When slumbering by Lord Harold's side In forest, field, or lea.”—

VI.

"Break off!" said Harold, in a tone Where hurry and surprise were shown,

With some slight touch of fear,-
"Break off, we are not here alone;
A Palmer form comes slowly on!

By cowl, and staff, and mantle known,
My monitor is near.

Now mark him, Gunnar, heedfully;
He pauses by the blighted tree-

Dost see him, youth?-Thou couldst not see
When in the vale of Galilee

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
With terror, answer'd, "I see naught,

And there is naught to see,

Save that the oak's scathed boughs fling down Upon the path a shadow brown,

That, like a pilgrim's dusky gown,

Waves with the waving tree."

VII.

Count Harold gazed upon the oak
As if his eyestrings would have broke,
And then resolvedly said,—

"Be what it will yon phantom gray-
Nor 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,
Paused where the blighted oak-tree show'd
Its sable shadow on the road,
And, folding on his bosom broad

His arms, said, "Speak—I hear.”

The fiends of bloodshed and of wrath. In this thine hour, yet turn and hear! For life is brief and judgment near."

IX.

Then ceased The Voice.-The Dane replied
In tones where awe and inborn pride
For mastery strove,-" In vain ye chide
The wolf for ravaging the flock,

Or with its hardness taunt the rock,

I am as they-my Danish strain

Sends streams of fire through every vein.
Amid thy realms of goule and ghost,
Say, the fame of Eric lost,

Or Witikind's the Waster, known
Where fame or spoil was to be won;
Whose galleys ne'er bore off a shore

They left not black with flame?—

He was my sire,—and, sprung of him,
That rover merciless and grim,

Can I be soft and tame?

[me,

Part hence, and with my crimes no more upbraid

I am that Waster's son, and am but what he made me."

X.

The Phantom groan'd; - the mountain shook

around,

The fawn and wild-doe started at the sound,
The gorse and fern did wildly round them wave,
As if some sudden storm the impulse gave.
"All thou hast said is truth-Yet on the head
Of that bad sire let not the charge be laid,
That he, like thee, with unrelenting pace,
From grave to cradle ran the evil race:—
Relentless in his avarice and ire,
Churches and towns he gave to sword and fire;
Shed blood like water, wasted every land,
Like the destroying angel's burning brand;
Fulfill'd whate'er of ill might be invented,
Yes-all these things he did-he did, but he
REPENTED!

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,
[thee;

Gird thy loins for resistance, my son, and awake If thou yield'st to thy fury, how tempted soever, The gate of repentance shall ope for thee NEVER!"—

67

"There is naught on the path but the shade of the oak.

He is gone, whose strange presence my feeling oppress'd,

[breast. Like the night-hag that sits on the slumberer's My heart beats as thick as a fugitive's tread, And cold dews drop from my brow and my

head.

Ho! Gunnar, the flasket yon almoner gave;

He said that three drops would recall from the grave. [has power, For the first time Count Harold owns leech-craft Or, his courage to aid, lacks the juice of a flower!" The page gave the flasket, which Walwayn had fill'd [distill'd

With the juice of wild roots that his art had So baneful their influence on all that had breath, One drop had been phrensy, and two had been death.

Harold took it, but drank not; for jubilee shrill, And music and clamor were heard on the hill, And down the steep pathway, o'er stock and o'er stone,

The train of a bridal came blithesomely on;

There was song, there was pipe, there was timbrel, and still

The burden was, "Joy to the fair Metelill!"

XII.

Harold might see from his high stance,
Himself unseen, that train advance

With mirth and melody ;-
On horse and foot a mingled throng,
Measuring their steps to bridal song
And bridal minstrelsy;

And ever when the blithesome rout
Lent to the song their choral shout,
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,
By many a various passion fann'd;-
As elemental sparks can feed
On essence pure and coarsest weed,
Gentle, or stormy, or refined,
Joy takes the colors of the mind.
Lightsome and pure, but unrepress'd,
He fired the bridegroom's gallant breast;
More feebly strove with maiden fear,
Yet still joy glimmer'd through the tear
On the bride's blushing cheek, that shows
Like dew-drop on the budding rose;
While Wulfstane's gloomy smile declared
The glee that selfish avarice shared,

And pleased revenge and malice high Joy's semblance took in Jutta's eye. On dangerous adventure sped,

The witch deem'd Harold with the dead,
For thus that morn her Demon said:
"If, ere the set of sun, be tied
The knot 'twixt bridegroom and his bride,
The Dane shall have no power of ill
O'er William and o'er Metelill."

And the pleased witch made answer, "Then Must Harold have pass'd from the paths of men !

Evil repose may his spirit have,

May hemlock and mandrake find root in his grave,

May his death-sleep be dogged by dreams of dismay,

And his waking be worse at the answering day."

XIV.

Such was their various mood of glee
Blent in one shout of ecstasy.
But still when Joy is brimming highest,
Of Sorrow and Misfortune nighest,
Of Terror with her ague cheek,
And lurking Danger, sages speak:-
These haunt each path, but chief they lay
Their snares beside the primrose way.-
Thus found that bridal band their path
Beset by Harold in his wrath.
Trembling beneath his maddening mood,
High on a rock the giant stood;
His shout was like the doom of death
Spoke o'er their heads that pass'd beneath.
His destined victims might not spy
The reddening terrors of his eye,-
The frown of rage that writhed his face,-
The lip that foam'd like boar's in chase ;-
But all could see-and, seeing, all
Bore back to shun the threaten'd fall-
The fragment which their giant foe
Rent from the cliff and heaved to throw.

XV.

Backward they bore;-yet are there two
For battle who prepare :

No pause of dread Lord William knew
Ere his good blade was bare;
And Wulfstane bent his fatal yew,
But ere the silken cord he drew,
As hurl'd from Hecla's thunder, flew

That ruin through the air!
Full on the outlaw's front it came,
And all that late had human name,
And human face, and human frame,
That lived, and moved, and had free will
To choose the path of good or ill,

Is to its reckoning gone;

And naught of Wulfstane rests behind,
Save that beneath that stone,
Half-buried in the dinted clay,
A red and shapeless mass there lay
Of mingled flesh and bone!

XVI.

As from the bosom of the sky

The eagle darts amain,

Three bounds from yonder summit high

Placed Harold on the plain.

As the scared wild-fowl scream and fly,
So fled the bridal train;

As 'gainst the eagle's peerless might
The noble falcon dares the fight,

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 phrensied rage is high,
There is a death-fire in his eye,
Deep furrows on his brow are trench'd,
His teeth are set, his hand is clench'd,
The foam upon his lip is white,
His deadly arm is up to smite!
But, as the mace aloft he swung,
To stop the blow young Gunnar sprung,
Around his master's knees he clung,

And cried, "In mercy spare!
O, think upon the words of fear
Spoke by that visionary Seer,
The crisis he foretold is here,-

Grant mercy, or despair!"
This word suspended Harold's mood,
Yet still with arm upraised he stood,
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 divine-
Instant his eye hath human light,
Less red, less keen, less fiercely bright;
His brow relax'd the obdurate frown,
The fatal mace sinks gently down,

But though his dreaded footsteps part,
Death is behind and shakes his dart;
Lord William on the plain is lying,
Beside him Metelill seems dying!—
Bring odors-essences in haste-
And lo! a flasket richly chased,—
But Jutta the elixir proves

Ere pouring it for those she loves-
Then Walwayn's potion was not wasted,
For when three drops the hag had tasted,
So dismal was her yell,
Each bird of evil omen woke,
The raven gave his fatal croak,
And shriek'd the night-crow from the
oak,

The screech-owl from the thicket broke,
And flutter'd down the dell!

So fearful was the sound and stern,
The slumbers of the full-gorged erne
Were startled, and from furze and fern
Of forest and of fell,

The fox and famish'd wolf replied
(For wolves then prowl'd the Cheviot side),
From mountain head to mountain head
The unhallow'd sounds around were sped;1
But when their latest echo fled,

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 Splendor walks abroad;
So, when this cloud had pass'd away,
Bright was the noontide of their day,
And all serene its setting ray.

1 See a note on the Lord of the Isles, Canto v. st. 31, p. 454,

ante.

For whom the bride's shy footstep, slow and light, Was changed ere morning to the murderer's tread, For human bliss and woe in the frail thread Of human life are all so closely twined, That till the shears of Fate the texture shred, The close succession cannot be disjoin'd, 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.1

The stern Dane smiled this charnel-house to see,-
For his chafed thought return'd to Metelill;—
And “Well,” he said, "hath woman's perfidy,
Empty as air, as water volatile,

Been here avenged-The origin of ill
Through woman rose, the Christian doctrine

saith:

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,
And his half filling eyes he dried,
And said, "The theme I should but wrong,
Unless it were my dying song
(Our Scalds have said, in dying hour
The Northern harp has treble power),
Else could I tell of woman's faith,
Defying danger, scorn, and death.
Firm was that faith,- -as diamond stone
Pure and unflaw'd,-her love unknown,
And unrequited;-firm and pure,
Her stainless faith could all endure;
From clime to clime,-from place to place,-
Through want, and danger, and disgrace,
A wanderer's wayward steps could trace.—
All this she did, and guerdon none
Required, save that her burial-stone

Not in each breast such truth is laid, But Eivir was a Danish maid."

VIII.

"Thou art a wild enthusiast," said
Count Harold, "for thy Danish maid ;
And yet, young Gunnar, I will own
Hers were a faith to rest upon.
But Eivir sleeps beneath her stone,
And all resembling her are gone.
What maid e'er show'd such constancy
In plighted faith, like thine to me?
But couch thee, boy; the darksome shade
Falls thickly round, nor be dismay'd
Because the dead are by.
They were as we; our little day
O'erspent, and we shall be as they.
Yet near me, Gunnar, be thou laid,
Thy couch upon my mantle made,
That thou mayst think, should fear invade,
Thy master slumbers nigh."

Thus couch'd they in that dread abode,
Until the beams of dawning glow'd.

IX.

An alter'd man Lord Harold rose,
When he beheld that dawn unclose-
There's trouble in his eyes,
And traces on his brow and cheek
Of mingled awe and wonder speak:
"My page," he said, "arise ;-
Leave we this place, my page."-No more
He utter'd till the castle door

They cross'd-but there he paused and said,
"My wildness hath awaked the dead-
Disturb'd the sacred tomb!
Methought this night I stood on high,
Where Hecla roars in middle sky,
And in her cavern'd gulfs could spy
The central place of doom;
And there before my mortal eye
Souls of the dead came flitting by,
Whom fiends, with many a fiendish cry,
Bore to that evil den!

My eyes grew dizzy, and my brain
Was wilder'd, as the elvish train,
With shriek and howl, dragg'd on amain
Those who had late been men.

X.

"With haggard eyes and streaming hair, Jutta the Sorceress was there,

ces thus Harold is clad in a kind of armor not worn 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 Review.