Gaston de Blondeville, or The court of Henry III Keeping festival in Ardenne, a romance. St. Alban's Abbey, a metrical tale; With some poetical pieces. By Anne Radcliffe ... To which is prefixed: A memoir of the author, with extracts from her journals. In four volumes |
I. |
III,IV. |
Gaston de Blondeville, or The court of Henry III | ||
EDWY.
A POEM, IN THREE PARTS.
I. PART I. THE HAZEL TREE.
A SUMMER SONG OF FAIRIE.
The hazel twines her fairy bowers,
In yon dell o'erhung with woods,
Where the brook its music pours.
Peeps the yellow marygold,
And lilies, where the waters gleam,
Bend their heads so fair and cold.
Watch beneath the hazel-bough?
'Tis to guard its Magic Wand
And its blossoms, as they blow.
To mortal eyes their haunts betray;
That has the strange enchanting power
To call up a prophetic Fay.
In some wild-wood dingle hid;
Or dancing on the moonlight hills—
She must speed, as she is bid.
Under the blossom-breathing lime,
That sheds sweet freshness over head—
The freshness of the morning prime;
Through osier-tufts and lofty groves,
Still must she leave what best she loves—
The turf, 'mid every choicest flower,
And the far-branching chestnut sheds
Over the wave its greenest shower.
Glides by with lingering, sweet farewell,
While stately swans their proud necks lave,
And seem to feel some fairy spell.
Guard the thin wand and hazel bloom;
Since these can all their haunts lay bare,
By hidden stream, or forest gloom.
Who fast was bound in Cupid's chain;
By mortal means he sought in vain.
Where serpent's skin and head of toad
Hinted of themes he must pursue,
Ere secret would to him be showed.
Where light in partial gleams appeared,
And showed strange shapes upon the wall,
By his own mystic learning reared.
When the sun was flaming high;
And there the twining branches rent;
For then no Fay was watching nigh.
And all unheard, and all unseen,
Who, that walked these noontide bowers,
Could guess that any Elves had been?—
To pull the wild thyme's budding bloom,
Fresh from some haunted dingle's side;
For, it must blow where Fairies come.
Hanging upon the Park's high brow,
Deep buried in the shadowy green,
Where tall o'erarching beeches grow.
To bless the Castle's moonlight hours,
And peep, as winds these branches sweep,
At Windsor diadem'd with towers.
Marygolds—her canopy,
Lilies, for her cradle known,
These he gathered, three and three.
Thus the wondrous charm distill,
Shows each sprite of grove, or rill.
Just a twelvemonth old—no more:
Thrice on each wand the full name write
Of the Fay you would implore.
In earth, that elfin footsteps tread,
Extract them with well-muttered line,
Unheard of man—by man unread.
Invoke her name, with thrice told three,
Be she by forest, mead, or bourne,
Her on your magic glass you'll see.”
Then would he trace her name, I wot;
Edwy the Love-Fay would command;
But Edwy had her name forgot.
Is the memory of a lover;
Now he must watch where Fairies rove,
Or this name he'll ne'er recover.
To his green home in Windsor shades,
To draw the charm, that shall expose
The Elfin-Court, when day-light fades.
And where the silver currents glide,
A plume of elms lifts high it's head,
And casts it's shadow on the tide.
Sleeps in the streamy light below;
The streamy light with placid love
And hushing murmur seems to flow.
When chimes sang midnight to the land,
Tip-toe the full-orbed Moon should stand.
Thither Edway must repair,
And, that no check the spell might harm,
Ere the sun-set he was there.
Upon the smoothly-flowing stream,
Tint the old walls and turrets high,
And lower on the wood-tops gleam.
The blessed Henry's fane enshrined,
It's fretted windows, turrets pale,
And pinnacles far ranged behind.
The star-light hour, when all is still,
Save the far-distant village hum,
And the lone watch-bark from the hill;
Pass unseen in bowery lane,
Like to the sea-tide murmuring,
Now loud and lost, then loud again.
And looked with desperate courage round;
Alas! no tripping phantoms rise
On the shadowy, Fairie ground.
Here, counting every distant chime,
He exalts his lady's beauty,
In quaint, or pity-moving rhime.
Rising behind the Castle-walls,
Gives the dim turrets to his sight,
And in mute watch his spirit thralls.
More darkly drawn the towers appear,
And lives upon the radiant air;
A spreading curve of light serene;
And, faithful to her loved Midnight,
There, reigns it's pale and pensive Queen.
Terrace and woody steep below
The river's willow-sheltered bay,
And waters quivering as they flow.
Forth from the deep of darkness crowd
Pale glimmering shapes, and silent stand
As waked from Death's unfolding shroud.
The groves their shadowy tops unfurled,
And airy hills in prospect dawn,
Like vision of another world.
While by the grove of elm he stood,
And cast a sly and wistful look
Around the turf and o'er the flood.
No sail of Fairie pinnace showed,
Nor, 'neath the still elm's bowery night,
A glimpse of elfin-pageant glowed.
Like infants, tried their task to say;
But, waked from midnight's slumber meet,
Th' imperfect accents died away.
Ere the slow song was duly closed,
As seeming feebly to complain
Of broken rest, e'en while they dozed.
For, here, alas! no more they rove;
Had surely scared them from the grove;
Have followed, helter-skelter, round
Hills, woods and dales, for tracking deer;
Till fond Thames bore the wights to ground;
And praising oft the helping tide,
They peeped, well hid in grass, and saw
The foresters on t'other side!
Doff gown and mount the coach on high;
Such as the tavern-dinner snatched,
The bottle drank and ate the pie,
And, if an oxen-herd they met,
Then gravely joined the school-room set.
The light of Morning o'er the sky—
That touches all the varied scene
With life-full gleams of hope and joy.
Still, the tale goes, “their tyrants flout;”
Plunge them in scrapes and mischief strange,
Then leave them to a flogging-bout!
And lays his bandage on the eyes
Of the grave Heads, who mildly blend
Remembrance with severe surmise.
Up in the high Park's ancient shade,
On the grey forest's lonely bound,
These fairies dance in secret glade;
Great Edward's tree e'en each appears,
A warlike ruin, gaunt and lone,
The spectre of five hundred years.
Reared in the storms, that wrecked their kings,
Oh! could they give the Past a sigh,
And speak the tale of vanished things,
In long succession, varied guise,
More wonders here had stood revealed,
Than aught, that Fairie dream supplies.
Returned home for future feat;
Thus he, who does adventure woo,
Must sometimes disappointment meet.
A Maypole formerly stood on the Green, before the gates of the Long Walk at Windsor, where pranks of this sort have often been played.
II. PART II. THE FAIRIE COURT.
A SUMMER'S NIGHT IN WINDSOR PARK.
Plying still his magic lore,
Watched, when all was hushed in slumber,
The dead planetary hour.
Steeped in the blood of milk-white fowl,
With careful skill he did prepare,
'Gainst next should hoot the midnight owl.
Who, by her-divining art
Should on the second plane display
Scenes to grieve, or cheer, his heart.
He would fain have conjured sleep,
But the god of lovers, wary,
Hovers not o'er eyes that weep.
Sad and restless all the noon,
Counting every chime of warning
Through the longest day of June:
Round about his lady's hall,
Till his hopes were nearly foundered—
Till a rival spoke his fall.
Chatting, smiling, blooming gay;
Doating, maddening, he bewailed her,
Doubting his first doubts this day.
Bending with the silver drops,
Waving where the goldfinch hops,
And sparkling on the sunny air,
Not half so fresh as Aura glow,
Not half so graceful—half so fair.
And Evening summoned him afar,
Then to the high-browed Park he hies;
There, must he meet the twilight-star.
Eyelids touched with clearing spell,
He sought the Court of fairie land,
Hidden in their distant dell.
That climb about the southern hill,
Edwy passed with rapid stride.
Nor saw one Elf—though all was still.
And, panting, paused to breathe awhile,
And throw a lingering look below
O'er the still landscape's parting smile.
O'ertopped with turrets, terraced high,
Windsor all its pomp displayed,
Beneath the glowing western sky.
Along the far horizon's bound.
How soft the hues the forest throws,
Its leafy darkness shedding round!
In faint shade, through the azure veil,
While, sweetly bright, the setting ray
Bids many a spire once more—farewell.
That o'er the broad Keep floats on air,
It's royal lord reposes there.
And Windsor's state has vanished now,
Save one dim tower, that boldly spires
To meet the star on twilight's brow.
Warbled music passed along;
So softly sweet, so finely clear!
This was sure a Fairie song.
Every little eye was closed;
On slender foot, with drooping wing,
In it's home each bird reposed.
Pleased, Edwy heard his strain advance,
On his smooth neck a Fairie lay,
Or rather did a Fairie dance.
All spangled round with primrose dew;
A star-beam for a wand she bore,
Which she from Venus slyly drew.
Wantoned over Edwy's head,
Then to its shady, loved dominions,
With its Fairie Lady sped.
“To the beech-woods follow me,
Up the lawns and o'er the hills,
To the high woods follow me.”
All the hills and glades prolong;
From every bush and hollow tree
Seemed to rise the choral song.
Spied the motley Elves at play;
They sang again, and passed away.
He pursued his feathered guide,
O'er scenes, that silent Moonlight loves,
To the long lake's mossy side.
Edwy round the turf-banks went,
Close where the silver currents break,
And lower oaks their branches bent.
He tripped o'er these, and reached the road,
That, broad and turfy 'neath the shade,
Leads to the pleasantest abode.
The bordering trees in vista bend,
Shrubs lay their low leaves on the dew,
And pine and larch on light ascend.
Here lawn and bending boughs below;
Above 'tis stately shade; the scene
Seems made for glancing, Fairie show.
Rests in a hollow, beechen dell;
It's marge no human hand could plant,
It's shadows seem to breathe a spell.
Where twilight-dances print the lawn,
Where it spreads out in softest green,
To gaps, whence distant landscapes dawn,
There Claudian beauty melts around;
There Elfin-turrets keep their state,
And tell, at once, 'tis Fairie ground.
When the turf gladdens with the dew,
That almost darkens Windsor's tower,
And gives near hills a distant blue.
Thus would she look, so meek, so pale,
The image of this very scene,
When Evening glances on the vale.
That open from the watery glade,
And primrose tufts the grass inlaid.
Gathering dews, were Elves a million,
Diamond drops and crystal gems,
To fringe their Fairie Queen's pavilion.
Flashed through the foliage arching high;
What silver horn winds, sweet and clear,
As breathing from the lips of Joy!
Forsake their task, and, with a bound,
Touch the green turf, and down the glade
Take hands and trip a welcome round.
Of his fleeting, tiny lady,
And watches for her bird, in vain,
To lead him through the alleys shady.
On grasshopper his forest-ways;
Brushing the humble cowslip heads,
While each its trembling homage pays.
Sounding deep his herald-horn,
The fairy sovereign to proclaim,
And evil sprites away to warn.
Quick flashing forth it's emerald sheen;
Dancing low and dancing high,
In many a ring of fiery green.
That made the crisped waters live,
That shivered all the sleeping trees,
And bade the leaves their essence give.
Awake and stretch their ruffled wings;
His starry glance the glow-worm flings;
Is sprinkled now with glimmering bands,
Waiting their tiny Queen's approach,
Her guards and lights to Fairie lands.
Again, the moonlight-light waters shake;
Where'er the foaming tips combine,
Rises a fairy of the lake.
His inexperienced eyes scarce see
The pale forms changing into life,
Till all is glowing pageantry.
Upon the lake's enchanted shore,
Await her presence proud and gay,
Where rides the fleet to waft her o'er.
Such as breathes from Indian dells,
Fills all the high-wood's leafy dome,
And the fine Fairie presence tells.
As through the rich, festooning ways,
The Queen in moonlit-pomp appeared,
Amongst ten thousand dancing Fays.
Her rose-leaved car was drawn in air;
Above, two birds of Paradise
Arch o'er her head their plumage rare.
That with bright rainbow colours glow,
Strike on the gloom in transient gleams,
And all her elfin-escort show.
Pert eyes and little wings are seen,
Attendant on their elfin-queen.
Frosted with magic art so true,
That the hot breath of Midsummer
Could never change it into dew.
A courtier-fairy oft proclaims,
“Now let the mirthful song be heard;
Our lady queen a welcome claims.”
And then the fairy tried her voice;
As gaily as the airs of Spring
Did that poor little bird rejoice.
Sweet with sorrow, thrice it sounded,
Concluding in a dying fall,
Softer than e'er fountain rounded.
Sent through the woods that dying close;
I know thee now; the note prolong;
Oh! speak again those tender woes!”
Mutely listened to the measure;
But, when he trilled his joy again,
They beat the ground in antic pleasure.
Thee and thy guardian-friend I hail;
I know Thee now, and gladly greet
The Love-Fay and her nightingale.
Toward the lake's high-crowned head,
Near where the forest-oaks begin
A reverential gloom to spread.
Her glow-worm knights, in long array,
Guard her and light her on her way.
Unclose their leafy curtains far;
And Fays, asleep within their bowers,
Leap forth, and dance before her car;
That winds through fir-crowned lawns and woods,
Whose beeches old, in giant pride,
Fling their broad shadows on the floods.
That, flowing near the Fairie court,
It's silver line on line did urge,
As if to tempt and share their sport;
To float upon its moonlight breast;
Pleased to unfold each margent scene,
And bear her to her bower of rest.
She seemed by magic lore to read;
And, with a kind and sportive grace,
She bade her tiny sailors speed.
Such vessels as befit a sprite;
The water-lilies schooners were,
Leaf after leaf out-spreading white.
There acorn-barges broad and deep;
So safe, that, e'en in tempest-time,
An Elf upon his oars might sleep,
His tiny Dreadnought, singing gay,
Spite of the winds and rocks below,
Round every fairy cliff and bay.
Blossoms of every shape and stain,
Attended for the courtier-train.
In a pearl-shell ship of the line:
By water mouse-ear was she veiled,
And she was fanned with eglantine.
Had floated on the Indian tide;
A lotos-leaf, with ample fold,
Swelled for her sail, in snowy pride.
Spun of fine bark of ashen tree;
The mast of sandal wood; the head
A living dolphin seemed to be.
Or ranged them far along the prow;
Stood round their Queen, in radiant crowds,
Or gleamed far on the wave below.
Stage above stage, of towery height,
Moved on the lake around her throne,
Proud, floating pyramids of light.
In busy care, high o'er the mast,
Their king-at-arms, Sir Lanthorn-fly,
Ordering the pageant, as it past;
He checked the lily-schooner's way;
And, whisking here and whisking there,
Recalled each blossom-sail astray.
In airy circles pleased he danced;
Yet, while he led the revel on,
Back, for his Queen's applauses glanced.
O'er the long windings of the wave,
From hollow oak and secret cave.
The boding raven, cruel kite,
That fill the timid heart with care,
And love to prowl in moonless night.
Where the still waters sink away,
Such evil agents walk their round,
Or lurk within the oaks so grey.
Edwy oft lost the long lake's side;
Till, through some deep grove's opening shades,
He saw the splendid vision glide.
Quick came the spires of glow-worm light,
That round their Queen's tall galley throng,
Shooting long beams aslant the night;
Touching each leaf with transient joy,
Now seen, now lost, from gloom to gloom,
Showed like the stars, when clouds fleet by.
Edwy pursued the pageant's way;
Till, having reached the smiling floods,
The frolick shores his hopes betray.
Leaving him on some jutting steep,
'Mid the lone waters, while afar
The inmost bay the Fairies sweep.
Lured by short glimpse of that bright train,
Which through the distant shadows smiled,
As if in mockery of his pain.
That gentle bird, faithful to lovers;
Again the Fairie fleet discovers:
To land the Queen those groves among;
When still was every little oar,
And every white sail breathless hung.
Roused by the motley elfin-band,
Who play in moonshine, and rejoice
In choral welcomes o'er the strand.
The polished lake more dark returns;
And each bright star, in emerald twink,
Beneath the wave more keenly burns.
Reflected by the glass below,
A shooting-star Sir Fire-fly seems,
While marshalling the Fairie show.
Each glittering oar and image fair,
Within that mirror, blue and dark,
Lay, like a picture, pencilled fair.
And their green torches mutely raised,
Then all the Fairie's splendour shone,
And shores and woods and waters blazed.
Moving beneath the leafy gloom,
Where forest-oaks spread deepest night,
They guard her to her sylvan home.
Out-hung it's spray, her dreams of night
Were veiled from every curious eye,
Save when with magic virtue bright.
Like necromantic guard it stood;
It's frown and haughty attitude.
Rustled its every leaf for joy;
Then gracefully her wand she stretched,
And lighted all its leaves on high.
Nor any glittering sparkle there;
It seemed as if the setting sun
Tinged the rich spray with rosy air.
And each a different purpose showed;
This, oft with mystic shadows changed;
That, for the dance, or banquet, glowed.
In verdant shade and silence lay;
Save, when the ring-dove in her nest
Sung all her gentle cares away:
Or only swayed by breezes fleet,
With the lake's murmuring falls afar,
Made melody most sad and sweet.
And breathed a dewy fragrance round,
Inviting her to slumbers pure,
While freshness seemed to bless the ground.
Would weave such seeming forms of fate,
As, sent upon the still moonbeams,
Oft by the midnight sleeper wait.
The noontide lake and sunny lawns;
The slow sail on the waters blue,
And, through the brakes, the fleeting fawns;
Bending to sip the dainty wave,
The shadowed crystal truly gave.
Rejoicing on that margent green;
Or sought the hills and groves beloved,
That crown with pleasant shade the scene.
Just as she reached her leafy dome,
While full arose the choral strain
Of welcome to her beechen home.
In glimmering circles take their stand;
Adder, nor bird of boding speech,
Nor step unblest may pass that band.
Like Hesper, on the eastern dawn,
Sir Fire-fly spreads his watchful ray
O'er dell obscure and distant lawn.
Could glide unseen, nor move, where frowned
That beech's wizard brows in air,
And shrink not from the mystic ground.
Invisible and fearless, he
Might pass e'en to the Fairie's cell,
Unknown—but of one enemy.
Arched high with rose and eglantine,
Breathing a fragrance light and cool,
And bright with dew-drops, crystalline.
Had hung its fainting head awry,
Now waked for her in beauty gay,
And breathed for her its perfumed sigh.
Clear the glassy columns shone;
And beheld her on her throne.
With brilliant drops all thickly hung,
Where Mimosa's leaves were twining,
She listened, while the Love-Fay sung.
And in the swelling dome, on high,
Trembled with radiance keen and fair,
Poured from her living diamond's eye.
And winning smiles beamed in her face,
And every virtue most beloved
Gave to her air a tender grace.
Circling Elves their homage gave,
Then, in quaint moriscoes reeling,
They dance, and airy garlands wave.
The tambourine, with tiny bells,
Mix with the softly-breathing flute;
The mellow horn more distant swells.
One, fliting on a bat's wing came,
No orchard, where he haunted, thrived;
Malignant Elfant was his name.
Oft the traveller appalled,
Wondrously his steps misguiding;
Sly Elféna she was called.
Never rested, night, or day;
Into some droll mischief bringing
Solemn heads, as well as gay.
She soothes fine ladies in their vapour,
And weep, because they've nought to weep for.
Who loved to haunt the study-table,
Where, full of grave, important self,
The wisest head he would disable.
On subjects lofty as the steeple;
Or tempt some Witling to endite
Long dreams, about the elfin-people!
Whether her elves the tasks had done,
That, at sun-set, she had commanded;
And now she called them one by one.
Again, the magic horn was wound,
Then thronging sprites obeyed the call;
But still some truants wild were found.
That elves, on Windsor's battlement,
Mounted the moonbeams at it's word,
And o'er the Long Walk gaily went;
Of the broad, bowery way, that swept,
With utmost pomp, beneath their glance,
Though there the yellow moonlight slept;
In silent rest, beneath the leaves,
Which, if awaked and gently bid,
Would sing the song that care deceives—
And danced a morrice on the trees,
Had not the horn complaining blew,
Like coming of a tempest breeze.
Yielding awhile to Beauty's spell,
Crowning its wildest, deepest dell.
Under the shading oaks they strayed,
To spy, beneath the branches low,
The moonlight-towers, beyond their shade.
Gates, turrets, battlements aloft,
Just silvered by the distant ray,
That 'neath the dark boughs glimmered oft.
By magic raised in forest lone,
That held entranced some lady fair,
Till nodding towers her knight should own.
Before some gentle summer shower,
But rushing through th' affrighted trees,
E'en with an angry whirlwind's power.
Beneath the tossing boughs afar;
And fear the truant elves invades;
And swift they mount their beamy car.
No tripping strains their steps invite;
The Fairie sovereign will condemn
Their disobedience and their slight.
For the couch of that false lover,
Who could a trusting heart deceive;
Hence, and o'er his slumber hover.
Trace upon his sleeping eye
Image of that mournful maid,
Whom he won, and left to die;
You will there the semblance see,
All from idle vanity.
Shape a dream to rouse despair;
Then to the sad maiden flee,
And expel her silly care.
Each shall rise, with changed intent;
Each shall the other's fortune take,
He, despair—and she, content.
Return, before the lark is up,
Or the chime of matin bell;
Dance the morrice; sip the cup.
“Now farewell.”
As in a twilight shadow lay;
The dewy lamp on every flower
Quivered first, then died away.
Of step unhallowed passing near;
It paled its ray to trembling green,
And shrunk with sympathetic fear.
“Some mortal footsteps press the ground;”
For Edwy, when the Elves she named,
Had nearer drawn to catch the sound.
In pity of the lover's pain,
Sung from Mimosa's shadowy veil
His softest, sweetest, saddest tale.
From aught ungracious, or severe.
With charmed, attentive, brow serene,
She smiled, and, dashing off a tear,
Some tale of mortal truth to tell:—
For, that Fay's name completes his spell!
Returning light; and, through each bud,
From faintness freed to living glow,
Circled the bright transparent blood.
This vagrant swain, for his intrusion,
Village-tradition does not tell,
Or tells with most profound confusion.
That, though he was not held in durance,
He gained no knowledge of his fate,
And nothing got by his assurance,
What seldom had been seen before,
A Fairie Court, in starlight sport,
With pleasure squadrons and on shore.
We may learn more of his manœuvres,
And then we shall not fail to say,
What came of Aura and her lovers.
The beautiful lodge at Sandpit Gate opening from the Western side of the Great Park. The scenery about this is of exceeding beauty and sweet repose.
The beautiful turf-walks, that branch from the Virginia Water, exhibit, perhaps, every known variety of pine and fir on their long, sweeping borders. Their stately forms and the variety of their tints, intermixed, at intervals, with lofty oak and beech, and so closely bowered below with flowering shrubs, that scarcely a spot of earth is visible beneath them, make these broad, green alleys as delightful, when closely viewed, as they are otherwise graceful from their general aspect.
III. PART III. THE MAGIC MIRRORS.
A SUMMER NIGHT IN WINDSOR FOREST.
And to forest-glades withdrew,
Where never yet had elfin-sport
Cheered the melancholy view.
Eda's name, with “thrice and three,”
Then buries them, with bidden rites,
Underneath a forest-tree.
A foul and watching spirit lay,
Filled the traveller with dismay:
Threw a dark horror o'er the ground;
Whose high, gaunt top and warrior-brows
With the storms of ages frowned.
So wide and deep the branching shade
Of leaves, that, on a starry night,
A gleam, like break of morning, shed.
Showed a glimpse of brighter ray,
When on it's dewy banks did take
Will-o'-the Wisp his mystic way.
With muttered charm, a magic line;
And in the circle heart's ease threw,
And briony and eglantine;
Jess'mine blossoms, violet bud,
The deadly nightshade's tresses grey,
And the pale Monk's gloomy head.
And “Eda! Eda! Eda!” called;
Thrice upon the West he gazed,
When, hark! a shriek his breast appalled.
Who, startled by the Love-Fay's name,
His dark and secret home forsook.
He fled, in haste, whene'er she came.
Tolled Twelve along the silent wood,
When, lo! the planet of the hour
Quivered upon the trembling flood.
Then Edwy forth his mirrors drew,
Upheld them to his searching view.
Mildly and meekly to appear.
And round the crystals rolled a flame;
While unknown murmurs met his ear.
And strange and fearful shadows throng;
Frowning faces, glaring eyes
Look and threat and glance along.
Flitting along the magic glass;
Which, in an instant, her surrounds
With leaves of Love in Idleness.
As the green leaves around her spread,
The motley-yellow, purple flower
Bends in a top-knot o'er her head.
Forth from her wand a lustre pale
Dawns o'er her blue and frolic eyes,
And silvers all her dewy veil,
The dimple, that her quaint lip owns,
The smile, that now begins to break,
Through clouds of wild, capricious frowns.
Of sweet complaint did feebly swell,
When, hovering round her leafy chain,
Behold! her faithful Nightingale!
And tried to break, with slender bill,
Her prison-wreath, so flowery fair;
But the leaves mocked his puny skill.
The little purple blossom throws.
Mildly and meekly all she knows!
Aura, as she's now employed.”—
“On the other glass you'll see;”
With pretty lisp the Fay replied.
And living forms begin to glow:
Aura, full-dressed in lace and lawn,
Blooms in a ball-room with a beau.
And with the eyes of Venus smiling,
Edwy beheld her, with despair,
His hated rival's heart beguiling.
The mirror, and so lost the spell,
But warning lights around him flashed,
Checked his hand, and all was well,
Quickly, the magic scene is changed
To rivers, woods, a wide domain,
With falconers on the banks ranged.
In velvet cap, with feathers gay,
And proudly o'er the sward advanced,
While men and steeds their lord obey.
Can she her promise old forget?”—
A flame curled round the mirror's rim;
The crystal darkened into jet.
Windsor-Terrace, flanked with towers;
How soft the lights and shades repose
Among the low Park's lawns and bowers!
Upon the vast horizon round!
Down to the landscape's dim-seen bound!
Others almost appear to shine
Of yonder tower, whose stately height
Draws on the sky a tall black line,
Billions of miles, while worlds unknown,
Distant howe'er, glow, side by side,
Upon it's shadowy profile shown.
Gliding along the stately wall,
With arms enfolding the tall spear—
How still their measured footsteps fall!
Although no talkers meet the sight;
But, beyond, where moonbeams spread,
Figures steal upon the light.
'Twas Aura, with this lover new!
Ah! does she to his suit attend?
The distance baffled Edwy's view.
With obscure ambiguous truth?
Thou to show my fate wast sent me.
Say, will she wed this fopling-youth?”
And a tap'stried room succeeds;
Her sire, with age and wisdom grey,
'Mid lawyer, settlements and deed
A gothic porch, with silk all hung;
There beaux and ladies fair are ranged,
While humbler gazers round them throng.
With his friends, in trim array:
Aura! why this long delay?”
From our thoughtless Edwy's rage;
But a fairie checked his anger—
Would she might his grief assuage!
A chamber in her father's home;
There, Aura, weeping, pleads and kneels!
The father, frowning, quits the room.
The porch—and Edwy, doth he tremble,
As smiling Aura there he sees?
And whom doth the bridegroom resemble?
As the glass showed his happy shape;
But as he sprung, with gesture antic,
It fell, and let the fairie 'scape!
Straight, unknown voices from the ground
Wildly exclaimed, “O fie! fie! fie!”
And “Fie! fie! fie!” the echoes sound.
From the old oak an owlet hooted;
And thence a louder “Fie! fie! fie!”
To the spot poor Edwy rooted.
Hopeful and light, away he sprung:
The moon peeped through their leafy hoods,
And o'er the path her chequers flung.
Where the Beech's giant-form
Had, for age on age, defied,
With his lion-fangs the storm:
Spots, that old moss on silver weaves,
Among the light transparent leaves,
That cast, at noon, a twilight green,
Where 'twas most sweet to watch the hours
Change the highly-tinctured scene.
The spiry Pine in darkness rose,
The Ash, all airy grace, on high
Waved her lightly-feathered boughs.
His massy verdure, deepening night;
Whose pale flowers through the dark appeared
Like gleams of April's coldest light.
Shade, after shade, in close array,
A sadder tint to midnight lent;
And thoughtless Edwy lost his way.
Where a faint, misty moonlight fell,
He watched a lonely figure roam,
And loud he made the echoes swell.
And paused a moment; but, in vain,
Our Edwy would his way have learned,
For, not a word in answer came.
Loud, though far-off, alarmed his ear;
And a footstep passed him by;
Which he followed fast and near.
Almost killed him, with dismay;
And to his undoubting sight
There a man expiring lay.
A cloud o'erspread it's darkening veil;
It hid that dreadful visage pale.
What red lights gleam and pass along!
What funeral torches, dirges loud!
A bier and mourners round it throng.
All sad and chaunting their despair,
Then wind they on in pomp of woe;
Then fade and vanish into air!
Morning's crystal tint is seen,
Edging the darkness, solemn still,
And glimmering o'er the sleeping scene.
O blessed Dawn, to thee we owe
The humbled thought—our mind's best dole,
The bliss of praise—Devotion's glow.
Thy gradual hues, thy influence fine
O'er flying darkness, than the ray
And glorious pomp, that doth enshrine
Comes laughing from the joyous East,
And bids th' expressive shadows run
To tell his coming to the West.
Awakes, and trills his note of joy;
And feebler, warbling murmurs, hark!
Break from the woodlands—rise, and die,
Th' observant Elves and spectres fled,
And that misguiding, watching sprite
Home to her oaken dungeon sped;
Who with an urchin had combined
Now in a Monk's-hood is confined.
There were no red-lights, near the elms,
No funeral torches, dirge's moan,
No sable band, whom grief o'erwhelms.
Our hero watched the rise of dawn,
Over a beech-tree's airy spray,
That trembles on the Park's high lawn.
And Windsor, in her pomp of groves,
Rose up in battlemented pride,
Queen of the vale, that Old Thames loves—
In smiling slumber seems to lie,
Upon the azure vault so still
As listening heaven's harmony,
With swelling dome and spires aloft,
Vast London's lengthened city lay,
All miniatured, distinct and soft—
Learned Harrow points her vane,
And Stanmore lifts it's heathy ridge,
Sloping to the cultured plain,
To boundless tints of azure fades,
While humbler spires and hamlets show
Their sun-lights o'er the woody shades;
'Midst willowy meads, his waters led,
While, here and there, a feeble sail
Was to the scarce-felt breeze outspread.
And every heath, and warbling wood;
The golden clouds, the brightened flood,
The dancing lamb, the springing deer;
The wild bee with his humming horn,
And, loud and long, Sir Chanticleer.
Answering notes strike up and swell
From rafter dark and loop-holed walls,
Where sleep and silence seemed to dwell,
The passing herdsman and his hound;
Thus, far and near, Sir Chanticleer
Rouses up all the country round.
Over this scene of morning beauty,
Forgetting every other good,
And lost to each forgotten duty,
And through the high o'erarching groves,
Hied to his home, where Eda wills
He soon shall wed the nymph he loves;
He now resolves, that, never more,
His spell shall shock her quiet haunts;
And quite abjures the magic lore.
When he presumes to woo a fairie,
Destroy his glass,—or rouse her spite,
But civil be—and very wary.
As watchmen tell,
Of fairie sports in Windsor glades,
Save that too long
A summer-song
Once lingered in those witching shades.
Gaston de Blondeville, or The court of Henry III | ||