Meeter for me, by yonder cairn,
The ancient shepherd's tale to learn,
Though oft he stop in rustic fear,
Lest his old legends tire the ear

Of one who, in his simple mind,

May boast of book-learned taste refined.

But thou, my friend, canst fitly tell -
For few have read romance so well
How still the legendary lay

O'er poet's bosom holds its sway;
How on the ancient minstrel strain
Time lays his palsied hand in vain;
And how our hearts at doughty deeds,
By warriors wrought in steely weeds,
Still throb for fear and pity's sake;
As when the Champion of the Lake1
Enters Morgan's fated house,
Or in the Chapel Perilous,

Despising spells and demons' force,
Holds converse with the unburied corse;
Or when, Dame Ganore's grace to move
Alas, that lawless was their love! -
He sought proud Tarquin in his den,
And freed full sixty knights; or when,
A sinful man and unconfessed,

1 See Note I.

He took the Sangreal's holy quest,
And slumbering saw the vision high
He might not view with waking eye.1

The mightiest chiefs of British song
Scorned not such legends to prolong.
They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream,
And mix in Milton's heavenly theme;

And Dryden, in immortal strain,2
Had raised the Table Round again,
But that a ribald king and court

Bade him toil on, to make them sport;
Demanded for their niggard pay,

Fit for their souls, a looser lay,

Licentious satire, song, and play;

The world defrauded of the high design,

Profaned the God-given strength, and marred the lofty line.

Warmed by such names, well may we then, Though dwindled sons of little men,

Essay to break a feeble lance

In the fair fields of old romance;

Or seek the moated castle's cell,

Where long through talisman and spell,
While tyrants ruled and damsels wept,

1 See Note 2.

2 See Note 3.

1

Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept.

There sound the harpings of the North,
Till he awake and sally forth,

On venturous quest to prick again,

In all his arms, with all his train,

Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and scarf,

Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf,
And wizard with his wand of might,

And errant maid on palfrey white.
Around the Genius weave their spells,
Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells;
Mystery, half veiled and half revealed;
And Honour, with his spotless shield;
Attention, with fixed eye; and Fear,
That loves the tale she shrinks to hear;
And gentle Courtesy; and Faith,
Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death;
And Valour, lion-mettled lord,
Leaning upon his own good sword.

Well has thy fair achievement shown A worthy meed may thus be won: Ytene's oaks 1-beneath whose shade Their theme the merry minstrels made, Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold,2

1 The New Forest in Hampshire, anciently so called.
2 See Note 4.

And that Red King,' who, while of old
Through Boldrewood the chase he led,

By his loved huntsman's arrow bled
Ytene's oaks have heard again
Renewed such legendary strain;

For thou hast sung, how he of Gaul,

That Amadis so famed in hall,

For Oriana, foiled in fight

The Necromancer's felon might;

And well in modern verse hast wove

Partenopex's mystic love:

Hear, then, attentive to my lay,

A knightly tale of Albion's elder day.

1 William Rufus.

CANTO FIRST

THE CASTLE

I

DAY set on Norham's castled steep,1

And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep,
And Cheviot's mountains lone;
The battled towers, the donjon keep,2
The loophole grates where captives weep,
The flanking walls that round it sweep,
In yellow lustre shone.

The warriors on the turrets high,
Moving athwart the evening sky,
Seemed forms of giant height;

Their armour, as it caught the rays,
Flashed back again the western blaze,

In lines of dazzling light.

II

Saint George's banner, broad and gay,

Now faded, as the fading ray

Less bright, and less, was flung;

The evening gale had scarce the power To wave it on the donjon tower,

So heavily it hung.

1 See Note 5.

See Note 6.