There was strife 'mongst the sisters, for each one would Seven monarchs' wealth in that castle lies stow'd, have For husband King Adolf, the gallant and brave; He swore to the maidens their wish to fulfil— "Ye shall ply these spindles at midnight hour, And there shall ye dwell with your paramour." Beneath the pale moonlight they sate on the wold, told; And as the black wool from the distaff they sped, As light danced the spindles beneath the cold gleam, Within that dread castle seven monarchs were wed, 1 "The word 'peril,' is continually used as a verb by both writers :'Nor peril aught for me agen.' Lady of the Lake. Canto ii. stanza 26. 'I peril'd thus the helpless child.' Lord of the Isles. Canto v. stanza 10. Were the blood of all my ancestors in my veins, I would have periled it in this quarrel.'-Waverley. The foul fiends brood o'er them like raven and toad. But manhood grows faint as the world waxes old! The waste ridge of Cheviot shall wave with the rye, XV. "And is this my probation?" wild Harold he said, row, The Castle of Seven Shields receives me to-morrow." Harold the Dauntless. CANTO FIFTH. I. DENMARK'S sage courtier to her princely youth, 'I were undeserving his grace, did I not peril it for his good.'-Ivanhoe. &c. &c."-ADOLPHUS' Letters on the Author of Waverley. Polonius. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed! Pol. It is backed like a weasel. Spoke, though unwittingly, a partial truth; For Fantasy embroiders Nature's veil. The tints of ruddy eve, or dawning pale, Of the swart thunder-cloud, or silver haze, Are but the ground-work of the rich detail Which Fantasy with pencil wild portrays, Blending what seems and is, in the wrapt muser's gaze. Nor are the stubborn forms of earth and stone But of its boasted charms gave Fancy half the share. II. Up a wild pass went Harold, bent to prove, Hugh Meneville, the adventure of thy lay; Gunnar pursued his steps in faith and love, Ever companion of his master's way. Midward their path, a rock of granite grey From the adjoining cliff had made descent,A barren mass-yet with her drooping spray Had a young birch-tree crown'd its battlement, Twisting her fibrous roots through cranny, flaw, and rent. This rock and tree could Gunnar's thought engage Till Fancy brought the tear-drop to his eye, And at his master ask'd the timid Page, "What is the emblem that a bard shou'd spy In that rude rock and its green canopy?" And Harold said, "Like to the helmet brave Of warrior slain in fight it seems to lie, And these same drooping boughs do o'er it wave Not all unlike the plume his lady's favour gave."— "Ah, no!" replied the Page; "the ill-starr'd love Of some poor maid is in the emblem shown, Her sole relief is tears-her only refuge death." III. "Thou art a fond fantastic boy," Harold replied, "to females coy, Yet prating still of love; Even so amid the clash of war I know thou lovest to keep afar, "Break off!" said Harold, in a tone By cowl, and staff, and mantle known, My monitor is near. Now mark him, Gunnar, heedfully; Dost see him, youth-Thou couldst not see I first beheld his form, Nor when we met that other while In Cephalonia's rocky isle, Before the fearful storm, Dost see him now?"-The Page, distraught Save that the oak's scathed boughs fling down Waves with the waving tree." VII. Count Harold gazed upon the oak And then resolvedly said, 1 "Be what it will yon phantom greyNor heaven, nor hell, shall ever say That for their shadows from his way Count Harold turn'd dismay'd: Which vulgar minds call fear.1 His arms, said, "Speak-I hear." VIII. The Deep Voice2 said, "O wild of will, IX. Then ceased The Voice.-The Dane replied Or with its hardness taunt the rock,- They left not black with flame? Can I be soft and tame? Part hence, and with my crimes no more upbraid me, Relentless in his avarice and ire, Perchance it is part of his punishment still, That his offspring pursues his example of ill. But thou, when thy tempest of wrath shall next shake thee, Gird thy loins for resistance, my son, and awake If thou yield'st to thy fury, how tempted soever, XI. "He is gone," said Lord Harold, and gazed as he spoke; "There is nought on the path but the shade of the oak. He is gone, whose strange presence my feeling op- Like the night-hag that sits on the slumberer's breast. And cold dews drop from my brow and my head.- He said that three drops would recall from the grave. For the first time Count Harold owns leech-craft has power, Or, his courage to aid, lacks the juice of a flower!" distill'd So baneful their influence on all that had breath, The train of a bridal came blithesomely on; There was song, there was pipe, there was timbrel, and still I am that Waster's son, and am but what he made me." The burden was, "Joy to the fair Metelill!" Redoubling echoes roll'd about, While echoing cave and cliff sent out The answering symphony Of all those mimic notes which dwell In hollow rock and sounding dell. XIII. Joy shook his torch above the band, The witch deem'd Harold with the dead, The knot 'twixt bridegroom and his bride, "Then May hemlock and mandrake find root in his grave, May his death-sleep be dogged by dreams of dis may, And his waking be worse at the answering day." XIV. Such was their various mood of glee But still when Joy is brimming highest, - The fragment which their giant foe XV. Backward they bore;-yet are there two No pause of dread Lord William knew XVI. As from the bosom of the sky As 'gainst the eagle's peerless might But dares the fight in vain, So fought the bridegroom; from his hand The Dane's rude mace has struck his brand, Its glittering fragments strew the sand, Its lord lies on the plain. Now, Heaven! take noble William's part, And melt that yet unmelted heart, Or, ere his bridal hour depart, The hapless bridegroom 's slain! XVII. Count Harold's frenzied rage is high, And cried, 66 In mercy spare! Grant mercy, or despair!" And visage like the headsman's rude That pauses for the sign. "O mark thee with the blessed rood," The Page implored; "Speak word of good, Resist the fiend, or be subdued!" He sign'd the cross divineInstant his eye hatb human light, Less red, less keen, less fiercely bright; His brow relax'd the obdurate frown, The fatal mace sinks gently down, He turns and strides away; Yet oft, like revellers who leave As if repenting the reprieve He granted to his prey. Yet still of forbearance one sign hath he given, And fierce Witikind's son made one step towards heaven. XVIII. But though his dreaded footsteps part, Ere pouring it for those she loves- Each bird of evil omen woke, The raven gave his fatal croak, And shriek'd the night-crow from the oak, So fearful was the sound and stern, Of forest and of fell, The fox and famish'd wolf replied, XIX. Such was the scene of blood and woes, With which the bridal morn arose Of William and of Metelill; But oft, when dawning 'gins to spread, The summer morn peeps dim and red Above the eastern hill, Ere, bright and fair, upon his road The King of Splendour walks abroad; So, when this cloud had pass'd away, 1 See a note on the Lord of the Isles, Canto v. st. 31, p. 449, ante. Bright was the noontide of their day, And all serene its setting ray. Harold the Dauntless. CANTO SIXTH. I. WELL do I hope that this my minstrel tale To view the Castle of these Seven Proud Shields. To Meneville's high lay,-No towers are seen On the wild heath, but those that Fancy builds, And, save a fosse that tracks the moor with green, Is nought remains to tell of what may there have been. And yet grave authors, with the no small waste And for their master-mason choose that master-fiend the Devil. II. Therefore, I say, it was on fiend-built towers The Seven Proud Shields that o'er the portal frown, And on their blazons traced high marks of old renown. A wolf North Wales had on his armour-coat, A corn-sheaf gilt was fertile Lodon's brag; III. These scann'd, Count Harold sought the castle-door, |