Sir Marmaduke Maxwell, A Dramatic Poem The Maid of Galloway; The Legend of Richard Faulder; and Twenty Scottish Songs: By Allan Cunningham |
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| 2. | FITTE SECOND. |
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 | Sir Marmaduke Maxwell, A Dramatic Poem |  |
FITTE SECOND.
1.
It was a fair land, that sprung up like the blossom-Ing rose when the dew has fall'n soft on its bosom:
Of balm smell'd the woods, and of myrrh smell'd the mountains;
Of fruit smell'd the valleys, of wine smell'd the fountains;
The waves on the shore all in concert kept springing,
With the soft nightingale sitting 'mongst the boughs singing;
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Like a small bird's voice heard 'mongst the brown bees in June;
And each time the breeze in the woodlands made stir,
The ship's sails seemed steep'd in frankincense and myrrh.
Around sang the mermaids—one swam till her hair,
Like gold melting in silver, show'd wavering and rare;
One reclined on a couch all of shell-work and spars,
And warbled charm'd words to the Hesperide stars;
There one, with a shriek more of rapture than fear,
With the bright waters bubbling around her, came near,
And seeing the shallop, and forms of rude men,
Shriek'd,—clave wide the water,—and vanish'd again.
I stood at the helm, and beheld one asleep—
James Graeme, a young sailor I lost in the deep;
All lovely as lifetime, though summer suns seven,
Since his loss, his young sister to sorrow had given.
A mermaid a soft couch had made him, the tender
One sat nigh and warbled,—her voice, sweet and slender,
Pierced through the mute billows; all tear-dew'd and shaking
I gazed, and the form as I gazed seem'd to waken;
All the seamaids with song hail'd him from his long slumber,
And their songs had no end, and their tongues had no number.
The Old One leap'd up with a laugh—but there came
A bright Figure past him, he ceased,—and, in shame,
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Her loose bosom, and loud all her mermaidens wail'd.
2.
The green land of mermaidens vanish'd, and soonA fair island rose, round and bright as the moon;
Where damsels as pure as, lone Skiddaw! thy flocks,
Show'd blue eyes and bosoms from thickets and rocks;
Or lay on the sward, half reveal'd and half shielded—
(The flowers, touch'd by beauty, a richer scent yielded);
Or sat and loud love-ditties warbled, and sang
And harp'd so melodious that all the woods rang.
And there lay a fair one 'tween sleeping and waking,
The breeze her dark brow-tresses moving and shaking,
Round her temples they cluster'd all glossy and gleaming,
Or gush'd o'er her bosom-snow, curling and streaming.
I wish'd—for that sight chased remembrance away—
And the bark knew my wishes, and stood for the bay:
Less old and less ghastly my dread comrade grew—
With the change of his look, like a levin-flash, flew
From the stem to the stern a bright Presence—I saw
The ancient one tremble—I prayed in mine awe,
And named God! with a bound from the lewd isle we started,
O'er the flood like the wild flame the spectre-bark darted.
3.
The moon sunk—the flame o'er dark heaven wentrushing,The loud thunder follow'd, the rain-flood came gushing,
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Either bless'd or unbless'd, save that Old One and me.
The thunder-burst ceased—dropt the wind—yet our flight
Wax'd swifter—I long'd for the merry morn-light:
No light came, and soon, shadow'd high o'er the flood,
Rose a huge dusky outline of mountain and wood,
And I saw a deep vale, and beheld a dark river,
And away flew the bark as a shaft from the quiver.
Around me the waters kept toiling and dashing,
On the land stood a crowd their teeth grinding and gnashing,—
Groups of figures, who hover'd 'tween living and dying,
And “water” and “water” continually crying,—
Loud cursing, and stooping their lips to the flood,
While the stream as they touch'd it was changed into blood:—
Their crime has no name—for those wretches who hate
Their home and their country, her glory and state,
Are born without name, and live nameless, and die
As dishonour should ever. I hearken'd their cry
And gazed on their persons—in bliss or in pain
Some marks of the semblance immortal remain;
But those came in aspect so grisly and ghast,
That my Grey Guide smiled scorn, and flew sullenly past;
And a yell such as wolves give when baffled of blood,
Came following us far down that dark dismal flood.
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4.
And away we rush'd on, while along the shores followA shout and a shriek, and a yell and a hollo!
And a thick cloud was there, and amidst it a cry
Of the tortured in spirit flew mournfully by;
And I saw, through the darkness, the war-steeds careering,
The rushing of helm'd ones, the fierce charioteering;
I heard shouting millions, the clang of opposing
Sharp steel unto steel, and the cry at the closing;
The neighing of horses, and that tender moan
Which the smote courser yields when his glory is gone—
I have heard him in battle to moan and to shriek,
With an agony to which human agony's weak.
I heard the trump clang—of fierce captains the cheering—
The descent of the sword hewing, cleaving, and shearing;
Earth murmur'd and yawn'd, and disclosing, like hell,
A fathomless gulph, ate them up as they fell.
The Old One smiled ghastly with gladness, and starker
The wild havoc wax'd, and the rolling flames darker.
The tumult pass'd by—and a swift glance I gave,
And the greensward stood gaping like death and the grave;
Far down, and still downward, my glance seem'd to enter,
And beheld earth's dread secrets from surface to centre.
Crush'd helms, altars, crowns, swords, and monument stones,
Gods, gold, sceptres, mitres and marrowless bones—
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That grass will grow green, and flow on will that river;
The fair sun, now riding so beauteous in noon,—
The stars all preparing for shining,—the moon
Which maidens love much to walk under,—the flowing
Of that stream—who can stay, or that green grass from growing?
The stars are for ever,—the wind in its flight,
The moon in her beaming, the sun in his might:
But man and his glory!—the tide in the bay,
The snow in the sun, are less fleeting than they.
5.
I still stood dread gazing, and lo, there came on,With sobbing and wailing, and weeping and moan,
A concourse of wretches, some reverend, some regal,
Their robes all in rags, and with claws like the eagle:
The miser was there, with looks vulgar and sordid;
The lord too was there, but no longer he lorded;
Anointed heads came—but a monarch still stronger
Rules now, and no king shall reign sterner or longer:
There one stood, whose hero-blood, boiling and brave,
Is cold as the peasant, and dull as the slave;
And him whose proud name, while there lives a bardstrain,
And a heart that can throb, must immortal remain;
Immortal remain too, in spite of the clods
Of gross earth, who inherit that name of the gods.
Beside them stood rank'd up, in shadowy array,
The harp-in-hand minstrels whose names live for aye;
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And whom our rich nobles have lauded—and starved—
All vision'd in glory:—in prostrate obeisance
Mammon's mighty men fell—and seem'd damn'd by their presence.
There Butler I saw, with his happy wit growing,
Like a river, still deeper the more it kept flowing;
Young Chatterton's rich antique sweetness and glory;
And Otway, who breathes while warm nature rules story.
6.
The land breeze lay mute, and the dark stream lay calm,But my guide gave a nod, and away the bark swam;
And I heard from the mountains, and heard from the trees,
The song of the stream, and the murmuring of bees;
From the low-bloomy bush, and the green grassy sward,
Were the sweet evening bird, and the grasshopper heard,
While the balm from the woodland, and forest, and lea,
Came dropping and sprinkling its riches on me.
And I heard a deep shriek, and a long sob of woe;
And beheld a procession, all mournful and slow,
Of forms who came down to the river in ranks,
Their stain'd marriage garments to blanch on the banks:
Ranks of regal and noble adultresses steeping
Their limbs and their robes, and still wailing and weeping;
Vain toil—all the water of that dismal river
Can cleanse not those stains—they wax deeper than ever.
One came and gazed on me—then fill'd all the air
With shriekings, and wrong'd her white bosom, and hair;
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Of her whom I woo'd and adored at eighteen.
She fell from her station, forsook the pure trust
Of my heart—wedded—sinn'd, and sunk deeper than dust:
To my deep sleep by night and my waking by day,
There's a fair vision comes that will not pass away.
I turn'd mine eyes from her;—the bark, fast and free,
Went furrowing the foam of the bonnie green sea.
| Sir Marmaduke Maxwell, A Dramatic Poem | |