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And-for his power to hurt or kill O'er cheek, and brow, and bosom fly, Was bounded by a higher will —
Speaks shame-facedness and hope. Evanish'd in the storm.
xix. Nor paused the Champion of the North, But vainly seems the Dane to seek But raised, and bore his Eivir forth, For terms his new-born love to speak, From that wild scene of fiendish strife, 1 For words, save those of wrath and To light, to liberty, and life!
Till now were strangers to his tongue; XVII. He placed her on a bank of moss,
So, when he raised the blushing maid,
In blunt and honest terms he said A silver runnel bubbled by,
('Twere well that maids, when lovers And new-born thoughts his soul
Heard none more soft, were all as true : And tremors yet unknown across
Eivir! since thou for many a day His stubborn sinews fly,
Hast follow'd Harold's wayward way, The while with timid hand the dew
It is but meet that in the line Upon her brow and neck he threw,
Of after-life I follow thine. And mark'd how life with rosy hue
To-morrow is Saint Cuthbert's tide, On her pale cheek revived anew,
And we will grace his altar's side, And glimmer'd in her eye.
A Christian knight and Christian bride; Inly he said, “That silken tress
And of Witikind's son shall the marvel What blindness mine that could not
be said, guess!
i That on the same morn he was Or how could page's rugged dress That bosom's pride helie?
christen'd and wed. 0, dull of heart, through wild and wave
And now, Ennui, what ails thee,
weary maid ? XVIII.
And why these listless looks of Then in the mirror'd pool he peer'd,
yawning sorrow? Blamed his rough locks and shaggy No need to turn the page, as if beard,
'twere lead, The stains of recent conflict clear'd, Or fling aside the volume till toAnd thus the Champion proved,
morrow. That he fears now who never fear'd, Be cheer'd ; 'tis ended-and I will And loves who never loved.
not borrow, And Eivir-life is on her cheek,
To try thy patience more, And yet she will not move or speak,
anecdote Nor will her eyelid fully ope; From Bartholine, or Perinskiold, Perchance it loves, that half-shut evc, or Snorro. Through its long fringe, reserved and Then pardon thou thy minstrel, who shy,
hath wrote Affection's opening dawn to spy ; A Tale six cantos long, yet scorn'd And the deep blush, which bids its dye to add a note.
END OF HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS.
The Bridal of Triermain.
Which could yon oak's prone trunk INTRODUCTION.
uprear, Shall shrink bencath the burden dear
Of form so slender, light, and fine; COME, Lucy! while 'tis morning hour
So! now, the danger dared at last, The woodland brook we needs must
Look back, and smile at perils past! pass; So, ere the sun assume his power, We shelter in our poplar bower,
And now we reach the favourite glade, Where dew lies long upon the flower,
Paled in by copscwood, cliff, and Though vanish'd from the velvet
Where never harsher sounds invade, grass. Curbing the stream, this stony ridge
To brcakaffection's whispering tone, May serve us for a silvan bridge;
Than the deep breeze that waves the For here, compell’d to disunite,
shade, Round petty isles the runnels
Than the small brooklet's feeble glide, And chafing off their puny spite,
Come! rest thee on thy wonted seat; The shallow murmurers waste their ! Moss'd is the stone, the turf is green, might,
A place where lovers best may meet Yielding to footstep free and light
Who would not that their love be Adry-shod pass from side to side.
The boughs, that dim the summer sky,
Shall hide us from cach lurking spy, Nay, why this hesitating pause ?
That fain would spread the invidious And, Lucy, as thy step withdraws,
tale, Whysidelongeyethe streamlet's brim? How Lucy of the lofty eye, Titania's foot without a slip,
Noble in birth, in fortunes high, Like thine, though timid, light, and She for whom lords and barons sighi,
Meets her poor Arthur in the dale. From stone to stone might safely trip,
Vor risk the glow-worm clasp to dip That binds her slipper's silken rim. llow deep that blush :-how deep Or trust thy lover's strength: nor fear : that sigh!
That this same stalwart arm of mine, i And why does Lucy shun mine eye?
Is it because that crimson draws
Since Heaven assign'd him, for his Its colour from some secret cause,
part, Some hidden movement of the breast A lyre, a falchion, and a heart ? She would not that her Arthur guessid? 0! quicker far is lovers' ken Than the dull glance of common men, My sword—its master must be dumb; And, by strange sympathy, can spell But, when a soldier names my The thoughts the loved one will not
Approach, my Lucy! fearless come, And mine, in Lucy's blush, saw met Nor dread to hear of Arthur's The hues of pleasure and regret;
shame. Pride mingled in the sigh her voice, My heart! \mid all yon courtly crew, And shared with Love the crimson Of lordly rank and lofty line, glow;
Is there to love and honour true, Well pleased that thou art Arthur's That boasts a pulse so warm as choice,
mine? Yet shamed thine own is placed | They praised thy diamonds’ lustre
so low : Thou turn'st thy self-confessing Match'd with thine eyes, I thought check,
it faded; As if to meet the breeze's cooling; They praised the pearls that bound Then, Lucy, hear thy tutor speak,
thy hairFor Love, too, has his hours of I only saw the locks they braided; schooling.
They talk'd of wealthy dowerand land,
And titles of high birth the token-
I thought of Lucy's heart and hand, Too oft my anxious eye has spied Nor knew the sense of what was That secret grief thou fain wouldst spoken. hide,
And yet, if rank'd in Fortune's roll, The passing pang of humbled pride ; I might have learn'd their choice Too oft, when through the splendid unwise, hall,
Who rate the dower above the soul, The load-star of eachheartandeye, And Lucy's diamonds o'er her eyes. My fair one leads the glittering ball, Will her stol'n glance on Arthur fall,
VII. With such a blush and such a sigh: My lyre--it is an idle toy, Thou wouldst not yield, for wealth That borrows accents not its own, or rank,
Like warbler of Colombian sky, The heart thy worth and beauty That sings but in a mimic tone. won,
Ne'er did it sound o'er sainted well, Nor leave me on this mossy bank, Nor boasts it aught of Border spell;
To meet a rival on a throne : Its strings no feudal slogan pour, Why, then, should vain repinings ! Its heroes draw no broad claymore; rise,
No shouting clans applauses raise, That to thy lover fate denies Because it sung their father's praise; A nobler name, a wide domain, On Scottish moor, or English down, 1 Baron's birth, a menial train, It ne'er was graced with fair renown;
Norwon-best meed to minstrel true- Lovely as the sun's first ray
day; By one poor streamlet sounds its tone, Constant and trueas the widow'd dove, And heard by one dear maid alone. Kind as a minstrel that sings of love;
Pure as the fountain in rocky cave, But, if thou bid'st, these tones shall tell
Where never sunbeam kiss'd the wave; Of errant knight, and clamozelle;
Humble as maiden that loves in vain, Of the dread knot a Wizard ticd,
Holy as hermit's vesper strain ; In punishment of maiden's pride,
Gentle as breeze that but whispers and
dies, In notes of marvel and of fear, That best may charm romantic car.
Yet blithe as the light leaves that For Lucy loves (like Collins, ill
dance in its sighs : starred name,
Courtcous as monarch the morn he is Whose lay's requital was that tardy
Generous as spring-dews that bless Who bound no laurel round his living
the glad ground; head,
Noble her blood as the currents that met
In the veins ofthe noblest Plantagenet: Should hang ito'er his monument when dead
Such must her form be, her mood,
and her strain, For Lucy loves to tread enchanted
That shall match with Sir Roland of strand, Ind thread, like him, the maze of fairy
Triermain. land; Of golden battlements to view the Sir Roland de Vaux he hath laid him gleam,
to sleep, And slumber soft by some Elysian His blood it was fever'd, his breathing stream ;
was deep. Such lays she loves; and, such my Heliad been pricking against the Scot, Lucy's choice,
| The foray was long, and the skirmishi What other song can claim her Poet's
His dinted helm and his buckler's plight
All in the castle must hold them still,
Harpers must lull him to his rest Canto First.
With the slow soft tunes he loves the
Till sleep sink down upon his breast Where is the maiden of mortal strain
Like the dew on a summer hill. That may match with the Baron of
Trierinain ? She must be lovely, and constant, and it was the dawn of an autumn day ; kind,
The sun was struggling with frost-fog Iloly and pure, and humble of inind,
grey, Blithe of chcer, and gentle of mood, That like a silvery crape was spreal Courteous, and generous, and noble ; Round Skiddaw's dim and distant of blood;
And faintly gleam'd cach painted pane
When that dark castle, tower, and spire,
Rose to the skies a pile of fire, Hearken,my minstrels! which ofye all And redden'dallthe Nine-stane Hill, Touch'd his harp with that dying fall, And the shrieks of death, that wildly So sweet, so soft, so faint,
broke It seem'd an angel's whisper'd call Through devouring flame and smothTo an expiring saint ?
ering smoke, And hearken, my merry-men! what
Made the warrior's heart-blood chill. time or where
The trustiest thou of all my train, Did she pass, that maid with her My fleetest courser thou must rein, heavenly brow,
And ride to Lyulph's tower, With her look so sweet and her eyes And from the Baron of Triermain so fair,
Greet well that sage of power. And hergraceful stepand her angelair, He is sprung from Druid sires, And the eagle plume in her dark brown And British bards that tuned their lyres hair,
To Arthur's and Pendragon's praise, That pass’d from my bower e'en And his who sleeps at Dunmailraise. now?'
Gifted like his gifted race,
He the characters can trace, Answer'd him Richard de Bretville- | Graven deep in elder time he
Upon Helvellyn's cliffs sublime; Was chief of the Baron's minstrelsy: Sign and sigil well doth he know, *Silent, noble chieftain, we
And can bode of weal and woe,
Of kingdoms' fall, and fate of wars, When such lulling sounds as the From mystic dreamsandcourseofstars. brooklet sings
He shall tell if middle earth Murmur'd from our melting strings, To that enchanting shape gave birth, And hush'd you to repose.
Or if 'twas but an airy thing, Had a harp-note sounded here Such as fantastic slumbers bring, It had caught my watchful ear,
Fram'd from the rainbow's varying Although it fell as faint and shy
dyes As bashful maiden's half-form'd sigh, Or fading tints of western skies.
When she thinks her lover near.' For, by the Blessed Rood I swear, Answer'd Philip of Fasthwaite tall
If that fair form breathe vital air,
mead, In morn of frost, thic wither'd lcaves Dash'do'er Kirkoswald's verdant plain,
That drop when no winds blow.' And Eden barr'd his course in vain.