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 Less to the Sorceress's empire given; For not with unsubstantial hues alone, Caught from the varying surge, or vacant heaven, From bursting sunbeam, or from flashing levin, She limns her pictures: on the earth, as air, Arise her castles, and her car is driven; And never gazed the eye on scene so fair, 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 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," Though destined by thy evil star With one like me to rove, Whose business and whose joys are found Upon the bloody battle-ground. Yet, foolish trembler as thou art, Thou hast a nook of my rude heart, And thou and I will never part;Harold would wrap the world in flame Ere injury on Gunnar came!" IV. The grateful Page made no reply, And, as they flow'd along, His words took cadence soft and slow, They melted into song. V. "What though through fields of carnage wide I may not follow Harold's stride, Yet who with faithful Gunnar's pride VI. "Break off!" said Harold, in a tone 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,— "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: I'll speak him, though his accents fill My heart with that unwonted thrill Which vulgar minds call fear.1 I will subdue it!"-Forth he strode, His arms, said, "Speak-I hear." VIII. The Deep Voice said, " O wild of will, IX. Then ceased The Voice.-The Dane replied They left not black with flame? He was my sire,-and, sprung of him, Can I be soft and tame? Part hence, and with my crimes no more upbraid me, Relentless in his avarice and ire, Yes-all these things he did he did, but he 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!" 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, On essence pure and coarsest weed, The witch deem'd Harold with the dead, The knot 'twixt bridegroom and his bride, And the pleased witch made answer, "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 Is to its reckoning gone; 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, "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 hath human light, Less red, less keen, less fiercely bright; His brow relax'd the obdurate frown, He turns and strides away; Yet oft, like revellers who leave 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, So fearful was the sound and stern, The fox and famish'd wolf replied, The sorceress on the ground lay dead. 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. And yet grave authors, with the no small waste By theories, to prove the fortress placed 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, More strong than armed warders in array, And obstacle more sure than bolt or bar, Sate in the portal Terror and Dismay, While Superstition, who forbade to war With foes of other mould than mortal clay, Cast spells across the gate, and barr'd the onward way. Vain now those spells; for soon with heavy clank The feebly-fasten'd gate was inward push'd, And, as it oped, through that emblazon'd rank Of antique shields, the wind of evening rush'd With sound most like a groan, and then was hush'd. Is none who on such spot such sounds could hear But to his heart the blood had faster rush'd; Yet to bold Harold's breast that throb was dearIt spoke of danger nigh, but had no touch of fear. IV. Yet Harold and his Page no signs have traced Within the castle, that of danger show'd; For still the halls and courts were wild and waste, As through their precincts the adventurers trode. The seven huge towers rose stately, tall, and broad, Each tower presenting to their scrutiny A hall in which a king might make abode, And fast beside, garnish'd both proud and high, Was placed a bower for rest in which a king might lie. As if a bridal there of late had been, Deck'd stood the table in each gorgeous hall; And yet it was two hundred years, I ween, Since date of that unhallow'd festival. Flagons, and ewers, and standing cups, were all Of tarnish'd gold, or silver nothing clear, With throne begilt, and canopy of pall, And tapestry clothed the walls with fragments sear— Frail as the spider's mesh did that rich woof appear. V. In every bower, as round a hearse, was hung And golden circlets, meet for monarch's head; While grinn'd, as if in scorn amongst them thrown, The wearer's fleshless skull, alike with dust bestrown. For these were they who, drunken with delight, On pleasure's opiate pillow laid their head, For whom the bride's shy footstep, slow and light, Of human life are all so closely twined, Nor dare we, from one hour, judge that which comes behind. VI. But where the work of vengeance had been done, In that seventh chamber, was a sterner sight; There of the witch-brides lay each skeleton, Still in the posture as to death when dight. For this lay prone, by one blow slain outright; And that, as one who struggled long in dying; One bony hand held knife, as if to smite; One bent on fleshless knees, as mercy crying; One lay across the door, as kill'd in act of flying. The stern Dane smiled this charnel-house to see, For his chafed thought return'd to Metelill;- Nor deem I, Gunnar, that thy minstrel skill Can show example where a woman's breath Hath made a true-love vow, and, tempted, kept her faith." VII. The minstrel-boy half smiled, half sigh'd, (Our Scalds have said, in dying hour until some hundred years after the era of the poem, and many of the scenes described, like that last quoted, (stanzas iv. v. vi.) belong even to a still later period. At least this defect is not an imitation of Mr. Scott, who, being a skilful antiquary, is extremely careful as to niceties of this sort."-Critical Re 1 "In an invention like this we are hardly to look for probabilities, but all these preparations and ornaments are not quite consistent with the state of society two hundred years before the Danish Invasion, as far as we know any thing of it. In these matters, however, the author is never very scrupulous, and has too little regarded propriety in the minor cir-view. cumstances: thus Harold is clad in a kind of armour not worn |