The lovely Edelfied;1 And how, of thousand snakes, each one XIV. Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters fail, But though, alive, he loved it well, Downward to Tilmouth cell. Hail'd him with joy and fear; Looks down upon the Wear: But none may know the place, Who share that wondrous grace. XV. Who may his miracles declare! Before his standard fled.4 And turn'd the Conqueror back again," While round the fire such legends go, It was more dark and lone that vault, In penitence to dwell, When he, for cowl and beads, laid down The Saxon battle-axe and crown. Of feeling, hearing, sight, Was call'd the Vault of Penitence, Excluding air and light, Was, by the prelate Sexhelm, made Bemoan'd their torments there. XVIII. But though, in the monastic pile, Some vague tradition go, Where the place lay; and still more few Victim and executioner Were blindfold when transported there. See Appendix, Note 2 D. a See Appendix, Note 2 F. 5 See Appendix, Note 2 H. 2 Ibid, Note 2 E. 4 Ibid, Note 2 G. Sce Appendix, Note 2 I. 7 MS.-Seen only when the gathering storm 8 See Appendix, Note 2 K. " The grave-stones, rudely sculptured o'er, A cresset,' in an iron chain, Which served to light this drear domain, With damp and darkness seem'd to strive, As if it scarce might keep alive; And yet it dimly served to show The awful conclave met below. XIX. There, met to doom in secrecy, Were placed the heads of convents three: All servants of Saint Benedict, The statutes of whose order strict On iron table lay;3 In long black dress, on seats of stone, Behind were these three judges shown By the pale cresset's ray: The Abbess of Saint Hilda's, there, And she with awe looks pale: And he, that Ancient Man, whose sight 5 "The picture of Constance before her judges, though more laboured than that of the voyage of the Lady Abbess, is not, to our taste, so pleasing; though it has beauty of a kind fully as popular."-JEFFREY. "I sent for Marmion,' because it occurred to me there might be a resemblance between part of Parisina,' and a similar scene in the second canto of Marmion.' I fear there is, though I never thought of it before, and could hardly wish to imitate that which is inimitable. I wish you would ask Mr. Gifford whether I ought to say any thing upon it. I had completed the story on the passage from Gibbon, which indeed leads to a like scene naturally, without a thought of the kind; but it comes upon me not very comfortably."-Lord Byron to Mr. Murray, Feb. 3, 1816.-Compare: Yet one alone deserves our care. Her sex a page's dress belied; And, on her doublet breast, She tried to hide the badge of blue, And raised the bonnet from her head, In ringlets rich and rare. Constance de Beverley they know, Sister profess'd of Fontevraud, Whom the church number'd with the dead, For broken vows, and convent fled. XXI. When thus her face was given to view, XXII. Her comrade was a sordid soul, Such as does murder for a meed; Who, but of fear, knows no control, Because his conscience, sear'd and foul, Feels not the import of his deed; Parisina's fatal charms Again attracted every eye Would she thus hear him doom'd to die! So large and slowly gather'd slid From the long dark fringe of that fair lid, It was a thing to see, not hear! Such drops could fall from human eyes. One, whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires1 For them no vision'd terrors daunt, And crouch, like hound beneath the lash; XXIII. Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek, XXIV. These executioners were chose, Or who, in desperate doubt of grace, Of some foul crime the stain; To speak she thought-the imperfect note BYRON'S Works, vol. x. p. 171. In some recent editions this word had been erroneously printed "inspires." The MS. has the correct line. "One whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires." See Appendix, Note 2 M. 8 MS.-"A feeble and a flutter'd streak, Like that with which the mornings break In Autumn's sober sky." 4" Mr. S. has judiciously combined the horrors of the punishment with a very beautiful picture of the offender, so as to heighten the interest which the situation itself must necessarily excite; and the struggle of Constance to speak, before the fatal sentence, is finely painted."-Monthly Review. Or thought more grace to gain, If, in her cause, they wrestled down Feelings their nature strove to own. By strange device were they brought there, They knew not how, nor knew not where. XXV. And now that blind old Abbot rose, To speak the Chapter's doom, On those the wall was to enclose, Alive, within the tomb;2 But stopp'd, because that woful Maid, Gathering her powers, to speak essay'd. Twice she essay'd, and twice in vain ; Her accents might no utterance gain; Nought but imperfect murmurs slip From her convulsed and quivering lip; "Twixt each attempt all was so still, You seem'd to hear a distant rill 'Twas ocean's swells and falls; For though this vault of sin and fear Was to the sounding surge so near, A tempest there you scarce could hear, So massive were the walls. XXVI. At length, an effort sent apart By Autumn's stormy sky; And when her silence broke at length, Still as she spoke she gather'd strength, And arm'd herself to bear.4 It was a fearful sight to see XXVII. "I speak not to implore your grace, Well know I, for one minute's space Successless might I sue: 6 MS." And mann'd herself to bear. 6 MS.-" I speak not now to sue for grace, Your prayers I cannot want. All here, and all bevond the grave. Nor do I speak your prayers to gain; I listen'd to a traitor's tale, I left the convent and the veil ; For three long years I bow'd my pride, But did my fate and wish agree, XXVIII. "The King approved his favourite's aim; In vain a rival barr'd his claim, Whose fate with Clare's was plight, For he attaints that rival's fame With treason's charge-and on they came, In mortal lists to fight. Their oaths are said, Their prayers are pray'd, Their lances in the rest are laid, They meet in mortal shock; And, hark! the throng, with thundering cry, Shout Marmion, Marmion! to the sky, De Wilton to the block!' Say ye, who preach Heaven shall decide' Beneath a traitor's spear? How false the charge, how true he fell, XXIX. "Still was false Marmion's bridal staid; To Whitby's convent fled the maid, The hated match to shun. "Ho! shifts she thus?' King Henry cried, • Sir Marmion, sho shall be thy bride, If she were sworn a nun.' And faithless hath he proved; He saw another's face more fair, He saw her of broad lands the heir, And Constance loved no more Loved her no more, who, once Heaven's bride, Now a scorn'd menial by his side, Had wander'd Europe o'er." Marmion. Appall'd the astonish'd conclave sate; No hand was moved, no word was said, From that dire dungeon, place of doom, Paced forth the judges three; XXXIII. An hundred winding steps convey And many a stifled groan: With speed their upward way they take, Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, Then couch'd him down beside the hind, INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. ΤΟ WILLIAM ERSKINE, Esq. Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. LIKE April morning clouds, that pass, With varying shadow, o'er the grass, And imitate, on field and furrow, Life's chequer'd scene of joy and sorrow; Like streamlet of the mountain north, Now in a torrent racing forth, Now winding slow its silver train, And almost slumbering on the plain; Like breezes of the autumn day, Whose voice inconstant dies away, And ever swells again as fast, When the ear deems its murmur past; Thus various, my romantic theme Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning dream. Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace Of Light and Shade's inconstant race; Pleased, views the rivulet afar, Weaving its maze irregular; And pleased, we listen as the breeze Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn trees; Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or gale, Flow on, flow unconfined, my Tale! Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell I love the license all too well, |