(and blossoms arch the dome) 112 Girt by young handmaids!--Near and nearer swelling The cymbals sound before the steps that come O'er rose and hyacinth to the bridal dwelling; And clear and loud the summer air along From virgin voices floats the choral song.
Lo where the sacred talismans diffuse 113 Their fragrant charms against the Evil Powers; Lo where young hands the consecrated dews From cusped vervain sprinkle round the flowers, And o'er the robe, with broider'd palm-leaves sown, That decks the daughter of the peaceful throne!
Lo, on those locks of night the myrtle crown, 114 Lo, where the heart beats quick beneath the veil; Lo, where the lids, cast tremulously down, Cloud stars which Eros as his own might hail; Oh, lovelier than Endymion's loveliest dream, Joy to the heart on which those eyes shall beam!
The bark comes bounding to the islet shore, 115 The trellised gates fly back: the footsteps fall Through jasmined galleries on the threshold floor; And, in the Heart-Enchainer's golden thrall, There, spell-bound halt;--So, first since youth began Her eyes meet youth in the charm'd eyes of man!
And there Art's two opposed Ideals rest; 116 There the twin flowers of the old world bloom forth; The classic symbol of the gentle West, And the bold type of the chivalric North. What trial waits thee, Cymrian, sharper here Than the wolf's death-fang or the Saxon's spear?
But would ye learn how he we left afar, 117 Girt by the stormy people of the wild, Came to the confines of the Hesperus Star, And the soft gardens of the Etrurian child; Would ye, yet lingering in the wondrous vale, Learn what time spares if sorrow can assail;
What there, forgetful of the vanish'd dove, 118 (Lost at these portals) did the king befall; Pause till the hand has tuned the harp to love, And notes that bring young listeners to the hall; And he, whose sires in Cymri reign'd, shall sing How Tusca's daughter loved the Cymrian King.
NOTES TO BOOK III.
1.--Page 243, stanza xlviii.
Pass from the spear-storm to The Golden Hall!
Walhalla.
2.--Page 243, stanza xlix.
Were cross'd by SKULDA, in the baleful skein.
Skulda, the Norna, or Destiny, of the Future.
3.--Page 243, stanza xlix.
Of him who dares 'The Choosers of the Slain.'
The Valkyrs, the Choosers of the Slain, who ride before the battle, and select its victims; to whom, afterwards (softening their character), they administer in Walhalla.
4.--Page 245, stanza lx.
When Caesar bridged with marching steel the Rhine.
Plut. in vit. Caes.--CAES. Comment. lib. iv.
5.--Page 246, stanza lxxi.
So bloom'd the Hours, when from the heaving sea.
Hom. Hymn.
6.--Page 246, stanza lxxii.
Or shy Napaeae, startled from their sleep.
Napaeae, the most bashful of all the rural nymphs; their rare apparition was supposed to produce delirium in the beholder.
7.--Page 247, stanza lxxv.
_A wise Etrurian chief, forewarn'd ('twas said) By his dark Caere, from the danger fled._
Caere of the twelve cities in the Etrurian league (though not originally an Etrurian population), imparted to the Romans their sacred mysteries: hence the word Caeremonia. This holy city was in close connection with Delphi. An interesting account of it under its earlier name "Agylla," will be found in Sir W. Gell's "Topography of Rome and its vicinity." The obscure passage in Plutarch's life of Sylla, which intimates that the Etrurian soothsayers had a forewarning of the declining fates of their country, is well known to scholars; who have made more of it than it deserves.
I may as well observe that the adjective Lartian is derived from Lars (or lord), in contradistinction to the adjective Larian derived from Lar (or household god).
8.--Page 248, stanza lxxxi.
_His rod the Augur waves above the ground, And cries, "In Tina's name I bless the soil._"
Tina was the Jove of the Etrurians. The mode in which this people (whose mysterious civilization so tasks our fancy and so escapes from our researches) appropriated a colony, is briefly described in the text. The Augur made lines in the air due north, south, east, and west, marked where the lines crossed upon the earth; then he and the chiefs associated with him sate down, covered their heads, and waited some approving omen from the gods. The Etrurian Augurs were celebrated for their power over the electric fluid. The vulture was a popular bird of omen in the founding of colonies. See NIEBUHR, MULLER, &c.
9.--Page 248, stanza lxxxiv.
Tombs only speak the Etrurian's language;--hurl'd.
The Etrurian language perished between the age of Augustus and that of Julian.--LEITCH'S Muller on Ancient Art.
10.--Page 248, stanza lxxxiv.
To dust the shrines of Naith;--the serpents hiss.
Naith, the Egyptian goddess.
11.--Page 249, stanza lxxxix.
The Hister's lyre still thrill'd with Camsee's lays.
Hister, the Etruscan minstrel.--CAMSEE, CAMESE, or CAMOESE, the mythological sister of Janus (a national deity of the Etrurians), whose art of song is supposed to identify her with the Camoena or muse of the Latin poets.--ARRETIUM, celebrated for the material of the Etruscan vases.
12.--Page 249, stanza xciii.
_and all the honours of the race Lend their last bloom to smile in AEgle's face._
The Etrurians paid more respect to women than most of the classical nations, and admitted females to the throne. The Augur (a purely Etruscan name and office) was the highest power in the state. In the earlier Etruscan history, the Augur and the king were unquestionably united in one person. Latterly, this does not appear to have been necessarily (nor perhaps generally) the case. The king (whether we call him lars or lucumo), as well as the augur, was elected out of a certain tribe, or clan; but in the strange colony described in the poem, it is supposed that the rank has become hereditary in the family of the chief who headed it, as would probably have been the case even in more common-place settlements in another soil. Thus, the first Etrurian colonist, Tarchun, no doubt had his successors in his own lineage.
I cannot assert that AEgle is a purely Etruscan name; it is one common both with the Greeks and Latins. In Apollodorus (ii. 5) it is given to one of the Hesperides, and in Virgil (Eclog. vi. l. 20) to the fairest of the Naiads, the daughter of the sun; but it is not contrary to the conformation of the Etruscan language, as, by the way, many of the most popular Latinized Etruscan words are, such as Lucumo, for Lauchme; and even Porsena, or, as Virgil (contrary to other authorities) spells and pronounces it, Pors[~e]nna (a name which has revived to fresh fame in Mr. Macaulay's noble "Lays") is a sad corruption; for, as both Niebuhr and Sir William G. remark, the Etruscans had no o in their language. Pliny informs us that they supplied its place by the v. I apprehend that an Etrurian would have spelt Porsena Pvrsna.[B]
13.--Page 250, stanza xcvii.
The Gods had care of their Tagetian child!
Tages--the tutelary genius of the Etrurians. They had a noble legend that Tages appeared to Tarchun, rising from a furrow beneath his plough, with a man's head and a child's body; sung the laws destined to regulate the Etrurian colonist, then sunk, and expired. In Ovid's Metamorphoses (xvi. 533) Tages is said to have first taught the Etrurians to foretell the future.
14.--Page 250, stanza c.
The fane of Mantu form'd the opposing bound.
MANTU, or MANDU, the Etrurian God of the Shades.
15.--Page 251, stanza ciii.
He leaves the bright hall where the AEsars dwell.
AEsars, the name given collectively to the Etrurian deities.--SUET. AUG. 97. DIO. CASS. xxvi. p. 589.
16.--Page 251, stanza cv.
Of that bright Wanderer from the Olympian sky.
Apollo.
17.--Page 251, stanza cvii.
Those forms of dark yet lustrous loveliness.
Whatever the original cradle of the mysterious Etrurians, scholars, with one or two illustrious exceptions, are pretty well agreed that it must have been somewhere in the East; and the more familiar we become with the remains of their art, the stronger appears the evidence of their early and intimate connection with the Egyptians, though in themselves a race decidedly not Egyptian. See MICALI, Stor. deg. Antich. Pop. But in referring to this delightful and learned writer, to whom I am under many obligations in this part of my poem, I must own, with such frankness as respect for so great an authority will permit, that I think many of his assumptions are to be taken with great qualification and reserve.
[B] Dryden, with an accurate delicacy of erudition for which one might scarcely give him credit, does not in his translation follow Virgil's quantity, Porsenna, but makes the word short, Porsena.
IV. ARGUMENT
Invocation to Love--Arthur, AEgle, and the Augur--Dialogue between the Cymrian and the Etrurian--Meanwhile Lancelot gains the sea-shore, where he meets with the Aleman priest and his sons, and hears tidings of Arthur--He tells them the tale of his own infancy--Crosses the sea-- Lands on the coast of Brettannie--And is guided by the crystal ring in quest of Arthur towards the Alps--He finds the King's charger, which Arthur had left without the vaulted passage into the Happy Valley--But the rock-gate being closed, he cannot discover the King; and, winding by the foot of the Alps round the valley, gains a lake and a convent--The story now returns to Arthur and AEgle--Descriptive stanzas--A raven brings Arthur news from Merlin--The King resolves to quit the valley--He seeks and finds the Augur--Dialogue--Parting scene with AEgle--Arthur follows the Augur towards the fane of the funereal god.
Hail, thou, the ever young, albeit of Night 1 And of primaeval Chaos eldest born; Thou, at whose birth broke forth the Founts of Light, And o'er Creation flush'd the earliest Morn! Life, in thy life, suffused the conscious whole; And formless matter took the harmonious soul.
Hail, Love! the death-defier! age to age 2 Linking, with flowers, in the still heart of man! Dream to the bard, and marvel to the sage, Glory and mystery since the world began. Like the new moon, whose disk of silver sheen But halves the circle Heaven completes unseen.
Ghostlike amidst the unfamiliar Past, 3 Dim shadows flit along the streams of Time; Vainly our learning trifles with the vast Unknown of ages!--Like the wizard's rhyme We call the dead, and from the Tartarus 'Tis but the dead that rise to answer us!
Voiceless and wan, we question them in vain; 4 They leave unsolved earth's mighty yesterday. But wave thy wand--they bloom, they breathe again! The link is found!--as we love, so loved they! Warm to our clasp our human brothers start, All centuries blend when heart speaks out to heart.
Arch Power, of every power most dread, most sweet, 5 Ope at thy touch the far celestial gates; Yet Terror flies with Joy before thy feet, And, with the Graces, glide unseen the Fates. Eos and Hesperus; one, with twofold light, Bringer of day, and herald of the night.
But, lo! again, where rise upon the gaze 6 The Tuscan Virgin in the Alpine bower, The steel-clad wanderer, in his rapt amaze, Led through the flowerets to that living flower: Eye meeting eye, as in that blest survey Two hearts, unspeaking, breathe themselves away!
Calm on the twain reposed the Augur's eye, 7 A marble stillness on his solemn face; Like some cold image of Necessity When fated hands lay garlands on its base. And slanted sunbeams, through the blossoms stealing, Lit circled Childhood round the Virgin kneeling.
Slow from charm'd wonder woke at last the King, 8 Well the mild grace became the lordly mien, As, gently passing through the kneeling ring, The warrior knelt with Childhood to the queen; And on the hand, that thrill'd in his to be, Press'd the pure kiss of courteous chivalry;
In the bold music of his mountain tongue, 9 Speaking the homage of his frank delight. Is there one common language to the young That, with each word more troubled and more bright, Stirr'd the quick blush--as when the south wind heaves Into sweet storm the hush of rosy leaves?
But now the listening Augur to the side 10 Of Arthur moves; and, signing silently, The handmaid children from the chamber glide, And AEgle followeth slow, with drooping eye.-- Then on the King the soothsayer gazed and spoke, And Arthur started as the accents broke;--
For those dim sounds his mother-tongue express, 11 But in some dialect of remotest age; Like that in which the far SARONIDES[1] Exchanged dark riddles with the Samian sage.[2] Ghostlike the sounds; a founder of his race Seem'd in that voice the haunter of the place.
"Guest," said the priest, with labour'd words and slow, 12 "If, as thy language, though corrupt, betrays Thou art of those great tribes our records show As the crown'd wanderers of untrodden ways Whose eldest god, from pole to pole enshrined, Gives Greece her KRONOS and her BOUDH to Ind;
"Who, from their Syrian parent-stem, spread forth 13 Their giant roots to every farthest shore, Sires of young nations in the stormy North, And slumberous East; but most renown'd of yore In purple Tyre;--if, of PHOENICIAN race, In truth thou art,--thrice welcome to the place!
"Know us as sons of that old friendly soil 14 Whose ports, perchance, yet glitter with the prows Of Punic ships, when resting from their toil In LUNA'S[3] gulf, the seabeat crews carouse. Unless in sooth (and here he sigh'd) the day Caere foretold hath come to RASENA!"[4]
"Grave sir," quoth Arthur, piteously perplext, 15 "Or much--forgive me, hath my hearing err'd, Or of that People quoted in thy text, (Perish'd long since)--but dimly have I heard: Phoenicians! True, that name is found within Our scrolls;--they came to MEL YNYS for tin!
"As for my race, our later bards declare 16 It springs from Brut, the famous Knight of Troy; But if Sir Hector spoke in Welsh, I ne'er Could clearly learn--meanwhile, I hear with joy, My native language (pardon the remark) Much as Noah spoke it when he left the ark.
"More would my pleasure be increased to know 17 That that fair lady has your own precision In the dear music which, so long ago, We taught--observe, not learn'd from--the Phoenician." "Speak as your fathers spoke the maiden can, O many-vowell'd, ear-afflicting man!"
The priest replied. "But, ere I yet disclose 18 The bliss that Northia[5] singles for your lot, Fain would I learn what change the gods impose On the old races and their sceptres?--what The latest news from RASENA?"--"With shame I own, grave sir, I never heard that name!"
The Augur stood aghast!--"O, ruthless Fates! 19 Who then rules Italy?"--"The Ostrogoth." "The Os----- the what?"--"Except the Papal states; Unless the Goth, indeed, has ravish'd both The Caesar's throne and the apostle's chair-- Spite of the Knight of Thrace,--Sir Belisair."[6]
"What else the warrior nations of the earth?" 20 Groan'd the stunn'd Augur.--"Reverend sir, the Huns, Franks, Vandals, Lombards,--all have warlike worth; Nor least, I trust, old Cymri's Druid sons!" "O, Northia, Northia! and the East?"--"In peace, Under the Christian Emperor of Greece;
"Whose arms of late have scourged the Paynim race, 21 And worsted Satan!"--"Satan, who is he?" Greatly the knight was shock'd in that fair place, To find such ignorance of the powers that be: So then, from Eve and Serpent he began; And sketch'd the history of the Foe of Man.
"Ah," said the Augur,--"here, I comprehend 22 AEgypt, and Typhon, and the serpent creed![7] So, o'er the East the gods of Greece extend, And Isis totters?"--"Truly, and indeed," Sigh'd Arthur, scandalized--"I see, with pain, You have much to learn my monks could best explain--
"Nathless for this, and all you seek to know 23 Which I, no clerk, though Christian, can relate, Occasion meet my sojourn may bestow;-- Now, wherefore, pray you, through yon granite gate Have you, with signs of some distress endured, And succour sought, my wandering steps allured?"
"Pardon, but first, soul-startling stranger," said 24 The slow-recovering Augur--"say if fair The region seems to which those steps were led? And next, the maid to whom you knelt compare With those you leave. Are hers, in sober truth, The charms that fix the roving heart of youth?"
"Lovelier than all on earth mine eyes have seen 25 Smiles the gay marvel of this gentle realm; Of all earth's beauty that fair maid the queen; And, might I place her glove upon my helm, I would proclaim that truth with lance and shield, In tilt and tourney, sole against a field!"
"Since that be so (though what such custom means 26 I rather guess than fully comprehend) Answer again;--if right my reason gleans From dismal harvests, and discerns the end To which the beautiful and wise have come, Hard are the fates beyond our Alpine home:
"What makes, without, the chief pursuit of life?" 27 "War," said the Cymrian, with a mournful sigh: "The fierce provoke, the free resist, the strife, The daring perish and the dastard fly; Amidst a storm we snatch our troubled breath, And life is one grim battle-field of death."
"Then here, O stranger, find at last repose! 28 Here, never smites the thunder-blast of war: Here, all unknown the very name of foes; Here, but with yielding earth men's contests are; Our trophies--flower and olive, corn and wine:-- Accept a sceptre, be this kingdom thine!
"Our queen, the virgin who hath charm'd thine eyes-- 29 Our laws her spouse, in whom the gods shall send, Decree; the gods have sent thee;--what the skies Allot, receive:--Here, shall thy wanderings end, Here thy woes cease, and life's voluptuous day Glide, like yon river through our flowers, away."
"Kind sir," said Arthur, gratefully--"such lot 30 Indeed were fair beyond what dreams display; But earth has duties which"----"Relate them not!" Exclaim'd the Augur--"or at least delay, Till better known the kingdom and the bride, Then youth, and sense, and nature, shall decide."
With that, the Augur, much too wise as yet 31 To hint compulsion, and secure from flight, Arose, resolved each scruple to beset With all which melteth duty in delight-- Here, for awhile, we leave the tempted King, And turn to him who owns the crystal ring.
Oh, the old time's divine and fresh romance! 32 When o'er the lone yet ever-haunted ways Went frank-eyed Knighthood with the lifted lance, And life with wonder charm'd adventurous days! When light more rich, through prisms that dimm'd it, shone; And Nature loom'd more large through the Unknown.
Nature, not then the slave of formal law! 33 Her each free sport a miracle might be: Enchantment clothed the forest with sweet awe; Astolfo[8] spoke from out the bleeding tree; The fairy wreath'd his dance in moonlit air; On golden sands the mermaid sleek'd her hair--
Then soul learn'd more than barren sense can teach 34 (Soul with the sense now evermore at strife) Wherever fancy wander'd man could reach-- And what is now call'd poetry was life. If the old beauty from the world is fled, Is it that Truth or that Belief is dead?
Not following, step by step, the devious King, 35 But whither best his later steps are gain'd, Moved the sure index of the fairy ring, And since, at least, a moon hath wax'd and waned What time the pilgrim left the fatherland-- So towards his fresher footsteps veer'd the hand.
Lo, now where pure Sabrina[9] on her breast 36 Hushes sweet Isca, and, like some fair nun That yearns, earth-wearied, for the golden rest, Sees with delighted calm her journey done; And broader, brighter, as she nears her grave, Melts in the deep;--all daylight on the wave.
Across that stream pass'd sprightly Lancelot, 37 Then, towards those lovely lands which yet retain The Cymrian freedom, rode, and rested not Till, loud on Devon, broke the rough'ning main. Through rocks abrupt, the strong waves force their way, Here cleave the land--there, hew the indented bay.
The horseman paused. Rude huts lay far and wide; 38 The dipping sea-gulls wheel'd with startled shriek; Drawn on the sands lay coracles of hide,[10] And all was desolate; when, towards the creek, Near which he halts, he hears the plashing oar; A boat shoots in; the seamen leap to shore.
Three were their number,--two in youthful prime, 39 One of mid years;--tall, huge of limb the three; Scarce clad, with weapons of a northward clime; Clubs, spears, and shields--the uncouth armoury Of man, while yet the wild beast is his foe. Yet something still the lords of earth may show;--
The pride of eye, the majesty of mien, 40 The front erect that looks upon the star: While round each neck the twisted chains are seen Of Teuton chiefs;--(and signs of chiefs they are In Cymrian lands--where still the torque of gold[11] Or decks the highborn or rewards the bold).
Stern Lancelot frown'd; for in those sturdy forms 41 The Christian Knight the Saxon foemen fear'd. "Why come ye hither?--nor compell'd by storms, Nor proffering barter?" As he spoke they near'd The noble knight;--and thus the elder said, "Nought save his heart the Aleman hath led!
"Ere more I answer, say if this the shore, 42 And thou the friend, of him who owns the dove? Arthur the king,--who taught us to adore By the man's deeds the God whose creed is love?" Then Lancelot answer'd, with a moistening eye, "Arthur's true knight and lealest friend am I."
With that, he leapt from selle to clasp the hand 43 Of him who honour'd thus the absent one: And now behold them seated on the sand, Frank faces smiling in the cordial sun; The absent, there, seem'd present: to unite, In loving bonds, his converts and his knight.
Then told the Aleman the tale by song 44 Already told--and we resume its flow Where the mild hero charm'd the stormy throng And twined the arm that shelter'd, round his foe: Not meanly conquer'd but sublimely won-- Stern Harold vail'd his plume to Uther's son.
The Saxon troop resought the Vandal king, 45 And Arthur sojourn'd with the savage race: More easy such rude proselytes to bring To Christian truth, than, in the wonderous place Where now he rests, proud Wisdom he shall find! For heaven dawns clearest on the simplest mind.
But when his cause of wrong the Cymrian show'd; 46 The heathen foe--the carnage-crimson'd fields; With one fierce impulse those fierce converts glow'd, And their wild war-howl chimed with clashing shields But Arthur wisely shunn'd that last appeal Of falling states,--the stranger's fatal steel.
Yet to the chief (for there at least no fear) 47 And his two sons, a slow consent he gave: Show'd by the prince the stars by which to steer, They hew'd a pine and launch'd it on the wave; Bringing rough forms but dauntless hearts to swell The force that guards the fates of Carduel.
The story heard, the son of royal BAN[12] 48 Questions the paths to which the King was led. "Know," answered Faul (so hight the Aleman), "That, in our father's days, our warriors spread O'er lands wherein eternal summer dwells, Beyond the snow-storm's siegeless pinnacles;
"And on the borders of those lands, 'tis told, 49 There lies a lake, some dead great city's grave, Where, when the moon is at her full, behold Pillar and palace shine up from the wave! And o'er the lake, seen but by gifted seers, Its phantom bark a silent phantom steers.
"It chanced, as round our fires we sate at night, 50 And saga-runes to wile our watch were sung, That with the legends of our father's might And wandering labours, this old tale was strung, Then the roused King much question'd:--what we knew We told, still question from each answer grew.
"That night he slept not--with the morn was gone; 51 And the dove led him where the snow-storms sleep." Then Lancelot rose, and led his destrier on, And gain'd the boat, and motion'd to the deep, His purpose well the Alemen divine, And launch once more the bark upon the brine.
And ask to aid--"Know, friends," replied the knight, 52 "Each wave that rolleth smooths its frown for me; My sire and mother, by the lawless might Of a fierce foe expell'd and forced to flee From the fair halls of BENOIC, paused to take Breath for new woes, beside a Fairy's lake.
"With them was I, their new-born helpless heir, 53 The hunted exiles gazed afar on home, And saw the fires that dyed like blood the air Pall with the pomp of hell the crashing dome. They clung, they gazed--no word by either spoken; And in that hush the sterner heart was broken.
"The woman felt the cold hand fail her own; 54 The head that lean'd fell heavy on the sod; She knelt--she kiss'd the lips,--the breath was flown! She call'd upon a soul that was with God: For the first time the wife's sweet power was o'er-- She who had soothed till then could soothe no more!
"In the wife's woe, the mother was forgot. 55 At last--(for I was all earth held of him Who had been all to her, and now was not)-- She rose, and look'd with tearless eyes, but dim, In the babe's face the father still to see; And lo! the babe was on another's knee!--
"Another's lip had kiss'd it into sleep, 56 And o'er the sleep another, watchful, smiled;-- The Fairy sate beside the lake's still deep, And hush'd with chanted charms the orphan child! Scared at the cry the startled mother gave, It sprang, and, snow-like, melted in the wave.
"There, in calm halls of lucent crystalline, 57 Fed by the dews that fell from golden stars, But through the lymph I saw the sunbeams shine, Nor dream'd a world beyond the glist'ning spars; Buoy'd by a charm that still endows and saves, In stream or sea, the nurseling of the waves.
"In my fifth year, to Uther's royal towers 58 The fairy bore me, and her charge resign'd. My mother took the veil of Christ--the Hours With Arthur's life the orphan's life entwined. O'er mine own element my course I take-- All oceans smile on Lancelot of the Lake!"
He said, and waved his hand: around the boat 59 The curlews hover'd, as it shot to sea. The wild men, lingering, watch'd the lessening float, Till in the far expanse lost desolately, Then slowly towards the hut they bent their way, And the lone waves moan'd up the lifeless bay.
Pass we the voyage. Hunger-worn, to shore 60 Gain'd man and steed; there food and rest they found In humble roofs. The course, resumed once more, Stretch'd inland o'er not unfamiliar ground: The wanderer smiles, by tower and town, to see Cymri's old oak rebloom in Brettanie.
Nathless, no pause, save such as needful rest 61 Demands, delays him in the friendly land. No tidings here of Arthur gain'd, his breast Springs to the goal of the quick-moving hand, Howbeit not barren of adventurous days, Sweet danger found him in the devious ways.
What foes encounter'd, or what damsels freed-- 62 What demon spells in lonely forests braving, Leave we to songs yet vocal to the reed On ev'ry bank, beloved by poets, waving; Our task unborrow'd from the muse of old, Takes but the tale by nobler bards untold.
Now as he journeys, frequent more and more 63 The traces of the steps he tracks are found; Fame, like a light, shines broadening on before His path, and cleaves the shadows on the ground; High deeds and gentle, bruited near and far, Show where that soul went flashing as a star.
At length he gains the Ausonian Alpine walls; 64 Here, castle, convent, town, and hamlet fade; Lone, through the rolling mists, the hoof-tread falls; Lone, earth's mute giants loom amidst the shade: Yet still, as sure of hope, he tracks the king, Up steep, through gorge, where guides the crystal ring.
One day--along by gloomy chasms his course-- 65 He saw before him indistinctly pass Through the dun fogs, what seem'd a phantom horse, Like that which oft, amidst the dank morass, Bestrid by goblin-meteor, starts the eye-- So fleshless flitting--wan and shadowy.
By a bare rock it paused, and feebly neigh'd. 66 As the good knight, descending, seized the rein; Dew-rusted mail the shrunken front array'd; The rich selle rotted with the moulder-stain; And on the selle were slung helm, axe, and mace; And the great lance lay careless near the place.
Then first the seeker's stricken spirit fell; 67 Too well that helmet, with its dragon crest, Speaks of the mighty owner; and too well That steed, so oft by snowy hands carest, When bright-eyed Beauty from the balcon bent To crown the victor-lord of tournament.
Near and afar he searched--he called in vain, 68 By crag and combe, nought answering, and nought seen; Return'd, the charger long refused the rein, Clinging, poor slave, where last its lord had been. At length the slow, reluctant hoofs obey'd The soothing words; so went they through the shade:
Following the gorge that wound the Alpine wall, 69 Like the huge fosse of some Cyclopean town, (While roaring round, invisible cataracts fall); On the black rocks twilight comes ghostly down, And deep and deeper still the windings go, And dark and darker as to worlds below.
Night halts the course, resumed at earliest day, 70 Through day pursued, till the last sunbeams fell On a broad mere whose margin closed the way. Hark! o'er the waters swung the holy bell From a grey convent on the rising ground, Amidst the subject hamlet stretch'd around.
Here, while both man and steeds the welcome rest 71 Under the sacred roof of Christ receive, We turn once more to AEgle and her guest. Lo! the sweet valley in the flush of eve! Lo! side by side, where through the rose-arcade, Steals the love star, the hero and the maid!
Silent they gaze into each other's eyes, 72 Stirring the inmost soul's unquiet sleep; So pierce soft star-beams, blending wave and skies, Some holy fountain trembling to its deep! Bright to each eye each human heart is bare, And scarce a thought to start an angel there!
Love to the soul, whate'er the harsh may say, 73 Is as the hallowing Naiad to the well-- The linking life between the forms of clay And those ambrosia nurtures; from its spell Fly earth's rank fogs, and Thought's ennobled flow Shines with the shape that glides in light below.
Seize, O beloved, the blooms the Hour allows! 74 Alas, but once can flower the Beautiful! Hark, the wind rustles through the trembling boughs, And the stem withers while the buds ye cull! Brief though the prize, how few in after hours Can say, "at least the Beautiful was ours!"
Two loves (and both divine and pure) there are; 75 One by the roof-tree takes its root for ever, Nor tempests rend, nor changeful seasons mar-- It clings the stronger for the storm's endeavour; Beneath its shade the wayworn find their rest, And in its boughs the calm bird builds its nest.
But one more frail (in that more prized, perchance), 76 Bends its rich blossoms over lonely streams In the untrodden ways of wild Romance, On earth's far confines, like the Tree of Dreams,[13] Few find the path;--O bliss! O woe to find! What bliss the blossom!--ah! what woe the wind!
Oh, the short spring!--the eternal winter!--All 77 Branch,--stem all shatter'd; fragile as the bloom! Yet this the love that charms us to recall Life's golden holiday before the tomb; Yea! this the love which age again lives o'er, And hears the heart beat loud with youth once more!
Before them, at the distance, o'er the blue 78 Of the sweet waves which girt the rosy isle, Flitted light shapes the inwoven alleys through: Remotely mellow'd, musical the while, Floated the hum of voices, and the sweet Lutes chimed with timbrels to dim-glancing feet.
The calm swan rested on the breathless glass 79 Of dreamy waters, and the snow-white steer Near the opposing margin, motionless, Stood, knee-deep, gazing wistful on its clear And life-like shadow, shimmering deep and far, Where on the lucid darkness fell the star.
Near them, upon its lichen-tinted base, 80 Gleam'd one of those fair fancied images Which art hath lost--no god of Idan race, But the wing'd symbol which, by Caspian seas, Or Susa's groves, its parable addrest To the wild faith of Iran's Zendavest.[14]
Light as the soul, whose archetype it was 81 The Genius touch'd, yet spurn'd the pedestal; Behind, the foliage, in its purple mass, Shut out the flush'd horizon; clasping all, Nature's hush'd giants stood to guard and girth The only home of peace upon the earth.
And when, at last, from AEgle's lips, the voice 82 Came soft as murmur'd hymns at closing day, The sweet sound seem'd the sweet air to rejoice-- To give the sole charm wanting,--to convey The crowning music to the Musical; As with the soul of love infusing all!
And to the Northman's ear that antique tongue, 83 Which from the Augur's lips fell weird and cold, Seem'd as the thread in fairy tales,[15] which strung Enchanted pearls, won from the caves of old, And woven round a sunbeam;--so was wrought O'er cordial love the pure and delicate thought.
She spoke of youth's lost years, so lone before, 84 And coming to the present, paused and blush'd; As if Time's wing were spell-bound evermore, And Life, the restless, in the hour were hush'd: The pause, the blush, said more than words, "And thou Art found!--thou lov'st me!--Fate is powerless now!"
That hand in his--that heart his own entwining 85 With its life's tendrils,--youth his pardon be, If in his heaven no loftier star were shining-- If round the haven boom'd unheard the sea-- If in the wreath forgot the thorny crown, And the harsh duties of severe renown.
Blame we as well the idlesse of a dream, 86 As that entranced oblivion from the reign Of the Great Curse, which glares in every beam Of labouring suns to the stern race of Cain; So life from earth did Nature here withdraw, That the strange peace seem'd but earth's common law.
Yet some excuse all stronger spirits take 87 For all repose from toil (to strength the doom) How sweet in that fair heathen soil to wake The living palm God planted on the tomb! And so, and long, did Passion's subtle art Mask with the soul the impulse of the heart.
Wonderous and lovely in that last retreat 88 Of the old Gods,--the simple speech to hear Tell of the Messenger whose beauteous feet Had gilt the mountain-tops with tidings clear Of veilless Heaven, while AEgle, thoughtful said, "This, love makes plain--yes, love can ne'er be dead!"
Now, as Night gently deepens round them, while 89 Oft to the moon upturn their happy eyes-- Still, hand in hand, they range the lulled isle. Air knows no breeze, scarce sighing to their sighs; No bird of night shrieks bode from drowsy trees, Nought lives between them and the Pleiades;
Save where the moth strains to the moon its wing, 90 Deeming the Reachless near;--the prophet race Of the cold stars forewarn'd them not; the Ring Of great Orion, who for the embrace Of Morn's sweet Maid had died,[16] look'd calm above The last unconscious hours of human love.
Each astral influence unrevealing shone 91 O'er the dark web its solemn thread enwove; Mars shot no anger from his fatal throne, No beam spoke trouble in the House of Love; Their closing path the treacherous smile illumed; And the stern Star-kings kiss'd the brows they doom'd.--
'Tis morn once more; upon the shelving green 92 Of the small isle, alone the Cymrian stood With his full heart,--when, suddenly, between Him and the sun, the azure solitude Was broken by a dark and rapid wing, And a dusk bird swoop'd downward to the King.
And the King's cheek grew pale, for well to him 93 (As now the raven, settling, touch'd his feet), Was known the mystic messenger:--where, grim O'er the Black Valley,[17] demon shadows fleet Glass'd on the lake whose horror scares away Each harmless wing that skims the golden day.
The Prophet's dauntless childhood stray'd and found 94 The weird bird muttering by the waves of dread; Three days and nights upon the haunted ground The raven's beak the solemn infant fed: And ever after (so the legend ran) The lone bird tended on the lonely man.
O'er the Man's temples fell the snows of age, 95 As fresh the lustrous ebon of the Bird,-- Less awe had credulous terror of the sage Than that familiar by the Fiend conferr'd-- So thought the crowd; nor knew what holy lore Lives in all things whose instinct is to soar.
Hoarse croaks the bird, and, with its round bright eye, 96 Fixes the gaze of the recoiling King; Slowly the hand, that trembles, cuts the tie Which binds the white scroll gleaming from the wing, And these the words, "Weak Loiterer from thy toil, The Saxon's march is on thy father's soil."
Bounded the Prince!--As when the sudden sun 97 Looses the ice-chains on the halted rill, Smites the dumb snow-mass, and the cataracts run In molten thunder down the clanging hill, So from his heart the fetters burst; and strong In its rough course the great soul rush'd along.
As looks a warrior on the fort he scales, 98 His glance darts round the everlasting steeps-- Not there escape!--the wildest fancy quails Before those heights on which the whitening deeps Of measureless heaven repose:--below their frown, Planed as a wall, shears the smooth granite down.
Marvel, indeed, how ev'n the enchanted wing 99 Had o'er such rampires won to the abode: But not for marvel paused the kindled King, Swift, as Pelides stung to war, he strode; While the dark herald, with its sullen scream, Rose, and fled, dismal as an evil dream.
Carved as for Love, a slender boat rock'd o'er 100 The ripple with the murmuring marge at play, He loosed its chain, he gain'd the adverse shore, Startled the groups that flutter'd round his way, Awed by the knitted brow and flashing eyes Of him they deem'd the native of the skies.
As towards the fane, which closed on hardy life 101 The granite path to Labour's world behind, O'er trampled flowers, strode the stern Child of Strife, He saw the melancholy priest reclined Under the shade of hush'd Dodonian boughs, Bending, o'er mystic scrolls, calm, mournful brows.--
Loud on that musing leisure broke the cry 102 Of the imperious Northman, "Rise, unbar Your granite gates--the eagle seeks the sky, The captive freedom, and the warrior war!" Slow rose the Augur, and this answer gave, "Man, see thy world--its outlet is the grave!
"Thou hast our secret! Thou must share our fates: 103 The Alps and Orcus guard ourselves--and thee! To what new Mars shall Janus ope the gates? Thou speak'st of war, and then demand'st the key!" Scornful he turn'd--but thrill'd with wrath to feel His sacred arm lock'd in a grasp of steel.
"Trifle not, host,--Fate calls me to depart; 104 On my shamed soul a prophet's voice hath cried! Nor Alps nor Orcus like a loyal heart Ensures the secret trustful lips confide." The Augur sneer'd--"A loyal heart, forsooth! And what says AEgle of the stranger's truth?"
"Let AEgle answer," cried the noble lover; 105 "Let AEgle judge the trust I hold from Heaven. I faithless!--I--a King?--my labours over, From mine own soil the surge of carnage driven, And I will come, as kings should come, to claim A mate for empire, and a meed for fame!"--
Long mused the Augur, and at length replied, 106 His guile scarce mask'd in his malignant gaze, "Take, as thou say'st, an answer from thy bride-- Then, if still wearied of untroubled days-- No more from Mantu[18] Pales shall control; And one free gate shall open on thy soul!"
He said, and drew his large robe round his form, 107 And wrathful swept along, as o'er the sky A cloud sweeps dark, secret with hoarded storm; Behind him went the guest as silently; Afar the gazing wonderers whisper'd, while They cross'd the girdling wave and reach'd the isle.
With violet buds, bright AEgle, in her bower, 108 Knits the dark riches of her lustrous hair; Her heart springs eager to the magic hour When to loved eyes 'tis glorious to be fair: Gleams of a neck, proud as the swan's, escape The light-spun tunic rounded to the shape.
The airy veil, its silver cloud dividing, 109 Falls, and floats fragrant, from the violet crown. What happy thought is in that breast presiding Like some serenest bird that settles down (Its wanderings over) on calm summer eves Into its nest, amid the secret leaves?
What happy thought in those large tranquil eyes 110 Speaks of a bliss remote from human fear? Speaks of a soul which like a star supplies Its own circumfluent lustrous atmosphere; Weaves beam on beam around its peace, and glows Soft through the splendour which itself bestows?
Who ever gazed on perfect happiness, 111 Nor felt it as the shadow cast from God? It seems so still in its sublime excess, So brings all heaven around its hush'd abode, That in its very beauty awe has birth, Dismay'd by too much glory for the earth.
Across the threshold now abruptly strode 112 Her youth's stern guardian. "Child of RASENA," He said, "the lover on thy youth bestow'd For the last time on earth thine eyes survey, Unless thy power can chain the faithless breast, And sated bliss deigns gracious to be blest."
"Not so!" cried Arthur, as his loyal knee 113 Bent to the earth, and with the knightly truth Of his right hand he clasp'd her own;--"to be Thine evermore; youth mingled with thy youth, Age with thine age; in thy grave mine; above, Soul with thy soul--this is the Christian's love!
"Oft wouldst thou smile, believing smile, to hear 114 Thy lover speak of knighthood's holy vow-- That vow holds falsehood more abhorr'd than fear,-- And canst thou doubt both love and knighthood now?" His words rush'd on--told of the threaten'd land, The fates confided to the sceptred hand,
Here gathering woes, and there suspended toil; 115 And the stern warning from the distant seer. "Thine be my people--thine this bleeding soil; Queen of my realm, its groaning murmurs hear! Then ask thyself, what manhood's choice should be; False to my country, were I worthy thee?"
Dim through her struggling sense the light came slow, 116 Struck from those words of fire. Alas, poor child! What, in thine isle of roses, shouldst thou know Of earth's grave duties?--of that stormy wild Of care and carnage--the relentless strife Of man with happiness, and soul with life?
Thou who hadst seen the sun but rise and set 117 O'er one Saturnian Arcady of rest, Snatch'd from the Age of Iron? Ever, yet, Dwells that fine instinct in the noble breast, Which each high truth intuitive receives, And what the Reason grasps not, Faith believes.
So in mute woe, one hand to his resign'd, 118 And one press'd firmly on her swelling heart, Passive she heard, and in her labouring mind Strove with the dark enigma--"part!--to part!" Till, having solved it by the beams that broke From that clear soul on hers, struggling she spoke:--
"Thou bidst me trust thee!--This is my reply: 119 Trust is my life--to trust thee is to live! And ev'n farewell less bitter than thy sigh For something AEgle is too poor to give. Thou speak'st of dread and terror, strife and woe; And I might wonder why they tempt thee so;
"And I might ask how more can mortals please 120 The heavens, than thankful to enjoy the earth? But through its mist my soul, though faintly, sees Where thine sweeps on beyond this mountain girth, And, awed and dazzled, bending I confess Life may have holier ends than happiness!
"Yes, as thou offerest joy upon the shrine 121 Of some bright good, all human joys above, So does my heart its altar seek in thine, Content to bleed:--Thee, not myself, I love!" Sighing, she ceased; and yet still seem'd to sigh, As doth the wave on which the zephyrs die.
Then, as she felt his tears upon her hand, 122 Sorrow woke sorrow, and her face she bow'd: As when the silver gates of heaven expand, And on the earth descends the melting cloud, So sunk the spirit from sublimer air, And all the woman rush'd on her despair.
"To lose thee--oh, to lose thee! To live on 123 And see the sun--not thee! Will the sun shine, Will the birds sing, flowers bloom, when thou art gone? Desolate, desolate! Thy right hand in mine, Swear, by the Past, thou wilt return!--Oh, say, Say it again!"----voice died in sobs away!
Mute look'd the Augur, with his deathful eyes, 124 On the last anguish of their lock'd embrace. "Priest," cried the lover, "canst thou deem this prize Lost to my future?--No, though round the place Yon Alps took life, with all the dire array Of demon legions, Love would force the way.
"Hear me, adored one!" On the silent ear 125 The promise fell, and o'er the unconscious frame Wound the protecting arm.--"Since neither fear Of the great Powers thou dost blaspheming name, Nor the soft impulse native in man's heart Restrains thee, doom'd one--hasten to depart.
"Come, in thy treason merciful at least, 126 Come, while those eyes by pitying slumbers bound, See not thy shadow pass from earth!"----The priest Spoke,--and now call'd the infant handmaids round; But o'er that form with arms that vainly cling, And words that idly comfort, bends the King.
"Nay, nay, look up! It is these arms that fold;-- 127 I still am here;--this hand, these tears, are mine." Then, when they sought to loose her from his hold, He waived them back with a fierce jealous sign; O'er her hush'd breath his listening ear he bow'd, And the awed children round him wept aloud.
But when the soul broke faint from its eclipse, 128 And his own name came, shaping life's first sigh, His very heart seem'd breaking in the lips Press'd to those faithful ones;--then tremblingly, He rose;--he moved;--he paused;--his nerveless hand Veil'd the dread agony of man unmann'd.
Thus, from the chamber, as an infant meek 129 The priest's slight arm led forth the mighty King; In vain wide air came fresh upon his cheek, Passive he went in his great sorrowing; Hate, the mute guide,--the waves of death, the goal;-- So, following Hermes, glides to Styx a soul.
NOTES TO BOOK IV.
1.--Page 255, stanza xi.
Like that in which the far SARONIDES.
Saronides--the Druids of Gaul: "The Samian Sage"--PYTHAGORAS.. The Augur is here supposed to speak Phoenician as the parent language of Arthur's native Celtic. See note 2.
2.--Page 255, stanza xi.
Exchanged dark riddles with the Samian sage.
Diodorus Siculus speaks with great respect of the SARONIDES as the Druid priests of Gaul; and Mr. Davis, in his Celtic Researches, insists upon it that Saronides is a British word, compounded from ser, stars; and honydd, "one who discriminates or points out:" in fine, according to him, the Saronides are Seronyddion, i. e. astronomers. For the initiation of Pythagoras into the Druid mysteries, see CLEM. ALEX. Strom. L. i. Ex. Alex. Polyhist. It will be observed that the author here takes advantage of the well-known assertions of many erudite authorities that the Phoenician language is the parent of the Celtic, in order to obtain a channel of oral communication between Arthur and the Etrurian;[C] though, contented with those authorities, as sufficing for all poetic purpose, he prudently declines entering into a controversy equally abstruse and interminable, as to the affinity between the countrymen of Dido and the scattered remnants of the Briton. It is not surprising that the Augur should know Phoenician, for we have only to suppose that he maintained, as well as he could in his retreat, the knowledge common among his priestly forefathers. The intercourse between Etruria and the Phoenician states (especially Carthage) was too considerable not to have rendered the language of the last familiar to the learning of the first;--to say nothing of those more disputable affinities of origin and religion, which, if existing, would have made an acquaintance with Phoenicia necessary to the solution of their historical chronicles and sacred books. Nor, when the Augur afterwards assures Arthur that AEgle also understands Phoenician, is any extravagant demand made upon the credulity of the indulgent reader; for, those who have consulted such lights as research has thrown upon Etrurian records, are aware that their more high-born women appear to have received no ordinary mental cultivation.
3.--Page 256, stanza xiv.
In LUNA'S gulf, the sea-beat crews carouse.
Luna, a trading town on the gulf of Spezia, said to have been founded by the Etrurian Tarchun.--See STRABO, lib. v.; CAT. Orig. XXV. In a fragment of Ennius, Luna is mentioned. In Lucan's time it was deserted, "desertae moenia Lunae."--LUC. i. 586.
4.--Page 256, stanza xiv.
Coere foretold hath come RASENA!
Rasena was the name which the Etrurians gave to themselves.--TWISS'S NIEBUHR, vol. i. c. vii. MULLER, die Etruesker: DION. i. 30.
5.--Page 256, stanza xviii.
The bliss that Northia singles for your lot.
Northia, the Etrurian deity which corresponds with the FORTUNE of the Romans, but probably with something more of the sterner attributes which the Greek and the Scandinavian gave to the FATES. I cannot but observe here on the similarity in sound and signification between the Etrurian Northia and the Norna of the Scandinavians. Norna with the last is the general term applied to Fate. The Etrurian name for the deities collectively--AESARS, is not dissimilar to that given collectively to their deities by the Scandinavians; viz. AESIR, or ASAS.
6.--Page 257, stanza xix.
Spite of the Knight of Thrace,--Sir Belisair.
Belisarius, whose fame was then just rising under Justinian. The Ostrogoth, Theodoric, was on the throne of Italy.
7.--Page 257, stanza xxii.
_"Ah," said the Augur--"here, I comprehend Egypt, and Typhon, and the serpent creed!_
It is clear that all which the bewildered Augur could comprehend, in the theological relations by which Arthur (no doubt with equal glibness and obscurity) relieves his historical narrative, would be that, in "worsting Satan," the Emperor of Greece is demolishing the Typhon worship of the Egyptians, and enforcing the adoration of the Dorian Apollo--that deity who had passed a probation on earth, and expiated a mysterious sin by descending to the shades; and it would require a more erudite teacher than we can presume Arthur to be, before the Augur would cease to confuse with the Pagan divinity the Divine Founder of the Christian gospel.
8.--Page 259, stanza xxxiii.
Astolfo spoke from out the bleeding tree.
Ariosto, canto vi.
9.--Page 259, stanza xxxvi.
Lo, now where pure Sabrina on her breast.
Sabrina, the Severn; whose legendary tale Milton has so exquisitely told in the Comus.--ISCA, the Usk.
10.--Page 259, stanza xxxviii.
Drawn on the sands lay coracles of hide.
The ancient British boats, covered with coria or hydes--"The ancient Britons," as Mr. Pennant observes, "had them of large size, and even made short voyages in them, according to the accounts we receive from Lucan."--PENNANT, vol. i. p. 303.
11.--Page 260, stanza xl.
In Cymrian lands--where still the torque of gold.
The twisted chain, or collar, denoted the chiefs of all the old tribes known as Gauls to the Romans. It is by this badge that the critics in art have rightly decided that the statue called "The Dying Gladiator" is in truth meant to personify a wounded Gaul. The collar, or torque, was long retained by the chiefs of Britain--and allusions to it are frequent in the songs of the Welsh.
12.--Page 261, stanza xlviii.
The story heard, the son of royal BAN.
According to the French romance-writers, Lancelot was the son of King Ban of Benoic, a tributary to the Cymrian crown. The Welch claim him, however, as a national hero, in spite of his name, which they interpret as a translation from one of their own--Paladr-ddelt, splintered spear. (LADY C. GUEST'S Mabinogion, vol. i. p. 91.) In a subsequent page, Lancelot tells the tale (pretty nearly as it is told in the French romance) which obtained him the title of "Lancelot of the Lake."--See note in ELLIS'S edition of WAY'S Fabliaux, vol. ii. p. 206.
13.--Page 265, stanza lxxvi.
On earth's far confines, like the Tree of Dreams.
"In medio ramos," &c.--VIRGIL, lib. vi. 282.
"An elm displays her dusky arms abroad, And empty dreams on every leaf are spread."--DRYDEN.
14.--Page 265, stanza lxxx.
To the wild faith of Iran's Zendavest.
Zendavest. Compare the winged genius of the Etrurians with the Feroher of the Persians, in the sculptured reliefs of Persepolis. (See HEEREN'S Historical Researches, art. Persians.) MICALI, vol. ii. p. 174, points out some points of similarity between the Persian and Etrurian cosmogony. It was peculiar to the Etrurians, amongst the classic nations of Europe, to delineate their deities with wings. Even when they borrowed some Hellenic god, they still invested him with this attribute, so especially Eastern.
15.--Page 266, stanza lxxxiii.
Seem'd as the thread in fairy tales, which strung.
In a legend of Bretagne, a fairy weaves pearls round a sunbeam, to convince her lover of her magical powers.
16.--Page 267, stanza xc.
Of Morn's sweet Maid had died, look'd calm above.
Hom. Odys., lib. v.
17.--Page 267, stanza xciii.
O'er the Black Valley, demon shadows fleet.
Cwm Idwal (in Snowdonia). "A fit place to inspire murderous thoughts,--environed with horrible precipices shading a lake lodged in its bottom. The shepherds fable that it is the haunt of demons, and that no bird dare fly over its damned waters."--PENNANT, vol. iii. p. 324.
18.--Page 269, stanza cvi.
No more from Mantu Pales shall control.
Mantu, the God of the Shades--PALES, the Pastoral Deity.
[C] It may perhaps occur to the reader that Latin, with which Arthur (in an age so shortly subsequent to the Roman occupation of Britain) could scarcely fail to be well acquainted, might have furnished a better mode of communication between himself and the Augur. But the Latin language would have been very imperfectly settled at the time of the supposed Etrurian emigration; would have had small connection with the literature, sacred or profane, of the Etrurians; and would long have been despised as a rude medley of various tongues and dialects, by the proud and polished race which the Romans subjected.