Gaston de Blondeville, or The court of Henry III ::

Gaston de Blondeville, or The court of Henry III

Keeping festival in Ardenne, a romance. St. Alban's Abbey, a metrical tale; With some poetical pieces. By Anne Radcliffe ... To which is prefixed: A memoir of the author, with extracts from her journals. In four volumes

Radcliffe, Ann Ward (1764-1823)

VOL. I.

GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE.

THE BRIDAL.

[O'er the high western wolds afar]

III,IV.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

XXXI.

XXXII.

XXXIII.

XXXIV.

XXXV.

XXVI.

XXXVII.

XXXVIII.

XXXIX.

XL.

XLI.

XLII.

XLIII.

II.

CANTO II. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE FIRST BATTLE.

III.

CANTO III. THE DAY OF THE FIRST BATTLE.

IV.

CANTO IV. THE HOUR AFTER THE BATTLE.

CANTO V. THE EVENING AFTER THE BATTLE.

VI.

CANTO VI. THE EVENING AFTER THE BATTLE.

VII.

CANTO VII. SCENE IN THE MONASTERY.

VIII.

CANTO VIII. SOLEMN WATCH WITHIN THE ABBEY.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

XXXI.

XXXII.

XXXIII.

XXXIV.

XXXV.

XXXVI.

XXXVII.

XXXVIII.

XXXIX.

XL.

XLI.

XLII.

IX.

CANTO IX. AMONG THE DEAD.

CANTO X. AMONG THE DEAD.

ON A FIRST VIEW OF THE GROUP CALLED THE SEVEN MOUNTAINS;

A SECOND VIEW OF THE SEVEN MOUNTAINS.

ON ASCENDING A HILL CROWNED WITH A CONVENT.

THE SNOW-FIEND.

AN ANCIENT BEECH-TREE. IN THE PARK, AT KNOLE.

SEA-VIEWS.

TO THE SWALLOW.

FOREST LAWNS.

ON THE RONDEAU, “JUST LIKE LOVE IS YONDER ROSE.”

DECEMBER'S EVE, ABROAD.

DECEMBER'S EVE, AT HOME.

A SEA-VIEW.

ON HAYLEY'S LIFE OF COWPER.

WRITTEN IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT.

SONNET TO THE LARK.

ON READING THE FOLLOWING BEAUTIFUL LINES, WRITTEN BY THE LATE LADY ELIZABETH LEE, SISTER OF EARL HARCOURT,

PART I. THE HAZEL TREE.

II.

PART II. THE FAIRIE COURT.

III.

PART III. THE MAGIC MIRRORS.

SCENE ON THE NORTHERN SHORE OF SICILY.

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273

II. PART II. THE FAIRIE COURT.

A SUMMER'S NIGHT IN WINDSOR PARK.

Edwy, in his lonely chamber,
Plying still his magic lore,
Watched, when all was hushed in slumber,
The dead planetary hour.

Two crystal planes, three inches square,
Steeped in the blood of milk-white fowl,
With careful skill he did prepare,
'Gainst next should hoot the midnight owl.

One would reveal the summoned Fay,
Who, by her-divining art
Should on the second plane display
Scenes to grieve, or cheer, his heart.

274

Thus endowed to conjure fairie,
He would fain have conjured sleep,
But the god of lovers, wary,
Hovers not o'er eyes that weep.

Sad and restless all the morning,
Sad and restless all the noon,
Counting every chime of warning
Through the longest day of June:

Thus he lingered, thus he wandered,
Round about his lady's hall,
Till his hopes were nearly foundered—
Till a rival spoke his fall.

In an oriel he saw her,
Chatting, smiling, blooming gay;
Doating, maddening, he bewailed her,
Doubting his first doubts this day.

Breathing lilacs after showers,
Bending with the silver drops,

275

Greenest leaves and purple flowers,
Waving where the goldfinch hops,

And scattering round the scented dew,
And sparkling on the sunny air,
Not half so fresh as Aura glow,
Not half so graceful—half so fair.

Too soon she vanished from his eyes,
And Evening summoned him afar,
Then to the high-browed Park he hies;
There, must he meet the twilight-star.

With magic mirrors, hazel wand,
Eyelids touched with clearing spell,
He sought the Court of fairie land,
Hidden in their distant dell.

Through the shaded walks so wide,
That climb about the southern hill,
Edwy passed with rapid stride.
Nor saw one Elf—though all was still.

276

With toil he gained the airy brow,
And, panting, paused to breathe awhile,
And throw a lingering look below
O'er the still landscape's parting smile.

Crowning the long vista's shade,
O'ertopped with turrets, terraced high,
Windsor all its pomp displayed,
Beneath the glowing western sky.

Beyond, the low, blue hills repose,
Along the far horizon's bound.
How soft the hues the forest throws,
Its leafy darkness shedding round!

Those hills their stretching woods display
In faint shade, through the azure veil,
While, sweetly bright, the setting ray
Bids many a spire once more—farewell.

And farewell to the banner proud,
That o'er the broad Keep floats on air,

277

Proclaiming, as with trumpet loud,
It's royal lord reposes there.

Pale and more pale the scene retires,
And Windsor's state has vanished now,
Save one dim tower, that boldly spires
To meet the star on twilight's brow.

There stood he tranced, till, in the air,
Warbled music passed along;
So softly sweet, so finely clear!
This was sure a Fairie song.

For, now no woodlark waked to sing;
Every little eye was closed;
On slender foot, with drooping wing,
In it's home each bird reposed.

Save one, and, where he winged his way,
Pleased, Edwy heard his strain advance,
On his smooth neck a Fairie lay,
Or rather did a Fairie dance.

278

A veil of gossamer she wore,
All spangled round with primrose dew;
A star-beam for a wand she bore,
Which she from Venus slyly drew.

This little bird on circling pinions
Wantoned over Edwy's head,
Then to its shady, loved dominions,
With its Fairie Lady sped.

The while his Fairie Lady trills
“To the beech-woods follow me,
Up the lawns and o'er the hills,
To the high woods follow me.”

In tiny echoes “Follow me”
All the hills and glades prolong;
From every bush and hollow tree
Seemed to rise the choral song.

And Edwy, round each hollow tree,
Spied the motley Elves at play;

279

While, thick as emmets, “Follow me,”
They sang again, and passed away.

O'er greenest lawns, through proudest groves,
He pursued his feathered guide,
O'er scenes, that silent Moonlight loves,
To the long lake's mossy side.

The little bird flew o'er the lake;
Edwy round the turf-banks went,
Close where the silver currents break,
And lower oaks their branches bent.

The stream is there with rocks inlaid;
He tripped o'er these, and reached the road,
That, broad and turfy 'neath the shade,
Leads to the pleasantest abode.

280

Green above green, of every hue,
The bordering trees in vista bend,
Shrubs lay their low leaves on the dew,
And pine and larch on light ascend.

Galleries of verdure! all is green,
Here lawn and bending boughs below;
Above 'tis stately shade; the scene
Seems made for glancing, Fairie show.

But, closer bowered, their noonday haunt
Rests in a hollow, beechen dell;
It's marge no human hand could plant,
It's shadows seem to breathe a spell.

Now, would you view the Fairies' scene,
Where twilight-dances print the lawn,
Where it spreads out in softest green,
To gaps, whence distant landscapes dawn,

281

Hie to the western forest-gate;
There Claudian beauty melts around;
There Elfin-turrets keep their state,
And tell, at once, 'tis Fairie ground.

Or, at that later Evening-hour;
When the turf gladdens with the dew,
That almost darkens Windsor's tower,
And gives near hills a distant blue.

And oh! if Silence could be seen,
Thus would she look, so meek, so pale,
The image of this very scene,
When Evening glances on the vale.

Now Edwy reached the wood-walks wild,
That open from the watery glade,

282

Where sweet vale-lilies, violets mild,
And primrose tufts the grass inlaid.

Climbing the spiky blades and stems,
Gathering dews, were Elves a million,
Diamond drops and crystal gems,
To fringe their Fairie Queen's pavilion.

And see what flaming lights appear!
Flashed through the foliage arching high;
What silver horn winds, sweet and clear,
As breathing from the lips of Joy!

Sudden the elves, on flower and blade,
Forsake their task, and, with a bound,
Touch the green turf, and down the glade
Take hands and trip a welcome round.

But Edwy hears no more the strain
Of his fleeting, tiny lady,
And watches for her bird, in vain,
To lead him through the alleys shady.

283

By him an elfin-courier speeds
On grasshopper his forest-ways;
Brushing the humble cowslip heads,
While each its trembling homage pays.

And next, a winged beetle came,
Sounding deep his herald-horn,
The fairy sovereign to proclaim,
And evil sprites away to warn.

There, whisked an Indian lanthorn-fly
Quick flashing forth it's emerald sheen;
Dancing low and dancing high,
In many a ring of fiery green.

Then came a creeping, stilly breeze,
That made the crisped waters live,
That shivered all the sleeping trees,
And bade the leaves their essence give.

But see, the birds on every bough
Awake and stretch their ruffled wings;

284

And o'er the dewy turf below
His starry glance the glow-worm flings;

And the whole woodbank's flowery couch
Is sprinkled now with glimmering bands,
Waiting their tiny Queen's approach,
Her guards and lights to Fairie lands.

Again, that horn of Joy breathes fine,
Again, the moonlight-light waters shake;
Where'er the foaming tips combine,
Rises a fairy of the lake.

Half veiled within the sparkling strife,
His inexperienced eyes scarce see
The pale forms changing into life,
Till all is glowing pageantry.

True to their sovereign's summons they,
Upon the lake's enchanted shore,
Await her presence proud and gay,
Where rides the fleet to waft her o'er.

285

And now a spicy, rare perfume,
Such as breathes from Indian dells,
Fills all the high-wood's leafy dome,
And the fine Fairie presence tells.

And faint aërial strains are heard,
As through the rich, festooning ways,
The Queen in moonlit-pomp appeared,
Amongst ten thousand dancing Fays.

By gold and purple butterflies
Her rose-leaved car was drawn in air;
Above, two birds of Paradise
Arch o'er her head their plumage rare.

While, far around her, dancing beams,
That with bright rainbow colours glow,
Strike on the gloom in transient gleams,
And all her elfin-escort show.

All in the busy air around
Pert eyes and little wings are seen,

286

And voices whisper, feathers sound,
Attendant on their elfin-queen.

A robe of silvery snow she wore,
Frosted with magic art so true,
That the hot breath of Midsummer
Could never change it into dew.

And, wafted by her happy bird,
A courtier-fairy oft proclaims,
“Now let the mirthful song be heard;
Our lady queen a welcome claims.”

The little bird too 'gan to sing,
And then the fairy tried her voice;
As gaily as the airs of Spring
Did that poor little bird rejoice.

The measure changed, a languid call,
Sweet with sorrow, thrice it sounded,
Concluding in a dying fall,
Softer than e'er fountain rounded.

287

“O Nightingale! it was thy song
Sent through the woods that dying close;
I know thee now; the note prolong;
Oh! speak again those tender woes!”

Under the boughs, the elfin-train
Mutely listened to the measure;
But, when he trilled his joy again,
They beat the ground in antic pleasure.

“O bird of feeling, various, sweet!
Thee and thy guardian-friend I hail;
I know Thee now, and gladly greet
The Love-Fay and her nightingale.

All fly before the elfin-queen,
Toward the lake's high-crowned head,
Near where the forest-oaks begin
A reverential gloom to spread.

With thousand sparks the woodbank swarms:
Her glow-worm knights, in long array,

288

Marshalled by Fire-fly—King at Arms,
Guard her and light her on her way.

Where'er they move, the drowsy flowers
Unclose their leafy curtains far;
And Fays, asleep within their bowers,
Leap forth, and dance before her car;

Dance to that crystal lake's green side,
That winds through fir-crowned lawns and woods,
Whose beeches old, in giant pride,
Fling their broad shadows on the floods.

And oft they wantoned with the surge,
That, flowing near the Fairie court,
It's silver line on line did urge,
As if to tempt and share their sport;

As if to woo the elfin-queen,
To float upon its moonlight breast;
Pleased to unfold each margent scene,
And bear her to her bower of rest.

289

The smile, that played upon it's face,
She seemed by magic lore to read;
And, with a kind and sportive grace,
She bade her tiny sailors speed.

A fleet of pleasure-boats lay there,
Such vessels as befit a sprite;
The water-lilies schooners were,
Leaf after leaf out-spreading white.

There skiffs, fresh gathered from the lime:
There acorn-barges broad and deep;
So safe, that, e'en in tempest-time,
An Elf upon his oars might sleep,

And in his Heart of Oak could go,
His tiny Dreadnought, singing gay,
Spite of the winds and rocks below,
Round every fairy cliff and bay.

Sweet wherries of long lavender,
Blossoms of every shape and stain,

290

From blue-bell yachts to bird-pepper,
Attended for the courtier-train.

But their bright Queen more proudly sailed
In a pearl-shell ship of the line:
By water mouse-ear was she veiled,
And she was fanned with eglantine.

Her canopy, bedropped with gold,
Had floated on the Indian tide;
A lotos-leaf, with ample fold,
Swelled for her sail, in snowy pride.

The cordage was of silver thread
Spun of fine bark of ashen tree;
The mast of sandal wood; the head
A living dolphin seemed to be.

Her green knights watched upon the shrouds,
Or ranged them far along the prow;
Stood round their Queen, in radiant crowds,
Or gleamed far on the wave below.

291

And others, ranked as on a cone,
Stage above stage, of towery height,
Moved on the lake around her throne,
Proud, floating pyramids of light.

Above them all, then might you spy,
In busy care, high o'er the mast,
Their king-at-arms, Sir Lanthorn-fly,
Ordering the pageant, as it past;

And, glancing down the moonlight air,
He checked the lily-schooner's way;
And, whisking here and whisking there,
Recalled each blossom-sail astray.

Then, self-triumphant, in the van,
In airy circles pleased he danced;
Yet, while he led the revel on,
Back, for his Queen's applauses glanced.

And thus in gliding state she went
O'er the long windings of the wave,

292

Where many a watchful eye was bent,
From hollow oak and secret cave.

The screech-owl and the snake were there,
The boding raven, cruel kite,
That fill the timid heart with care,
And love to prowl in moonless night.

But chief on the old Forest's bound,
Where the still waters sink away,
Such evil agents walk their round,
Or lurk within the oaks so grey.

Bewildered in the wild-wood glades,
Edwy oft lost the long lake's side;
Till, through some deep grove's opening shades,
He saw the splendid vision glide.

Low glanced the silver oars along,
Quick came the spires of glow-worm light,
That round their Queen's tall galley throng,
Shooting long beams aslant the night;

293

These, trembling through the branches' dome,
Touching each leaf with transient joy,
Now seen, now lost, from gloom to gloom,
Showed like the stars, when clouds fleet by.

Then, over banks and under woods,
Edwy pursued the pageant's way;
Till, having reached the smiling floods,
The frolick shores his hopes betray.

For, winding back, his course they mar,
Leaving him on some jutting steep,
'Mid the lone waters, while afar
The inmost bay the Fairies sweep.

And thus through wilds and woods he toiled,
Lured by short glimpse of that bright train,
Which through the distant shadows smiled,
As if in mockery of his pain.

Till, once again, he heard remote
That gentle bird, faithful to lovers;

294

And, following the high-warbled note,
Again the Fairie fleet discovers:

Just as it touched the farther shore,
To land the Queen those groves among;
When still was every little oar,
And every white sail breathless hung.

No sound was heard but Music's voice,
Roused by the motley elfin-band,
Who play in moonshine, and rejoice
In choral welcomes o'er the strand.

The groves, that hovered o'er the brink,
The polished lake more dark returns;
And each bright star, in emerald twink,
Beneath the wave more keenly burns.

And there, the rival of their beams,
Reflected by the glass below,
A shooting-star Sir Fire-fly seems,
While marshalling the Fairie show.

295

Each shroud and sail of Fairie bark,
Each glittering oar and image fair,
Within that mirror, blue and dark,
Lay, like a picture, pencilled fair.

But when Sir Fire-fly's knights moved on,
And their green torches mutely raised,
Then all the Fairie's splendour shone,
And shores and woods and waters blazed.

Thus, ranged in vista-lines of light,
Moving beneath the leafy gloom,
Where forest-oaks spread deepest night,
They guard her to her sylvan home.

Under an ancient beech, that high
Out-hung it's spray, her dreams of night
Were veiled from every curious eye,
Save when with magic virtue bright.

It's mighty boughs a circle filled;
Like necromantic guard it stood;

296

It's air severe the wanderer chilled,
It's frown and haughty attitude.

Soon as that beechen shade she reached,
Rustled its every leaf for joy;
Then gracefully her wand she stretched,
And lighted all its leaves on high.

Yet flame of torch, or lamp, was none,
Nor any glittering sparkle there;
It seemed as if the setting sun
Tinged the rich spray with rosy air.

Her bower through many chambers ranged,
And each a different purpose showed;
This, oft with mystic shadows changed;
That, for the dance, or banquet, glowed.

Beyond them all, her cell of rest
In verdant shade and silence lay;
Save, when the ring-dove in her nest
Sung all her gentle cares away:

297

And sleepy leaves, scarce moved in air,
Or only swayed by breezes fleet,
With the lake's murmuring falls afar,
Made melody most sad and sweet.

Lime-blossoms strewed the mossy floor,
And breathed a dewy fragrance round,
Inviting her to slumbers pure,
While freshness seemed to bless the ground.

Yet here, sometimes, this Queen of dreams
Would weave such seeming forms of fate,
As, sent upon the still moonbeams,
Oft by the midnight sleeper wait.

Hid in her cool bower might she view
The noontide lake and sunny lawns;
The slow sail on the waters blue,
And, through the brakes, the fleeting fawns;

And watch them on the watery brim,
Bending to sip the dainty wave,

298

Then starting at the form so slim,
The shadowed crystal truly gave.

Unseen, she traced each step that roved
Rejoicing on that margent green;
Or sought the hills and groves beloved,
That crown with pleasant shade the scene.

Edwy had joined the Fairie's train,
Just as she reached her leafy dome,
While full arose the choral strain
Of welcome to her beechen home.

Her glow-worm knights, wide round the beech,
In glimmering circles take their stand;
Adder, nor bird of boding speech,
Nor step unblest may pass that band.

In front, high on the beechen spray,
Like Hesper, on the eastern dawn,
Sir Fire-fly spreads his watchful ray
O'er dell obscure and distant lawn.

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No shape, among the shadows there,
Could glide unseen, nor move, where frowned
That beech's wizard brows in air,
And shrink not from the mystic ground.

Save Edwy, with his magic spell;—
Invisible and fearless, he
Might pass e'en to the Fairie's cell,
Unknown—but of one enemy.

She tripped into her vestibule,
Arched high with rose and eglantine,
Breathing a fragrance light and cool,
And bright with dew-drops, crystalline.

Here many a bell, that, in the day,
Had hung its fainting head awry,
Now waked for her in beauty gay,
And breathed for her its perfumed sigh.

Her pavilion next she entered;
Clear the glassy columns shone;

300

To the turf steps Edwy ventured,
And beheld her on her throne.

Under an ebon arch reclining,
With brilliant drops all thickly hung,
Where Mimosa's leaves were twining,
She listened, while the Love-Fay sung.

The thousand dew-drops hanging there
And in the swelling dome, on high,
Trembled with radiance keen and fair,
Poured from her living diamond's eye.

Splendour and Joy around her moved,
And winning smiles beamed in her face,
And every virtue most beloved
Gave to her air a tender grace.

On the ruby-pavement stealing,
Circling Elves their homage gave,
Then, in quaint moriscoes reeling,
They dance, and airy garlands wave.

301

The silver-triangle, the lute,
The tambourine, with tiny bells,
Mix with the softly-breathing flute;
The mellow horn more distant swells.

A quaint and various group arrived:
One, fliting on a bat's wing came,
No orchard, where he haunted, thrived;
Malignant Elfant was his name.

One, upon a field-mouse gliding,
Oft the traveller appalled,
Wondrously his steps misguiding;
Sly Elféna she was called.

A third, upon a squirrel springing,
Never rested, night, or day;
Into some droll mischief bringing
Solemn heads, as well as gay.

On butterfly next sailed a Fairie;
She soothes fine ladies in their vapour,

302

Who of unchanging good are weary,
And weep, because they've nought to weep for.

Winged by an owl, there came an elf,
Who loved to haunt the study-table,
Where, full of grave, important self,
The wisest head he would disable.

And make it Pro-and-Con and fight
On subjects lofty as the steeple;
Or tempt some Witling to endite
Long dreams, about the elfin-people!

And now, the Fairie Queen demanded
Whether her elves the tasks had done,
That, at sun-set, she had commanded;
And now she called them one by one.

She called them, but they came not all;
Again, the magic horn was wound,
Then thronging sprites obeyed the call;
But still some truants wild were found.

303

Yet was this blast so distant heard,
That elves, on Windsor's battlement,
Mounted the moonbeams at it's word,
And o'er the Long Walk gaily went;

Nor stayed upon the tufts to dance
Of the broad, bowery way, that swept,
With utmost pomp, beneath their glance,
Though there the yellow moonlight slept;

Though many a bird they loved was hid
In silent rest, beneath the leaves,
Which, if awaked and gently bid,
Would sing the song that care deceives—

Yet, had they surely waked them, too,
And danced a morrice on the trees,
Had not the horn complaining blew,
Like coming of a tempest breeze.

But e'en the Fairie's summons failed,
Yielding awhile to Beauty's spell,

304

When Windsor's proudest groves they hailed,
Crowning its wildest, deepest dell.

They paused a moment on that brow,
Under the shading oaks they strayed,
To spy, beneath the branches low,
The moonlight-towers, beyond their shade.

Beyond that shade in peace they lay,
Gates, turrets, battlements aloft,
Just silvered by the distant ray,
That 'neath the dark boughs glimmered oft.

It seemed some vision of the air,
By magic raised in forest lone,
That held entranced some lady fair,
Till nodding towers her knight should own.

The horn again! but not like breeze
Before some gentle summer shower,
But rushing through th' affrighted trees,
E'en with an angry whirlwind's power.

305

The moonlight-castle sinks and fades,
Beneath the tossing boughs afar;
And fear the truant elves invades;
And swift they mount their beamy car.

No banquet in the bower for them;
No tripping strains their steps invite;
The Fairie sovereign will condemn
Their disobedience and their slight.

“Hence,” she cries, “a vision weave
For the couch of that false lover,
Who could a trusting heart deceive;
Hence, and o'er his slumber hover.

“Dance before him, like a shade;
Trace upon his sleeping eye
Image of that mournful maid,
Whom he won, and left to die;

“In my cell of shadows look
You will there the semblance see,

306

Of the damsel he forsook
All from idle vanity.

“Touch his heart with jealousy,
Shape a dream to rouse despair;
Then to the sad maiden flee,
And expel her silly care.

“So, when the streaky dawn doth wake,
Each shall rise, with changed intent;
Each shall the other's fortune take,
He, despair—and she, content.

“If these dreams ye shadow well,
Return, before the lark is up,
Or the chime of matin bell;
Dance the morrice; sip the cup.
“Now farewell.”

Scarce had she spoke, when all the bower
As in a twilight shadow lay;
The dewy lamp on every flower
Quivered first, then died away.

307

Her magic diamond warned the Queen
Of step unhallowed passing near;
It paled its ray to trembling green,
And shrunk with sympathetic fear.

Then hastily the Queen exclaimed,
“Some mortal footsteps press the ground;”
For Edwy, when the Elves she named,
Had nearer drawn to catch the sound.

Just then the little Nightingale,
In pity of the lover's pain,
Sung from Mimosa's shadowy veil
His softest, sweetest, saddest tale.

Which, well he knew, his Queen would win
From aught ungracious, or severe.
With charmed, attentive, brow serene,
She smiled, and, dashing off a tear,

On Eda called, the Love Fay, thrice,
Some tale of mortal truth to tell:—

308

Her name did Edwy's heart rejoice;
For, that Fay's name completes his spell!

Then straight, the bower began to show
Returning light; and, through each bud,
From faintness freed to living glow,
Circled the bright transparent blood.

Now what of chastisement befell
This vagrant swain, for his intrusion,
Village-tradition does not tell,
Or tells with most profound confusion.

But this most gossips do relate,
That, though he was not held in durance,
He gained no knowledge of his fate,
And nothing got by his assurance,

Unless it be, that he did see
What seldom had been seen before,
A Fairie Court, in starlight sport,
With pleasure squadrons and on shore.

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But haply, on some other day,
We may learn more of his manœuvres,
And then we shall not fail to say,
What came of Aura and her lovers.

The beautiful lodge at Sandpit Gate opening from the Western side of the Great Park. The scenery about this is of exceeding beauty and sweet repose.

The beautiful turf-walks, that branch from the Virginia Water, exhibit, perhaps, every known variety of pine and fir on their long, sweeping borders. Their stately forms and the variety of their tints, intermixed, at intervals, with lofty oak and beech, and so closely bowered below with flowering shrubs, that scarcely a spot of earth is visible beneath them, make these broad, green alleys as delightful, when closely viewed, as they are otherwise graceful from their general aspect.

University of Virginia Library

II. PART II. THE FAIRIE COURT.

A SUMMER'S NIGHT IN WINDSOR PARK.