 | The Poetical Works of Eliza Cook |  |
22
A Romaunt.
TRACY DE VORE AND HUBERT GREY.
A TALE.
Know ye not the stripling child
That strolls from the Castle wall;
To play with the mate he likes the best,
By the mountain waterfall?
That strolls from the Castle wall;
To play with the mate he likes the best,
By the mountain waterfall?
With delicate hand, and polished skin,
Like Parian marble fair;
Know ye him not? 'Tis Tracy de Vore,
The Baron's beautiful heir.
Like Parian marble fair;
Know ye him not? 'Tis Tracy de Vore,
The Baron's beautiful heir.
'Tis Tracy de Vore, the Castle's pride:
The rich, the nobly born:
Pacing along the sun-lit sod
With the step of a playful fawn.
The rich, the nobly born:
Pacing along the sun-lit sod
With the step of a playful fawn.
The waving plume in his velvet cap
Is bound with a golden band;
His rich, embroidered suit exhales
The breath of Arabia's land.
Is bound with a golden band;
His rich, embroidered suit exhales
The breath of Arabia's land.
His light and fragile form is graced
With a girdle of silvered blue;
And of matchless azure the belt would seem,
Were it not for his eyes' own hue.
With a girdle of silvered blue;
And of matchless azure the belt would seem,
Were it not for his eyes' own hue.
Look on those eyes, and thou wilt find
A sadness in their beam;
Like the pensive shade that willows cast
On the sky-reflecting stream.
A sadness in their beam;
Like the pensive shade that willows cast
On the sky-reflecting stream.
Soft flowing curls of an auburn shade
Are falling around his brow;
There's a mantling flush that dwells on his cheek,
Like a rose-leaf thrown on the snow.
Are falling around his brow;
There's a mantling flush that dwells on his cheek,
Like a rose-leaf thrown on the snow.
There's a halcyon smile spread o'er his face,
Shedding a calm and radiant grace;
There's a sweet, soft sound in his laughing tones,
Betraying the gentle spirit he owns.
Shedding a calm and radiant grace;
There's a sweet, soft sound in his laughing tones,
Betraying the gentle spirit he owns.
23
And scarcely an accent meets his ear
But the voices of praise and love:
Caressed and caressing, he lives in the world
Like a petted and beautiful dove.
But the voices of praise and love:
Caressed and caressing, he lives in the world
Like a petted and beautiful dove.
He is born to bear the high command
Of the richest domain in Switzerland;
And the vassals pray that fame and health
May bless the child of rank and wealth.
Oh! truly does every lip declare
What a cherub-like boy is Lord Tracy's heir.
Of the richest domain in Switzerland;
And the vassals pray that fame and health
May bless the child of rank and wealth.
Oh! truly does every lip declare
What a cherub-like boy is Lord Tracy's heir.
And now on the green and sedgy bank
Another stripling form is seen:
His garb is rough, his halloo loud;
He is no Baron's heir, I ween.
Another stripling form is seen:
His garb is rough, his halloo loud;
He is no Baron's heir, I ween.
Know ye him not?—'tis the mountain child,
Born and reared 'mid the vast and wild;
And a brighter being ne'er woke to the day
Than the herdsman's son, young Hubert Grey.
Born and reared 'mid the vast and wild;
And a brighter being ne'er woke to the day
Than the herdsman's son, young Hubert Grey.
There's a restless flashing in his eye,
That lights up every glance;
And now he tracks the wheeling bird;
And now he scans the distant herd;
And now he turns from earth and sky,
To watch where the waters dance.
That lights up every glance;
And now he tracks the wheeling bird;
And now he scans the distant herd;
And now he turns from earth and sky,
To watch where the waters dance.
A ruddy tinge of glowing bronze
Upon his face is set;
Closely round his temples cling
Thick locks of shaggy jet.
Upon his face is set;
Closely round his temples cling
Thick locks of shaggy jet.
Mark him well! there's a daring mien
In Hubert Grey, that's rarely seen;
And suiting that mien is the life he leads
Where the eagle soars, and the chamois feeds.
In Hubert Grey, that's rarely seen;
And suiting that mien is the life he leads
Where the eagle soars, and the chamois feeds.
He loves to climb the steepest crag,
Or plunge in the rapid stream;
He dares to look on the thunder-cloud,
And laugh at the lightning's gleam.
Or plunge in the rapid stream;
He dares to look on the thunder-cloud,
And laugh at the lightning's gleam.
The snow may drift, the rain may fall,
But what does Hubert care?
As he playfully wrings with his hardy hand,
His drenched and dripping hair.
But what does Hubert care?
As he playfully wrings with his hardy hand,
His drenched and dripping hair.
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He can tread through the forest, or over the rocks,
In the darkest and dreariest night,
With as sure a step, and as gay a song,
As he can in the noon-day's light.
In the darkest and dreariest night,
With as sure a step, and as gay a song,
As he can in the noon-day's light.
The precipice, jutting in ether air,
Has naught of terror for him;
He can pace the edge of the loftiest peak
Without trembling of heart or limb.
Has naught of terror for him;
He can pace the edge of the loftiest peak
Without trembling of heart or limb.
He heeds not the blast of the winter storm,
Howling on o'er the pine-covered steep;
In the day he will whistle to mimic its voice,
In the night it lulls him to sleep.
Howling on o'er the pine-covered steep;
In the day he will whistle to mimic its voice,
In the night it lulls him to sleep.
And now he has brought, from his mountain home,
(With feet and forehead bare),
A tiny boat, and lancewood bow,
The work of his own young hand, I trow,
To please the Baron's heir.
And now, at the waterfall, side by side,
Stand the Herdsman's son and the Castle's pride!
(With feet and forehead bare),
A tiny boat, and lancewood bow,
The work of his own young hand, I trow,
To please the Baron's heir.
And now, at the waterfall, side by side,
Stand the Herdsman's son and the Castle's pride!
Tracy de Vore hath high-born mates
Invited to share his play;
But none are half so dear to him,
As the lowly Hubert Grey.
Invited to share his play;
But none are half so dear to him,
As the lowly Hubert Grey.
He hath a spaniel taught to mark,
And wait his word with a joyous bark;
He hath a falcon taught to fly
When he looses its silver chain;
To range at his bidding round the sky,
Then seek his hand again.
And wait his word with a joyous bark;
He hath a falcon taught to fly
When he looses its silver chain;
To range at his bidding round the sky,
Then seek his hand again.
His ear is used to the softest song;
To the lute, and gay guitar;
But the echoing call of the herdsman's son
Is sweeter to him by far.
To the lute, and gay guitar;
But the echoing call of the herdsman's son
Is sweeter to him by far.
He hath toys and trinkets, bought with gold;
And a palfrey in the stall:
But Hubert's bow and Hubert's boat,—
Oh, they are worth them all!
And a palfrey in the stall:
But Hubert's bow and Hubert's boat,—
Oh, they are worth them all!
25
And Hubert Grey hath learnt to love
The smile of Tracy de Vore;
He delights in leading the timid boy
Where he never trod before.
The smile of Tracy de Vore;
He delights in leading the timid boy
Where he never trod before.
He teaches him how to note the hours,
By where the sunbeams rest;
He wades for him where the virgin flowers
Gracefully bend 'neath the cascade's showers;
To pluck the whitest and best.
By where the sunbeams rest;
He wades for him where the virgin flowers
Gracefully bend 'neath the cascade's showers;
To pluck the whitest and best.
He tells him the curious legends of old,
Known by each mountaineer;
He tells him the story of ghost and fay;
Waking his wonder and fear.
Known by each mountaineer;
He tells him the story of ghost and fay;
Waking his wonder and fear.
Never so joyful is Hubert's shout
As when his eagle eyes look out,
And spy afar in the plain below,
Young Tracy's cap with its plume of snow
As when his eagle eyes look out,
And spy afar in the plain below,
Young Tracy's cap with its plume of snow
Never so glad is Tracy de Vore
As when he can steal away
From his father's watchful, doting care,
To rove with Hubert Grey.
As when he can steal away
From his father's watchful, doting care,
To rove with Hubert Grey.
And now, by the waterfall, side by side,
Stand the Herdsman's son and the Baron's pride.
The summer beams are falling there
On the mountain boy and the noble heir.
Stand the Herdsman's son and the Baron's pride.
The summer beams are falling there
On the mountain boy and the noble heir.
Time flies on; a year has sped,
And summer comes again;
The sun is shining warm and bright,
O'er forest, hill, and plain.
And summer comes again;
The sun is shining warm and bright,
O'er forest, hill, and plain.
But never again will Tracy de Vore
Stroll from the Castle wall,
To play with the one he loves the best,
By the mountain waterfall.
Stroll from the Castle wall,
To play with the one he loves the best,
By the mountain waterfall.
There's silence in the mansion now;
Loud mirth is turn'd to sighing;
The Baron weeps, the vassals mourn;
For the darling heir is dying.
Loud mirth is turn'd to sighing;
The Baron weeps, the vassals mourn;
For the darling heir is dying.
26
Look on the lip that so sweetly smiled,
The cheek that was freshly fair;
Oh, cruelly sad is the tale they tell!
Consumption revels there.
The cheek that was freshly fair;
Oh, cruelly sad is the tale they tell!
Consumption revels there.
With panting breath and wasting frame,
The languid boy lives on;
With just enough of life to show
That life will soon be gone.
The languid boy lives on;
With just enough of life to show
That life will soon be gone.
Pallid and weak, he is slowly led,
Like an infant, from his downy bed;
He turns his dimmed and sunken eye
To look once more upon the sky:
But, ah! he cannot bear the rays
Of a glowing sun to meet his gaze.
He breathes a sigh, and once again
Looks out upon the grassy plain;
He sees his milk-white palfrey there;
His own pet steed, so sleek and fair:
But there's no silken rein to deck
The beauty of its glossy neck;
No saddle-cloth is seen to shine
Upon its sides—the steed doth lack
A coaxing hand, and seems to pine;
Missing the one that graced its back.
Like an infant, from his downy bed;
He turns his dimmed and sunken eye
To look once more upon the sky:
But, ah! he cannot bear the rays
Of a glowing sun to meet his gaze.
He breathes a sigh, and once again
Looks out upon the grassy plain;
He sees his milk-white palfrey there;
His own pet steed, so sleek and fair:
But there's no silken rein to deck
The beauty of its glossy neck;
No saddle-cloth is seen to shine
Upon its sides—the steed doth lack
A coaxing hand, and seems to pine;
Missing the one that graced its back.
Young Tracy stands,—his azure eye
Dwells fondly on the petted brute;
The struggling tear-drop gathers fast;
But still his lip is mute.
Dwells fondly on the petted brute;
The struggling tear-drop gathers fast;
But still his lip is mute.
He looks once more in the Castle court;
The scene of many a festive sport:
He sees his spaniel dull and lone;
He hears its plaintive, whining tone;
He looks beyond the Castle wall,
Where he used to play by the waterfall;
He thinks on the days of health and joy,
When he roved abroad with the mountain boy;
And the gushing tears start down his cheek;
His eyelids fall—he cannot speak—
He turns away—a gentle arm
Receives his fainting form:
Exhausted, trembling, pale; he sinks
Like a lily from the storm.
The scene of many a festive sport:
He sees his spaniel dull and lone;
He hears its plaintive, whining tone;
He looks beyond the Castle wall,
Where he used to play by the waterfall;
He thinks on the days of health and joy,
When he roved abroad with the mountain boy;
And the gushing tears start down his cheek;
His eyelids fall—he cannot speak—
He turns away—a gentle arm
Receives his fainting form:
Exhausted, trembling, pale; he sinks
Like a lily from the storm.
27
His mother sits beside his couch,
Her arm around him thrown;
And bitterly she grieves above
Her beautiful, her own.
Her arm around him thrown;
And bitterly she grieves above
Her beautiful, her own.
He is dying fast—he murmurs forth
The name of Hubert Grey—
“Where? where is he I love so well?
Why comes he not to-day?
The name of Hubert Grey—
“Where? where is he I love so well?
Why comes he not to-day?
“Oh! bring him to me ere I die”—
Enough—away; away!
With eager speed, dash man and steed,
To summon Hubert Grey.
Enough—away; away!
With eager speed, dash man and steed,
To summon Hubert Grey.
And where is he? the herdsman's son,
The bold, the strong, the dauntless one?
The dew is off the shadiest spot,
The noon is nigh, why comes he not?
The bold, the strong, the dauntless one?
The dew is off the shadiest spot,
The noon is nigh, why comes he not?
Long since, the mountain boy was brought
Within the Castle gate;
For none could soothe the pining heir,
Like his old and lowly mate.
Within the Castle gate;
For none could soothe the pining heir,
Like his old and lowly mate.
And, true as sunrise, with the dawn
Has Hubert bent his steps at morn
Over the crags where torrents roar,
To tarry till night with Tracy de Vore.
But where is he now? the sun is hot,
The noon is past—why comes he not?
Has Hubert bent his steps at morn
Over the crags where torrents roar,
To tarry till night with Tracy de Vore.
But where is he now? the sun is hot,
The noon is past—why comes he not?
The vassal, Oswald, wends his way,
To Hubert's home he hies;
To the herdsman's hut that stands alone,
Where cataract streams dash wildly on;
Where giant mountains rise.
To Hubert's home he hies;
To the herdsman's hut that stands alone,
Where cataract streams dash wildly on;
Where giant mountains rise.
He calls aloud: “Hist, Hubert Grey!
Quick, back with me on my gallant bay;
Why have ye kept so long away?
Our darling heir is dying fast;
This day, this hour, may be his last;—
Come, haste thee, quick, I say!”
Quick, back with me on my gallant bay;
Why have ye kept so long away?
Our darling heir is dying fast;
This day, this hour, may be his last;—
Come, haste thee, quick, I say!”
The door flings back—the herdsman's wife
Comes forth with wondering look;
“'Tis strange!” she cries, “three hours ago
He started, with his staff and bow,
And the Castle way he took!
Comes forth with wondering look;
“'Tis strange!” she cries, “three hours ago
He started, with his staff and bow,
And the Castle way he took!
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“He talked of gathering for the heir
A bunch of wild flowers, sweet and rare—
He talked of climbing Morna's height,
Where the large blue-bells grow;
They overhang—yes, yes—oh heaven!
That dark ravine below!
A bunch of wild flowers, sweet and rare—
He talked of climbing Morna's height,
Where the large blue-bells grow;
They overhang—yes, yes—oh heaven!
That dark ravine below!
“Hubert! my child! where art thou gone?
Thy mother calls to thee!”
No answer!—“To the rock!” she cries—
“On, Oswald! on, with me!”
Thy mother calls to thee!”
No answer!—“To the rock!” she cries—
“On, Oswald! on, with me!”
Together, up the craggy path,
Speed Oswald and the herdsman's wife:
She calls and listens—calls again—
Her heart with fear is rife.
Speed Oswald and the herdsman's wife:
She calls and listens—calls again—
Her heart with fear is rife.
And Oswald gives the well-known sign;
He whistles shrill and clear;
He winds his horn, and blows the blast,
That Hubert loved to hear.
He whistles shrill and clear;
He winds his horn, and blows the blast,
That Hubert loved to hear.
But ah! the whistle and the horn
Are only echoed back;
No Hubert comes—and now they reach
The highest mountain track.
Are only echoed back;
No Hubert comes—and now they reach
The highest mountain track.
The foot of Oswald presses on,
Right cautiously, and slow;
For few would dare, like Hubert Grey,
Near Morna's edge to go.
Right cautiously, and slow;
For few would dare, like Hubert Grey,
Near Morna's edge to go.
The dark gulf breaks with frightful yawn;
Terrific to the gaze,
A murky horror shades the spot,
Beneath meridian rays.
Terrific to the gaze,
A murky horror shades the spot,
Beneath meridian rays.
But hush!—that sound—a hollow moan—
Again, a stifled, gurgling groan!
The mother stands, nor speaks nor moves,
Transfixed with mute dismay!
The vassal fears, his footsteps shrink;
He trembles as he gains the brink:
He shudders, looks with straining eyes
Adown the abyss—“O Heaven!” he cries
“'Tis he—'tis Hubert Grey!”
Again, a stifled, gurgling groan!
The mother stands, nor speaks nor moves,
Transfixed with mute dismay!
The vassal fears, his footsteps shrink;
He trembles as he gains the brink:
He shudders, looks with straining eyes
Adown the abyss—“O Heaven!” he cries
“'Tis he—'tis Hubert Grey!”
Yes, yes, 'tis he! the herdsman's son—
The bold, the strong, the daring one.
He hath bent him o'er to reach the flowers
That spring along the dreaded steep:
His brain grows dizzy—yet again—
He snatches, totters, shrieks, in vain—
He falls ten fathoms deep!
The bold, the strong, the daring one.
29
That spring along the dreaded steep:
His brain grows dizzy—yet again—
He snatches, totters, shrieks, in vain—
He falls ten fathoms deep!
The groan that met his mother's ear,
Gave forth his latest breath:
The mountain boy is sleeping fast,
The dreamless sleep of death.
Gave forth his latest breath:
The mountain boy is sleeping fast,
The dreamless sleep of death.
Thrown wildly back, his clotted hair
Leaves his gashed forehead, red and bare.
Look on his cheek—his dauntless brow—
There's blood, warm blood, upon them now!
His hand is clenched with stiffened clasp;
The wild flowers still within its grasp.
Leaves his gashed forehead, red and bare.
Look on his cheek—his dauntless brow—
There's blood, warm blood, upon them now!
His hand is clenched with stiffened clasp;
The wild flowers still within its grasp.
The vulture, perched upon the crag,
Seems waiting for its prey:
The vulture that at morning's light,
His halloo scared away.
Seems waiting for its prey:
The vulture that at morning's light,
His halloo scared away.
Stretched like a lion-cub he lies;
As free he lived, as lonely dies:
The mountain-born; the strong, the brave;
Too soon hath found a mountain-grave.
As free he lived, as lonely dies:
The mountain-born; the strong, the brave;
Too soon hath found a mountain-grave.
And many an eye shall weep his fate;
And many a heart shall rue the day:
For a brighter being ne'er had life
Than the herdsman's son; young Hubert Grey.
And many a heart shall rue the day:
For a brighter being ne'er had life
Than the herdsman's son; young Hubert Grey.
And Tracy de Vore, the Baron's heir,
The meek; the cherub-like; the fair:
He is sinking to eternal rest;
Soft pillowed on his mother's breast;
He knows not that his lowly mate
Has met so terrible a fate.
The meek; the cherub-like; the fair:
He is sinking to eternal rest;
Soft pillowed on his mother's breast;
He knows not that his lowly mate
Has met so terrible a fate.
No dark convulsion shakes his frame;
No change comes o'er his face:
The icy hand hath touched his heart;
But left no scathing trace.
No change comes o'er his face:
The icy hand hath touched his heart;
But left no scathing trace.
One murmuring sigh escapes his lip;
The sweetest toned, the last:
Like the faint echo harpstrings give
Of thrilling music past.
The sweetest toned, the last:
Like the faint echo harpstrings give
Of thrilling music past.
30
The signet seal of other worlds
Falls gently on his brow:
He seemed but sleeping when it came;
He seems but sleeping now.
Falls gently on his brow:
He seemed but sleeping when it came;
He seems but sleeping now.
For death steals slow and smilingly
To close his earthly day;
Like the autumn breeze that lightly wafts
The summer leaf away.
To close his earthly day;
Like the autumn breeze that lightly wafts
The summer leaf away.
The Baron weeps; his star has set;
All hope, all joy has fled.
His soul's adored; his house's pride;
His only born, is dead.
All hope, all joy has fled.
His soul's adored; his house's pride;
His only born, is dead.
The Castle is dark—no sound is heard
But the wailing of deep despair.
The lord and the vassal are mourning alike
For the well-loved, noble heir.
Oh! truly does every heart deplore
The young and beautiful Tracy de Vore.
But the wailing of deep despair.
The lord and the vassal are mourning alike
For the well-loved, noble heir.
Oh! truly does every heart deplore
The young and beautiful Tracy de Vore.
And Sorrow has found a dwelling-place
In the herdsman's lowly hut.
The door is fast against the sun;
The casement is closely shut.
In the herdsman's lowly hut.
The door is fast against the sun;
The casement is closely shut.
Death gave no warning there; but struck
With a fierce and cruel blow:
Like the barb that sinks from hand unseen
In the heart of the bounding roe.
With a fierce and cruel blow:
Like the barb that sinks from hand unseen
In the heart of the bounding roe.
The mother mourns with a hopeless grief;
Her sobbing is bitterly loud:
Her eye is fixed on her mangled boy;
As he lies in his winding shroud.
Her sobbing is bitterly loud:
Her eye is fixed on her mangled boy;
As he lies in his winding shroud.
The herdsman's voice hath lost its tone;
His brow is shaded o'er:
There's a speechless anguish in his breast;
That he never felt before.
His brow is shaded o'er:
There's a speechless anguish in his breast;
That he never felt before.
There's a tear on his cheek when the sun gets up;
He sighs at the close of day:
His mates would offer the cheering cup;
But he turns his lip away.
He mourns for the one that promised well
To walk his land like another Tell.
He sighs at the close of day:
His mates would offer the cheering cup;
But he turns his lip away.
He mourns for the one that promised well
To walk his land like another Tell.
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The doleful tidings speed swiftly on
Of the promising spirits for ever gone:
And the words fall sadly on the ear
Of every listening mountaineer.
Of the promising spirits for ever gone:
And the words fall sadly on the ear
Of every listening mountaineer.
They grieve for their own, their free-born child;
Nestled and reared 'mid the vast and wild:
For there trod not the hills a dearer one
To the hearts of all than the Herdsman's son.
Nestled and reared 'mid the vast and wild:
For there trod not the hills a dearer one
To the hearts of all than the Herdsman's son.
They sigh to look on the turrets below;
And think 'tis the lordly abode of woe:
They sigh to miss from the waterfall's side,
The mountain boy and the Baron's pride.
And think 'tis the lordly abode of woe:
They sigh to miss from the waterfall's side,
The mountain boy and the Baron's pride.
And many a tongue shall tell the tale,
And many a heart shall rue the day;
When the Hut and Castle lost their hopes
In Tracy de Vore and Hubert Grey!
And many a heart shall rue the day;
When the Hut and Castle lost their hopes
In Tracy de Vore and Hubert Grey!
| The Poetical Works of Eliza Cook | |