University of Virginia Library

There was of old a low and moated Peel
Beleaguered, and alone in its distress,
For succour was not near. But far away
Beyond the hills there dwelt a friendly lord,
Whose aid was promised to the lonely squire;
And on a signal mutually agreed,
He was to come to his deliverance.

Then said the gallant squire unto his sons:
“We have maintained this tower until the last;
But now we starve; therefore God speed you well,
That you may light the beacon.” So the boys
Crept forth at even by a secret way,
And searching out the least frequented paths
Went swiftly. Now between them and the hill
There lay a sluggish haze that would not move,
And drunk with moisture, in the afternoon
In noisy sleep did press the windy fields.
Their journey was a wearisome ascent,
Not steep, but long; whose work was half undone
By two most dreary valleys. As they walked,
Higher and wider grew the pale horizon;
And looking whence their succour was to come,
They saw the east grow clearer and more blue.
But the last valley closed them all around;
And out of it arose a massive heap,
Sloping behind, but facing like the wall
Of some high fortress our adventurers.
Ascending this, they rested halfway up;
And gazing eastward, to their grief beheld
A red, dim haze that hid their hope of aid.
Still they ascended; and upon the top
They found a little tower of shapeless stones,
Built mortarless, and rudely circled there.
“Here we will rest,” said one, “until the night
Shall come and make our beacon visible.”
So sheltered in that roofless hut they sat,
Their backs against the wall, through which the wind
Blew keenly, and their arms about each other.
Thus did they watch the slow-declining sun.
Beyond the moor they saw the distant hills
Rise from the mist wherein some little tarns
Lay sparkling; and before their resting-place
Two dark brown pools were hollowed in the heath.
The wind increased behind, and one arose,
And wandered on the mountain, gazing round,
Standing upon the verge of that steep end
They had ascended. Looking to the north,
He saw a plain beneath him like a lake,
That hid the foot of that bold precipice,
Whose shadow stretching far had gathered in
Green farms to the estate of coming night.
Afar there rose grey mountains marked with snow,
Preserved in their cold fissures; and beyond,
Others whose details distance had effaced
Flat shapes of airy blue against the sky,
In colour and solidity like clouds.
Rock, hill, and silver stream, and gloomy wood,
And pines that blackened the pale green of fields,
Melted upon the base of distant hills.
And far above his eye as these below,
Heavily hung the leaden-coloured clouds;—
Some still, but polished by the upper winds,
As rocks are worn by never-ceasing streams;
Some like the shreds of hurricane-rent sails,
That fly at sunset o'er the heaving sea.
Lower and lower streamed the ragged mist,
Till, looking backward to the beacon-mound,
He saw it come between; and hurrying through,
Rejoined his brother in his stony seat.

Then sun and hill and shining tarn were wrapped
In one cold shroud of mist. The howling wind
Grew fiercer, and the night came slowly on.
They slept, but restlessly, and shivering drew
Closer and closer, when their half-shut eyes
Saw but the cold grey stones. At last one said,
“I think I see a star,” for the swift cloud
Was rent a moment, but it closed again,
And darkness overcame. Then he arose,
And tottering from the violence of the storm,
At last succeeded in procuring fire;
And dropped a spark of flint upon the tinder.
And next he lighted with a torch of pine
The fagots sheltered in that little tower
From the wet misty wind; and throwing thickly
Sulphur and nitre on the rising flame,
With orpiment, it waxèd tall and blue,
And overtopped the walls, where the loud wind
Caught it, and hurled afar its vivid stream.

The elder looking eastward—for his help,
Or hope of help, was there—beheld the wind
Come howling on him like a troop of ghosts,
White with its load of vapour; whereupon
His shadow stood dilated, dim, and changing.
That shade with flying cloak and levelled plume
Trod darkly on the cloud above the abyss,
Then mingled with the darkness as the fire
Died out. They left the embers black and red,
With little streams of golden lava bright,
And slowly striding to the stormy verge,
There battled with the winds that did lay siege
To that high fastness, with a mighty roar
Of voices louder than the shouts of war!
A dismal greyness was before their eyes.
Unconscious of their dizzy altitude,
They saw no plains or undulating hills,
Now trampled by white armies of the storm;
But hand in hand they crept across the edge,
And with their poles before them slowly stepped
From turf to turf down that steep precipice.
And every foot dislodged a cloud of dust
From the fine peat-earth, which the hurricane
Flung up like hail into their blinded eyes.
Thus for a weary hour they did descend,
Leaning upon the wind, until the way
Led over debris and became less steep.
And from beneath their feet the boulder stones
Rolled down into the darkness. Then they found
The rugged track by which they had ascended,
And splashing through a little mountain stream,
No more opposed by the abating wind,
Found halfway down a shepherd's narrow hut,
And rested.

It was well: for in that night
Their signal had been hidden by the mist,
The Peel burnt down, their gallant father slain;
And one old faithful servant who escaped
Awoke them in the hut with woeful news.
They hid some wretched days and then departed,
And dwelt till manhood with the friendly earl,
Through whom their ancient manors were restored.