Young Arthur :: :: University of Virginia Library

The mirky mantle of night is on,
And a traveller o'er the heath is gone;
That heath is drear at the noon of day,
And the traveller tracks a devious way;
List'ning and stepping with cautious fear;
The blast howls loud in the traveller's ear,
The light'ning darts, and the thunders roll;
First murmuring, as lingering at the pole,
Then rumbling follows th' electric flash;
Then clattering comes with appalling peal,
As if all the Heavens, time's date to seal,

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Were falling to earth with according crash.
Cold dews the traveller's limbs o'erspread,
Who tremblingly steps with doubt and dread—
That flash, like the gleaming of reason's ray
Which gives to the maniac a moment's day,
A moment's day but to ken the cost
Of the light for ever in darkness lost;
Which gives him a terrible gleam to see,
How horrid that darkness, how hapless he!—
That flash shews the traveller, now, by its glare,
Enfolded in wrappings which shroud the form;
But whether a man or a woman is there
No eye can distinguish—now through the storm
Heaven guard thee, traveller, on thy way,
And guide thee o'er the heath,
To where some “taper's cheering ray”
And friendly door may invite thy stay,
From danger; haply, death.
Adieu!—and, traveller, thou art gone—
Perchance we'll meet again, anon.
Sir Brandon wandering o'er his wide domain,
Resolve engendering in his anxious brain;
Ernest and Edith all his mind's employ,
A specious hope the sun-beam of his joy;

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Beneath a hedge-row found a wearied man,
A woe-worn peasant, who a pray'r began
For pity; want his haggard looks betray,
Beneath the hedge exhausted as he lay;
'Twas early morning, and the plenteous dew
Dropp'd from the white thorn on the fainting hind,
As if the thorn his want and wasting knew,
And o'er him wept; for Nature, ever kind,
Alone seems mov'd by one maternal plan,
To charm and cherish her own offspring, man;
Seems, by her blooming and her treasures given,
To prove her graceful gratitude to heaven
For his blest state, for whom she blooms and bears,
And for whose profit all her produce spares;
Prompted, when fading, by parental care,
(Fearful for him and anxious to prepare
His mind for future) she a glass presents,
The end depicting of all time's events;
Stronger reflection can no glass create,
But man reflects not, or reflects too late.

The knight, tho' stern, was ever prompt to spare;
The hind he pitied and receiv'd his pray'r;

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The fainting man, to Brandon Hall remov'd,
A liberal bounty and protection prov'd;
Restor'd to vigour, and in dress new dight,
The grateful peasant sought the generous knight;
Sir Ernest met him as the hall he cross'd,
And stood transfix'd, in trembling wonder lost;
Hubert (the peasant he) too, trembling stood,
Rapt in amazement; then a bursting flood
Of tears pour'd forth; and, to his Sire restor'd,
A father's blessing the young knight implor'd.

“Father,” he cried, “a truant son forgive,
“His crime attoning who will henceforth live.”
“Arthur!” the hind, his struggling heart beat high;
“O, truant Arthur! why from Hubert fly?
“Thy mother's life declining is the cost”—
Here words in nature's extacy were lost;
Nor Ernest's splendour nor his tow'ring crest
Aw'd him who caught and clasp'd him to his breast.

“Father” and “son” reciprocally giv'n,
Their souls seem'd wrapt in a sweet trance of heaven;
Sir Brandon enter'd, wondering at the view,
Quick to the knight the happy Ernest flew,

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Proclaim'd his father, and Sir Brandon blest
The step that led him to the man distrest;
All on all parts explain'd; their faces share
One look of joy; in Brandon's cross'd by care;
The high Sir Brandon, who, his transport done,
Survey'd Sir Ernest as a peasant's son;
No more the long wish'd match his hope beguil'd,
“A peasant's offspring wed Sir Brandon's child!”—
Allan, for thee now darts a gleam of grace;
But hapless Allan was expell'd the place.
Ernest, the sole prevention to remove
To Edith's liberty and Allan's love,
Purpos'd to Brandon to avow his heart,
And prove his claim, from prudence, to depart;
The danger urge the parting hour delay'd,
Urge his pledg'd honour to the Iberian maid;
With grateful thanks Sir Brandon's bounty pay,
Then seek the scene of happy boyhood's day.
Thus firmly purpos'd to the knight he flies,
Within whose breast new agitations rise.
“Ernest a peasant's son!” exclaim'd the knight
In deep soliloquy “of menial race,
Yet beams his mind the absolute of grace,
By fame recorded, and unmatch'd in fight;

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A full career of glory has he run,
And rais'd to rank; but yet—a peasant's son!
A peasant's son? and shall the Brandon blood,
Flowing for ages in a noble flood,
Blend with plebeian stream? and I the base
To raise the fountain of our line's disgrace?
Around my mansion, by the painter's art,
Hang chiefs of yore, who in the canvass live;
Each eye-ball flashing from an hero's heart,
While quarter'd blaz'nings each proud lineage give;
These can I face and fancy not convey
Reproach from all that, reckless of their fame,
I threw a gem of dignity away,
Sprung from their blood, and blended with their name?
Wake, Brandon, wake, nor let a fitful love
Urge to a deed ne'er honor can approve;
A fitful love for one who, dear to fame,
Twines round thine heart, all dignity but name;
And yet thou once had'st wed (had Suffolk smil'd)
One without name yet, hold—tho' love beguil'd
Thine heart, and thou hadst wed; the male bestows
Honour, ennobling tho' he lowly chose:
Not so the female, countless is the cost,
Her blood, her honour, and her name are lost.”

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Thus reason'd he when Ernest he beheld,
That sight the conflict of his bosom quell'd;
Ernest he saw, and saw his looks confess'd
Some cause of moment lab'ring in his breast;
The smile inviting confidence inclin'd,
And lur'd young Ernest to disclose his mind:
With graceful modesty, and grateful phrase,
The youth his reasoning and resolve conveys;
His sire to join and seek the lonely gate
Where pining grief and love maternal wait:
Repentant sighs assisted him to tell
(While o'er his cheek ingenuous blushes stole)
The manly narrative: and all his soul
Glow'd with the acmé, Love and Isabel!

Contending spirits in Sir Brandon strove,
Pride urg'd his will, tho' all his wish was love:
Fast round his heart the gallant youth had twin'd,
And pride as firmly interlac'd his mind.

Ernest and Edith's nuptials urg'd his art,
His hope sublim'd; the solace of his heart;
Fix'd in resolve, the deed in fancy done,
Is barr'd for ever by—the peasant's son—

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Pride triumph'd here; and when the tale he heard
Which to his Edith Isabel preferr'd,
A moment's sunshine o'er his fancy gleam'd,
And his stern eye with transient radiance beam'd;
For now his promise of fair Edith's hand
Honour must cancel, and its breach command;
But learning Ernest's purpose to depart,
Then triumph'd love in Brandon's yearning heart:
With Ernest part? ah! could the youth be spar'd?
The only being who his friendship shar'd;
Edith he lov'd, but as a daughter lov'd,
Who all his fondness, not his friendship, prov'd;
Too young for confidence; and woman's breast
He deem'd no shrine where secrecy might rest.
Ernest depart? a conflict here began,
Again he seems an isolated man;
All saw the gloom upon his dark brow borne,
All saw his sternness, stigmatiz'd as scorn;
All saw a soul that seem'd in self to end,
And none affected, as none felt, the friend.

And Allan is banish'd, and wanders forlorn;
Fair Edith the frown of her father has borne;

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To that frown unaccustom'd, how rankling the smart
Which surcharg'd her bright eye and subdued her fond heart!
And, remote where no echo could mock her sweet tongue,
She tun'd her soft lute, and of sorrow she sung.