Were all the wealth of Russell mine,
And all the rank of Howard's line,
All would I give for leave to dry
That dewdrop trembling in thine eye.
Think not I fear such fops can wile
From Lucy more than careless smile;
But yet if wealth and high degree
Give gilded counters currency,
Must I not fear, when rank and birth
Stamp the pure ore of genuine worth?
Nobles there are, whose martial fires
Rival the fame that raised their sires,
And patriots, skill'd through storms
of fate

To guide and guard the reeling state. Such, such there are: if such should come,

Arthur must tremble and be dumb, Self-exiled seek some distant shore, And mourn till life and grief are o'er.

VI.

What sight, what signal of alarm,
That Lucy clings to Arthur's arm?
Or is it, that the rugged way
Makes Beauty lean on lover's stay?
Oh, no! for on the vale and brake
Nor sight nor sounds of danger wake,
And this trim sward of velvet green
Were carpet for the Fairy Queen.
That pressure slight was but to tell
That Lucy loves her Arthur well,
And fain would banish from his mind
Suspicious fear and doubt unkind.

VII.

But wouldst thou bid the demons fly Like mist before the dawning sky, There is but one resistless spellSay, wilt thou guess, or must I tell? 'Twere hard to name, in minstrel phrase,

A landaulet and four blood-bays, But bards agree this wizard band Can but be bound in Northern land. 'Tis there-nay, draw not back thy hand!

'Tis there this slender finger round Must golden amulet be bound, Which, bless'd with many a holy prayer,

Can change to rapture lovers' care, And doubt and jealousy shall die, And fears give place to ecstasy.

VIII.

Now, trust me, Lucy, all too long Has been thy lover's tale and song. O, why so silent, love, I pray? Have I not spoke the livelong day? And will not Lucy deign to say

One word her friend to bless. I ask but one, a simple sound, Within three little letters bound, O, let the word be Yes!

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO

THIRD.

1.

LONGloved, longwoo'd, and lately won,
My life's best hope, and now mine own!
Doth not this rude and Alpine glen
Recall our favourite haunts agen?
A wild resemblance we can trace,
Though reft of every softer grace,
As the rough warrior's brow may bear
A likeness to a sister fair.

Full well advised our Highland host,
That this wild pass on foot be cross'd,
While round Ben-Cruach's mighty
base

Wheel the slow steeds and lingering chaise.

The keen old carle, with Scottish pride, He praised his glen and mountains

wide;

An eye he bears for Nature's face, Ay, and for woman's lovely grace. Even in such mean degree we find The subtle Scot's observing mind;

Seems that the Highland Naiad grieves,

Fantastic while her crown she weaves,
Of rowan, birch, and alder leaves,
So lovely, and so lone.

There's no illusion there; these flowers,

That wailing brook, these lovely bowers,

Are, Lucy, all our own; And since thine Arthur call'd thee wife, Such seems the prospect of his life, A lovely path, on-winding still, By gurgling brook and sloping hill. 'Tis true, that mortals cannot tell What waits them in the distant deЛl; But be it hap, or be it harm, We tread the pathway arm in arm.

IV.

And now, my Lucy, wot'st thou why
I could thy bidding twice deny,
When twice you pray'd I would again
Resume the legendary strain

Of the bold Knight of Triermain?
That you would sue to me no more,
At length yon peevish vow you swore,
Until the minstrel fit drew near,
And made me prize a listening ear.
But, loveliest, when thou first didst

pray

Continuance of the knightly lay,
Was it not on the happy day

That made thy hand mine own? When, dizzied with mine ecstasy, Nought past, or present, or to be, Could I or think on, hear, or see,

Save, Lucy, thee alone!
A giddy draught my rapture was,
As ever chemist's magic gas.

V.

Again the summons I denied
In yon fair capital of Clyde :
My Harp-or let me rather choose
The good old classic form-my Muse,
(For Harp's an over-scutched phrase,
Worn out by bards of modern days)

as a fond deception all, 1 as, in solitary hall, Beguiles the musing eye, en, gazing on the sinking fire, wark, and battlement, and spire, In the red gulf we spy.

seen by moon of middle night, by the blaze of noontide bright, by the dawn of morning light, Or evening's western flame, every tide, at every hour, nist, in sunshine, and in shower, The rocks remain'd the same.

IV.

t has he traced the charmed mound, climb'd its crest, or paced it round, Yet nothing might explore, ve that the crags so rudely piled, E distance seen, resemblance wild To a rough fortress bore.

et still his watch the warrior keeps, eeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps,

And drinks but of the well:
Ever by day he walks the hill,
And when the evening gale is chill,

He seeks a rocky cell,
Like hermit poor to bid his bead,
And tell his Ave and his Creed,
Invoking every saint at need,

For aid to burst his spell.

V.

And now the moon her orb has hid, And dwindled to a silver thread,

Dim seen in middle heaven, While o'er its curve carcering fast, Before the fury of the blast

The midnight clouds are driven. The brooklet raved, for on the hills The upland showers had swoln the rills,

And down the torrents came; Mutter'd the distant thunder dread, And frequent o'er the vale was spread A sheet of lightning flame.

De Vaux, within his mountain cave, (No human step the storm durst brave) To moody meditation gave

Each faculty of soul,

Till, lull'd by distant torrent sound, And the sad winds that whistled round, Upon his thoughts, in musing drown'd, A broken slumber stole.

VI.

'Twas then was heard a heavy sound (Sound strange and fearful there to hear,

'Mongst desert hills, where, leagues around,

Dwelt but the gorcock and the

deer):

As, starting from his couch of fern,
Again he heard, in clangor stern,

That deep and solemn swell,-Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke,

Like some proud minster's pealing clock,

Or city's larum-bell,—

What thought was Roland's first when

fell,

In that deep wilderness, the knell
Upon his startled ear?

To slander warrior were I loth,
Yet must I hold my minstrel troth,-
It was a thought of fear.

VII.

But lively was the mingled thrill
That chased that momentary chill,

For Love's keen wish was there, And eager Hope, and Valour high, And the proud glow of Chivalry,

That burn'd to do and dare. Forth from the cave the warrior rush'd, Long ere the mountain-voice was hush'd,

That answer'd to the knell; For long and far the unwonted sound, Eddying in echoes round and round, Was toss'd from fell to fell;

And Glaramara answer flung,
And Grisdale-pike responsive rung,
And Legbert heights their echoes
swung

As far as Derwent's dell.

VIII.

Forth upon trackless darkness gazed The Knight, bedeafen'd and amazed,

Till all was hush'd and still, Save the swoln torrent's sullen roar, And the night-blast that wildly bore

Its course along the hill. Then on the northern sky there came A light, as of reflected flame,

And over Legbert-head, As if by magic art controll'd, A mighty meteor slowly roll'd Its orb of fiery red;

Thou wouldst have thought some demon dire

Came, mounted on that car of fire,

To do his errand dread. Far on the sloping valley's course, On thicket, rock, and torrent hoarse, Shingle and Scrae, and Fell and Force,

A dusky light arose: Display'd, yet alter'd was the scene; Dark rock, and brook of silver sheen, Even the gay thicket's summer green, In bloody tincture glows.

IX.

De Vaux had mark'd the sunbeams set,

At eve, upon the coronet

Of that enchanted mound, And seen but crags at random flung, That, o'er the brawling torrent hung,

In desolation frown'd. What sees he by that meteor's lour? A banner'd Castle, keep, and tower, Return the lurid gleam, With battled walls and buttress fast, And barbican and ballium vast, And airy flanking towers, that cast

Their shadows on the stream.

'Tis no deceit! distinctly clear
Crenell and parapet appear,
While o'er the pile that meteor drear
Makes momentary pause;
Then forth its solemn path it drew,
And fainter yet and fainter grew
Those gloomy towers upon the view,
As its wild light withdraws.

X.

Forth from the cave did Roland rush, O'er crag and stream, through brier and bush;

Yet far he had not sped Ere sunk was that portentous light Behind the hills, and utter night

Was on the valley spread. He paused perforce, and blew his horn, And on the mountain-echoes borne

Was heard an answering sound, A wild and lonely trumpet-note; In middle air it seem'd to float

High o'er the battled mound; And sounds were heard, as when a guard

Of some proud castle, holding ward,

Pace forth their nightly round. The valiant Knight of Triermain Rung forth his challenge-blast again,

But answer came there none;
And 'mid the mingled wind and rain,
Darkling he sought the vale in vain,
Until the dawning shone;
And when it dawn'd, that wondrous
sight,

Distinctly seen by meteor light-
It all had pass'd away;

And that enchanted mount once more
A pile of granite fragments bore,
As at the close of day.

XI.

Steel'd for the deed, De Vaux's heart Scorn'd from his vent'rous quest to part,

He walks the vale once more; But only sees, by night or day, That shatter'd pile of rocks so grey, Hears but the torrent's roar.