To come from far and near. At such high tide, were glee and game Mingled with feats of martial fame, For many a stranger champion came, In lists to break a spear; And not a knight of Arthur's host, Save that he trode some foreign coast, But at this feast of Pentecost

Before him must appear.

Ah, Minstrels! when the Table Round Arose, with all its warriors crown'd, There was a theme for bards to sound

In triumph to their string! Five hundred years are past and gone, But Time shall draw his dying groan, Ere he behold the British throne

Begirt with such a ring!

A maiden, on a palfrey white,
Heading a band of damsels bright,
Paced through the circle, to alight
And kneel before the King.
Arthur, with strong emotion, saw
Her graceful boldness check'd by awe,
Her dress, like huntress of the wold,
Her bow and baldric trapp'd with gold,
Her sandall'd feet, her ankles bare,"
And the eagle-plume that deck'd her hair.
Graceful her veil she backward flung-
The King, as from his seat he sprung,

Almost cried 'Guendolen !'
But 'twas a face more frank and wild,
Betwixt the woman and the child,
Where less of magic beauty smiled
Than of the race of men;
And in the forehead's haughty grace,
The lines of Britain's royal race,

Pendragon's, you might ken

XV.

"Faltering, yet gracefully, she said-
'Great Prince! behold an orphan maid,
In her departed mother's name,
A father's vow'd protection claim!
The vow was sworn in desert lone,
In the deep valley of St. John.'
At once the King the suppliant raised,
And kiss'd her brow, her beauty praised;
His vow, he said, should well be kept,
Ere in the sea the sun was dipp'd,-'
Then, conscious, glanced upon his
But she, unruffled at the scene
Of human frailty, construed mild,
Look'd upon Lancelot and smiled.

XVI.

queen:

"Up! up! each knight of gallant crest
Take buckler, spear, and brand!
He that to-day shall bear him best,
Shall win my Gyneth's hand.
And Arthur's daughter, when a bride,
Shall bring a noble dower;

Both fair Strath-Clyde and Reged wide,
And Carlisle town and tower.'

And eagle-plumes that deck'd her hair." MS.-"The lineaments of royal race."

7 Mr. Adolphus, in commenting on the similarity of man ners in the ladies of Sir Walter Scott's poetry, and those of his then anonymous Novels, says, "In Rokeby, the filial attach ment and duteous anxieties of Matilda form the leading fea ture of her character, and the chief source of her distresses. The intercourse between King Arthur and his daughter Gyneth, in The Bridal of Triermain, is neither long nor altogether amicable; but the monarch's feelings on first beholding that beautiful slip of wilderness,' and his manner of receiving her before the Queen and Court, are too forcibly and naturally described to be omitted in this enumeration."-Letters on the Author of Waverley, 1822, p. 212.

Then might you hear each valiant knight,

To page and squire that cried,

'Bring my armor bright, and my courser wight! "Tis not each day that a warrior's might May win a royal bride.'

Then cloaks and caps of maintenance

In haste aside they fling;

The helmets glance, and gleams the lance,

And the steel-weaved hauberks ring. Small care had they of their peaceful array,

They might gather it that wolde; For brake and bramble glitter'd gay, With pearls and cloth of gold.

XVII.

"Within trumpet sound of the Table Round Were fifty champions free,

And they all arise to fight that prize,-
They all arise but three.

Nor love's fond troth, nor wedlock's oath,
One gallant could withhold,

For priests will allow of a broken vow,
For penance or for gold.

But sigh and glance from ladies bright

Among the troop were thrown,

To plead their right, and true-love plight,
And 'plain of honor flown.

The knights they busied them so fast,
With buckling spur and belt,
That sigh and look, by ladies cast,

Were neither seen nor felt.

From pleading, or upbraiding glance,

Each gallant turns aside,

And only thought, 'If speeds my lance,

A queen becomes my bride!

She has fair Strath-Clyde, and Reged wide,
And Carlisle tower and town;
She is the loveliest maid, beside,
That ever heir'd a crown.'

So in haste their coursers they bestride,
And strike their visors down.

XVIII.

“The champions, arm'd in martial sort,
Have throng'd into the list,

And but three knights of Arthur's court
Are from the tourney missed.

And still these lovers' fame survives

For faith so constant shown,

There were two who loved their neighbor's wives, And one who loved his own.'

The first was Lancelot de Lac,

1 See Appendix, Note H.

See the comic tale of The Boy and the Mantle, in the third volume of Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, from the Breton or Norman original of which Ariosto is supposed to have taken ais Tale of the Enchanted Cup.

The preparations for the combat, and the descriptions of

The second Tristrem bold, The third was valiant Carodac,

Who won the cup of gold," What time, of all King Arthur's crew (Thereof came jeer and laugh),

He, as the mate of lady true,

Alone the cup could quaff. Though envy's tongue would fain surmise, That, but for very shame,

Sir Carodac, to fight that prize,

Had given both cup and dame; Yet, since but one of that fair court Was true to wedlock's shrine, Brand him who will with base report,― He shall be free from mine.

XIX.

"Now caracoled the steeds in air,
Now plumes and pennons wanton'd fair
As all around the lists so wide

In panoply the champions ride.
King Arthur saw, with startled eye,
The flower of chivalry march by,
The bulwark of the Christian creed,
The kingdom's shield in hour of need.
Too late he thought him of the woe
Might from their civil conflict flow;
For well he knew they would not part
Till cold was many a gallant heart.
His hasty vow he 'gan to rue,
And Gyneth then apart he drew;
To her his leading-staff resign'd,
But added caution grave and kind.

XX.

"Thou see'st, my child, as promise-bound,
I bid the trump for tourney sound.
Take thou my warder, as the queen
And umpire of the martial scene;
But mark thou this:-as Beauty bright

Is polar star to valiant knight,
As at her word his sword he draws,
His fairest guerdon her applause,
So gentle maid should never ask
Of knighthood vain and dangerous task;
And Beauty's eyes should ever be
Like the twin stars that soothe the sea,
And Beauty's breath shall whisper peace,
And bid the storm of battle cease.

I tell thee this, lest all too far,
These knights urge tourney into war.
Blithe at the trumpet let them go,

its pomp and circumstance, are conceived in the best manna of the author's original, seizing the prominent parts of the picture, and detailing them with the united beauty of Mr. Scott's vigor of language, and the march and richness of he late Thomas Warton's versification."-Quarterly Review 1813.

And fairly counter blow for blow;—
No striplings these, who succor need
For a razed helm or falling steed.

But, Gyneth, when the strife grows warm,
And threatens death or deadly harm,
Thy sire entreats, thy king commands,
Thou drop the warder from thy hands.
Trust thou thy father with thy fate,
Doubt not he choose thee fitting mate;
Nor be it said, through Gyneth's pride
A rose of Arthur's chaplet died.

XXI.

"A proud and discontented glow O'ershadow'd Gyneth's brow of snow;

She put the warder by :-
'Reserve thy boon, my liege,' she said,
"Thus chaffer'd down and limited,
Debased and narrow'd, for a maid
Of less degree than I.

No petty chief, but holds his heir
At a more honor'd price and rare

Than Britain's King holds me! Although the sun-burn'd maid, for dower, Has but her father's rugged tower,

His barren hill and lee.

King Arthur swore, "By crown and sword,
As belted knight and Britain's lord,
That a whole summer's day should strive
His knights, the bravest knights alive!"
Recall thine oath! and to her glen
Poor Gyneth can return agen;
Not on thy daughter will the stain
That soils thy sword and crown, remain.
But think not she will e'er be bride
Save to the bravest, proved and tried;
Pendragon's daughter will not fear
For clashing sword or splinter'd spear,
Nor shrink though blood should flow;
And all too well sad Guendolen
Hath taught the faithlessness of men,
That child of hers should pity, when
Their meed they undergo.'—

XXII.

"He frown'd and sigh'd, the Monarch bold:

'I give what I may not withhold;
For, not for danger, dread, or death,
Must British Arthur break his faith.
Too late I mark, thy mother's art
Hath taught thee this relentless part.
I blame her not, for she had wrong,
B not to these my faults belong.
Use, then, the warder as thou wilt;
But trust me, that if life be spilt,'
In Arthur's love, in Arthur's grace,
Gyneth shall lose a daughter's place.'

1 MS.

"if blood be spilt."

With that he turn'd his head aside,
Nor brook'd to gaze upon her pride,
As, with the truncheon raised, she sate
The arbitress of mortal fate;

Nor brook'd to mark, in ranks disposed,
How the bold champions stood opposed,
For shrill the trumpet-flourish fell
Upon his ear like passing bell!
Then first from sight of martial fray
Did Britain's hero turn away.

XXIII.

"But Gyneth heard the clangor high,
As hears the hawk the partridge cry.
Oh, blame her not! the blood was hers,
That at the trumpet's summons stirs !—
And e'en the gentlest female eye
Might the brave strife of chivalry
A while untroubled view;
So well accomplish'd was each knight,
To strike and to defend in fight,
Their meeting was a goodly sight,

While plate and mail held true.
The lists with planted plumes were strown,
Upon the wind at random thrown,
But helm and breastplate bloodless shone,
It seem'd their feather'd crests alone
Should this encounter rue.
And ever, as the combat grows,
The trumpet's cheery voice arose,
Like lark's shrill song the flourish flows,
Heard while the gale of April blows
The merry greenwood through.

XXIV.

"But soon too earnest grew their game,
The spears drew blood, the swords struck flame
And, horse and man, to ground there came

Knights, who shall rise no more!
Gone was the pride the war that graced,
Gay shields were cleft, and crests defaced,
And steel coats riven, and helms unbraced,
And pennons stream'd with gore.

Gone, too, were fence and fair array,
And desperate strength made deadly way
At random through the bloody fray,
And blows were dealt with headlong sway,
Unheeding where they fell;

And now the trumpet's clamors seem
Like the shrill sea-bird's wailing scream,
Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfing stream,
The sinking seaman's knell !

Already gasping on the ground
Lie twenty of the Table Round,

Of chivalry the prime.'
Arthur, in anguish, tore away

From head and beard his tresses gray,
And she, proud Gyneth, felt dismay,

And quaked with ruth and fear;

But still she deem'd her mother's shade
Hung o'er the tumult, and forbade
The sign that had the slaughter staid,

And chid the rising tear.
Then Brunor, Taulas, Mador, fell,
Helias the White, and Lionel,

And many a champion more; Rochemont and Dinadam are down, And Ferrand of the Forest Brown Lies gasping in his gore. Vanoc, by mighty Morolt press'd Even to the confines of the list, Young Vanoc of the beardless face (Fame spoke the youth of Merlin's race), O'erpower'd at Gyneth's footstool bled, His heart's blood dyed her sandals red. But then the sky was overcast, Then howl'd at once a whirlwind's blast,

And, rent by sudden throes, Yawn'd in mid lists the quaking earth, And from the gulf,-tremendous birth!The form of Merlin rose.

XXVI.

"Sternly the Wizard Prophet eyed The dreary lists with slaughter dyed,

And sternly raised his hand :'Madmen,' he said, 'your strife forbear! And thou, fair cause of mischief, hear The doom thy fates demand! Long shall close in stony sleep Eyes for ruth that would not weep; Iron lethargy shall seal Heart that pity scorn'd to feel. Yet, because thy mother's art Warp'd thine unsuspicious heart, And for love of Arthur's race, Punishment is blent with grace, Thou shalt bear thy penance lone In the Valley of Saint John, A.. this weird' shall overtake thee; Sleep, until a knight shall wake thee,

1 "The difficult subject of a tournament, in which several knights engage at once, is admirably treated by the novelist in Ivanhoe, and by his rival in The Bridal of Triermain, and the leading thought in both descriptions is the sudden and tragic change from a scene of pomp, gayety, and youthful pride, to one of misery, confusion, and deatn."-Adolphus, p. 245.

"The tide of battle seemed to flow now toward the southern, now toward the northern extremity of the lists, as the one or the other party prevailed. Meantime, the clang of the blows, and the shouts of the combatants, mixed fearfully with the

For feats of arms as far renown'd
As warrior of the Table Round.
Long endurance of thy slumber
Well may teach the world to number
All their woes from Gyneth's pride,
When the Red Cross champions died.'

XXVII

"As Merlin speaks, on Gyneth's eye
Slumber's load begins to lie;
Fear and anger vainly strive
Still to keep its light alive.
Twice, with effort and with pause,
O'er her brow her hand she draws;
Twice her strength in vain she tries,
From the fatal chair to rise;
Merlin's magic doom is spoken,
Vanoc's death must now be wroken.
Slow the dark-fringed eyelids fall,
Curtaining each azure ball,
Slowly as on summer eves
Violets fold their dusky leaves.
The weighty baton of command
Now bears down her sinking hand,
On her shoulder droops her head;
Net of pearl and golden thread,
Bursting, gave her locks to flow
O'er her arm and breast of snow.
And so lovely seem'd she there,
Spell-bound in her ivory chair,
That her angry sire, repenting,
Craved stern Merlin for relenting,
And the champions, for her sake,
Would again the contest wake;
Till, in necromantic night,
Gyneth vanish'd from their sight.

XXVIII.

"Still she bears her weird alone,
In the Valley of Saint John;
And her semblance oft will seem,
Mingling in a champion's dream,
Of her weary lot to 'plain,

And crave his aid to burst her chain.
While her wondrous tale was new,
Warriors to her rescue drew,
East and west, and south and north,
From the Liffy, Thames, and Forth.
Most have ought in vain the glen,

sound of the trumpets, and drowned the groans of those whe fell, and lay rolling defenceless beneath the feet of the horses. The splendid armor of the combatants was now defaced with dust and blood, and gave way at every stroke of the sword and battle-axe. The gay plumage, shorn from the crests, drifted upon the breeze like snow-flakes. All that was beantiful and graceful in the martial array had disappeared, and what was now visible was only calculated to awake terror or compassion."-Ivanhoe-Waverley Novels, vol. xvi. p. 187

2 Doom.

Tower nor castle could they ken;
Not at every time or tide,
Nor by every eye, descried.
Fast and vigil must be borne,
Many a night in watching worn,
Ere an eye of mortal powers
Ca discern those magic towers.
Of the persevering few,
Some from hopeless task withdrew,
When they read the dismal threat
Graved upon the gloomy gate.
Few have braved the yawning door,
And those few return'd no more.
In the lapse of time forgot,
Wellnigh lost is Gyneth's lot;
Sound her sleep as in the tomb,
Till waken'd by the trump of doom."
END OF LYULPH'S TALE.

Here pause, my tale; for all too scon
My Lucy, comes the hour of noon.
Already from thy lofty dome
Its courtly inmates 'gin to roam,
And each, to kill the goodly day
That God has granted them, his way
Of lazy sauntering has sought:

Lordlings and witlings not a few, Incapable of doing aught,

Yet ill at ease with naught to do. Here is no longer place for me: For, Lucy, thou wouldst blush to see

Some phantom, fashionably thin, With limb of lath and kerchief'd chin,

And lounging gape, or sneering grin, Steal sudden on our privacy. And how should I, so humbly born, Endure the graceful spectre's scorn? Faith! ill, I fear, while conjuring wand Of English oak is hard at hand.

II.

Or grant the hour be all too soon
For Hessian boot and pantaloon,
And grant the lounger seldom strays
Beyond the smooth and gravell'd maze,
Laud we the gods, that Fashion's train
Holds hearts of more adventurous strain.
Artists are hers, who scorn to trace

Their rules from Nature's boundless grace,
But their right paramount assert
To limit her by pedant art,

"The trammels of the palfraye pleased his sight, And the horse-millanere his head with roses dight." ROWLEY'S Ballads of Charitie.

Damning whate'er of vast and fair
Exceeds a canvas three feet square.
This thicket, for their gumption fit,
May furnish such a happy bit.
Bards, too, are hers, wont to recite
Their own sweet lays by waxen light,
Half in the salver's tingle irown'd,
While the chasse-café glides around;
And such may hither secret stray,
To labor an extempore:

Or sportsman, with his boisterous hollo,
May here his wiser spaniel follow,
Or stage-struck Juliet may presume
To choose this bower for tiring-room;
And we alike must shun regard,
From painter, player, sportsman, bard.
Insects that skim in Fashion's sky,
Wasp, blue-bottle, or butterfly,
Lucy, have all alarms for us,
For all can hum and all can buzz.
III.

But oh, my Lucy, say how long
We still must dread this trifling throng,
And stoop to hide, with coward art,
The genuine feelings of the heart!
No parents thine, whose just command
Should rule their child's obedient hand;
Thy guardians, with contending voice,
Press each his individual choice,
And which is Lucy's?-Can it be
That puny fop, trimm'd cap-a-pee,

Who loves in the saloon to show
The arms that never knew a foe;
Whose sabre trails along the ground,
Whose legs in shapeless boots are drown'd;

A new Achilles, sure,-the steel
Fled from his breast to fence his heel;

One, for the simple manly grace

That wont to deck our martial race,

Who comes in foreign trashery

Of tinkling chain and spur,
A walking haberdashery,

Of feathers, lace, and fur:
In Rowley's antiquated phrase,
Horse-milliner' of modern days?

IV

Or is it he, the wordy youth,

So early train'd for statesman's part, Who talks of honor, faith, and truth,

As themes that he has got by heart; Whose ethics Chesterfield can teach, Whose logic is from Single-speech;2

2 See "Parliamentary Logic, &c., by the Right Honorable William Gerard Hamilton" (1808), commonly called “Sin gle-Speech Hamilton."