When, long ere guilt his soul had known,
In Winston bowers he mused alone,
Taxing his fancy to combine
The face, the air, the voice divine,
Of princess fair, by cruel fate
Reft of her honours, power, and state,1
Till to her rightful realm restored
By destined hero's conquering sword.
"Such was my vision!" Edmund thought; "And have I, then, the ruin wrought
Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er
In fairest vision form'd her peer?
Was it my hand that could unclose
The postern to her ruthless foes?
Foes, lost to honour, law, and faith,
Their kindest mercy sudden death!
Have I done this? I! who have swore,
That if the globe such angel bore,
I would have traced its circle broad,
To kiss the ground on which she trode !—
And now-O! would that earth would rive,
And close upon me while alive!—
Is there no hope? Is all then lost ?-
Bertram's already on his post!
Even now, beside the Hall's arch'd door,
I saw his shadow cross the floor!
He was to wait my signal strain-
A little respite thus we gain :
By what I heard the menials say,
Young Wycliffe's troop are on their way-
Alarm precipitates the crime!
My harp must wear away the time."-
And then, in accents faint and low,
He falter'd forth a tale of woe.2
"Let mass be said, and trentrals read, When thou'rt to convent gone, And bid the bell of St. Benedict
Toll out its deepest tone."
The shrift is done, the Friar is gone,
Blindfolded as he came
Next morning, all in Littlecot Hall
Were weeping for their dame.
Wild Darrell is an alter'd man,
The village crones can tell; He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray, If he hears the convent bell.
If prince or peer cross Darrell's way,
He'll beard him in his pride-
If he meet a Friar of orders grey,
He droops and turns aside.*
"Harper! methinks thy magic lays,"
Matilda said, " can goblins raise!
Wellnigh my fancy can discern,
Near the dark porch, a visage stern;
E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook,
I see it!-Redmond, Wilfrid, look!-
A human form distinct and clear-
God, for thy mercy!-It draws near!"
She saw too true. Stride after stride,
The centre of that chamber wide
Fierce Bertram gain'd; then made a
stand,
And, proudly waving with his hand,
Thunder'd-"Be still, upon your lives!——
He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives."
Behind their chief, the robber crew
Forth from the darken'd portal drew
In silence-save that echo dread
Return'd their heavy measured tread.5
The lamp's uncertain lustre gave
Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wave;
File after file in order pass,
Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass.
Then, halting at their leader's sign,
At once they form'd and curved their line,
Hemming within its crescent drear
Their victims, like a herd of deer.
Another sign, and to the aim
Levell'd at once their muskets came,
As waiting but their chieftain's word,
To make their fatal volley heard.
1 MS.-" Of some fair princess of romance, The guerdon of a hero's lance."
The MS. has not this couplet.
MS." And see thy shrift be true,
Else shall the soul, that parts to-day,
Fling all its guilt on you."
4 See Appendix, Note 3 G,-[to which the author, in his interleaved copy, has made considerable additions.-ED.]
5 MS." Lhind him came his savage crew,
File after file in order due;
Silent from that dark portal pass,
Like forms on Banquo's magic glass."
Back in a heap the menials drew;
Yet, even in mortal terror, true,
Their pale and startled group oppose
Between Matilda and the foes.
"O, haste thee, Wilfrid!" Redmond cried;
"Undo that wicket by thy side!
Bear hence Matilda'-gain the wood-
The pass may be a while made good-
Thy band, ere this, must sure be nigh-
O speak not-dally not-but fly!"
While yet the crowd their motions hide,
Through the low wicket door they glide.
Through vaulted passages they wind,
In Gothic intricacy twined;
Wilfrid half led, and half he bore,
Matilda to the postern-door,
And safe beneath the forest tree,
The Lady stands at liberty.
The moonbeams, the fresh gale's caress,
Renew'd suspended consciousness;—
"Where's Redmond?" eagerly she cries:
"Thou answer'st not-he dies! he dies!
And thou hast left him, all bereft
Of mortal aid-with murderers left!
I know it well-he would not yield
His sword to man-his doom is seal'd!
For my scorn'd life, which thou hast bought
At price of his, I thank thee not."
The unjust reproach, the angry look,
The heart of Wilfrid could not brook.
"Lady," he said, "my band so near,
In safety thou mayst rest thee here.
For Redmond's death thou shalt not mourn,
If mine can buy his safe return."
He turn'd away-his heart throbb'd high,
The tear was bursting from his eye;
The sense of her injustice press'd
Upon the Maid's distracted breast,—
"Stay, Wilfrid, stay! all aid is vain!"
He heard, but turn'd him.not again;
He reaches now the postern-door,
Now enters and is seen no more.
With all the agony that e'er
Was gender'd t'wixt suspense and fear, She watch'd the line of windows tall,2 Whose Gothic lattice lights the Hall,
Distinguish'd by the paly red
The lamps in dim reflection shed,3
While all beside in wan moonlight
Each grated casement glimmer'd white.
No sight of harm, no sound of ill,
It is a deep and midnight still.
Who look'd upon the scene, had guess'd
All in the Castle were at rest:
When sudden on the windows shone
A lightning flash, just seen and gone!*
A shot is heard-Again the flame
Flash'd thick and fast-a volley came!
Then echo'd wildly, from within,
Of shout and scream the mingled din,
And weapon-clash and maddening cry,
Of those who kill, and those who die !--
As fill'd the Hall with sulphurous smoke,
More red, more dark, the death-flash broke;
And forms were on the lattice cast,
That struck, or struggled, as they past.
What sounds upon the midnight wind
Approach so rapidly behind?
It is, it is, the tramp of steeds,
Matilda hears the sound, she speeds,
Seizes upon the leader's rein-
"O, haste to aid, ere aid be vain!
Fly to the postern-gain the Hall!"
From saddle spring the troopers all;5
Their gallant steeds, at liberty,
Run wild along the moonlight lea.
But, ere they burst upon the scene,
Full stubborn had the conflict been.
When Bertram mark'd Matilda's flight,
It gave the signal for the fight;
And Rokeby's veterans, seam'd with scars
Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars,
Their momentary panic o'er,
Stood to the arms which then they bore;
(For they were weapon'd, and prepared
Their Mistress on her way to guard.)
Then cheer'd them to the fight O'Neale,
Then peal'd the shot, and clash'd the
The war-smoke soon with sable breath
Darken'd the scene of blood and death,
While on the few defenders close
The Bandits, with redoubled blows,
And, twice driven back, yet fierce and fell
Renew the charge with frantic yell.7
Wilfrid has fall'n-but o'er him stood
Young Redmond, soil'd with smoke and blood,
Cheering his mates with heart and hand
Still to make good their desperate stand.
"Up, comrades, up! In Rokeby halls
Ne'er be it said our courage falls.
What! faint ye for their savage cry,
Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt your eye?
These rafters have return'd a shout
As loud at Rokeby's wassail rout,
As thick a smoke these hearths have given
At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even.1
Stand to it yet! renew the fight,
For Rokeby's and Matilda's right!
These slaves! they dare not, hand to
hand,
Bide buffet from a true man's brand."
Impetuous, active, fierce, and young,
Upon the advancing foes he sprung.
Woe to the wretch at whom is bent
His brandish'd falchion's sheer descent!
Backward they scatter'd as he came,
Like wolves before the levin flame,2
When, 'mid their howling conclave driven,
Hath glanced the thunderbolt of heaven.
Bertram rush'd on-but Harpool clasp'd3
His knees, although in death he gasp'd,
His falling corpse before him flung,
And round the trammell'd ruffian clung.
Just then, the soldiers fill'd the dome,
And, shouting, charged the felons home
So fiercely, that, in panic dread,
They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled.*
Bertram's stern voice they heed no more,
Though heard above the battle's roar;
While, trampling down the dying man,
He strove, with volley'd threat and ban,
In scorn of odds, in fate's despite,
To rally up the desperate fight."
Soon murkier clouds the Hall enfold,
Than e'er from battle-thunders roll'd
So dense, the combatants scarce know
To aim or to avoid the blow.
Smothering and blindfold grows the fight-
But soon shall dawn a dismal light!
Mid cries, and clashing arms, there came
The hollow sound of rushing flame;
2 MS.-" Like wolves at lightning's midnight flame."
3 MS." Bertram had faced him; while he gasp'd In death, his knees old Harpool clasp'd, His dying corpse before him flung."
MS." So fiercely charged them that they bled,
Disbanded, yielded, fell, or fled."
MS.-"To rally them against their fate,
And fought himself as desperate."
New horrors on the tumult dire
Arise the Castle on fire!6
Doubtful, if chance had cast the brand,
Or frantic Bertram's desperate hand.
Matilda saw-for frequent broke
From the dim casements gusts of smoke.
Yon tower, which late so clear defined
On the fair hemisphere reclined,
That, pencill'd on its azure pure,
The eye could count each embrazure,
Now, swath'd within the sweeping cloud,
Seems giant-spectre in his shroud;
Till, from each loop-hole flashing light,
A spout of fire shines ruddy bright,
And, gathering to united glare,
Streams high into the midnight air;
A dismal beacon, far and wide
That waken'd Greta's slumbering side."
Soon all beneath, through gallery long,
And pendant arch, the fire flash'd strong,
Snatching whatever could maintain,
Raise, or extend, its furious reign;
Startling, with closer cause of dread,
The females who the conflict fled,
And now rush'd forth upon the plain,
Filling the air with clamours vain.
But ceased not yet, the Hall within,
The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din,
Till bursting lattices give proof
The flames have caught the rafter'd roof.
What! wait they till its beams amain
Crash on the slayers and the slain?
The alarm is caught-the drawbridge falls,
The warriors hurry from the walls,
But, by the conflagration's light,
Upon the lawn renew the fight.
Each struggling felon down was hew'd,
Not one could gain the sheltering wood;
But forth the affrighted harper sprung,
And to Matilda's robe he clung.
Her shriek, entreaty, and command,
Stopp'd the pursuer's lifted hand."
Denzil and he alive were ta'en;
The rest, save Bertram, all are slain.
And where is Bertram?-Soaring high 10 The general flame ascends the sky;
6 MS." Chance-kindled 'mid, the tumult dire, The western tower is all on fire. Matilda saw," &c.
7 The MS. has not this couplet.
8 MS." The glowing lattices give proof."
9 MS." Her shrieks, entreaties, and commands, Avail'd to stop pursuing brands "
10 MS." Where's Bertram now? In fury driven, The general flame ascends to heaven; The gather'd groups of soldiers gaze Upon the red and roaring blaze."
In gather'd group the soldiers gaze
Upon the broad and roaring blaze,
When, like infernal demon, sent,
Red from his penal element,
To plague and to pollute the air,-
His face all gore, on fire his hair,
Forth from the central mass of smoke
The giant form of Bertram broke!
His brandish'd sword on high he rears,
Then plunged among opposing spears;
Round his left arm his mantle truss'd,
Received and foil'd three lances' thrust;
Nor these his headlong course withstood,
Like reeds he snapp'd the tough ash-wood.
In vain his foes around him clung;
With matchless force aside he flung
Their boldest,-as the bull, at bay,
Tosses the ban-dogs from his way,
Through forty foes his path he made,
And safely gain'd the forest glade.
Scarce was this final conflict o'er,
When from the postern Redmond bore
Wilfrid, who, as of life bereft,
Had in the fatal Hall been left,3
Deserted there by all his train;
But Redmond saw, and turn'd again.—
Beneath an oak he laid him down,
That in the blaze gleam'd ruddy brown,
And then his mantle's clasp undid;
Matilda held his drooping head,
Till, given to breathe the freer air,
Returning life repaid their care.
He gazed on them with heavy sigh,—
"I could have wish'd even thus to die!"
No more he said-for now with speed
Each trooper had regain'd his steed;
The ready palfreys stood array'd,
For Redmond and for Rokeby's Maid;
Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain,
One leads his charger by the rein.
But oft Matilda look'd behind,
As up the Vale of Tees they wind,
Where far the mansion of her sires
Beacon'd the dale with midnight fires.
In gloomy arch above them spread,
The clouded heaven lower'd bloody red;
Beneath, in sombre light, the flood
Appear'd to roll in waves of blood.
Then, one by one, was heard to fall
The tower, the donjon-keep, the hall.
Each rushing down with thunder sound,
A space the conflagration drown'd;
Till, gathering strength, again it rose,
Announced its triumph in its close,
Shook wide its light the landscape o'er,
Then sunk and Rokeby was no more!*
THE summer sun, whose early power Was wont to gild Matilda's bower, And rouse her with his matin rays Her duteous orisons to pay,That morning sun has three times seen The flowers unfold on Rokeby green, But sees no more the slumbers fly From fair Matilda's hazel eye; That morning sun has three times broke On Rokeby's glades of elm and oak, But, rising from their silvan screen, Marks no grey turrets glance between. A shapeless mass lie keep and tower, That, hissing to the morning shower, Can but with smouldering vapour pay The early smile of summer day. The peasant, to his labour bound, Pauses to view the blacken'd mound, Striving, amid the ruin'd space, Each well-remember'd spot to trace. That length of frail and fire-scorch'd wall Once screen'd the hospitable hall; When yonder broken arch was whole, "Twas there was dealt the weekly dole; And where yon tottering columns nod, The chapel sent the hymn to God.— So flits the world's uncertain span! Nor zeal for God, nor love for man, Gives mortal monuments a date Beyond the power of Time and Fate. The towers must share the builder's doom, Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb: But better boon benignant Heaven To Faith and Charity has given,
The MS. wants this couplet.
MS." In vain the opposing spears withstood."
3 MS." Had in the smouldering hall been left." 4" The castle on fire has an awful sublimity, which would throw at a humble distance the boldest reaches of the pictorial
art.... We refer our readers to Virgil's ships, or to his Troy in flames; and though the Virgilian pictures be drawn on a very extensive canvass, with confidence, we assert, that the castle on fire is much more magnificent. It is, in truth, incomparably grand."-British Critic.
And bids the Christian hope sublime Transcend the bounds of Fate and Time.1
Now the third night of summer came,
Since that which witness'd Rokeby's flame.
On Brignall cliffs and Scargill brake
The owlet's homilies awake,
The bittern scream'd from rush and flag,
The raven slumber'd on his crag,
Forth from his den the otter drew,-
Grayling and trout their tyrant knew,
As between reed and sedge he peers,
With fierce round snout and sharpen'd ears,
Or, prowling by the moonbeam cool,
Watches the stream or swims the pool ;--
Perch'd on his wonted eyrie high,
Sleep seal'd the tercelet's wearied eye,
That all the day had watch'd so well
The cushat dart across the dell.
In dubious beam reflected shone
That lofty cliff of pale grey stone,
Beside whose base the secret cave
To rapine late a refuge gave.
The crag's wild crest of copse and yew
On Greta's breast dark shadows threw;
Shadows that met or shunn'd the sight,
With every change of fitful light;
As hope and fear alternate chase
Our course through life's uncertain race.
Gliding by crag and copsewood green,
A solitary form was seen
To trace with stealthy pace the wold,
Like fox that seeks the midnight fold,
And pauses oft, and cowers dismay'd,
At every breath that stirs the shade.
He passes now the ivy bush,—.
The owl has seen him, and is hush;
He passes now the dodder'd oak,-
Ye heard the startled raven croak;
Lower and lower he descends,
Rustle the leaves, the brushwood bends;
The otter hears him tread the shore,
And dives, and is beheld no more;
And by the cliff of pale grey stone
The midnight wanderer stands alone.
Methinks, that by the moon we trace
A well-remember'd form and face!
That stripling shape, that cheek so pale,
Combine to tell a rueful tale,
1 MS." And bids our hopes ascend sublime Beyond the bounds of Fate and Time."
"Faith, prevailing o'er his sullen doom,
As bursts the morn on night's unfathom'd gloom, Lured his dim eye to deathless hope sublime, Beyond the realms of nature and of time."
Of powers misused, of passion's force, Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse! 'Tis Edmund's eye, at every sound That flings that guilty glance around; 'Tis Edmund's trembling haste divides The brushwood that the cavern hides; And, when its narrow porch lies bare,3 'Tis Edmund's form that enters there.
His flint and steel have sparkled bright,
A lamp hath lent the cavern light.
Fearful and quick his eye surveys
Each angle of the gloomy maze.
Since last he left that stern abode,
It seem'd as none its floor had trode;
Untouch'd appear'd the various spoil,
The purchase of his comrades' toil;
Masks and disguises grim'd with mud,
Arms broken and defiled with blood,
And all the nameless tools that aid
Night-felons in their lawless trade,
Upon the gloomy walls were hung,
Or lay in nooks obscurely flung.*
Still on the sordid board appear
The relics of the noontide cheer:
Flagons and emptied flasks were there,
And bench o'erthrown, and shatter'd chair;
And all around the semblance show'd,
As when the final revel glow'd,
When the red sun was setting fast,
And parting pledge Guy Denzil past.
"To Rokeby treasure-vaults!" they quaff'd,
And shouted loud and wildly laugh'd,
Pour'd maddening from the rocky door,
And parted-to return no more!
They found in Rokeby vaults their doom,--
A bloody death, a burning tomb!
There his own peasant dress he spics,
Doff'd to assume that quaint disguise;
And, shuddering, thought upon his glee,
When prank'd in garb of minstrelsy.
"O, be the fatal art accurst,"
He cried, "that moved my folly first;
Till, bribed by bandits' base applause,
I burst through God's and Nature's laws!
Three summer days are scantly past
Since I have trod this cavern last,
A thoughtless wretch, and prompt to err-
But, O, as yet no murderer!
2 The MS. has not this couplet.
3 MS" sally-port lies bare."
4 MS.-" Or on the floors disordered flung."
5 MS." Seats overthrown and flagons drain'd,
Still on the cavern floor remain'd.
And all the cave that semblance bore,
It show'd when late the revel wore."
|