University of Virginia Library

CANTO FIFTH.

I.

Pale night pass'd on. To conscious Mawd
The fiends of darkness stalk'd abroad.
Staring at vacancy, she stood,
Then rous'd from her insensate mood
Leap'd up with shrieks, as if a dart
Her parched liver had pierc'd thro',
And with a sudden start
Sprang off, and flew
From the apostate Prioress;
Blasted by that cadaverous hue,
By that blood-guiltiness,
Which (tho' a too familiar screen,
A curtain, dropping oft between
Her moral sense and secret sin)
She view'd with dread! And conscience rang
Reproaches in her tingling ears:
Yet her's were disingenuous fears,
The coward's recreant pang.
So doth the pine-branch, black and bleak,
The raven's favourite perch,
On which she oft her barbarous beak
Did whet, and hoarslier croak—
So doth that branch her feathers scorch,
Smouldering from the thunder-stroke!
So doth it—its own inmate scare!
Her rustling pennons rest not there.

II.

Gasping for breath—“O let me pass!
“Where, where is father Nicholas?”
Gasping for air—“O lead me up
To the battlements—to the high-roof top!
“I hear her still!—I hear her!—No!
“Sounds come not from so far below!”

III.

“Betray us not!”—still hovering nigh,
Said Jaqueline, with a smother'd cry.
“To Jesse, (whom our prudent care
“Last evening had dispatch'd elsewhere)
“And who ran panting home,
“I have just shown her vacant room:
“And (hinting, from her mournful mood
“Disaster dire, I fear'd, would come)
“To seek her, have I Jesse sent,
“And the old boteler to the cave:
“And they will find her headdress rent,
“And deem her drown'd in Tamar-wave—
“Her veil (as I contriv'd)—her hood
“From the rock dangling down the flood!
“Then cease these idle fears. If pain
(She mutter'd in low voice again)
“If pain assail her mortal frame,
“It wings her from the undying flame.
“If we have given her to the grave,
“The body sinks, the soul to save.”

IV.

Dumb now was Mawd. Her fell revenge
Was quench'd. It was a woeful change.
The night was drear. The winds blew chill:
She clang to her dark watchtower still.
Nor art nor threats could force her down;
Not father Nicholas' dreadful frown.
“No—no! (she cried) I gasp for air!”—
Her dull eye gleam'd a transient glare,
And sank into a stupid stare.

V.

But lo along the horizon dim
There was a moving groupe:
And you might image in the gleam
Tall trees bending down the slope!
And thro' the mist descending slow;
And still less visible below,
You might observe them strait withdrawn,
Where cluster'd in the dawn
Black crags grotesque. Behind the karne
Emerging soon, might eye discern
High steeds, and on their horses, men;
And catch a glimmering, now and then,
Where flicker'd the red east, aslant,
As from gigantic warriours gaunt,
And now a glitter, a quick glance
Distinct from casque, or mail or lance.

VI.

Now in the pale light on they rush'd—
And you might see with ardour flusht
The horsemen, and thro' parting gloom
You might perceive a heron-plume,
And midst the steeds, or roan or brown
A snowy courser paw the down.

VII.

Sudden, they stopp'd above the wood
The troop, as in expectance, stood.
A herald then some story told;
And long the parley seem'd to hold.
Now helm met helm. Now more at large,
The horseman appear'd to strike the targe,
Or, each at distance, couch the spear,
As if he cried: ‘Avaunt to fear!’—
Again they paus'd. The leader's crest,
As he bow'd his head, deprest,
Now floated upwards to the sky,
While shook the heron-plume on high:
And now a banner, full display'd,
Involv'd him in its wavy shade;
When slowly the whole armed might
Wheeling off, vanish'd from the sight.

VIII.

Conjecture various thro' the day,
What sight was this could vainly say.
It seem'd it was Sir Richard's troop,
The Knight conspicuous in the groupe:
'Twas he: it was his white-war-horse:
Said guilty terror—‘'twas his corse!’
It was, in truth, a spectre-train
In Mawd's disorder'd brain.

IX.

Each moment lagg'd. The eve was still.
A trampling on the distant hill
Was heard, but only struck the ear
Of those who listen'd full of fear.
Now more distinct the clatter was nigh:
The Wardour look'd with anxious eye;
But no one yet could he descry.

X.

As expectation hung aloof;
At once the sound of horse or hoof
(Tho' whilom wafted by the gale)
Was lost amid the bowery dale,
And scarce again was heard
Ere good Sir Richard's self appear'd.
And, whilst a pleasure, that defied
The frost of age, with crimson dyed
The Wardour's honest cheek;
Tho' his old limbs were stiff and weak,
He hasten'd briskly down, to await
His master at the castle-gate.

XI.

Curvetting, his fine arched neck
Sir Richard's generous charger bent;
And (tho' the silver curb's restraint
His spirit kept in with easy check,
As now the Knight would fain dismount)
Pranc'd yet awhile with harmless sport;
Pleas'd that the friendly castle-court
And, pebble-pav'd, the channel'd floor
At his own stall, where stream'd the fount
Still spouting, met his eyes once more.

XII.

As beam'd o'er good Sir Richard's face
Benevolence its godlike grace,
His Wardour's undissembled joy
He mark'd, dismounting cheerily.
Of middle stature, firm his mien;
And, tho' from growing years were seen
Some hoary traces, on his head
But in a few thin sprinklings shed,
And bare was the white polish'd crown;
Yet, on his forehead ruddy brown
If time had drawn a furrowing line,
'Twas either smooth'd in smiles benign,
Or (as some thought he ponder'd o'er)
Seem'd in his serious musings, more
Of wisdom than of age, the sign.
Graceful his gait drew every eye;
And his fine bow, was courtesy.
Manly his accents. Yet no voice
Had sweeter tones at ball or mask:
Not sweeter, love itself could ask;
Tho' love had an unbounded choice
Of those who give the melting hour
To dalliance soft in lady's bower.
Is not such silver sweetness found
Too often a deceitful sound?
Not so, the Knight's. The poor, the rich,
The feeble folk that aid beseech,
The proud, the modish, and the gay,
All with delight his counsels heard:
For, not untaught, for, not uncheer'd,
The poor, the wealthy went their way.
Nor his advice in sees and saws
Had weight from many a solemn pause,
But, for its sparkling not less wise,
Was lighted up with pleasantries:
For his elastic spirits were gay;
And quick was fancy's vivid play.

XIII.

Late o'er his features mild, had care
And sorrow cast the pensive air.
Pale from his wound, and paler yet
From grief, the unbidden tear-drop met
His menial's glance. But piety
Fervid in faith's illumin'd eye,
Dispers'd the mist, no longer now
Gathering on his dejected brow.

XIV.

“We had just reach'd, at morning-peep,
(Sir Richard said) “that sylvan steep;
“When from Mount-Edgcumbe in full speed
“A herald came, on smoking steed.
“And “‘haste (he cried) and thither post!
“‘For, threaten'd by a vengeful host,
“‘Mount Edgcumbe's flames, ere morrow night,
“‘May fill the traveller with affright.’”
“Thither we bent our rapid course:
“And there will a sufficient force
“Protect the mansion, ere we go
“Right-marshal'd to avert the blow.
“But where is Isabel? Where Mawd?
“Come, let us the Almighty laud;
“As soon its summons down the dell
“Shall sweetly sound the vesper-bell!
“Let us, my friends! now sinks the day,
“For our good Lady Alice pray!
“And thank ye Him our swords who sway'd,
“That we have well our queen obey'd.”

XV.

Sir Richard said. But no one spoke,
Till desperate anguish silence broke.
“O! she is drown'd!—Miss Isabel!”
Cried Jesse, with a piercing yell.
“Her love is gone! She sought the deep—
“She lost her love—and is asleep.”
“See—see, Sir Knight! the flashing tide—
“Come, and I'll shew you where she died!”

XVI.

Frenzied her air, her strain was wild;
It wander'd haply, far from truth:
Yet the good Knight, suspecting ruth,
Clasp'd his hands, crying: “O my child!”
But when reflexion's clouded gleam
Had brighten'd, as a clear sunbeam,
Sure of his daughter's steady mind,
Which all the woes of earth, combin'd,
Could not (and well he thought) derange;
Sir Richard flung
On Jesse a reproachful look
Mixt with a half contemptuous air,
(If ought like scorn that brow could wear)
And to fond hope's suggestion clung!
How transient!—With emotions strange
With mingled doubt distrust and fear,
He saw, where all around him shook,
And, dreading some dire image near,
Where Jesse pointed, pass'd.
And follow'd, breathless and aghast,
(To shew what Jesse told was true,
And to perplex detection's clue)
Mawd, arm in arm with Jacqueline!
So guilt and terror intertwine!

XVII.

“There, there (exclaim'd the Prioress)
“Sir Richard! see my poor girl's dress
“Flaunting adown the cliff, and torn
“Amidst the prickly briar and thorn
“That veil—and to the pale moon's gleam
“Those ribbons twinkling in the stream!
“Oft have I dream'd 'twould come to this—
“Her cave so nigh the precipice!”

XVIII.

There was a sort of soothing ray
Fleeted o'er good Sir Richard's breast:
Whence it arose, he could not say,
Yet felt a momentary rest.
If it be true, that buoy'd on air
Minist'ring angels whisper oft
Placid peace—assurance soft,
Tho' hope expire, and joy no more
Can any human aid restore,
To save the righteous from despair;
Haply some angel-visitant
Was to Sir Richard sent—
His earthly comfort was but scant!

XIX.

As on the cliff's o'er-hanging brow,
Or in a vain pursuit below,
From dread or doubt or bitter woe
With all 'twas restless agony:—
Still was now the fine serene
Of darkling eve's untroubled scene;
The glimmering bank; the Tamar-wave
That a breeze scarcely stirr'd to heave;
And more and more the spangled glow
Of the cerulean sky!

XX.

Its rocks as into Heaven to lift
On either side where rose the clift,
Its outline, how immense! How deep
The grandeur of its shadowy sweep!
Ribb'd as with iron, smooth as glass,
Or icicled as with eve-drops,
Or from each crevice rough with copse,
Or fractur'd into chasms and caves,
Tufted with privet, shagg'd with pine,
Pinnacled its top, its base
Fretted where slumber now the waves:—
Each polish, and each curving line,
The craggs, the colours dark and light,
Were mingled in one umber'd mass
Beyond the reach of sight!—
Save where the stream at distance broke
Like molten silver thro' the gloom;
Or, a broad cataract, down the rock
Whirl'd its majestic foam:
Or, tinted in the lunar ray,
Sprinkled soft its misty spray.

XXI.

And now the Tamar, deep in shade,
Or quivering far in brightness, stray'd,
The Knight a ripling murmur hears,
Now a dashing sound more nigh;
When, gliding sudden on the eye,
A fisher's boat appears.
Rests on its oars the bark below—
Two shadowy figures on the prow.
Their silvery vests of softer white
Floated in the pale moonlight!
They were as spirits on airy clouds
And other beings fill'd the bark—
Their forms in indistinctness dark
Seem'd wrapt in funeral shrouds.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

Forms, such as angels haply are,
And sounds, as if from Heaven's own choir,
The richest treasure of the lyre,
Were, to frenzy and despair,
Like guilty beings that had burst
The cearments of the sepulchres—
Were like the howlings of the accurst
To the murderer's restless ears.

XXVI.

“I know you well—I know you well!”
Cried Mawd with a dire maniac yell—
“They beckon, beckon me to hell!”
“I did it! I did it!”—the Prioress cried,
And seizing her quick, with a mad clasp embrac'd,
And in serpent folds twisted, close, close round her waist,
With Mawd in her arms from the precipice sprang!
To the wild leap the hollow rocks rang!
O'er their bodies the water-spray flash'd;
And their teeth they in agony gnash'd,
As they sank in the foam of the tide.

Conclusion to Canto fifth.