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

Now in the Lion's fiery reign,
The fierce sun drives his ardent wain;
In sultry summer's kindling arch
He holds on high his blazing march;
The rustic quits the glowing fields,
And, fainting, to his influence yields;
To gentler shades, afar, he flies,
While the mown grass ungather'd lies:
Fast, o'er the burning pavement hurl'd,
Th' impatient merchant's car is whirl'd;
From bustling quay, with weary feet,
Escap'd, he seeks his cool retreat:
The student's clouded eyeballs roam,
Bent idly on the ponderous tome:
And pretty lips, with drawling speech,
Complain that they can find no leech,
Whose skill can baffle that disease,
Where conquest's self forgets to please

The minstrel's chords relax'd, in vain
He woos them to a nobler strain;
For, o'er the diapason deep,
His failing fingers tiring, sleep;
The spell-bound mind, in waking slumbers,
Sinks lull'd by the lethargic numbers.

While Morpheus round his wreaths hath strown,
Where Themis nods upon her throne,—
(Wo to the wight whose weal or bale
Hangs trembling in that cumbrous scale!)
While hurrying judges quit the court,
And make e'en—himself grow short—
Whilst thou, my friend, all listless lolling,
Feelst bland oblivion round thee rolling,
Till thou art stretch'd beneath her wand,
The ‘Memory of Man’ beyond—
While master Littleton, supine,
Dreads no ejectment from his shrine—
For e'en John Stiles, beneath such skies,
Wanes in his deathless energies—
While each reporter, in due place,
Need fear no trespass on the case—
Haply the minstrel's idle tale
At such a tide may yet prevail;
May, with one spark of fire of eld,—
When chaos slow her depths unveil'd,
And listening caught the spheral song,
—Thy waking dreams awhile prolong.

Nor deem the crier's hoarse Oyes,
That calls thee to thine honour'd place,
The only melody that e'er
Mounts to Astræa's hallow'd sphere.

If right I read the lore of time,
Far in proud learning's natal clime,
With law and polity began
The Muses' seven-string'd talisman;
The same fleet herald brought them there,
Jove's golden-sandal'd messenger.

Mercury is said to have introduced letters and polity into Egypt.

When Greece, o'er Freedom's sacred tide,
Saw Persia's gorgeous gallies ride,
Whose war-song peal'd along the wave,
Sent craven terror to the slave—

The elegy composed by Solon, to excite the Athenians to retake Salamis, is said to have been sung at the naval engagement which happened afterward near that place.

Awakening every echoing shore
As onward dash'd each gallant prore?
'Twas his—who erst, in milder stole,
Had tam'd the uncouth warrior's soul;
The sage who made Athena free,
And lov'd the songs of minstrelsy.

Awhile unbend thy brow—I fear
No harsher frown or critic sneer,
As the deep student's eye shall rove
O'er a tale of magic, a tale of love.

PROEM.

Know ye the land where nature wantons wild,
Where terror wars with beauty for the sway—
The boast of art, and all earth's glory spoil'd
By fate and havoc, since her natal day—
Where mildest skies are lit with quenchless ray,
And Paradise reveals her pride array'd—
Where verdure ever blooms, and breezes play;
Where oft the angel drops the flaming blade,
And hell triumphant reigns o'er trembling man dismay'd!

Where demon tales believ'd the soul perturb'd
Of starting peasant bid in slumber cry,
Where superstition, dark and all uncurb'd,
Lords in the cot and in the palace high;
Where the cowl'd monk his beads tells, roving by
Where sleep the ashes of the chiefs of eld;
Gigantic columns all neglected lie,
And domes that pagan rites whilere beheld,
The chaunt of cloister'd nuns with Mary's name hath fill'd.

Where gleams the poniard in night's trembling beam,
The red-cross oft doth knighthood's fall proclaim—

A cross is always painted on the wall opposite to the spot where a knight has been killed. Hill's Tour in Sicily and Malta.

The slave of love or honour's glittering dream—
While heav'n, indignant, that such deeds of shame,
In land so fair, are link'd with honour's name,
Sends the fell Samum

The Sirocco is called in Sicily the Samum. Hager's Picture of Palermo.

withering every sense,
The red Volcano's never-dying flame
And breath sulphureous—in their impotence,
They dread the deluge wild, earthquakes and pestilence!

O'er her green hills and plains with glory clad,
Mid the dark forests of her giant mound,
Where ruin marches in the vineyard glad
And his dire steps since nature's birth resound,
A rhymer wander'd;—he survey'd each bound,
Till his tir'd eyes in weary slumbers close—
Yet still the mountain's roar re-echo'd round,
Still fleeting visions wake in his repose:
And there this wilder'd dream, yet all connected rose.

SCENE I.
THE CHARM.

I.

“Spirits rouse! another task
Our king commands,
A boon the Destin'd hath to ask,
He claims it at our hands.
Weave the charm and light the flame
For him who doth our covenant claim!
He hath giv'n the whole
To mountain powers,
Body and soul
He is ours!

II.

“Light the flame, pronounce the charm;
Blood of widow'd dove yet warm,
Lonely blood of widow'd dove,
This around the HEART shall move.

“Light the flame, pronounce the charm;

To excite love, anciently, the Thessalian charms or filtres were composed of the hippomanes, junx, insects bred from putrefaction, the fish remora, the lizard, brains of a calf, hairs on the tip of a wolf's tail, DOVE'S BLOOD, snake's bones, screech-owl's feathers, WOOLLEN CORD IN WHICH A PERSON HAD HANGED HIMSELF, THE MARROW OF A BOY FAMISHED IN THE MIDST OF PLENTY, herbs growing out of putrid substances, &c. &c. &c.

Rope from strangled murderer warm,

Torn off in his dying pain,
This shall madden in the BRAIN.

“Works the charm, the flame burns wild;
Marrow drain'd from starving child,
Starving mid surrounding food,
This shall riot in the BLOOD!

III.

“See, she melts! behold her eye
Languish on the DESTIN'D ONE!
Works the charm, the flame burns high,
See, she yields, she is undone!
Weave the charm, and light the flame,
For him who doth our covenant claim;
He hath giv'n the whole
To the mountain powers,
Body and soul
He is ours!”

IV.

Thus while they sung, th' accurst of God,
An armed knight the cavern trod;
Of fair and goodly port was he
Who met that fearful companie:
And, as his sentence loud they sung,
And as the awful chorus rung,
He started—and his cheek wax'd pale,
As parent nature's tortur'd breast,
When tyrant winter's icy gale
Hath all her genial streams opprest.
That horrid vault hoarse laughter shook,
As thus they peal'd their stern rebuke.

V.

“Fearest thou, Sir Knight, thy doom,
Seal'd and written with thy blood?
Fearest thou this cavern's gloom?
Know'st thou not our trysting room?
Hither hast thou never trod?
Thou hast giv'n the whole
To mountain powers,
Body and soul
Thou art ours!”

VI.

“Ye juggling imps why speak ye still
Your taunting threats of future ill?
My hour is not yet come—
Why from the compact did ye blot
That all the past should be forgot,
All foretaste of my doom?
Unequal gift ye found me low
In the black list of human wo—
Poor—and repining at my fate—
Of all, in high or mean estate,
The scorn and mockery:—
For nature stampt me, at my birth,
The foulest blot on this proud earth,
A base deformity!
On woman's eye I might not cast
One wistful glance, whene'er she past—
While those, who gave me to the light,
Loath'd the foul object of their sight!
And, in the gangrene of their scorn,
In life, in light, in hope forlorn,

I nurst the serpent in my soul,
Till all was black, and waste, and drear,
Corruption revel'd in the whole—
And made me fit—to mingle here!

VII.

“Ye gave me—honour, wealth and love—
But gave my soul no place above;
The never-dying worm ye gave,
Hell here—and hell beyond the grave!
My term is set—and fear of THAT,
Which, come what will, must be my fate,
Drugs, that poor cup of present joy,
Which, e'en unmix'd too soon would cloy!
I may not sleep in Christian ground,
Nor in holy earth my bones be found:
And, might I—O what sod could bloom
Upon the ‘God abandon'd’ tomb?
What flower could lift its lovely head,
Where cheering hope had never shed
On that accursed soil, one ray?
What mourner there a prayer shall say,
Or drop one tear, or cast one look
Upon that unassoiled nook?
What child his father's deeds shall tell,
And with the kindling ardour swell
That erst awoke within his sire?
Poor wretch! the spawn of guilt and hell,
Giv'n to the earth by miracle,
And warm'd with everlasting fire!

VIII.

“No kindred tree the Upas knows;
In isolation stern it blows;—

Its roots unmingling with its kind,
No sympathy its juices find;
Its nurture into venom turns,
Death in the living currents burns!
For wrongs sustain'd, for insults brook'd,
In hopeless impotence o'erlook'd,—
—Last savage joy this heart can feel!
Even what YE left, REVENGE shall steel—
And in my brief and fiery span,
I live to plague the race of man!

IX.

“Now mock me not! I will not shrink—
I'll stretch my chain's remotest link;
Tremble—for I can call up here
Him, whom your wild battalia fear,
When shrinking in your burning beds,
Ye bear him, as his home he treads!
—Say, have ye perform'd your care?
Where is the charm ye should prepare?”

X.

The shooting flame its dying rays
Now scatter'd high with bickering blaze;
And darkly show'd its lurid gleam
Below a foul and troubled stream:
The charm did an evil spirit take,
He dipp'd it thrice in the cursed lake,
Then gave it to the knight;
He paus'd not for more parley then,
But swift he left that dismal den,
To catch the blessed light;

Still, as he went, he heard their song
That winding passage dark prolong.

XI.
Spirits' Memento.

Thou shalt not bow to altar low,
Nor book nor saint shall hear thy vow;
Remember!

In holy rite if thou dost unite,
Thou may'st no more partake the light,
Remember!

Hear, DESTIN'D ONE! thy doom is done,
When thou breathest prayer to the Holy One,
Remember!

SCENE II.
THE VISION.

I.

'Tis night, and the bell hath told one;
There is rest in the cot of the swain,
Whose care with his labour is done;
It is still, save the murmuring main,
That is rippling beneath the pile;
There is rest on the earth, and the face of the deep,
But the eye of Isabel knew no sleep—
What marr'd her peace the while?
No sting of guilt or guile;
But the sorrows of love, too well return'd,
Chas'd the visions of sleep, and within her burn'd.

II.

The thoughts of her heart were as pure as the day
That in the courts of heav'n doth play;
But her pillow, that caught from her burning brow,
The mad'ning fire and raging glow,
To her aching head could yield no calm;
The wounded heart finds there no balm!

III.

She left her couch; the chilly air
May cool the raving fever there;—
The sea-girt pile is tall and steep,
Below there yawns a fathomless deep—
O there the wanderer might sleep!
Could Isabel such thought have fram'd,
Though tenfold agony inflam'd?
No; she could kiss the chast'ning rod
And live and die the spouse of God.

IV.

While thus she sung the sea-nymphs vile,
Who lurk'd to grasp their lovely spoil,
Ceas'd for a while their guileful strain,
Hid in the coral caves of the main.
The evil demons of the hour
Rous'd from sulphureous beds, by power
Of magic dark, away have flown,
And the innocent maid was left alone.

V.
Night Hymn.

God of tiring nature! now
Round her couch thy presence throw—
Helpless at thy throne we bow,
Shield us, Father!

Now the day hath wan'd in sleep,
O! in blest oblivion steep
Hearts that bleed, and eyes that weep,
Hear us, Father!

Unassoil'd from sinful strife,
If the ruffian's lifted knife
Threatens the warm font of life—
Shield us, Father!

From disease's uncheck'd skaith,
Bursting vessel, struggling breath,
Dark, uncheer'd, and hopeless death—
Shield us, Father!

From the flames' wild revelry,
From the whirlwind lording high,
From the earthquake's jeopardy,
Shield us, Father!

May the orb that sets in tears,
Rise releas'd from wo and fears,
When the rosy morn appears—
Hear us, Father!

O! when evening's sable brood
Shrinks before the golden flood,
Wake our song of gratitude—
God our Father!

VI.

Now mark'd the maid the silver car of night

In the Faro di Messina, a singular phenomenon often takes place before the sun rises, when it disappears. The heavens appear crowded with palaces, woods, gardens, figures of men and other animals. Byrdone's Travels in Sicily and Malta—Leonti and Gallo of Messina—See also Encyclop. Brit.—Swinburne's Travels in the two Sicilies, &c. This last author gives an account of the phenomenon, and assigns philosophical reasons for it. It is somewhat different, both as to the time of its taking place, the spot where the figures are observable, and their appearance.

Hold on her progress through the azure realm,
Mid brilliant worlds and glittering isles of light;
Nor mist nor cloud her opal glories whelm.
Still as she gaz'd, no bounds the scene disclos'd,
Below all bright the studded waves repos'd;
But shadowy forms all indistinctly rise,
Fantastic figures floating on the eyes;

Where curtain'd mists upon the distance flit,
Veiling the line where heaven and ocean meet.
That heaven seem'd opening now its glorious lands
To mortal view; a dazzling world expands—
Fair fields of emerald; stately domes of gold,
And streams, o'er diamond beds that hold their way,
With stalwart chieftains of immortal mould,
And gorgeous dames, the pageant doth display.
These past:—two banner'd hosts appear above,
In proud array their lengthen'd columns move;
They meet, in mimic shock conflicting there,
They part, they scatter wide, and vanish into air.

VII.

Was it a show prophetic fancy rais'd
From shadowy nothing, as the maiden gaz'd?
Or did indulgent heaven her mists unrol,
To bid her read the future's awful scroll?
Howe'er it was, she saw, or thought she view'd,
A beauteous dame, by chieftains twain pursu'd;
Of godlike port they were, and martial mien,
The form of one was darkly, dimly seen;
In shades envelop'd, oft obscur'd was he,
He follow'd still, but mov'd in mystery.
An aged man arrests the lady's flight,
And drags her struggling to the sable knight—
She tears her hair, she lifts to heav'n her hands,
The knight implores, the aged man commands.

VIII.

Sudden and wondrous, then her actions change;
Is womankind so fickle? it was strange—

She yields—the sable warrior clasp'd the maid,
And bar'd the failing chief his glittering blade;
Then clouds and blackness gather'd round his form,
He sunk in night, and vanish'd with the storm.

IX.

Now a bright altar seem'd to lift its head,
There was the bride, no more resisting, led;
Where round array'd a motley group there stood,
Wild, wandering forms the astonish'd lady view'd:
But it was fearful to behold the glare
Of ruddy light, that flash'd around them there—
'Twas not, I ween, the glow of kindling day,
No vivid beams in flaming glory play;
'Twas not pale Dian's chaste and holy tide;
With blood-red hue, the deep, the heavens were died.
A fiery band the pair encircling seem'd,
And mystic characters around them gleam'd—
Then startling thunder shook the mists around,
And gathering night outstretch'd her veil profound—
Red lightning stream'd their sable screen along,
O'er the prone altar rush'd, and hid the shrinking throng.

X.

But why dissolve the phantoms all away?
Lo! the first blushes of the glimmering day
Upon the billowy hosts their radiance shed,
Tinging their skirts with glory, as they fled.

XI.

Marv'ling, the lady mark'd the whole,
And as afar the shadows roll,

With holy prayer to heav'n assur'd,
She sought her couch, from bale secur'd.
The sable god, invok'd, hath spread
His leaden pinions o'er her head:
Fair as the lovely dreamer, then
Came blyther scenes, with rosy train.

XII.

Sleep on—for O, if mystic heaven
To grosser ken hath ever given
A vision of the blest,
It is, when in her lonely bower,
Chaste beauty woos the tranquil power,
In calm, unsullied rest:
When all that sports with captive hearts,
When every wayward mood departs.
No gleam of passion fires her eye,
All angel, save her witchery,
To mortal sight confest—
It were idolatry to bow,
Although so bright, to thing below;
And yet she seems so passing fair,
Can human frailty harbour there?

The following lines are taken from a prize poem, by Henry Hart Milman, of Brazen Nose College, Oxford, on the “Belvidere Apollo.”

“Beauteous as vision seen in dreamy sleep
By holy maid on Delphi's haunted steep,
Mid the dim twilight of the laurel grove,
Too fair to worship, too divine to love.”

XIII.

Pure as the dying Christian's prayer,
And glorious as his hopes of bliss,
Can savage man, relentless, dare
To blast such stamp of heaven as this?
Ay, even so the chaste Lucrece
From matron dreams to horror broke,
When, fiend-like, in the bowers of bliss,
The tyrant's damned lust awoke!

But might some knight, to honour true,
With truant step such vision view,
Such were the thoughts of gallant breast—
Soft queen of rapture! in thy rest,
So share, and in thy waking hour,
No lovelier dream, in fairy bower,
Could golden fancy form;
O, dearer than the meed well won
In battle's proudest storm,
Or that high race, so nobly run
In glory's giddy car—
Than all the soldier's pride, that wakes,
When earth with closing armies shakes,
The ecstacy of war!
More precious than the starry zone
Of fame could yield me ever—
And thou art helpless and alone,
And will I wrong thee, lonely one?
By Him who made me, never!

SCENE III.
THE TOURNAMENT.

I.

It was the morn of a summer's day,
And brightly did its radiance play
On armour burnish'd fair;
The breeze that blythely swept the grove
A nodding field of plumes did move
All stately waving there:
But the beam that fir'd the warrior's heart,
From his lady's lovely eye did dart;
And glory's wing hath fann'd his plume,
As he rushes to fame or warrior's doom.

II.

Each tuneful songster rais'd his notes,
On every gale the music floats;
But the herald's voice and trumpet sound,
The charger's tramp, that shook the ground,
The shivering lance and clashing sword,
The warrior's melody afford.

III.

Two gallant lines on either side,
Of all fair Sicily the pride,
Flower of her chivalry,
In lengthen'd row the list divide,
And watch to swell the battle's tide,
The martial melody.
In war more terrible none stood,
The umpires of the field of blood;
But now, in mimic fight they share,
And blunted lance the champions bear.

IV.

Thron'd in the front a lovely band,
The peerless glory of the land,
Most noble and most fair,
Life of that martial revelry,
Survey'd the scene with anxious eye,
Each, for the knight who mastery
In her soft bosom bare;
For, strung to unison, a chord
Woke at the triumphs of his sword;
And still its low or lofty tone
Echo'd responsive to his own.

V.

O when the pride of war is o'er,
When battle's thunders wake no more,
Say, what were honour, life, and fame,
Earn'd mid pale flight, gaunt death, and flame,
If no soft heart thy triumph share,
Warrior, of all thy glory heir!

So mark we on the ivied wall,
Memorial sad of empire's fall,
—Where high-wrought courage breath'd its last,
Where guileful glory came and past,
Where waves the high grass o'er the grave,
Where lonely silence vigils keeps,
While, o'er the couches of the brave,
Oblivion, solemn hermit, sleeps,—
One beauteous flower its hues display,
Blooming in solitudes its day:
So, mingling with the trump's acclaim,
The lute's mild tones can move;
So, link'd with every warrior's fame,
Is every warrior's love!

VI.

Above the rest fair Margaret sat,
Conspicuous in her throne of state;

Margaret of Anjou, who was afterward married to Henry VI. of England; and of whose fortitude so many traditions have been preserved. See Notes to Shakspear's Henry VI. Part 1.

From bloodless strife and mimic fray,
The valiant maid turn'd not away;
Brac'd to endure the stern award,
That fate in her dark realms prepar'd.
Her mother's weakness less she felt
Than many a champion who knelt
And sued to win her hand;
Could better breast the blackest storm,
With softest soul and frailest form,
Than some who vow'd to shield from harm
Her person and her land.

VII.

She were a monarch's proudest gem,
The glory of his diadem!

But some there were who could not brook
Her bearing proud, and haughty look,
When, rob'd in modest maiden grace,
Fair Isabel her honour'd place
Held by that lady's side;
Her eyes dark glance, that minstrels prais'd,
To view the lists she scarcely rais'd;
They may not meet the glare where blaz'd
The sun's reflected tide.
For there was one, her bosom's lord,
A knight adoring and ador'd;
And one who would as high aspire,
The bridegroom chosen by her sire.
In different ranks the champions stood;
Now may thine arm—thy lance hold good—
Firm be thou in that stounde—
Keen be thine eye, and cool thy force,
Young Lodowick, when for the course
Awakes the trumpet's sound!

VIII.

Who is that chief of haughty mien,
With golden armour glittering sheen?
Sable the plume that shades a brow
Where pride and scornful daring throw
A dark and sombre cloud;—
Sable his steed of fiery mould,
That, foaming, champs the bit of gold,
Flings his black mane upon the breeze,
When he rides the battle's stormy seas,
The battle's ruler proud.
That champion's shield bore no device
Of fealty, war, or love;

No workman's craft with labour nice,
Its mimic skill did prove,
O'er that broad buckler, where you mark
Rude semblances and symbol dark;—
Chaldean characters they seem'd,
Sacred in distant ages deem'd.

The Sicilians say they are descended from Ham, or Cham; and Ceres was his daughter, who reigned over Sicily with great moderation. Palermo, the most ancient city in the island, is said to have been founded by the Chaldeans, when Isaac reigned in Damascus, and Esau in Idumæa. Many monuments, with Chaldean inscriptions, are found yet, some of which have been deciphered. Brydone, Hager, &c.

Those polish'd arms, that brazen shield,
In war were never known to yield;
That knight paus'd not for shivering lance,
And on his arms the weapons glance,
As when in Ætna's stormy breast
Cyclopean forges glow,
And the steadfast anvil in its rest
Feels not the mighty blow!
Vaumond! his name the harper sung,
His praise on lady's accents hung:
For giant danger's mighty form
Allur'd him in the wildest storm,
When boldest chiefs withdrew—
Like the fabled wind—around whose course,
As it sped along in its stemless force,
The clouds careering flew.

There is a wind called ctesias, which attracts the clouds. Aristotle.

IX.

Fix'd in its rest was every lance,
Each warrior cast a searching glance
On the opposing knight;
Prick'd up each steed his watchful ears,
Trembling with hope, until he hears
The summons for the fight.
Fair Margaret rais'd her truncheon high,
The pealing clang ascends the sky,

The trumpet's tone awoke—
Then to his saint and mistress fair
Address'd each knight an inward prayer,
And rush'd to meet the shock.
Not then the chance of modern war,
Or unseen death-ball, wing'd afar—
When prostrate hosts at one fell sweep,
Unstruggling, time's dark barrier leap,
Their shroud encircling smoke:
Then at fair bay each closing band
Ply'd at their need the mighty brand;
Then nerve and sinew lent their aid,
And drove all terribly the blade;
Then courage cool, yet wrought to dare
The direst exigence of war,
With lion heart and eagle eye,
Rode the red carnage steadfastly!

X.

As blooming on the checquer'd soil
—Where ruin fraught, in terror boil
The lava floods, to madness prest
In the Volcano's tortur'd breast—
The nodding grove ascends;
With peaceful flowers, that love the plains
Where lonely calmness ever reigns;—
So pleasure springs on danger's brink,
And such the draught that warriors drink,
When fame with peril blends!
In tranquil bowers of peace and rest,
He were for aye like him unblest,
On whom the vulture prey'd—

But in extremes, he life may know—
When grappling with his mortal foe—
Or, in revenge's softer hour,
When, in the foeman's treacherous bower,
He clasps the willing maid!

XI.

They meet, they pass, and wheel again
Their foaming steeds upon the plain;
Kindling anew with fiercer fire,
As when the fervent steeds aspire
Of day's high charioteer,—
Scaling the empyrean arch,
Their axles kindle in the march,
And brighter glow, and, dazzling, pour
Their glories half the concave o'er
In their untir'd career—
So woke the chiefs, while lances shiver'd,
And steeds, from rider's curb deliver'd,
Show'd all disorderly;
As when the midnight tempest wakes,
Where the deep forest bows and shakes,
Its lawless revelry,
With fitful pause and dying swell,
While the mountain echoes to the gale
With awful minstrelsy—
So rang around the battle peal,
With tramping steed and din of steel;
The while the field was lost and won,
And the trumpet ever and anon
Its voice sent cheerily.

XII.

Ah! why attempt the bootless reed!
Why seek the rhymer's sacred meed
In days when chivalry has fled,
Her soul, her fire, her bards are dead!
In climes remote from classic seas,
Where vainly on the hollow breeze
Echoes the fainter lay;
Where men are dull to poet's dream,
Or list perverse to every theme
Save that their sons essay!

XIII.

Then speed we onwards with our song—
A summer's morn they tilted long;
Hurl'd from his selle each knight, remain
But two unhors'd upon the plain,
And, flashing forth exultant glance,
Vaumond and Lodowick advance.
All eyes upon the chiefs were bent,
On every movement all intent
Were gazing on the strife;
All, save that maid whose fate I tell,
Dim grew the eye of Isabel;
For, on the issue of that fight
Hung the fair fame of her true knight,
Dearer than hope or life!

XIV.

Enkindled at the self-same shrine,
Awoke with energy divine
In either chief the fire;

As when the shuddering mountain shakes,
And the glowing torrent wildly breaks
Forth in impetuous ire—
Down, down, the fiery column speeds,
Nor, in its blasting progress heeds
Of God or man the bar;—
Nor holy relic, priestly spell,
Nor barefoot monks, their beads that tell,
Can stem the impending war—
Wild flies the swain, o'erwhelm'd his home;
The hamlet, and the regal dome;
Without a mark, without a trace,
To point their former resting-place,
One iron plain usurps the spot,
Once cherish'd, now remember'd not!
Down—down—with roar that shakes the heaven
The liquid lakes of hell are driven,
Till now the ocean sands they whelm—
Then shudders earth, to her central realm!
Then, mid the elemental roar
Nature her bounds can know no more!
In scorn, from out his coral bed,
The hoary sire exalts his head;
Smiles at the weak and vain descent
Of his sworn foe, all impotent!
So, waking into fiercest glow,
Young Lodowick rush'd on;
So sure, the Baron met his foe,
Of conquest's earnest won.

XV.

Thrice did they to the shock advance,
Thrice Lodowick's unharming lance

In the stern conflict fail'd—
And shivering thrice it left its rest
Against Vaumond's unyielding breast,
Nor yet his arm prevail'd.
Thrice did the youth his weapon weak
Renew, and rush again to seek
The scornful foe he brav'd;
No dint his buckler broad betray'd,
The faithless steel, around that laid,
No token there had grav'd.
Infuriate then upon the field
Flung Lodowick his shatter'd shield;
Collecting all his energies,
The last and desperate race he tries.

XVI.

But no! nor courage lash'd to rage,
Nor hate, nor wounded pride, that wage
A war that death shall scarce assuage,
Saves conquest's guerdon, valour's gage!
He falls—the cool, resistless blow,
Far from his charger, laid him low!
Stagger'd the steed—his armour rang
Upon the plain, the while its clang
Melodious to the Baron bold
The pæan of his victory told.

XVII.

And now fair Margaret's gentle tone
Gave, for the well-fought field, his own,
The proud reward of fame;

“Brave knight—accept thy well-earn'd meed;
And may it fire thee, at thy need,
With an undying flame!
The cross, that saw a Saviour bleed,
True knight will ever seek, to speed
His fortunes and his name.
Fight then with this before thy heart,
And what has death to terrify?
Comes he upon the foeman's dart,
That rends the twisted mail apart?
Faith is thy living panoply.
Yet, be the praise so justly bought
Theirs, who to win the field have fought,
Though thine the battle's chance;
Yet, be his honour ever high,
Who strove so long and gallantly,
To bear the palm of victory
From thy unfailing lance.
And blasted be the narrow heart,
That in fair praise can bear no part—
Cold, curdling, cheerless, that denies
Fame's dearest pledge, and valour's prize!”

XVIII.

She said—and as she spoke, she press'd
The hand of Isabel,
And deem'd, that through her tears, she guess'd
Her heart's emotions well—
On beauty's cheek the pearly flow
Is bright as heaven's mysterious bow—
But vain their lore—the sacred seers,
Who read the language of the spheres,
That magic deep to tell!

And when that gentle pressure rais'd
The glow of gratitude,
Was it that the proud chief was prais'd
Who now the victor stood?
And when that pressure was return'd
With feeling keen and quick,
Was't not, that boon, so justly earn'd
Was given to Lodowick?

XIX.

Bow'd on his knee the Baron bold,
And stoop'd to take the cross of gold;
He press'd it not, he kiss'd it not,
But the snow-white hand he kiss'd devout—
And if devotion's lustre grave
Shed o'er his brow one ray,
'Twas lit by that fair saint who gave
The triumph of the fray.

SCENE IV.
THE PAGE.

I.

Alone, at eve's approaching tide,
Where Loro's silver waters glide,
To mingle with the deep blue main,
Young Lodowick his way hath ta'en;
Dark shades were flitting o'er his brain,
And wounded pride and recent smart
Were burrowing in his inmost heart.
Nor yet discomfiture alone
Hath rear'd revenge's midnight throne;
For lynx-eyed jealousy had shot
Into his soul a blasting thought;
A fiend—who lifts with mocks, and mows
The film that heaven indulgent throws
O'er mortal sight, and gives to view
What wildest fancy ne'er b'liev'd true.

II.

Far o'er yon western hills the sun
Sees half his tireless journey done;
In seas of gold, along the verge
Of heaven, his waning glories merge;

While darker hues the eastern sky
Have shrouded with their purple die:

The eastern part of the horizon, for half an hour after sunset is of a fine deep purple; the western, brilliant yellow. Brydone.

Sleeping on ocean's tranquil breast,
Its chastely brilliant beauties rest;
So richly pure the tinge that dims
Earth's amethysts or ocean's gems,
That glows in these fair climes alone,
Ere night's dark mantle round is thrown.

III.

O'er glorious fields and blooming glade
Deep came the mountain's giant shade:
The peasant, as he wends along,
Awakes with glee his evening song,
While home, with all its mystic ties,
Came lovelier still upon his eyes.
The bird, that sought his sheltering spray,
Carol'd his last notes to the day;
And softer, sadder seems the tone,
Than when he greets the morn his own.

IV.

In yon blue sky there is no cloud—
That sky so pure, so deep—
Even Ætna's everlasting shroud
Seems for a while to sleep;
Where, girt with triple zone, she rose
And rear'd her diadem of snows,
In misty grandeur far below;
Pillar of heaven—in heaven her brow
She hides from mortal ken;
Her base on earth—her roots, O where!

The swain, with terror, tells that there
The damned souls their torments bear,
With roar and yell—and then
He tells his beads, and breathes a prayer
To her who lends her guardian care,
To kind St. Agatha,

“Santa Agatha, a virgin martyr, who, under Quintilian, and in the yeer of our salvation 152, suffered martyrdome for Christ.” Warcup's Italy, folio. For the miracles pretended to be wrought by the veil of this saint see Hill, Brydone, &c.

to speed
Him at his last and awful need!

V.

Unclouded, now the moon rides high;
Yon boundless plain spreads tranquilly—
Its billows sleep, its breast unstirr'd,
Save where the light oar's dash is heard,
Fires gleaming at each stroke;

“A worm of a phosphorent nature produces the nocturnal lightning of the sea, which runs along the heads and sides of vessels, when they seem to be in a blaze of fire. The keel water seems to be a fiery smoke.” Ferber's Mineralogical Tour in Italy.

A brilliant, shooting lustre glides
Along the boat's illumin'd sides,
Curls round the prow, and fires the sail,
And gleams upon the dusky veil
Of billowy, circling smoke;
Until the wandering eye doth trace
From Zahara's red wilderness,
Upon the wave, some wizard dire,
Careering in his bark of fire.
The eastern breeze, that scarce could wake
One ripple on that boundless lake,
With fitful pause and solemn, bore
The distant hymn the waters o'er;
Where the lone mariner his song
Did to the Virgin's ear prolong,
Or to Saint Rosalie,

This saint had probably made her disappearance at this time; but her bones were not found till 600 years afterward, when they were discovered on Mount Pelegrino. She was daughter to King William the Good, and left society at the age of 15, &c. She disappeared, A. D. 1159. Brydone.

As swift the tranquil wave along,
The bark skimm'd merrily.

VI.

While gaz'd the knight, a softer hue,
A mellower influence nature threw
Around his heart;—for who can look—
Ay, though each chord, to madness struck,
Returns its harshest, rudest tone—
Where dwells the wretch, so lost, so lone,
Who, at such tide, can gaze on earth,
Still, calm, and fair, as at her birth—
In yon unfathom'd heaven high
Hold converse with eternity,
That flings her shroud around the deep,
Where mystery seems enthron'd to sleep—
Who soars not from the cares of man,
Spurns not the poor and narrow span,
Between the tear, on natal bed,
That love and fond affection shed,
And that which, haply, to his grave,
One lonely, sorrowing mourner gave!
Mounts not the pure intelligence
To mingle with the eternal soul,
That doth all quickening life dispense,
Absorbs, pervades, ingulphs the whole!

VII.

And now, with awful reverence, he stray'd
Where the pale moonbeam's trembling radiance play'd
On marble columns of the elder time,
And Dorian shafts its chroniclers sublime;
And storied capitals, that frown on high,
Scap'd from the wrack of ages long gone by:

Even so, when valour's dazzling sun hath set,
In solemn majesty endureth yet,
The fame of sages, warriors, now no more,
Lit by the moonlight beam of poesy and lore.
Kneel! for beneath thee heroes' ashes lie!
They bore the eagle o'er a crouching world—
His wings were clad with thunder, and his eye
The lightning of dominion round him hurl'd!
Move not their spirits in the uncertain shade?
Scan they not him whose footsteps hither err?
And lower they not on the unhallow'd tread
That wakes their country's silent sepulchre!

VIII.

So mus'd the chief, and fancy wild,
His thoughts, that rov'd from earth, beguil'd;
For, as he turn'd, full well he deem'd
Some vision of the heavens had gleam'd;—
Some child of light had left its sphere
Above, awhile to wander here.
Around that kneeling suppliant fair
A spheral light was thrown;
And form so frail our grosser air
Did never call its own.
Worlds, far beyond the circling skies,
Immortal grace have lent,
And that blue robe hath caught its dies
In purer firmament.
He knelt before the wondering knight,
And doff'd his plumes and bonnet light;
Then the dark curls, that scap'd their braid,
An earth-born female had betray'd—

But that, so bright they wanton'd wide,
So lovely, in the opal tide,
Sure they were glean'd from beams more fair
Than Berenice's fabled hair;
Beams of some distant sphere unnam'd,
And of immortal texture fram'd.
As up he cast a wistful glance
Upon the warrior's countenance,
Beauty undying, light divine,
All, all the seraph seem'd to shine.

IX.

So deem'd the knight: when silence broke
The fair boy first, as thus he spoke,
—With pleading eyes, that might impart
One human throb to demon's heart—
“A boon, Sir Knight, to beg I have,
An orphan boy thy grace would crave;
An orphan boy, whose parents kept
Their flocks in southern clime;
But since they with their fathers slept,
Oh! 'tis a weary time!

X.

“A knight had sworn their child to guard:
I serv'd him long; his heart was hard—
Cold—as yon mountain streamlet hoarse,
That numbs the life-drop in its course;
Yet all unfix'd it onward flows,
Nor winter's iron influence knows.

The river Acis, on the side of Ætna, is supposed to contract a greater degree of cold than ice, but never freezes. Brydone.

He, who had known that knight as well
As one, who dismal tales could tell—

Had deem'd, to adamant congealing,
That he would loose all life, all feeling:
But ah! in form how fair! deceiving,
Still as on he holds his way,
While some, who never prov'd him, b'lieving,
Fall, his scorn'd, hopeless prey!”

XI.

Emotions strong, a wavering glow
Shed o'er the gentle suppliant's brow;
He wip'd away a gushing tear,
As strove the knight to soothe his fear,
Then thus went on—“his house I fled,
O'er the wide world to roam;
No roof have I, to shield my head,
No dear and sacred home.
O pity one whose childhood fate
Hath frown'd on with remorseless hate;
And hide me from his face, whose wrath
Would close the scene of ills by death!
I cannot—dare not speak his name—
But it ranks high in martial fame;
And great is at your court his power
Who on poor Paulo's hopes doth lower.”

XII.

“Fair boy, in vain thou shalt not sue;—
Can'st thou be secret, cautious, true?
And wilt thou serve him who would die
To rescue thee?” “My fealty try—
In aught, that with indulgent eye,

The Power who sees us, could behold
This heart, by nature little bold,
Shall beat to answer thy behest;
Prove me, Sir Knight, my fealty test!”

XIII.

“Light is the task I give, fair youth,
And light the toil that proves thy truth;
For thou shalt serve a gentle maid,
Yon castle's towers shall shield thy head.
To serve her is no harsh command!
Bear thou the letter to her hand
That I will give, and fearlessly
To a safe home of refuge fly.”

XIV.

The knight and page have wound their way
Along the curvings of the bay;
Each with a heart too full to tell
The changing tides that ebb and swell.
To Regnier's

Duke of Anjou and titular King of Sicily. He was father of Margaret of Anjou. See Swinburne.

banquet bid, the one,
With love and hatred fraught, hath gone—
There shall he meet his lady's eye,
The polar star of destiny—
There shall he meet his rival's glance,
Keener, more deadly than his lance!

University of Virginia Library

1. PART FIRST.

INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE.

TO --- ---, ESQ.

PROEM.

SCENE I. THE CHARM.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

X.

XI. Spirits' Memento.

SCENE II. THE VISION.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V. Night Hymn.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

X.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

SCENE III. THE TOURNAMENT.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

X.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

SCENE IV. THE PAGE.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

X.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

SCENE I.
THE CHARM.

XI.
Spirits' Memento.

SCENE II.
THE VISION.

V.
Night Hymn.

SCENE III.
THE TOURNAMENT.

SCENE IV.
THE PAGE.