The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird Fifth Edition: With a Memoir by the Rev. Jardine Wallace |
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THE CHRISTIAN BRIDE. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird |  |
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THE CHRISTIAN BRIDE.
PART FIRST.
Young Torthil sits below the woody steeps
Of Apennine, beneath a spreading oak.
His downcast eye a stern abstraction keeps;
Dawn not for him with purple stains has broke,
Nor sunshine filled the world: the captive's yoke
Is on his heart—bright things are not for him.
The cloudy day, the high-winged tempest's shock
Would more delight him, with unbounded limb
Swift o'er far Morven's hills, throughout her forests dim.
Of Apennine, beneath a spreading oak.
His downcast eye a stern abstraction keeps;
Dawn not for him with purple stains has broke,
Nor sunshine filled the world: the captive's yoke
Is on his heart—bright things are not for him.
The cloudy day, the high-winged tempest's shock
Would more delight him, with unbounded limb
Swift o'er far Morven's hills, throughout her forests dim.
Who knows not Torthil from Ausonia's bound
Of Alps Helvetian to her southern heel?
Now homeward musing o'er the vast profound,
The fisher sees him by the ocean kneel;
Now o'er the mountains with impetuous zeal
He strikes the tusky monster with his spear;
The chamois leaps, the bird in airy wheel
Screams to his piercing arrow: far and near,
Scorning a life in Rome, he takes the wild severe.
Of Alps Helvetian to her southern heel?
Now homeward musing o'er the vast profound,
The fisher sees him by the ocean kneel;
Now o'er the mountains with impetuous zeal
He strikes the tusky monster with his spear;
The chamois leaps, the bird in airy wheel
Screams to his piercing arrow: far and near,
Scorning a life in Rome, he takes the wild severe.
There Torthil sits. Up looking now he sees
A damsel reading, shaded from the heat,
Beautiful, walking in the myrtle-trees
On yonder bank, forth now in sunlight sweet,
Now glimmering back into the shy retreat
Of twilight green. But hark! adown the vale
A tumult comes, the wild boar gallops fleet,
Two dogs close track him grinning to assail.
Far echoes tell the pack are on some other trail.
A damsel reading, shaded from the heat,
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On yonder bank, forth now in sunlight sweet,
Now glimmering back into the shy retreat
Of twilight green. But hark! adown the vale
A tumult comes, the wild boar gallops fleet,
Two dogs close track him grinning to assail.
Far echoes tell the pack are on some other trail.
Fled has the damsel. Torthil's o'er the brook.
Behind she hears the panting brute advance,
Nearer, and nearer still; she turns to look—
O terror! joy! her eye's bewildered trance
Hangs crowded thick with death and life at once:
The monster's sidelong, half-upturning head
Is gnarled to strike, his bared tusks backward glance
To gather fury for his onset dread,
To tear her tender limb—bold Torthil's lance has sped.
Behind she hears the panting brute advance,
Nearer, and nearer still; she turns to look—
O terror! joy! her eye's bewildered trance
Hangs crowded thick with death and life at once:
The monster's sidelong, half-upturning head
Is gnarled to strike, his bared tusks backward glance
To gather fury for his onset dread,
To tear her tender limb—bold Torthil's lance has sped.
But ah! he stumbles from his forceful blow;
The beast transfixed, disdaining yet to fly,
Has bowed his levelled head, and, ploughing low
As if to pass his rising enemy,
With tearing side-stroke rips his spouting thigh;
Then forward staggers, darkly crushed to fall;
But bites his fiery wound ere he will die,
Snaps with his teeth that shaft of deadly gall,
And grinds with foam and blood the sputtered splinters small.
The beast transfixed, disdaining yet to fly,
Has bowed his levelled head, and, ploughing low
As if to pass his rising enemy,
With tearing side-stroke rips his spouting thigh;
Then forward staggers, darkly crushed to fall;
But bites his fiery wound ere he will die,
Snaps with his teeth that shaft of deadly gall,
And grinds with foam and blood the sputtered splinters small.
Turned to the rescued maid, along the brow
Of Torthil lightens a heroic smile;
Till, o'er his drained benumbed limb forced to bow,
To earth succumbs he, gazing yet the while
On her whose presence can his pains beguile.
But she for him her silken vesture tears,
Binds his stanched wound with pity's gentlest wile;
Cold sprinklings then from out the stream she bears,
Refreshes his sick face, his fainting strength repairs.
Of Torthil lightens a heroic smile;
Till, o'er his drained benumbed limb forced to bow,
To earth succumbs he, gazing yet the while
On her whose presence can his pains beguile.
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Binds his stanched wound with pity's gentlest wile;
Cold sprinklings then from out the stream she bears,
Refreshes his sick face, his fainting strength repairs.
“And spare,” he said, “for me those wistful fears.
Wonder divine! thee in a dream of yore
Twice did I see—mine own! Not years, long years,
Could make me know, could make me love thee more.
My heart's last blood I'd give thee o'er and o'er!
I would but have thee know me should I die:
Afar I come from Caledonia's shore,
Torthil my name, a chieftain there was I;
A captive next—nay, sent thy safety thus to buy.
Wonder divine! thee in a dream of yore
Twice did I see—mine own! Not years, long years,
Could make me know, could make me love thee more.
My heart's last blood I'd give thee o'er and o'er!
I would but have thee know me should I die:
Afar I come from Caledonia's shore,
Torthil my name, a chieftain there was I;
A captive next—nay, sent thy safety thus to buy.
“I am a savage; but in thy sweet sight
To live, would make me gentle soon, and wise.
Would thou couldst love me!” With impassioned might
He strove, nor vainly, from the ground to rise.
The light was thickened in his heavy eyes;
He fell, yet falling kissed her dear young feet.
Alone the fainting Caledonian lies,
The maid in haste has sought the wood's retreat;
But soon she reappears with new assistance meet.
To live, would make me gentle soon, and wise.
Would thou couldst love me!” With impassioned might
He strove, nor vainly, from the ground to rise.
The light was thickened in his heavy eyes;
He fell, yet falling kissed her dear young feet.
Alone the fainting Caledonian lies,
The maid in haste has sought the wood's retreat;
But soon she reappears with new assistance meet.
A reverend father and a female old
Come to her guidance, and the youth upraise;
His drooping head the virgin's hands uphold:
Borne o'er the rivulet, through the woodland maze,
Where many a path the uncertain foot betrays,
A cave withdrawn into the mountain's side,
Received them from the forest's puzzling ways.
There Father Hippo healing bands supplied;
And there, till he wax well, young Torthil shall abide.
Come to her guidance, and the youth upraise;
His drooping head the virgin's hands uphold:
Borne o'er the rivulet, through the woodland maze,
Where many a path the uncertain foot betrays,
A cave withdrawn into the mountain's side,
Received them from the forest's puzzling ways.
There Father Hippo healing bands supplied;
And there, till he wax well, young Torthil shall abide.
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But oft Roscrana came, that Princess good,
Niece of Zenobia, Tadmor's famous Queen,
Who, since Aurelian had her throne subdued,
With honour placed in Italy had been.
A huntress, she her summer dwelling green
Chose near the central mountains of the land.
Fair daughters round her graced the sylvan scene;
But she, and they, a haughty sister-band,
Roscrana's meekness scorned, and ruled her with high hand.
Niece of Zenobia, Tadmor's famous Queen,
Who, since Aurelian had her throne subdued,
With honour placed in Italy had been.
A huntress, she her summer dwelling green
Chose near the central mountains of the land.
Fair daughters round her graced the sylvan scene;
But she, and they, a haughty sister-band,
Roscrana's meekness scorned, and ruled her with high hand.
Yet more divided from her kindred blood,
Roscrana's heart confessed our holy faith;
Nursed by a Christian Jewess, and imbued
With early love for Him of Nazareth,
She to His Cross will cling unto the death.
The sovereign knowledge fain would she declare
To her proud kin, but still they shunned her path;
Then sought she solace in the woods, and there
She found the cave proscribed of that old Christian pair.
Roscrana's heart confessed our holy faith;
Nursed by a Christian Jewess, and imbued
With early love for Him of Nazareth,
She to His Cross will cling unto the death.
The sovereign knowledge fain would she declare
To her proud kin, but still they shunned her path;
Then sought she solace in the woods, and there
She found the cave proscribed of that old Christian pair.
They o'er the Syrian orphan, as their child,
Rejoiced, that dear faith mutually confessed.
More than a daughter, she their fears beguiled,
She brought them food, she watched their aged rest,
Fit garments wrought by her their bodies dressed.
For this, the scrolls of the Eternal Word
Given by those saints, she hid beneath her vest,
Till to the night, to shady walks restored,
She drew them forth and read of her incarnate Lord.
Rejoiced, that dear faith mutually confessed.
More than a daughter, she their fears beguiled,
She brought them food, she watched their aged rest,
Fit garments wrought by her their bodies dressed.
For this, the scrolls of the Eternal Word
Given by those saints, she hid beneath her vest,
Till to the night, to shady walks restored,
She drew them forth and read of her incarnate Lord.
Within the cavern of those Christians laid,
With plants of healing gathered from the hill,
Was Torthil cured by that Palmyran maid,
Oh more to love her for her gentle skill.
And soon he blessed those days of wounded ill,
For aye young pity trembles into love;
Lord of her heart is he and virgin will.
And aye to him of Jesus from above
She reads, or in the cave, or walking through the grove.
With plants of healing gathered from the hill,
Was Torthil cured by that Palmyran maid,
Oh more to love her for her gentle skill.
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For aye young pity trembles into love;
Lord of her heart is he and virgin will.
And aye to him of Jesus from above
She reads, or in the cave, or walking through the grove.
Sequestered they in love's unworldly dream,
In haunts of beauty lose the lapsing hours.
Forth by the lake, down by the living stream,
They dip their footsteps in the dewy flowers.
The glad birds twinkle from their morning bowers.
Noon's sultry silence on the forest broods.
Eve flushes soft: clear glance the sunny showers:
The mountains smile with all their hanging woods:
Lustre in all the vales, lustre on all the floods!
In haunts of beauty lose the lapsing hours.
Forth by the lake, down by the living stream,
They dip their footsteps in the dewy flowers.
The glad birds twinkle from their morning bowers.
Noon's sultry silence on the forest broods.
Eve flushes soft: clear glance the sunny showers:
The mountains smile with all their hanging woods:
Lustre in all the vales, lustre on all the floods!
The stock-dove's voice, sweet intermittent bird,
That aye the shadow of the hawk's wing fears,
Crushed in the depth of leaves, and faintly heard,
Moaning of love, the twilight hour endears
To the young lovers. Lo! the Moon appears;
Beauty and Peace lead on the silver Queen;
The forests, brightening silently, she clears;
She walks the mountains; o'er the polished sheen
Of dimpling rivers far her sliding feet are seen.
That aye the shadow of the hawk's wing fears,
Crushed in the depth of leaves, and faintly heard,
Moaning of love, the twilight hour endears
To the young lovers. Lo! the Moon appears;
Beauty and Peace lead on the silver Queen;
The forests, brightening silently, she clears;
She walks the mountains; o'er the polished sheen
Of dimpling rivers far her sliding feet are seen.
Another eve: turned to the lord of day,
“So sinks,” said Torthil, “the immortal flame.
I too go down: back takes he on his way
His retrospect; if I should do the same,
Pride overthrown, youth crushed, the baffled aim,
Defeat, and exile from my native shore,
Are my memorials—felt by me, for shame
Was never in my father's house; yet sore
Though be my pangs for these, my country plagues me more.
“So sinks,” said Torthil, “the immortal flame.
I too go down: back takes he on his way
His retrospect; if I should do the same,
Pride overthrown, youth crushed, the baffled aim,
Defeat, and exile from my native shore,
Are my memorials—felt by me, for shame
Was never in my father's house; yet sore
Though be my pangs for these, my country plagues me more.
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“For me her youth into the battle's waste
She poured, she perished at my sole command.
Was this not much? Am I not all disgraced?
The exulting rivers of my native land,
These are not they—a captive here I stand.
Why fell I not? Yea, farther hear my shame:—
Lady, I chose to stoop beneath their band
Which binds me by the honour of my name,
Since slain not here in Rome, my freedom ne'er to claim,
She poured, she perished at my sole command.
Was this not much? Am I not all disgraced?
The exulting rivers of my native land,
These are not they—a captive here I stand.
Why fell I not? Yea, farther hear my shame:—
Lady, I chose to stoop beneath their band
Which binds me by the honour of my name,
Since slain not here in Rome, my freedom ne'er to claim,
“Ne'er to attempt return. Oh, I might say,
My very wish that shame to uncreate
Forbade my death, throughout the slavish day
Of circumstances bade me tamely wait
Some better morn of fortune or of fate.
What then? Unbounded blame is still my due
For you betrothed to my forlorn estate.
'Tis time to question thus myself for you,—
What hope contrive, sweet maid, what plan shall I pursue?
My very wish that shame to uncreate
Forbade my death, throughout the slavish day
Of circumstances bade me tamely wait
Some better morn of fortune or of fate.
What then? Unbounded blame is still my due
For you betrothed to my forlorn estate.
'Tis time to question thus myself for you,—
What hope contrive, sweet maid, what plan shall I pursue?
“This I might do—Oh, I no more can live
For thee to see me in my slavery!—
Yes, I will do it—I will go—will give
My life again from vows to be set free;
They gall me so! His slave I will not be;
I'll go, I'll brave him on his Roman throne.
Ha! first I'll promise to mine enemy
Long years of service in his battles done;
For thee with power fulfilled, he'll let me then be gone.
For thee to see me in my slavery!—
Yes, I will do it—I will go—will give
My life again from vows to be set free;
They gall me so! His slave I will not be;
I'll go, I'll brave him on his Roman throne.
Ha! first I'll promise to mine enemy
Long years of service in his battles done;
For thee with power fulfilled, he'll let me then be gone.
“Then home with me to Morven shalt thou go,
And be a daughter to my mother there.
There forth I'll lead thee by the hand, and show
The green translucent brine, when mermaids rare
Chant on the rocks and comb their slippery hair;
The bliss of morn, clear wells, and forests green;
The pure suffusion of the evening air,
When dipped in delicate lights far hills are seen.
Bards with their stately songs shall close our day serene.
And be a daughter to my mother there.
There forth I'll lead thee by the hand, and show
The green translucent brine, when mermaids rare
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The bliss of morn, clear wells, and forests green;
The pure suffusion of the evening air,
When dipped in delicate lights far hills are seen.
Bards with their stately songs shall close our day serene.
“Ha! idle visions these! Why am I here?
Sweet Lady, come with me unto our cave;
Then home I'll guide thee. Ere next noon appear,
Aurelian hears me; wise, and just, and brave,
He'll grant the death of freedom that I crave.
Oh, not in vain last night in dreams did come
To me my mother, pale as from the grave;
Yet smiled the vested image from her home
O'er the wan waters far, over the travelled foam.”
Sweet Lady, come with me unto our cave;
Then home I'll guide thee. Ere next noon appear,
Aurelian hears me; wise, and just, and brave,
He'll grant the death of freedom that I crave.
Oh, not in vain last night in dreams did come
To me my mother, pale as from the grave;
Yet smiled the vested image from her home
O'er the wan waters far, over the travelled foam.”
Within the cave they wait the evening star.
But came Zenobia, beautifully keen;
Behind her thronging entered men of war;
A Jewish dwarf, misshapen, ugly, lean,
Who long her servant in the East had been,
Led on the party: he, of Christ the foe,
Had learned Roscrana's faith, had brought his Queen
Her doubtful haunt, her friends proscribed to know.
O'erpowered now must they all before Aurelian go.
But came Zenobia, beautifully keen;
Behind her thronging entered men of war;
A Jewish dwarf, misshapen, ugly, lean,
Who long her servant in the East had been,
Led on the party: he, of Christ the foe,
Had learned Roscrana's faith, had brought his Queen
Her doubtful haunt, her friends proscribed to know.
O'erpowered now must they all before Aurelian go.
Yea, worse than vain was Torthil's manly haste
His name to tell, his passion to declare;
Vain priestly Hippo's act, before them placed,
To wed Roscrana to her Torthil there.
Joy then be with them, a divided pair!
The Imperial lady with a deadly smile
Swore (for the Cæsar ne'er denies her prayer)
Dark dungeon chains shall Torthil have the while,
Roscrana banished be to some far foreign isle.
His name to tell, his passion to declare;
Vain priestly Hippo's act, before them placed,
To wed Roscrana to her Torthil there.
Joy then be with them, a divided pair!
The Imperial lady with a deadly smile
Swore (for the Cæsar ne'er denies her prayer)
Dark dungeon chains shall Torthil have the while,
Roscrana banished be to some far foreign isle.
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Aurelian ratified the stern decree;
But yielded this to Torthil young and brave,—
That his dear wife, since banished she must be,
Should go to Morven o'er the western wave,
To soothe his mother drooping to the grave;
A widow she, and he far from her ta'en,
Her only son, to be a captive slave.
But Hippo and his wife their freedom gain,
To enhance Zenobia's wrath against that youthful twain.
But yielded this to Torthil young and brave,—
That his dear wife, since banished she must be,
Should go to Morven o'er the western wave,
To soothe his mother drooping to the grave;
A widow she, and he far from her ta'en,
Her only son, to be a captive slave.
But Hippo and his wife their freedom gain,
To enhance Zenobia's wrath against that youthful twain.
PART SECOND.
In Morven's woody land, Roscrana kissed
Her Torthil's mother at her tale amazed;
Then lowly bowed the virgin to be blest:
“My far-come daughter!” Cathla said, and raised,
And still with wonder on the lady gazed,
“If thou indeed art Torthil's chosen bride;
Yea, well that forehead's beauty undebased
Beseems the scion of a Prince's side:
Worthy art thou to be my Torthil's spouse of pride.
Her Torthil's mother at her tale amazed;
Then lowly bowed the virgin to be blest:
“My far-come daughter!” Cathla said, and raised,
And still with wonder on the lady gazed,
“If thou indeed art Torthil's chosen bride;
Yea, well that forehead's beauty undebased
Beseems the scion of a Prince's side:
Worthy art thou to be my Torthil's spouse of pride.
“Thou from the dowried kingdoms of the East,
To lands of poor but of heroic men
Art come; yet court nor oriental feast
Will make thy sweet soul scorn our humblest den.
But when great wars befall, my daughter then
Shall bless the safety that wild Morven yields;
Then shall her sons, from mountain and from glen,
Hang round about thee with their sounding shields:
They for young Torthil's bride would fight a hundred fields.”
To lands of poor but of heroic men
Art come; yet court nor oriental feast
Will make thy sweet soul scorn our humblest den.
But when great wars befall, my daughter then
Shall bless the safety that wild Morven yields;
Then shall her sons, from mountain and from glen,
Hang round about thee with their sounding shields:
They for young Torthil's bride would fight a hundred fields.”
Forth came the day-spring: forth with Cathla walked
In sleepless love Roscrana from her door.
Before the gate a grizzly giant stalked,
A rough dog gambolled on the grassy floor.
Near stepped the former, this his play gave o'er.
“Behold thy keepers,” Cathla said, and smiled:
“Here Rumal, Torthil's hound, feared of the boar;
There silent Erc, who knows each mountain wild:
Where'er inclined to roam, they'll guard my Syrian child.
In sleepless love Roscrana from her door.
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A rough dog gambolled on the grassy floor.
Near stepped the former, this his play gave o'er.
“Behold thy keepers,” Cathla said, and smiled:
“Here Rumal, Torthil's hound, feared of the boar;
There silent Erc, who knows each mountain wild:
Where'er inclined to roam, they'll guard my Syrian child.
“One daughter Erc, young Oina-Morul, had,
The white-armed gladdener of his heart and eyes;
She crossed a bridging tree, the torrent mad
Devoured her beauty, stumbling from surprise.
My Torthil sees her, down the bank he flies,
Dash through the whirls he rides the roaring wave,
Green boiling gulf and dull black pool he tries;
Ah! to his sight a filmy whiteness gave
The virgin, only won to a more honoured grave.
The white-armed gladdener of his heart and eyes;
She crossed a bridging tree, the torrent mad
Devoured her beauty, stumbling from surprise.
My Torthil sees her, down the bank he flies,
Dash through the whirls he rides the roaring wave,
Green boiling gulf and dull black pool he tries;
Ah! to his sight a filmy whiteness gave
The virgin, only won to a more honoured grave.
“Erc loved my boy, he fought for him, he fell;
Healed by my care, his life from death was won
To be my dragon and to guard me well:
For you how gladly shall the same be done!
Far to the peaks of mountains does he run,
O'er lake below, o'er river, wood, and plain,
He casts his eagle eye to ken my son;
He hies to the wild margin of the main,
To look for the white ships—for Torthil back again.”
Healed by my care, his life from death was won
To be my dragon and to guard me well:
For you how gladly shall the same be done!
Far to the peaks of mountains does he run,
O'er lake below, o'er river, wood, and plain,
He casts his eagle eye to ken my son;
He hies to the wild margin of the main,
To look for the white ships—for Torthil back again.”
On mountain-tops when morning lights appear,
When silent dewdrops through the eve distil,
Or by the rising moon, or Hesper clear,
Or when the gusts of gloomier twilight fill
Old creaking thorn upon the stony hill,
Erc, brave and modest, was Roscrana's guide,
The shaggy Rumal was beside him still;
With them the Princess every fear defied,
As over Morven's land she loved to wander wide.
When silent dewdrops through the eve distil,
Or by the rising moon, or Hesper clear,
Or when the gusts of gloomier twilight fill
Old creaking thorn upon the stony hill,
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The shaggy Rumal was beside him still;
With them the Princess every fear defied,
As over Morven's land she loved to wander wide.
The great north-winds that on the pine-woods blow,
And heave the ocean's elemental floor,
Toss her dark locks that through them boldly go,
Sublime her spirit with their stormy roar.
Heroic land! she loved thee more and more,
Fair, but still roughening to her young surprise;
On heaths she met, and on the awful shore,
Majestic men who looked unto the skies,
For never slavery bowed their unpolluted eyes.
And heave the ocean's elemental floor,
Toss her dark locks that through them boldly go,
Sublime her spirit with their stormy roar.
Heroic land! she loved thee more and more,
Fair, but still roughening to her young surprise;
On heaths she met, and on the awful shore,
Majestic men who looked unto the skies,
For never slavery bowed their unpolluted eyes.
And Cathla told her of her father-land,
The deeds of Fingal, his illustrious race,
The songs of Ossian, the bards' priestly band,
The ghosts of heroes, and their dwelling-place:
They oft, when laid within the desert's space
Their sons have slept beneath the moon's wan beams
By the gray Stone of Power, before them trace
Events to come, vouchsafing them in dreams
Prefiguring gestures stern, soft monitory gleams.
The deeds of Fingal, his illustrious race,
The songs of Ossian, the bards' priestly band,
The ghosts of heroes, and their dwelling-place:
They oft, when laid within the desert's space
Their sons have slept beneath the moon's wan beams
By the gray Stone of Power, before them trace
Events to come, vouchsafing them in dreams
Prefiguring gestures stern, soft monitory gleams.
But sad are they that want the funeral-song;
Their spirits mount not to the airy hall
Of eddying winds, for ever rolled along
By weedy lakes within their misty pall.
Of signs she told, of showers of blood that fall
To gifted eyes, the Druid's shuddering grove,
The twangs of death that in the harp-strings call,
The attendant Genii on the maids they love;
And of the Culdees told in many a rocky cove.
Their spirits mount not to the airy hall
Of eddying winds, for ever rolled along
By weedy lakes within their misty pall.
Of signs she told, of showers of blood that fall
To gifted eyes, the Druid's shuddering grove,
The twangs of death that in the harp-strings call,
The attendant Genii on the maids they love;
And of the Culdees told in many a rocky cove.
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And much she loved to hear Roscrana tell
Of all the wonders of the early East.
But who are they that in those caverns dwell?
Each hoary Culdee is a Christian priest.
Roscrana knew them, nor the Princess ceased
Till, more than eloquent, till, saintly bold,
Of Christ, and of her love for Him increased
In this her exile—nay, her home—she told;
Till Cathla wept glad tears, won to The Living Fold.
Of all the wonders of the early East.
But who are they that in those caverns dwell?
Each hoary Culdee is a Christian priest.
Roscrana knew them, nor the Princess ceased
Till, more than eloquent, till, saintly bold,
Of Christ, and of her love for Him increased
In this her exile—nay, her home—she told;
Till Cathla wept glad tears, won to The Living Fold.
“Awake, my Christian child!”—by this sweet name
Cathla now named her, as for Torthil's sake
She ever sleepless, when the morning came,
Longed for Roscrana—“My true daughter, wake!
Forth let us go and walk by bower and brake.
Alas! in tears those eyes of beauty swim:
Thee far from me thy nightly visions take,
Far to thy buried mother, far to him
Thy princely sire who sleeps in Tadmor's aisles so dim.
Cathla now named her, as for Torthil's sake
She ever sleepless, when the morning came,
Longed for Roscrana—“My true daughter, wake!
Forth let us go and walk by bower and brake.
Alas! in tears those eyes of beauty swim:
Thee far from me thy nightly visions take,
Far to thy buried mother, far to him
Thy princely sire who sleeps in Tadmor's aisles so dim.
“Or when thy spirit, winged with ghostly dreams,
Flies through the pale dominions of the night,
Thou meet'st thy Torthil by the midnight gleams.
Thou wak'st, and I alone am in thy sight.
Oft wilt thou sigh when comes the morrow bright;
Long wilt thou look unto the East by day
(There were the kingdoms of thy young delight),
Weeping to feel thyself too far away,
Doomed with thy father's dust not even thy dust to lay.
Flies through the pale dominions of the night,
Thou meet'st thy Torthil by the midnight gleams.
Thou wak'st, and I alone am in thy sight.
Oft wilt thou sigh when comes the morrow bright;
Long wilt thou look unto the East by day
(There were the kingdoms of thy young delight),
Weeping to feel thyself too far away,
Doomed with thy father's dust not even thy dust to lay.
“Weep not, my child! True daughter unto me!
Marvellous blessing to my end of days!
Christ send our Torthil home to us that he
May learn the truth, may learn the Eternal ways!
Then, if redeemed, shall we not be thy praise,
Immortal creature! who hast given us up
To dwell with God, His glory to upraise?
Perish the Druid's fable! the true cup
Of life alone is theirs who with the Lamb shall sup.”
Marvellous blessing to my end of days!
Christ send our Torthil home to us that he
May learn the truth, may learn the Eternal ways!
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Immortal creature! who hast given us up
To dwell with God, His glory to upraise?
Perish the Druid's fable! the true cup
Of life alone is theirs who with the Lamb shall sup.”
And aye with Cathla forth that daughter went,
Grief-silent Erc and Rumal still behind;
Their steps they to the blameless people bent,
Dwelling upon the mountains unconfined,
With peace the broken spirit to upbind,
Want from the poor and sickness to repel.
So meek their Torthil's wife, so sweetly kind,
Gray fathers bade their daughters thus excel,
The mothers called her good, the maidens loved her well.
Grief-silent Erc and Rumal still behind;
Their steps they to the blameless people bent,
Dwelling upon the mountains unconfined,
With peace the broken spirit to upbind,
Want from the poor and sickness to repel.
So meek their Torthil's wife, so sweetly kind,
Gray fathers bade their daughters thus excel,
The mothers called her good, the maidens loved her well.
Too much by Swarno loved, impure of heart,
Her Torthil's foe, he tempted her with sighs;
But true her faith, and vain the chieftain's art,
He with his friend in every enterprise,
The red Gurthullin, did a plot devise:—
Near grows a struggle with the Roman foe
(Succumb shall Morven, or shall greater rise),
The battle o'er, abroad while stragglers go,
They'll watch, they'll bear her off, and none their guilt shall know.
Her Torthil's foe, he tempted her with sighs;
But true her faith, and vain the chieftain's art,
He with his friend in every enterprise,
The red Gurthullin, did a plot devise:—
Near grows a struggle with the Roman foe
(Succumb shall Morven, or shall greater rise),
The battle o'er, abroad while stragglers go,
They'll watch, they'll bear her off, and none their guilt shall know.
Yea, chastely modest, boldly innocent,
Ne'er has she hinted Swarno's love impure;
Hence ne'er her friends shall guess the way she went:—
“But ha! old dragon Erc must we secure;
Chained must he be, our scheme were else unsure:
Thus be it done,—upon the battle-eve
Him to our nearest fortalice we'll lure;
Rumal his dog we'll slay, and him we'll leave
There fettered till we teach the damsel not to grieve.”
Ne'er has she hinted Swarno's love impure;
Hence ne'er her friends shall guess the way she went:—
“But ha! old dragon Erc must we secure;
Chained must he be, our scheme were else unsure:
Thus be it done,—upon the battle-eve
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Rumal his dog we'll slay, and him we'll leave
There fettered till we teach the damsel not to grieve.”
PART THIRD.
Forth Cathla went, Roscrana by her side.
But now they heard—the air was all so still—
Trumpet and horn beyond the mountains wide.
The shouts of battle, as they climb the hill,
With hope and fear their panting bosoms fill.
Yon valley now! Their eyes how eager bent!
O day of safety, or of endless ill!
There toils the war of peoples fiercely pent,
O'erstifled, staggering, swayed, with rifts of havoc rent.
But now they heard—the air was all so still—
Trumpet and horn beyond the mountains wide.
The shouts of battle, as they climb the hill,
With hope and fear their panting bosoms fill.
Yon valley now! Their eyes how eager bent!
O day of safety, or of endless ill!
There toils the war of peoples fiercely pent,
O'erstifled, staggering, swayed, with rifts of havoc rent.
The numerous weight of her Imperial foes
O'erbears at length and crushes Morven back,
Eastward away her fainting battle goes;
Their closer forms the o'ermastered horse unslack,
They flee, the skirting mountains wide they track;
The abandoned chariots with unmanaged steeds
Roll mad about, and tear the harrowed rack
Of infantry that to the sheer scythe bleeds,
Wrapping the cloyed wheels round with torn limbs as with weeds.
O'erbears at length and crushes Morven back,
Eastward away her fainting battle goes;
Their closer forms the o'ermastered horse unslack,
They flee, the skirting mountains wide they track;
The abandoned chariots with unmanaged steeds
Roll mad about, and tear the harrowed rack
Of infantry that to the sheer scythe bleeds,
Wrapping the cloyed wheels round with torn limbs as with weeds.
But lo yon Champion! on he brings anew
The mountain men. The Romans unsustained
Are whelmed in turn. How terrible and true,
The bloody push of Morven is maintained!
Back-rattling chariots have the flight disdained;
They roll around the outskirts of the fight,
Which onward struggles through the field regained.
But o'er them falls the thunder-cloud, like night,
Down on the battle falls, and hides it from the sight.
The mountain men. The Romans unsustained
Are whelmed in turn. How terrible and true,
The bloody push of Morven is maintained!
Back-rattling chariots have the flight disdained;
They roll around the outskirts of the fight,
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But o'er them falls the thunder-cloud, like night,
Down on the battle falls, and hides it from the sight.
“Lean on me, mother, to the Culdee's rock,”
Roscrana said, “not distant by the wave,
For friendly shelter from the stormy shock.
By moon, or dawn-light, issuing from his cave,
Our noble wounded let us help to save.
Would Erc were here thee in his arms to bear!
Why has he left us thus? Not he, though brave,
Rolled back the battle: No: that Champion's air
None but a Prince could show: be sure a Prince was there.”
Roscrana said, “not distant by the wave,
For friendly shelter from the stormy shock.
By moon, or dawn-light, issuing from his cave,
Our noble wounded let us help to save.
Would Erc were here thee in his arms to bear!
Why has he left us thus? Not he, though brave,
Rolled back the battle: No: that Champion's air
None but a Prince could show: be sure a Prince was there.”
They reached the cell. O'erwearied with the day,
Within an inner cavern Cathla slept.
Before the embers as reclined he lay,
The bliss of slumber o'er the Culdee crept.
Alone her vigil young Roscrana kept;
That Champion still in her recurring thought,
She generous tears of admiration wept.
But now the storm was lulled or heard remote;
Forth by the crescent moon the freshening air she sought.
Within an inner cavern Cathla slept.
Before the embers as reclined he lay,
The bliss of slumber o'er the Culdee crept.
Alone her vigil young Roscrana kept;
That Champion still in her recurring thought,
She generous tears of admiration wept.
But now the storm was lulled or heard remote;
Forth by the crescent moon the freshening air she sought.
Rough men have seized her: through the forest's skirt
They bear her off. Casting red light before,
What tumult comes? Forth bursts, with shapes begirt,
A stately savage on the woody floor:
'Tis Erc! aloft his pinioned arms he bore,
Unheld to keep them from that galling throng;
Blazed his wild hair; his bleeding loins were sore
With hanging dogs, deep dragged by him along;
Torch-bearing serfs behind strike at the giant strong.
They bear her off. Casting red light before,
What tumult comes? Forth bursts, with shapes begirt,
A stately savage on the woody floor:
'Tis Erc! aloft his pinioned arms he bore,
Unheld to keep them from that galling throng;
Blazed his wild hair; his bleeding loins were sore
With hanging dogs, deep dragged by him along;
Torch-bearing serfs behind strike at the giant strong.
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Still on the encumbered warrior draws his trail
Of death and danger to the Princess near;
Her arms to him, to him her face so pale
Imploring stretched, mighty for one so dear
He turns, he sweeps obstruction from his rear;
Bounding he comes; and round Gurthullin's throat,
Who chiefly holds her, wraps his chains severe;
Then wide apart and high his wrists he shot,
And hanged the uplifted wretch, who now his prey forgot.
Of death and danger to the Princess near;
Her arms to him, to him her face so pale
Imploring stretched, mighty for one so dear
He turns, he sweeps obstruction from his rear;
Bounding he comes; and round Gurthullin's throat,
Who chiefly holds her, wraps his chains severe;
Then wide apart and high his wrists he shot,
And hanged the uplifted wretch, who now his prey forgot.
With starting eyeballs, and self-bitten tongue,
Erc to the ground has dashed the caitiff base.
He snatched the maid; as to his neck she clung,
A smile of daring lit his fire-scarred face.
With her he waded through the thickening chase,
Still dashing off the war that on him hung;
Then down he set her; in the embattled place
There as she stood, away from her he flung
Her circling foes, around so lion-like he sprung.
Erc to the ground has dashed the caitiff base.
He snatched the maid; as to his neck she clung,
A smile of daring lit his fire-scarred face.
With her he waded through the thickening chase,
Still dashing off the war that on him hung;
Then down he set her; in the embattled place
There as she stood, away from her he flung
Her circling foes, around so lion-like he sprung.
Before her now o'erwhelmed he's on his knee,
Yet fighting still; a near horn blew a blast;
Forth leapt a haughty figure, followed he
By swift retainers, round his glance he cast,
He saw Roscrana and he seized her fast.
Upsprung, with power indignantly renewed,
Old Erc, a groan from out his large heart passed
To see the maid by Swarno's grasp subdued;
Staggering he clutched the chief who bore her through the wood.
Yet fighting still; a near horn blew a blast;
Forth leapt a haughty figure, followed he
By swift retainers, round his glance he cast,
He saw Roscrana and he seized her fast.
Upsprung, with power indignantly renewed,
Old Erc, a groan from out his large heart passed
To see the maid by Swarno's grasp subdued;
Staggering he clutched the chief who bore her through the wood.
A trumpet blows behind. They turn to see
That coming party whether friends or foes.
Them has Roscrana seen—'tis he! 'tis he!
The chosen hero of that day she knows:
A valiant band around their leader close:
Salvation's near:—“Save! save me, helper true!
Prince Torthil's wife am I; this Swarno knows,
Yet here he”—“But will I not rescue you,
My own good Syrian wife?” And forth her Torthil flew.
That coming party whether friends or foes.
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The chosen hero of that day she knows:
A valiant band around their leader close:
Salvation's near:—“Save! save me, helper true!
Prince Torthil's wife am I; this Swarno knows,
Yet here he”—“But will I not rescue you,
My own good Syrian wife?” And forth her Torthil flew.
Quick with his blade away has Swarno shorn
His black curls gripped by Erc; down on the ground
He set the maid behind him; bold of scorn
And hate he met his foeman with a bound.
Steel they to steel now face each other round,
Lit by the torches; Swarno quits him well,
But Torthil's thrusts his strengh and skill confound:
That stroke shall hew him down—ha! stumbling fell
The youth, and o'er him rose fierce Swarno's sword and yell.
His black curls gripped by Erc; down on the ground
He set the maid behind him; bold of scorn
And hate he met his foeman with a bound.
Steel they to steel now face each other round,
Lit by the torches; Swarno quits him well,
But Torthil's thrusts his strengh and skill confound:
That stroke shall hew him down—ha! stumbling fell
The youth, and o'er him rose fierce Swarno's sword and yell.
Down—ne'er he smote: Erc, sunk with wounds, has crept,
And pulled him backward from his lifted blow,
Struggling to earth; then on his breast he leapt,
And choked with grappling hands the throttled foe;
Recovered Torthil guards old Erc below;
Dread dins the mingled conflict of the rest;
But Swarno slain, his men soon vanquished go.
With danger past and present joy oppressed,
Roscrana, left unhurt, faints on her husband's breast.
And pulled him backward from his lifted blow,
Struggling to earth; then on his breast he leapt,
And choked with grappling hands the throttled foe;
Recovered Torthil guards old Erc below;
Dread dins the mingled conflict of the rest;
But Swarno slain, his men soon vanquished go.
With danger past and present joy oppressed,
Roscrana, left unhurt, faints on her husband's breast.
With oaken leaves fresh dripping from the rain
Her brow he sprinkles, and she soon revives.
“Joy! joy!” she said, “my hero is not slain!
But where is Erc, the saviour of our lives?”
Near borne he comes; if dying, he derives
Solace from friends so many and so dear:
Each gallant youth to share the burden strives
Of him who trained them to the bow and spear,
They carry him like sons, the brave old man they cheer.
Her brow he sprinkles, and she soon revives.
“Joy! joy!” she said, “my hero is not slain!
But where is Erc, the saviour of our lives?”
Near borne he comes; if dying, he derives
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Each gallant youth to share the burden strives
Of him who trained them to the bow and spear,
They carry him like sons, the brave old man they cheer.
“Heroic creature! To the cave away,”
Roscrana murmured, “of the Culdee John;
There rests my Torthil's mother, since to-day
She saw the great deed of her son unknown:
Sweetly she sleeps upon the rushes strewn;
But sweeter far shall her awaking be.
My Torthil, come! Soft bear the old man on,
The hermit's rocky fastness soon we'll see;
There, ever-faithful Erc, shalt thou be healed by me.”
Roscrana murmured, “of the Culdee John;
There rests my Torthil's mother, since to-day
She saw the great deed of her son unknown:
Sweetly she sleeps upon the rushes strewn;
But sweeter far shall her awaking be.
My Torthil, come! Soft bear the old man on,
The hermit's rocky fastness soon we'll see;
There, ever-faithful Erc, shalt thou be healed by me.”
Nor in her thankful joy did she refrain,
But stooping down the old Barbarian kissed;
His heart's best fire, unquenched by fear or pain,
Sprung to his eye, dimmed now with grateful mist;
With clapping hands her love he mutely blessed.
“Now swiftly, gently on with him,” she said;
“Deeply though hurt, greatly though needing rest,
His frame's yet full of life; and watchful aid
Shall heal him soon in John's mild sanctuary laid.”
But stooping down the old Barbarian kissed;
His heart's best fire, unquenched by fear or pain,
Sprung to his eye, dimmed now with grateful mist;
With clapping hands her love he mutely blessed.
“Now swiftly, gently on with him,” she said;
“Deeply though hurt, greatly though needing rest,
His frame's yet full of life; and watchful aid
Shall heal him soon in John's mild sanctuary laid.”
“Come then, my Syrian, to our mother fast,”
Her Torthil said, “and fear for me no more:
Here am I with you all your own at last,
My limbs unfettered, and my exile o'er.
Nor I dishonoured left the Italian shore:
Aurelian slain, my friend just Tacitus
Imperial sate, and loosed my bondage sore;
Ennobling freedom has he given to us.
I came; our battle fled, and back I won it thus.
Her Torthil said, “and fear for me no more:
Here am I with you all your own at last,
My limbs unfettered, and my exile o'er.
Nor I dishonoured left the Italian shore:
Aurelian slain, my friend just Tacitus
Imperial sate, and loosed my bondage sore;
Ennobling freedom has he given to us.
I came; our battle fled, and back I won it thus.
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“A grateful vassal of that Swarno slain,
Whose only daughter was to health restored,
And taught God's Word by thee, and who again
Was taught by her the heart-renewing Word,
Heard of this plot against thee by his lord,
And helped from Swarno's dungeon Erc the brave,
Then left for aye the master he abhorred,
And sought me when the fight was o'er, and gave
Hints how to mar the plot—my own dear wife to save.
Whose only daughter was to health restored,
And taught God's Word by thee, and who again
Was taught by her the heart-renewing Word,
Heard of this plot against thee by his lord,
And helped from Swarno's dungeon Erc the brave,
Then left for aye the master he abhorred,
And sought me when the fight was o'er, and gave
Hints how to mar the plot—my own dear wife to save.
“Oh how I hasted, hasting still the more,
When I was told that serfs and dogs of blood
Were after Erc, whose flight was known before
He gained the safe recesses of the wood.
Directed well, and glorying in thy good,
Nor dogs nor serfs could stay his strong career;
Though manacled, though felly thus pursued,
He sped to trace, to reach, to save thee here.
And I have found thee too: So be thou of good cheer!
When I was told that serfs and dogs of blood
Were after Erc, whose flight was known before
He gained the safe recesses of the wood.
Directed well, and glorying in thy good,
Nor dogs nor serfs could stay his strong career;
Though manacled, though felly thus pursued,
He sped to trace, to reach, to save thee here.
And I have found thee too: So be thou of good cheer!
“Nor fear thy holy lessons have been vain:
Blest be my dungeon's leisure to retrace
Thy words of life again and yet again,
Blent in my heart with the remembered grace
Which more than beautified thy saintly face.
Thy faith exalted thus I've won and tried.”
But now they reached the Culdee's dwelling-place.
A mother's heart, a son's was satisfied.
Then turned their mingled love to Torthil's Christian Bride.
Blest be my dungeon's leisure to retrace
Thy words of life again and yet again,
Blent in my heart with the remembered grace
Which more than beautified thy saintly face.
Thy faith exalted thus I've won and tried.”
But now they reached the Culdee's dwelling-place.
A mother's heart, a son's was satisfied.
Then turned their mingled love to Torthil's Christian Bride.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird | |