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But still she lock'd, howe'er distress'd,
XIII. Appall'd a while the parents stood, Then changed their fear to angry mood, And foremost fell their words of ill On unresisting Metelill: Was she not caution'd and forbid, Forewarn'd, implored, accused and chid, And must she still to greenwood roam, To marshal such misfortune home/ "Hence, minion-to thy chamber henceThere prudence learn, and penitence.” She went-her lonely couch to steep In tears which absent lovers weep; Or if she gain'd a troubled sleep, Fierce Harold's suit was still the theme And terror of her feverish dream.
XI. "All peace be here—What! none replies ? Dismiss your fears and your surprise. 'Tis 1—that Maid hath told my tale, Or, trembler, did thy courage fail ? It recks not-it is I demand Fair Metelill in marriage band; Harold the Dauntless I, whose name Is brave men's boast and caitiff's shame." The parents sought each other's eyes, With awe, resentment, and surprise: Wulfstane, to quarrel prompt, began The stranger's size and thewes to scan; But as he scann'd, his courage sunk, And from unequal strife he shrunk, Then forth, to blight and blemish, flies The harmful curse from Jutta's eyes; Yet, fatal howsoe'er, the spell On Harold innocently fell ! And disappointment and amaze Were in the witch's wilder'd gaze.
XIV. Scarce was she gone, her dame and sire Upon each other bent their ire; “A woodsman thou, and hast a spear, And couldst thou such an insult bear ?" Sullen he said, “A man contends With men, a witch with sprites and fiends; Not to mere mortal wight belong Yon gloomy brow and frame so strong. But thou—is this thy promise fair, That
your Lord William, wealthy heir To Ulrick, Baron of Witton-le-Wear, Should Metelill to altar bear? Do all the spells thou boast'st as thine Serve but to slay some peasant's kine, His grain in autumn's storms to steep, Or thorough fog and fen to sweep, And hag-ride some poor rustic's sleep? Is such mean mischief worth the fame Of sorceress and witch's name? Fame, which with all men's wish conspires, With thy deserts and my desires, To damn thy corpse to penal fires ? Out on thee, witch ! aroint ! aroint! What now shall put thy schemes in joint ? What save this trusty arrow's point, From the dark dingle when it flies, And he who meets it gasps and dies.”
XII. But soon the wit of woman woke, And to the Warrior mild she spoke: “Her child was all too young.”—“A toy, The refuge of a maiden coy."Again, “ A powerful baron's heir Claims in her heart an interest fair."“ A trifle—whisper in his ear, That Harold is a suitor here!"Bafiled at length she sought delay: "Would not the Knight till morning stay? Late was the hour-he there might rest Till morn, their lodge's honor'd guest.” Such were her words,-her craft might
cast, Her honor'd guest should sleep his last: “No, not to-night-but soon,” he swore, "He would return, nor leave them more." The threshold then his huge stride crost, And soon he was in darkness lost,
XV. Stern she replied, “I will not wage War with thy folly or thy rage; But ere the morrow's sun be low, Wulfstane of Rookhope, thou shalt know, If I can venge me on a foe. Believe the while, that whatsoe'er I spoke, in ire, of bow and spear, It is not Harold's destiny The death of pilfer'd deer to die. But he, and thou, and yon pale moon (That shall be yet more pallid soon,
Before she sink behind the dell),
The cloudless moon grows dark and dim,
XVI. Far faster than belong'd to age Has Jutta made her pilgrimage. A priest has met her as she pass'd, And cross'd himself and stood aghast : She traced a hamlet--not a cur His throat would ope, his foot would stir ; By crouch, by trembling, and by groan, They made her hated presence known! But when she trode the sable fell, Were wilder sounds her way to tell, — For far was heard the fox's yell, The black-cock waked and faintly crew, Scream'd o'er the moss the scared curlew : Where o'er the cataract the oak Lay slant, was heard the raven's croak; The mountain-cat, which sought his prey, Glared, scream'd, and started from her way. Such music cheer'd her journey lone To the deep dell and rocking stone: There, with unhallow'd hymn of praise, She called a God of heathen days.
“ He comes not yet! Shall cold delay
xnvocation. "From thy Pomeranian throne, Hewn in rock of living stone, Where, to thy godhead faithful yet, Bend Esthonian, Finn, and Lett, And their swords in vengeance whet, That shall make thine altars wet, Wet and red for ages more With the Christians' hated gore, Hear me! Sovereign of the Rock, Hear me ! mighty Zernebock!
"Mightiest of the mighty known,
XIX. “ And is this all,” said Jutta stern, " That thou canst teach and I can learn! Hence! to the land of fog and waste, There fittest is thine influence placed, Thou powerless, sluggish Deity! But ne'er shall Briton bend the knee Again before so poor a god.” She struck the altar with her rod; Slight was the touch, as when at need A damsel stirs her tardy steed; But to the blow the stone gave place,
“Hark! he comes ! the night-blast cold Wilder sweeps along the wold;
And, starting from its balanced base,
And there was ripple, rage, and foam ;
As Jutta hied her home.
The matin bell with summons long and deep,
Harold the Danntless.
Some reverend room, some prebendary's stall, —
As if in revelry;
The gale breathed soft and free,
So light and gamesomely.
Laid mace and falchion by,
Relax'd his rugged brow-
Were wise to ask it now.
Well yet I love thy mix'd and massive piles,
And from oblivion rend the spoils they yield,
Vain is the wish-since other cares demand
Upon the western heights of Beaurepaire,
To speak a warning word.
Ere he dare brave the ford,
In this stanza occurs one of many touches by which, in | posed to have nourished such an intention-one which no one the introdactory passages of Harold the Dauntless ás of Trier- could ever have dreamt of ascribing at any period of his days main, Sir Walter Scott betrays his half-purpose of identifying to Sir Walter Scott himself. the author with his friend William Erskine. That gentleman, the son of an Episcopalian clergyman, a stanch churchman, ? Robert Surtees of Mainsforth, Esq., F. S. A., author of and a man of the gentlest habits, if he did not in early life de- "The History and Antiquities of the County Palatine of Dur. sign to follow the paternal profession, might easily be sup ham." 3 vols. folio, 1816-20-23.
Fearful to move the slumbering ire
Till Harold raised his eye,
The bursting sunbeams fly.
“What cares disturb the mighty dead !
"He may rest not: from realms afar
V. “Arouse thee, son of Ermengarde, Offspring of prophetess and bard! Take harp, and greet this lovely prime With some high strain of Runic rhyme, Strong, deep, but powerful! Peal it
round Like that loud bell's sonorous sound, Yet wild by fits, as when the lay Of bird and bugle hail the day. Such was my grandsire Eric's sport, When dawn gleam'd on his martial court. Heymar the Scald, with harp's high sound, Summon’d the chiefs who slept around; Couch'd on the spoils of wolf and bear, They roused like lions from their lair, Then rush'd in emulation forth To enhance the glories of the North.Proud Eric, mightiest of thy race, Where is thy shadowy resting-place? In wild Valhalla hast thou quaff’d From foeman's skull metheglin draught, Or wanderest where thy cairn was piled To frown o'er oceans wide and wild ? Or have the milder Christians given Thy refuge in their peaceful heaven? Where'er thou art, to thee are known Our toils endured, our trophies won, Our wars, our wanderings, and our woes.” He ceased, and Gunnar's song arose.
VII. “Peace,” said the Knight, “the noble Scald Our warlike fathers' deeds recallid, But never strove to soothe the son With tales of what himself had done. At Odin's board the bard sits high Whose harp ne'er stoop'd to flattery; But highest he whose daring lay Hath dared unwelcome truths to say." With doubtful smile young Gunnar eyed His master's looks, and naught repliedBut well that smile his master led To construe what he left unsaid. “ Is it to me, thou timid youth, Thou fear'st to speak unwelcome truth? My soul no more thy censure grieves Than frosts rob laurels of their leaves Say on—and yet-beware the rude And wild distemper of my blood; Loth were I that mine ire should wrong The youth that bore my shield so long, And who, in service constant still, Though weak in frame, art strong in will."“Oh!" quoth the page, “even there depends My counsel—there my warning tendsOft seems as of my master's breast Some demon were the sudden guest; Then at the first misconstrued word His hand is on the mace and sword, From her firm seat his wisdom driven, His life to countless dangers given.0! would that Gunnar could suffice To be the fiend's last sacrifice, So that, when glutted with my gore, He fled and tempted thee no more !"
Song. “ Hawk and osprey scream'd for joy O’er the beetling cliffs of Hoy, Crimson foam the beach o'erspread, The heath was dyed with darker red, When o'er Eric, Inguar's son, Dane and Northman piled the stone; Singing wild the war-song stern, Rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn!'
“Where eddying currents foam and boil
VIII. Then waved his hand, and shook his head The impatient Dane, while thus he said: “Profane not, youth—it is not thine To judge the spirit of our lineThe bold Berserkar's rage divine,
2. “ Ill fares the fainting Palmer, placed 'Mid Hebron's rocks or Rana's waste,Ill when the scorching sun is high, And the expected font is dry,Worse when his guide o'er sand and heath, The barbarous Copt, has plann'd his death.
Through whose inspiring, deeds are wrought
he holds like wither'd reeds,
3. “ Ill fares the Knight with buckler cleft, And ill when of his helm bereft,Ill when his steed to earth is flung, Or from his grasp his falchion wrung; But worse, if instant ruin token, When he lists rede by woman spoken.”—
X. “How now, fond boy ?-Canst thou think ill," Said Harold, “ of fair Metelill?" “She may be fair,” the Page replied, As through the strings he ranged,
“She may be fair ; but yet,” he cried,
And then the strain he changed,
And all that meet him in his ire
Far fairer have I seen
And eyes so dark and sheen.
As one day I may be, My heart should own no foreign charms,
A Danish maid for me.
2. “I love my fathers' northern land,
Where the dark pine-trees grow, And the bold Baltic's echoing strand
Looks o'er each grassy oe.?
From Denmark loth to go,
A path of ruddy glow.
IX. As down some strait in doubt and dread The watchful pilot drops the lead, And, cautious in the midst to steer, The shoaling channel sounds with fear ; So, lest on dangerous ground he swerved, The Page his master's brow observed, Pausing at intervals to fling His hand o'er the melodious strmg, And to his moody breast apply The soothing charm of harmony, While hinted half, and half exprest, This warning song convey'd the rest.
1. u Ill fares the bark with tackle riven, And ill when on the breakers driven, Ill when the storm-sprite shrieks in air, And the scared mermaid tears her hair ; But worse when on her helm the hand Of some false traitor holds command.
3. “But most the northern maid I love,
With breast like Denmark's snow, And form as fair as Denmark's pine, Who loves with purple heath to twine
Her locks of sunny glow; And sweetly blend that shade of gold
With the cheek's rosy hue, And Faith might for her mirror hold
That eye of matchless blue.