The bridal of Vaumond :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Pledge we the knight who bore away
The well-earn'd laurels of the day;
And pledge we her, at whose bright eyes
Was lit the fire that won the prize;”—

II.

So Regnier spoke; and murmurs flew
The assembled crowd of gentles through;
Applauding all—yet envy's dart
Rankled and glow'd in many a heart:
Joy woke in old Rugero's breast,
His aged orbs that joy confest;
For stern ambition, led by love,
His brightest chaplet now had wove,
An only daughter's brow to grace,
And crown the honours of his race.

III.

“Pledge we the knight and lady fair;”—
The sparkling goblets high they bear,
All pledg'd the noble, destin'd pair—

But one old man—his locks were gray,
His form was yielding to decay;
Majestic still, its ruins proud
To the destroyer's might that bow'd,
Yet told of glory, that had shed
A noontide lustre on his head.
Hopes prostrate, wounded pride, and all
The train that howl'd around their fall,
Upon his brow had left their traces,
In lines that time nor death effaces;
Where sorrow, in that dreary night,
Brooded, a lonely eremite.

IV.

“Pardon, ye gentles all,” said he,
“An old man's want of courtesy—
And pardon, lady, one who would,
That, as thou'rt fair and high of blood,
Thou may'st be happy—time has been,
One call'd me FATHER;”—falter'd then
Gonsalvo's voice—but pride repell'd
The tide, that in despite had swell'd:
And, as when tortur'd nature heaves
Her hundred breasts with fiercest war,
Each stream its wonted channels leaves
And pours its deluge broad and far,—
Even so, conflicting passions rag'd,
While in his heart their strife they wag'd.
An ancient house that long had stood,
No dark dishonour in his hall,
The unsullied channels of his blood
Despoil'd and tainted, in her fall—

These rose again, in dark array,
And nature's throb was chas'd away.

V.

But for awhile—for Oh! if when
Into that chaste and holy fane,—
That hands immortal rear'd below,
Upon whose altars quenchless glow
The fires from heaven's own fountain caught,
With heaven's own purest influence fraught,—
The giant brood have enter'd in,—
Their legions stern the portals win,
They cannot spoil the eternal shrine,
Or quench the undying flame divine!

VI.

The old man left the banquet-hall,
And, as he went, his eye
Wander'd among the nobles all,
Swiftly and carelessly;
But on Vaumond his glance hath lit—
Some speakless power arrested it:
Wild as the light on summer's even,
That kindles o'er the verge of heaven,
Fires the dark arch—is fear'd by none,—
As brief, it pass'd, and he is gone.
Read Vaumond aught within that look?
The Baron's face was mystic book,
Where none one character might tell—
His eye was bent on Isabel.

VII.

The mirth and laughter damp'd have been,
The fair forget to spread their toil,
The knights forgot to gaze awhile,
For they remember'd Imogen,
As one from death recall'd to light—
Bright was the star that rose upon
Their court, and blaz'd in dazzling noon,
But it had pass'd and sunk in night.
Sad was the thought of Imogen,
It came, and went as soon, I ween!
Like April showers or morning dream,
That fly before the brilliant beam.
So yields the thought that far had rov'd
To one before deem'd well belov'd,
To transient joys, before the eyes,
Glitt'ring in their ten thousand dies!
And what is friendship? what is fame?
Or what a life to buy it wasted?
We toil to grasp a meteor flame;
To fill the goblet high, we aim,
And leave the hard-earn'd store untasted!

IX.

Gay was that proud hall, where high hung
A thousand lamps their lustres flung,
With banner'd trophies round bedight,
And wove was many a gallant fight
In gorgeous tapestry;
The sparkling vault, the checquer'd floor,
Memorials of the conquerors, bore
From sumptuous Araby.

And hark! the minstrels wake the chords,
Merrily float the inspiring words.

XI.
Wine.

1.

AS sparkles in its chrystal vase
The ruddy, soul-illuming juice,
So sparkling wit can sorrow chase
And round its brilliancy diffuse—
And at the same shrine are they lit,
In brightest wine we pledge thee, wit,
We pledge thee, WIT!

2.

So bright is beauty's ruby lip,
Where soft persuasion sits enthron'd;
And laughing Cupid's nectar sip,
Whose power immortal gods have own'd:
Who would not live for ever there?
In ruby wine we pledge the fair,
We pledge the FAIR!

3.

So kindles valour's gen'rous fire,
So plays the high and stemless tide—
When souls to fame or death aspire,
And battle's swelling surges ride.
Triumph bedews the soldier's grave;
In blood-red wine we pledge the brave,
We pledge the BRAVE!

X.

As when the panther from on high
Has fix'd his never-failing eye,
That scans each impulse of his prey,
That marks each footstep of his way—
So Lodowick, with restless soul,
Saw the gay Baron fill the bowl;
The Lady of his love took up,
With downcast eye, the foaming cup;
But, ere her ruby lips, that dim
Its sparkling lustre, touch'd the brim,
A glance that stole into his heart,
Bade every idle fear depart.

XI.

Still Lodowick intently gaz'd,
And dream'd he ne'er before
Such supernatural beauty blaz'd
This earth's dark surface o'er.
Her eyes unwonted lustre shed;
Her cheek betray'd a livelier red:

A similar effect is described by Dr. Smollet, in his Peregrine Pickle.

Her words, the music of the lyre,
Were music still, but tones of fire!

XII.

Wild grew the youth—who still did mark
The Baron's moveless glances dark,
Caught, and from all around them stay'd
By the radiant smile of that fair maid,
Her heart their centre true—
Where long in harmless light they play'd,
And all unkindling flew.

XIII.

Was it a jealous lover's doubt,
That idly his own doom made out?
—Like him who forg'd, at tyrant's will,
The brazen bull;—and, for his skill,
Was doom'd to prove its torture first,
With his own scheme of anguish curst?
—Was it a jealous lover's fear?
Like summer's insects they appear—
While none their origin may tell,
And short is their tormenting spell,
How oft they plant their stings right well!
I wot not—but the lady's eye
No more, as if all anxiously,
Sooth'd Lodowick's waking agony.

XIV.

Still all is glee; and if the fair
Beheld the form that dimm'd them there,
It was but to admire and feel
The triumphs of the female weal.
—For ill 'twould suit the minstrel's lay,
To deem they own'd dark envy's sway—
And if the knights that board about
The charms of sparkling wine forgot,
It was but to adore;
But ONE there was, who scann'd her soul,
Trac'd every throb, and read the whole
That mazy volume o'er.

XV.

Still Lodowick gaz'd earnest on;
He caught a glance all wandering thrown

On that self-tortur'd youth—
What means the eye averted fast?
The hurrying blush, that came and past?
I may not read in sooth.
'Twas such a blush as tints the west,
Kindling o'er ocean's gorgeous breast—
Now heaven forefend, fair maid! that glow
Precede thy glory sinking low!

XVI.

Merrily, merrily wake the sounds,

Scott's Lord of the Isles:—

“Merrily, merrily bounds the bark,” &c.

The minstrel sweeps the strings—
And the light heart of beauty bounds
And to the measure springs;
The pulses in full concord beat,
Disdaining earth, the elastic feet
As lightly tripping move,
As buoyant on the sandals fleet
Of the wing'd son of Jove.
Now Lodowick, whose soul distraught
But food had found for mad'ning thought,
Held with himself communion brief,
Given for a moment's space relief.
“And can she trifle with this heart?”
He bade the unworthy fear depart.

XVII.

Merrily, merrily wakes the strain,
The joyous measures swell,
The anxious knight hath sought again
The form of Isabel.

He came with her to tread a measure,
To brave her sordid sire's displeasure,
Exulting, prove her heart his own,
Defiance on his rival frown.

XVIII.

He saw the Baron clasp her hand,
He heard her tones, divinely bland,
Breath'd on his rival's ear;
That glance so arch—its living light
Had fir'd the frozen anchorite—
So soft, its rapturous power confest,
It had unlock'd the miser's breast—
The Baron caught it there.

XIX.

Merrily, merrily wake the notes
That charm away dull care,
Along the form of beauty floats
As buoyant on the air;
While manhood stately follows still,
Delighted servant of her will.—
Well might the painter here portray
An angel, guiding wisdom's way
To that high world above;
The beams of its eternal day,
Seen round that seraph form to play—
The beams of light and love.
And never yet, in hall of pride,
Or by the streamlet's flowery side,

On checquer'd floor, or verdant mead,
Did lovelier pair the mazes tread
Of the gay dance than now—
When that bold Baron the lady led
Its varying measures through.

XX.

Upon the mourners of the earth,
Like torture, falls the roar of mirth;
It speaks light hearts, from sorrow free,
An insult to their agony—
With clouded brow and folded arms,
Stood Lodowick, while beauty's charms
With anxious carelessness display'd,
Were flitting past him unsurvey'd;
The lively tones through the hall that rung
Fell mad'ning on his ear unstrung—
All seem'd a wilder'd pageant there,
An envious mockery of despair.

XXI.

The Baron pass'd—a careless look
At once undying hate awoke.
A common gazer had seen nought,
Nor deeper meaning, covert thought;
But to his soul, on whom it fell,
More deadly triumph could it tell
Than foaming lip and glaring eye,
And unsheath'd faulchion brandish'd high,
And swollen vein and muscle strain'd;—
More fury's fuel it contain'd.

'Twas keen and brilliant, as the wave
Of wonder-working tide;—
For whatsoe'er its waters lave,
Black as the darkness of the grave
Its very core is died!

The waters of a small lake called Naso are perfectly clear and pure, but die every thing black which is dipped in them. Denon's Travels in Sicily.

XXII.

“Why so disconsolate, Sir Knight?
Can ruby wine, nor beauty bright,
Nor minstrelsy upon thy brow
Dispell the sombre shadows now?”
—“Wouldst thou insult me, Baron? say,
Can the poor victory of the day
So far thy pride inflate?
Here is my glove—to-morrow's eve
Our feud for ever quell'd shall leave;
Shall check thy hopes

The Sicilian gentry have always decided their rivalships by the sword. The quaint William Lithgow, who, by the way, is very fond of lauding his own honesty and exclaiming against the extortions of others, gives an account of the manner in which he picked the pockets and stole the horses of two barons, who had fallen in such a rencontre. Lithgow's Travels, p. 329.

and haughty mood,
Or feel, with this heart's dearest blood,
With loftier glow elate.
Then meet me, if thou durst”—he cried,
And left the hall with hurrying stride.

University of Virginia Library

SCENE V. THE BANQUET.

I.

II.