The cloudless moon grows dark and dim,
And bristling hair and quaking limb
Proclaim the Master Demon nigh, --

Those who view his form shall die!
Lo! I stoop and veil my head;
Thou who ridest the tempest dread,
Shaking hill and rending oak
Spare me! spare me, Zernebock!

'He comes not yet! Shall cold delay

Thy votaress at her need repay?

Thou

shall I call thee god or fiend?

Let others on thy mood attend

With prayer and ritual - Jutta's arms
Are necromantic words and charms;

Mine is the spell that uttered once
Shall wake thy Master from his trance,

Shake his red mansion-house of pain

And burst his seven-times-twisted chain!-
So! com'st thou ere the spell is spoke?
I own thy presence, Zernebock.'

XVIII

'Daughter of dust,' the Deep Voice said Shook while it spoke the vale for dread, Rocked on the base that massive stone, The Evil Deity to own,—

'Daughter of dust! not mine the power
Thou seek'st on Harold's fatal hour.
'Twixt heaven and hell there is a strife
Waged for his soul and for his life,
And fain would we the combat win

And snatch him in his hour of sin.

There is a star now rising red

That threats him with an influence dread:

Woman, thine arts of malice whet,
To use the space before it set.

Involve him with the church in strife,
Push on adventurous chance his life;
Ourself will in the hour of need,

As best we may, thy counsels speed.'

So ceased the Voice; for seven leagues round Each hamlet started at the sound,

But slept again as slowly died

Its thunders on the hill's brown side.

XIX

'And is this all,' said Jutta stern,

'That thou canst teach and I can learn?
Hence! to the land of fog and waste,
There fittest is thine influence placed,
Thou powerless, sluggish Deity!

But ne'er shall Briton bend the knee
Again before so poor a god.'

She struck the altar with her rod;
Slight was the touch as when at need
A damsel stirs her tardy steed;
But to the blow the stone gave place,

And, starting from its balanced base,
Rolled thundering down the moonlight dell,
Re-echoed moorland, rock, and fell;
Into the moonlight tarn it dashed,
Their shores the sounding surges lashed,
And there was ripple, rage, and foam;

But on that lake, so dark and lone,
Placid and pale the moonbeam shone

As Jutta hied her home.

CANTO THIRD

I

GREY towers of Durham! there was once a time

I viewed your battlements with such vague hope
As brightens life in its first dawning prime;
Not that e'en then came within fancy's scope
A vision vain of mitre, throne, or cope;
Yet, gazing on the venerable hall,

Her flattering dreams would in perspective ope Some reverend room, some prebendary's stall, — And thus Hope me deceived as she deceiveth all.

Well yet I love thy mixed and massive piles, Half church of God, half castle 'gainst the Scot, And long to roam these venerable aisles, With records stored of deeds long since forgot; There might I share my Surtees' happier lot, Who leaves at will his patrimonial field To ransack every crypt and hallowed spot, And from oblivion rend the spoils they yield, Restoring priestly chant and clang of knightly shield.

Vain is the wish since other cares demand

Each vacant hour, and in another clime;

But still that northern harp invites my hand Which tells the wonder of thine earlier time; And fain its numbers would I now command To paint the beauties of that dawning fair When Harold, gazing from its lofty stand Upon the western heights of Beaurepaire, Saw Saxon Eadmer's towers begirt by winding Wear.

II

Fair on the half-seen streams the sunbeams danced, Betraying it beneath the woodland bank,

And fair between the Gothic turrets glanced

Broad lights, and shadows fell on front and flank, Where tower and buttress rose in martial rank, And girdled in the massive donjon keep,

And from their circuit pealed o'er bush and bank The matin bell with summons long and deep, And echo answered still with long-resounding sweep.

III

The morning mists rose from the ground,

Each merry bird awakened round

As if in revelry;

Afar the bugle's clanging sound

Calls to the chase the lagging hound;

The gale breathed soft and free,