The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
1. PART FIRST.
There was a time—but it is gone!—
When he that sat on Albyn's throne,
Over his kindred Scots alone
Upheld a father's sway;
Unmix'd and unalloy'd they stood
With plodding Pict of Cimbrian brood,
Or sullen Saxon's pamper'd blood,
Their bane on future day.
Nations arose, and nations fell,
But still his sacred citadel
Of Grampian cliff and trackless dell
The Caledonian held:
Grim as the wolf that guards his young,
Above the dark defile he hung,
With targe and claymore forward flung;
The stoutest heart, the proudest tongue,
Of foeman there was quell'd.
The plumed chief, the plaided clan,
Mock'd at the might of mortal man;
Even those the world who overran
Were from that bourn expell'd.
Then stood the Scot unmoved and free,
Wall'd by his hills and sounding sea:
Child of the ocean and the wood,
The frith, the forest, gave him food;
His couch the heath on summer even,
His coverlet the cloud of heaven,
While from the winter wind and sleet
The bothy was a shelter meet.
His home was in the desert rude,
His range the mountain solitude;
The sward beneath the forest tree
His revel hall, his sanctuary;
His court of equity and right,
His tabernacle, was the height
The field of fame his death-bed stern,
His cemetery the lonely cairn.
When he that sat on Albyn's throne,
Over his kindred Scots alone
Upheld a father's sway;
Unmix'd and unalloy'd they stood
With plodding Pict of Cimbrian brood,
Or sullen Saxon's pamper'd blood,
Their bane on future day.
Nations arose, and nations fell,
But still his sacred citadel
Of Grampian cliff and trackless dell
The Caledonian held:
Grim as the wolf that guards his young,
Above the dark defile he hung,
With targe and claymore forward flung;
The stoutest heart, the proudest tongue,
Of foeman there was quell'd.
The plumed chief, the plaided clan,
Mock'd at the might of mortal man;
Even those the world who overran
Were from that bourn expell'd.
Then stood the Scot unmoved and free,
Wall'd by his hills and sounding sea:
Child of the ocean and the wood,
The frith, the forest, gave him food;
His couch the heath on summer even,
His coverlet the cloud of heaven,
While from the winter wind and sleet
The bothy was a shelter meet.
His home was in the desert rude,
His range the mountain solitude;
The sward beneath the forest tree
His revel hall, his sanctuary;
His court of equity and right,
His tabernacle, was the height
The field of fame his death-bed stern,
His cemetery the lonely cairn.
Such was the age, and such the day,
When young Queen Hynde, with gentle sway,
Ruled o'er a people bold and free,
From vale of Clyde to Orcady.
The tale is old, but the event
Confirm'd by dreadful monument.
Her sire had eastern vales laid waste,
The Pict subdued, the Saxon chased,
And dying old and loved, resign'd
The sceptre to his lovely Hynde.
When young Queen Hynde, with gentle sway,
Ruled o'er a people bold and free,
From vale of Clyde to Orcady.
The tale is old, but the event
Confirm'd by dreadful monument.
Her sire had eastern vales laid waste,
The Pict subdued, the Saxon chased,
And dying old and loved, resign'd
The sceptre to his lovely Hynde.
Each warrior chief of name was there,
Each bard, and gray-hair'd minister,
When the old king, in accents mild,
Commended to their love his child.
Each bard, and gray-hair'd minister,
When the old king, in accents mild,
Commended to their love his child.
“My friends, your faith has oft been seal'd,
In counsel tried, and bloody field;
For Scotland's right, by foes o'errun,
We pledged our lives—we fought and won;
Now every Scot can wander free
From hill to hill, from sea to sea.
Thanks to your worth—the throne is fast.
Now list my suit;—it is the last.
In counsel tried, and bloody field;
For Scotland's right, by foes o'errun,
We pledged our lives—we fought and won;
Now every Scot can wander free
From hill to hill, from sea to sea.
Thanks to your worth—the throne is fast.
Now list my suit;—it is the last.
“One child I have, and one alone,
To fill my father's ancient throne;
Your virgin sovereign you behold—
I speak not of her beauteous mould,
But, if affection do not blind,
I vouch her energy of mind;
Here pledge your honours still to be
To her what you have been to me.”
To fill my father's ancient throne;
Your virgin sovereign you behold—
I speak not of her beauteous mould,
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I vouch her energy of mind;
Here pledge your honours still to be
To her what you have been to me.”
Each warrior vow'd upon his brand,
And, kneeling, kiss'd the maiden's hand;
Each gray-hair'd sire, with moisten'd eye,
Swore by his country's liberty.
And, kneeling, kiss'd the maiden's hand;
Each gray-hair'd sire, with moisten'd eye,
Swore by his country's liberty.
The king then rose upon his bed,
And leaning forward, bent his head;
His silver locks waved o'er his cheek,
Like winter clouds on mountain bleak;
And like that mountain's hoary form,
All blench'd and withered by the storm,
Was every feature's grisly cast,
Pale, but majestic to the last.
And leaning forward, bent his head;
His silver locks waved o'er his cheek,
Like winter clouds on mountain bleak;
And like that mountain's hoary form,
All blench'd and withered by the storm,
Was every feature's grisly cast,
Pale, but majestic to the last.
“Grieve not, my gallant friends,” he said,
“That by a queen the land is sway'd;
When woman rules without control,
Her generous but dependent soul
To worth and wisdom gives command—
And then 'tis man that rules the land.
“That by a queen the land is sway'd;
When woman rules without control,
Her generous but dependent soul
To worth and wisdom gives command—
And then 'tis man that rules the land.
“But when in second place she sits,
Then all her cunning, all her wits,
Are on the stretch with knaves to league
And rule the king by court intrigue.
Trust me, 'tis truth to you I tell—
I have been tried, and know it well!—
A queen by men of wisdom rules,
A king by mistresses and fools.
Then all her cunning, all her wits,
Are on the stretch with knaves to league
And rule the king by court intrigue.
Trust me, 'tis truth to you I tell—
I have been tried, and know it well!—
A queen by men of wisdom rules,
A king by mistresses and fools.
“Now note my will: My daughter, Hynde,
Must wed the knight that suits her mind;
Her choice no interest let revoke;
Be it as free as bird on oak,
Or the gray eagle of the rock.
But suffer not, on any plea,
A lover to her privacy;
No breathings of ecstatic bliss,
No fond caress, or burning kiss,
May be allow'd, else all is done—
By coxcomb is the lady won,
And Albyn's ancient royal blood
Run to a weak and spurious brood.
Forbid it, God!—In time to be,
Should my embodied spirit see
A son of mine himself betake
To sloth while warriors toil and wake:
On such my soul shall never tend,
As guardian angel or as friend!
Must wed the knight that suits her mind;
Her choice no interest let revoke;
Be it as free as bird on oak,
Or the gray eagle of the rock.
But suffer not, on any plea,
A lover to her privacy;
No breathings of ecstatic bliss,
No fond caress, or burning kiss,
May be allow'd, else all is done—
By coxcomb is the lady won,
And Albyn's ancient royal blood
Run to a weak and spurious brood.
Forbid it, God!—In time to be,
Should my embodied spirit see
A son of mine himself betake
To sloth while warriors toil and wake:
On such my soul shall never tend,
As guardian angel or as friend!
“These woes and failings to prevent,
Let young Queen Hynde, in royal tent,
Hear chiefs debate on government;
Mark all their feats in bold tournay,
And list their love or warrior lay;
And thus, her keen and piercing sight
Can hardly fail to judge aright.
Let young Queen Hynde, in royal tent,
Hear chiefs debate on government;
Mark all their feats in bold tournay,
And list their love or warrior lay;
And thus, her keen and piercing sight
Can hardly fail to judge aright.
“Think of this charge—much it portends;
I go, but not resign my friends;
No home I'll seek within the sky:
My patriot soul shall hover nigh,
To watch your actions, mark your deeds
In battle-field, where glory leads;
And o'er the counsel group, reclined
Upon the eddy of the wind,
I'll list how truth your counsel brooks,
And read your spirits in your looks.
I go, but not resign my friends;
No home I'll seek within the sky:
My patriot soul shall hover nigh,
To watch your actions, mark your deeds
In battle-field, where glory leads;
And o'er the counsel group, reclined
Upon the eddy of the wind,
I'll list how truth your counsel brooks,
And read your spirits in your looks.
“Woe be to him whom I observe
Daring from loyalty to swerve!
Though neither blood nor bone invest
The living flame within this breast,
That flame shall sear his palsied sight,
With shades of horror strew the night,
Load with disgust the light of day,
His motions cross, his path belay;
Each warden spirit's arm control,
And whisper vengeance to his soul,
Till down the miscreant shall be driven—
The hate of man, the scorn of heaven!
Daring from loyalty to swerve!
Though neither blood nor bone invest
The living flame within this breast,
That flame shall sear his palsied sight,
With shades of horror strew the night,
Load with disgust the light of day,
His motions cross, his path belay;
Each warden spirit's arm control,
And whisper vengeance to his soul,
Till down the miscreant shall be driven—
The hate of man, the scorn of heaven!
“Be thou, my child, upright as fair,
And thou shalt be my special care;
And oh! should power's temptations try,
Think of thy father's spirit nigh:
Be that thy stay on ruin's brink;
Nor tongue may frame, nor heart may think
How distant far such crime will spurn
The kindred minds that round thee burn.
And thou shalt be my special care;
And oh! should power's temptations try,
Think of thy father's spirit nigh:
Be that thy stay on ruin's brink;
Nor tongue may frame, nor heart may think
How distant far such crime will spurn
The kindred minds that round thee burn.
“I may not warn thee face to face;
But still, when danger or disgrace
Unseen approaches, I'll be nigh;
Therefore, my child, on dreams rely.
Then to thy spirit's eye unfurl'd,
I'll hold, in shadowy courses hurl'd,
The motions of the moving world.
Farewell—be calm; my time is nigh;
Would that the parting throe were by!”
But still, when danger or disgrace
Unseen approaches, I'll be nigh;
Therefore, my child, on dreams rely.
Then to thy spirit's eye unfurl'd,
I'll hold, in shadowy courses hurl'd,
The motions of the moving world.
Farewell—be calm; my time is nigh;
Would that the parting throe were by!”
He stretch'd him on his couch, resign'd
The ruthless foe of human kind,
Whom he had met mid fire and storm,
And braved in every hideous form,
Now unresisting found his arm,
And stopp'd the tide that scarce was warm.
The ruthless foe of human kind,
Whom he had met mid fire and storm,
And braved in every hideous form,
Now unresisting found his arm,
And stopp'd the tide that scarce was warm.
No plaint—no groan hung on his breath,
To gratify the ear of death;
Steady and dauntless was his look,
As one a bitter draught who took,
Or, for the sake of health to be,
Suffer'd a transient agony:
On that pale face, when turn'd to clay,
When lifeless on the couch he lay,
A bold defiance still was blent,
Uncancell'd, with each lineament.
To gratify the ear of death;
Steady and dauntless was his look,
As one a bitter draught who took,
Or, for the sake of health to be,
Suffer'd a transient agony:
On that pale face, when turn'd to clay,
When lifeless on the couch he lay,
A bold defiance still was blent,
Uncancell'd, with each lineament.
The cross was o'er the body hung,
The royal coronach was sung,
And paid each rite, each honour due,
To sire beloved and sovereign true;
And young Queen Hynde holds the command
O'er Caledon's unconquer'd land.
The royal coronach was sung,
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To sire beloved and sovereign true;
And young Queen Hynde holds the command
O'er Caledon's unconquer'd land.
High were the hopes her chiefs among,
Their emulation great and strong;
Before their queen in circle set.
When for deliberate counsel met,
Never was heard such manly sense,
Such high and moving eloquence;
Never did armed list present
Such bold and rapid tournament;
And when the festal days came on,
Such gallant splendour never shone
In royal halls of Caledon.
Their emulation great and strong;
Before their queen in circle set.
When for deliberate counsel met,
Never was heard such manly sense,
Such high and moving eloquence;
Never did armed list present
Such bold and rapid tournament;
And when the festal days came on,
Such gallant splendour never shone
In royal halls of Caledon.
Then did the towers with echoes ring,
For every knight his song would sing,
Whether his voice to music's tone
Had note of harmony or none;
And, strange though seems the incident,
Those who sang worst were most intent.
For every knight his song would sing,
Whether his voice to music's tone
Had note of harmony or none;
And, strange though seems the incident,
Those who sang worst were most intent.
No smile, no marvel let arise,
That such the strife, when such the prize—
A flower in Albyn never shone
Like Hynde, the Queen of Caledon.
That such the strife, when such the prize—
A flower in Albyn never shone
Like Hynde, the Queen of Caledon.
The Lord of Moray, famed in war,
Proud Gaul of Ross, and lordly Mar,
Were first in rank and wide control,
And others shrunk before their scowl.
Young Allan Bane was brave and bold,
And Sutherland of manly mould;
And Donald Gorm, of lion eye,
Chief of the kindred tribes of Skye,
Was such a knight in heart and mien
As Skye again hath never seen.
Yet, after year and day was past,
It was not trow'd, from glances cast,
Who would be chosen king at last.
Proud Gaul of Ross, and lordly Mar,
Were first in rank and wide control,
And others shrunk before their scowl.
Young Allan Bane was brave and bold,
And Sutherland of manly mould;
And Donald Gorm, of lion eye,
Chief of the kindred tribes of Skye,
Was such a knight in heart and mien
As Skye again hath never seen.
Yet, after year and day was past,
It was not trow'd, from glances cast,
Who would be chosen king at last.
Once on a day—a day it seem'd,
When more than earthly splendour beam'd
On Appin hills, that tower'd on high,
Like golden columns to the sky,
Bathed in the glories of the morn,
That, west in airy rivers borne,
Stream'd over all the woods of Lorn—
Queen Hynde upon the mountain leant;
She wist not how or why she went;
But there she sat, by old gray stone,
Upon the flowery sward alone.
The day-breeze play'd in eddies weak,
And waved the rock-rose to her cheek;
The little ewe-flower starr'd the lea,
The hare-bell nodded at her knee,
While all the sward in summer prime
Was woven with the moorland thyme.
When more than earthly splendour beam'd
On Appin hills, that tower'd on high,
Like golden columns to the sky,
Bathed in the glories of the morn,
That, west in airy rivers borne,
Stream'd over all the woods of Lorn—
Queen Hynde upon the mountain leant;
She wist not how or why she went;
But there she sat, by old gray stone,
Upon the flowery sward alone.
The day-breeze play'd in eddies weak,
And waved the rock-rose to her cheek;
The little ewe-flower starr'd the lea,
The hare-bell nodded at her knee,
While all the sward in summer prime
Was woven with the moorland thyme.
Blythe was her bosom's guileless core,
Unthoughtful all of woes before;
With nature's beauties glow'd her mind;
She breathed a prayer for all mankind,
Pondering of nought but onward bliss,
And peace, and love, and happiness.
Unthoughtful all of woes before;
With nature's beauties glow'd her mind;
She breathed a prayer for all mankind,
Pondering of nought but onward bliss,
And peace, and love, and happiness.
How transient all we here enjoy!
How short our bliss without alloy!
While thus she lay, with heart elate,
In nature's purest blissful state,
She heard a voice rise from the ground,
With hollow, soft, and moving sound;
Fix'd was her eye, and mute her tongue,
While thus some viewless being sung:—
How short our bliss without alloy!
While thus she lay, with heart elate,
In nature's purest blissful state,
She heard a voice rise from the ground,
With hollow, soft, and moving sound;
Fix'd was her eye, and mute her tongue,
While thus some viewless being sung:—
Song.
“The black bull of Norway has broken his band—He's down through the links of fair Scotland;
And the flower of the isle shall be lost and won,
Ere ever he turn his horn from the sun.”
She look'd around with eyes intent,
In breathless dumb astonishment;
No living thing she could espy,
Yet still a sound was murmur'd nigh!
It sunk into a mournful tone,
And flitted like a passing groan.
In breathless dumb astonishment;
No living thing she could espy,
Yet still a sound was murmur'd nigh!
It sunk into a mournful tone,
And flitted like a passing groan.
She deem'd she lay on fairy ground,
By some unearthly fetters bound;
For why she came so far astray,
Or why she did not haste away,
She nothing knew. The east grew dun,
A cloud came floating o'er the sun,
And down the hills of Appin roll'd
In many a dim and darksome fold;
The scene was mingled—shades of night
With dim, with pale, and dazzling light.
By some unearthly fetters bound;
For why she came so far astray,
Or why she did not haste away,
She nothing knew. The east grew dun,
A cloud came floating o'er the sun,
And down the hills of Appin roll'd
In many a dim and darksome fold;
The scene was mingled—shades of night
With dim, with pale, and dazzling light.
Still was the mighty ocean seen,
A boundless field of dazzling sheen;
For west the morning beam withdrew
To bask upon the shelvy blue,
And on its bosom went and came
In thousand shreds of shivery flame.
A boundless field of dazzling sheen;
For west the morning beam withdrew
To bask upon the shelvy blue,
And on its bosom went and came
In thousand shreds of shivery flame.
But oh, between the east and north
Came moving on a veil so swarth—
From earth to heaven one solid wave,
Like pall upon creation's grave—
As if the Lord of Nature furl'd
Up like a scroll the smouldering world.
Came moving on a veil so swarth—
From earth to heaven one solid wave,
Like pall upon creation's grave—
As if the Lord of Nature furl'd
Up like a scroll the smouldering world.
The virgin sovereign look'd aghast,
And ween'd each breath would be her last;
For denser grew the vapour's coil,
And backward seem'd to whirl and boil;
At length stood fix'd, from earth to sky,
A wall of gloomy ebony;
Save when long wreaths of downy gray
Turn'd their pale bosoms to the day,
Like fillets of empyrean white
Circling the funeral brow of night.
And ween'd each breath would be her last;
For denser grew the vapour's coil,
And backward seem'd to whirl and boil;
At length stood fix'd, from earth to sky,
A wall of gloomy ebony;
Save when long wreaths of downy gray
Turn'd their pale bosoms to the day,
Like fillets of empyrean white
Circling the funeral brow of night.
189
It seem'd as if the world from thence
Was sever'd by Omnipotence—
One part in light and life to bloom,
The other grope in murky gloom:
As all behind were left in wrath,
A gloomy wilderness of death,
And all before to joy for aye
In starry night and sunshine day.
Was sever'd by Omnipotence—
One part in light and life to bloom,
The other grope in murky gloom:
As all behind were left in wrath,
A gloomy wilderness of death,
And all before to joy for aye
In starry night and sunshine day.
Conscious of innocence the while,
The queen look'd on that hideous veil
With awe, but yet with such an eye
As virtue turns unto the sky;
Expecting, every glance she cast,
To see forth bursting from its breast
The hail, the thunder, or the flame,
Or something without form or name.
The queen look'd on that hideous veil
With awe, but yet with such an eye
As virtue turns unto the sky;
Expecting, every glance she cast,
To see forth bursting from its breast
The hail, the thunder, or the flame,
Or something without form or name.
The virgin look'd not long in vain—
The cloud began to move amain;
Inward, like whirlpool of the ocean,
It roll'd with dark and troubled motion;
And sometimes, like that ocean's foam,
Waving on its unstable home,
The silvery verges tossing by
Were swallow'd in obscurity.
The cloud began to move amain;
Inward, like whirlpool of the ocean,
It roll'd with dark and troubled motion;
And sometimes, like that ocean's foam,
Waving on its unstable home,
The silvery verges tossing by
Were swallow'd in obscurity.
Still, as it open'd on the sight,
The gauzy linings met the light;
And far within its bosom grew
A human form of face she knew.
No earthly thought it did convey,
It was not form'd like face of clay,
But in the cloudy dome was seen
Like image of a thing had been—
As if on canvas heavenly fair
A reverend face was form'd of air,
On texture of celestial land,
And pencill'd by an angel's hand;
Yet every line was there approved,
And every feature once beloved.
The gauzy linings met the light;
And far within its bosom grew
A human form of face she knew.
No earthly thought it did convey,
It was not form'd like face of clay,
But in the cloudy dome was seen
Like image of a thing had been—
As if on canvas heavenly fair
A reverend face was form'd of air,
On texture of celestial land,
And pencill'd by an angel's hand;
Yet every line was there approved,
And every feature once beloved.
The silence, as she gazed, was broke—
Aloud the hoary vision spoke;
But yet no motion it address'd;
Lip unto lip was never press'd;
It moved no feature, tongue nor eye,
Yet this it utter'd solemnly:—
Aloud the hoary vision spoke;
But yet no motion it address'd;
Lip unto lip was never press'd;
It moved no feature, tongue nor eye,
Yet this it utter'd solemnly:—
“Queen of green Albyn, liest thou alone?
Look to thy honour, and look to thy throne!
The ravisher comes on his car of the wind;
The sea is before thee, the spoiler behind.
Queen of green Albyn, dare not to roam!
There's rapine approaching, and treason at home.
Trust not the sea-maid with laurel in hand;
Trust not the leopard, or woe to the land.
The falcon shall fail, and the oak of Loch-Orn,
The eagle of Mar, and the lion of Lorn;
But trust to the roe-buck with antler of gray,
In the halls of Temora, or woe to the day!”
Look to thy honour, and look to thy throne!
The ravisher comes on his car of the wind;
The sea is before thee, the spoiler behind.
Queen of green Albyn, dare not to roam!
There's rapine approaching, and treason at home.
Trust not the sea-maid with laurel in hand;
Trust not the leopard, or woe to the land.
The falcon shall fail, and the oak of Loch-Orn,
The eagle of Mar, and the lion of Lorn;
But trust to the roe-buck with antler of gray,
In the halls of Temora, or woe to the day!”
Up closed the cloud dark as before,
But chilling terror was not o'er:
Just where the maiden's eye was set,
Where cloud, and land, and ocean met,
A bull came forth, of monstrous frame,
With wreathy mane and eyes of flame;
Slowly he paw'd the yielding ground,
Then stood and madly gazed around,
His white horns flickering in the light,
Like boreal streamers o'er the night.
But chilling terror was not o'er:
Just where the maiden's eye was set,
Where cloud, and land, and ocean met,
A bull came forth, of monstrous frame,
With wreathy mane and eyes of flame;
Slowly he paw'd the yielding ground,
Then stood and madly gazed around,
His white horns flickering in the light,
Like boreal streamers o'er the night.
Soon as he fix'd his savage look
On young Queen Hynde, the mountains shook
With bellowings of unearthly tone,
As wild and furious he came on.
She tried to fly—her sight grew dim,
A numbness seized on every limb,
And nought remain'd in such a place
Save meeting danger face to face;
For she had heard that maiden's eye
Had some commanding majesty,
At which, if bold and fearless cast,
All earthly things would stand aghast.
Other expedient there was none;
Mighty the motive! All alone
She turn'd, and with as dauntless look
As eye of beauty well might brook,
Beheld the monster as he came
Roaring and foaming on his aim.
On young Queen Hynde, the mountains shook
With bellowings of unearthly tone,
As wild and furious he came on.
She tried to fly—her sight grew dim,
A numbness seized on every limb,
And nought remain'd in such a place
Save meeting danger face to face;
For she had heard that maiden's eye
Had some commanding majesty,
At which, if bold and fearless cast,
All earthly things would stand aghast.
Other expedient there was none;
Mighty the motive! All alone
She turn'd, and with as dauntless look
As eye of beauty well might brook,
Beheld the monster as he came
Roaring and foaming on his aim.
He eyed her moveless as she stood,
And all at once, in raving mood,
Halted abash'd, and 'gan aloof
To tear the ground with horn and hoof,
Uttering such horrid sounds of wrath,
As hell had bellow'd from beneath.
The mountains caught the clamours loud,
And groan'd in echoes from the cloud.
And all at once, in raving mood,
Halted abash'd, and 'gan aloof
To tear the ground with horn and hoof,
Uttering such horrid sounds of wrath,
As hell had bellow'd from beneath.
The mountains caught the clamours loud,
And groan'd in echoes from the cloud.
Proud of her virtue's power display'd,
And homage by creation paid,
High glow'd the beauties kindly given
As maiden's shield by favouring Heaven;
So strong the fence, that savage fierce
Was balk'd, and could not through it pierce.
But, mad at such a viewless toil,
He kneel'd, he grovell'd in the soil:
Shorten'd by fury, broke his roar,
Not in long bellow as before,
But with loud rending bursts of breath
He vomited forth smoke and wrath.
And homage by creation paid,
High glow'd the beauties kindly given
As maiden's shield by favouring Heaven;
So strong the fence, that savage fierce
Was balk'd, and could not through it pierce.
But, mad at such a viewless toil,
He kneel'd, he grovell'd in the soil:
Shorten'd by fury, broke his roar,
Not in long bellow as before,
But with loud rending bursts of breath
He vomited forth smoke and wrath.
I've heard it said by reverend sage—
And why should youth discredit age?—
That maiden's form, when pure and free,
Had something of divinity;
That furious ban-dog changed his eye,
And fawn'd and whined as she drew nigh.
That elfin spear, or serpent's sting,
Or pestilence on mortal wing,
To her was harmless as the dew
That crocodile and lion knew
The virgin frame, which had a charm
They would not, or they could not harm;
That even the thunderbolt of heaven,
Pour'd in resistless liquid levin,
Would turn aside before her eye,
Or part, and fleet unhurtful by;
Because she form'd, in nature's reign,
That link of the eternal chain
Which earth unto the heavens combined,
And angels join'd to human kind.
From worth this adage I received;
I love it, and in part believe't.
And why should youth discredit age?—
That maiden's form, when pure and free,
Had something of divinity;
That furious ban-dog changed his eye,
And fawn'd and whined as she drew nigh.
That elfin spear, or serpent's sting,
Or pestilence on mortal wing,
To her was harmless as the dew
That crocodile and lion knew
190
They would not, or they could not harm;
That even the thunderbolt of heaven,
Pour'd in resistless liquid levin,
Would turn aside before her eye,
Or part, and fleet unhurtful by;
Because she form'd, in nature's reign,
That link of the eternal chain
Which earth unto the heavens combined,
And angels join'd to human kind.
From worth this adage I received;
I love it, and in part believe't.
Well might Queen Hynde have stood unmoved,
Trusting a power so fairly proved,
For o'er her memory stealing came
That old and wondrous apothegm;
And she had stood, save for the eye
Of virgin's only enemy.
Trusting a power so fairly proved,
For o'er her memory stealing came
That old and wondrous apothegm;
And she had stood, save for the eye
Of virgin's only enemy.
Across the hill, swift as the deer,
Fierce Mar approach'd, with shield and spear,
To save his beauteous sovereign bent,
And claim the due acknowledgment:
Aloud his threat and clamour grew,
Daring the savage as he flew.
Fierce Mar approach'd, with shield and spear,
To save his beauteous sovereign bent,
And claim the due acknowledgment:
Aloud his threat and clamour grew,
Daring the savage as he flew.
Soon as the monster saw advance
The chieftain with his threatening lance,
Away he rush'd in vengeance dire,
And met him with redoubled ire.
The chieftain bawl'd and braved amain
To cow the savage, but in vain;
Onward he drove with stayless shock:
The rested lance in splinters broke,
And down to earth the chief was borne,
Struggling to ward the ruthless horn;
But all in vain!—Queen Hynde beheld
Him gored and toss'd along the field;
She saw him swathed in bloody red,
And torfell'd on the monster's head.
The chieftain with his threatening lance,
Away he rush'd in vengeance dire,
And met him with redoubled ire.
The chieftain bawl'd and braved amain
To cow the savage, but in vain;
Onward he drove with stayless shock:
The rested lance in splinters broke,
And down to earth the chief was borne,
Struggling to ward the ruthless horn;
But all in vain!—Queen Hynde beheld
Him gored and toss'd along the field;
She saw him swathed in bloody red,
And torfell'd on the monster's head.
Appall'd and shock'd, her faith withdrew;
She turn'd, and off in horror flew;
But soon all hopes of life resign'd
As the loud bellowings near'd behind.
Upon a rough and rocky steep,
That overhangs the restless deep,
She was o'erhied, and toss'd in air—
Loud were her shrieks of wild despair:
Oh for the covert of the grave!
No refuge!—none at hand to save!
She turn'd, and off in horror flew;
But soon all hopes of life resign'd
As the loud bellowings near'd behind.
Upon a rough and rocky steep,
That overhangs the restless deep,
She was o'erhied, and toss'd in air—
Loud were her shrieks of wild despair:
Oh for the covert of the grave!
No refuge!—none at hand to save!
Maids of Dunedin, in despair
Will ye not weep and rend your hair?
Ye who, in these o'erpolished times,
Can shed the tears o'er woeful rhymes,
O'er plot of novel sore repine,
And cry for hapless heroine—
Oh ye dear maids, of forms so fair,
That scarce the wandering western air
May kiss the breast so sweetly slim,
Or mould the drapery on the limb;
If in such breast a heart may be,
Sure you must weep and wail with me!
Will ye not weep and rend your hair?
Ye who, in these o'erpolished times,
Can shed the tears o'er woeful rhymes,
O'er plot of novel sore repine,
And cry for hapless heroine—
Oh ye dear maids, of forms so fair,
That scarce the wandering western air
May kiss the breast so sweetly slim,
Or mould the drapery on the limb;
If in such breast a heart may be,
Sure you must weep and wail with me!
That full set eye, that peachen chin,
Bespeaks the comely void within;
But sure that vacancy is blent
With fuming, flaming sentiment!
Then can you read, ye maidens fair,
And neither weep nor rend your hair?
Bespeaks the comely void within;
But sure that vacancy is blent
With fuming, flaming sentiment!
Then can you read, ye maidens fair,
And neither weep nor rend your hair?
Think of a lady all alone—
The beauteous Hynde of Caledon—
Toss'd up in air a hideous height,
On point of blood-stain'd horn to light;
And if to wail thou can'st delay,
Have thou a bard's anathema!
The beauteous Hynde of Caledon—
Toss'd up in air a hideous height,
On point of blood-stain'd horn to light;
And if to wail thou can'st delay,
Have thou a bard's anathema!
Still is there one resource in view—
For life one effort still is due—
It is, to plunge with desperate leap
Into the far-resounding deep,
And in the pure and yielding wave
To seek a refuge or a grave.
For life one effort still is due—
It is, to plunge with desperate leap
Into the far-resounding deep,
And in the pure and yielding wave
To seek a refuge or a grave.
The leap is made, the monster foil'd,
Adown the air the virgin toil'd,
But in cold tremor crept her blood,
For far short of the yielding flood
Her fall descends with deathful blow
Sheer on the pointed rocks below.
Adown the air the virgin toil'd,
But in cold tremor crept her blood,
For far short of the yielding flood
Her fall descends with deathful blow
Sheer on the pointed rocks below.
Oh can'st thou view the scene with me,
The scene of ruth and misery?
Yes; thou shalt go, and thou shalt view
Such scene as artist never drew.
The scene of ruth and misery?
Yes; thou shalt go, and thou shalt view
Such scene as artist never drew.
In western lands there is a hall,
With spire, and tower, and turret tall;
And in that tower a chamber fair:
Is that a mortal triad there?
For sure such beauty, such array,
Such moveless eye of wild dismay,
Such attitude, was never given
To being underneath the heaven.
Yes, there are two most fair, I ween,
But she whom they support between,
In symmetry and form of face,
In comely yet majestic grace,
Statue, or vision she would seem
Chose from celestial cherubim!
With spire, and tower, and turret tall;
And in that tower a chamber fair:
Is that a mortal triad there?
For sure such beauty, such array,
Such moveless eye of wild dismay,
Such attitude, was never given
To being underneath the heaven.
Yes, there are two most fair, I ween,
But she whom they support between,
In symmetry and form of face,
In comely yet majestic grace,
Statue, or vision she would seem
Chose from celestial cherubim!
Come, modellist, thy toil renew—
Such scene shall never meet thy view!
See how the raven tresses flow,
And lace that mould of purest snow;
The night-robe from one shoulder flung,
In silken folds so careless hung;
The face half-turn'd, the eagle eye
Fix'd rayless on the morning sky;
That neck—that bosom, ill at rest,
White as the sea-mew's downy breast,
And that pure lip was ne'er outdone
By rose-leaf folding to the sun.
Such scene shall never meet thy view!
See how the raven tresses flow,
And lace that mould of purest snow;
The night-robe from one shoulder flung,
In silken folds so careless hung;
The face half-turn'd, the eagle eye
Fix'd rayless on the morning sky;
191
White as the sea-mew's downy breast,
And that pure lip was ne'er outdone
By rose-leaf folding to the sun.
And note that still and steadfast eye,
That look of wild sublimity,
As dawning memory wakes, the while
Soft fading to a virgin smile.
O modellist! thy toil renew—
Such scene shall never greet thy view.
That look of wild sublimity,
As dawning memory wakes, the while
Soft fading to a virgin smile.
O modellist! thy toil renew—
Such scene shall never greet thy view.
High looks that chamber o'er the sea,
And frith, and vale, and promont'ry;
From dark Cruachan pours the day,
The lattice drinks the golden ray;
And that fair form you there behold,
That statue of majestic mould,
Leaning two beauteous maids upon,
Is Hynde, the Queen of Caledon.
The leap was from a couch of down;
The rest, a dream for ever flown!
And frith, and vale, and promont'ry;
From dark Cruachan pours the day,
The lattice drinks the golden ray;
And that fair form you there behold,
That statue of majestic mould,
Leaning two beauteous maids upon,
Is Hynde, the Queen of Caledon.
The leap was from a couch of down;
The rest, a dream for ever flown!
Maid of Dunedin, do not jeer,
Nor lift that eye with gibing fleer;
For well you wot, deny who dares,
Such are the most of woman's cares;
Nay, if I durst, I would them deem
More trivial than a morning dream.
Have I not seen thy deep distress,
Thy tears for disregarded dress,
Thy flush of pride, thy wrath intense,
For slight and casual precedence?
And I have heard thy tongue confess
Most high offence and bitterness.
Yet sooth thou still art dear to me—
These very faults I love for thee;
Then why not all my freaks allow?
I have a few, and so hast thou.
Nor lift that eye with gibing fleer;
For well you wot, deny who dares,
Such are the most of woman's cares;
Nay, if I durst, I would them deem
More trivial than a morning dream.
Have I not seen thy deep distress,
Thy tears for disregarded dress,
Thy flush of pride, thy wrath intense,
For slight and casual precedence?
And I have heard thy tongue confess
Most high offence and bitterness.
Yet sooth thou still art dear to me—
These very faults I love for thee;
Then why not all my freaks allow?
I have a few, and so hast thou.
It was a dream—but it was one,
The more the virgin ponder'd on,
The deeper on her heart it fell,
Her sire's last words remembering well:—
“When danger threatens, I'll be nigh;
Therefore, my child, on dreams rely.”
And she believed each incident
Was by her father's spirit sent,
To warn of treason or of blood,
Or danger all misunderstood.
The more the virgin ponder'd on,
The deeper on her heart it fell,
Her sire's last words remembering well:—
“When danger threatens, I'll be nigh;
Therefore, my child, on dreams rely.”
And she believed each incident
Was by her father's spirit sent,
To warn of treason or of blood,
Or danger all misunderstood.
A load upon her heart it weigh'd,
And on her youthful spirits prey'd;
At length she left her royal pile,
To visit, and consult the while
Columba of the holy isle:
A seer and priest of God was he,
A saint of spotless purity;
And then held in such high regard,
That Scottish sovereign nothing dared,
Of war, religion, or of law,
Without consulting Columba.
And on her youthful spirits prey'd;
At length she left her royal pile,
To visit, and consult the while
Columba of the holy isle:
A seer and priest of God was he,
A saint of spotless purity;
And then held in such high regard,
That Scottish sovereign nothing dared,
Of war, religion, or of law,
Without consulting Columba.
Queen Hynde embarks in Uan bay,
Brisk was the breeze and bright the day;
Before the tide, before the gale,
The gilded barge, with silken sail,
Adown the narrow channel run,
Like meteor in the morning sun.
So swiftly swept the flying keel,
The woods and islands seem'd to wheel;
And distant peaks of freckly gray
Were winding to the north away.
Brisk was the breeze and bright the day;
Before the tide, before the gale,
The gilded barge, with silken sail,
Adown the narrow channel run,
Like meteor in the morning sun.
So swiftly swept the flying keel,
The woods and islands seem'd to wheel;
And distant peaks of freckly gray
Were winding to the north away.
The sea-gull rose as she drew nigh,
And tried before her speed to fly;
But after toilsome travelling,
With beating breast and flapping wing,
Was forced to turn aside, outworn,
For shelter in the creeks of Lorn.
And tried before her speed to fly;
But after toilsome travelling,
With beating breast and flapping wing,
Was forced to turn aside, outworn,
For shelter in the creeks of Lorn.
But Ila Glas, the minstrel gray,
Well noted, as they sped away,
That sea-fowls flock'd from isle and steep,
To view that wonder of the deep;
And well they might, for never more
Such bark shall glide from Scotland's shore.
Well noted, as they sped away,
That sea-fowls flock'd from isle and steep,
To view that wonder of the deep;
And well they might, for never more
Such bark shall glide from Scotland's shore.
The sailors were as chiefs bedight,
The queen and virgins all in white;
The prow was form'd in curious mould,
The top-mast stem of beaten gold;
The sails were white, the sails were blue,
And every dye the rainbow knew;
And then the pennons, red and pale,
So far were fluttering in the gale,
She was not like an earthly thing,
But some sweet meteor on the wing.
I may not say (and if I might,
Man never has beheld the sight),
That all were like pure angels driven
By living breeze in barge of heaven.
The queen and virgins all in white;
The prow was form'd in curious mould,
The top-mast stem of beaten gold;
The sails were white, the sails were blue,
And every dye the rainbow knew;
And then the pennons, red and pale,
So far were fluttering in the gale,
She was not like an earthly thing,
But some sweet meteor on the wing.
I may not say (and if I might,
Man never has beheld the sight),
That all were like pure angels driven
By living breeze in barge of heaven.
When westward from the sound she fell,
She met the ocean's mighty swell;
Yet bounded on in all her pride,
Breasting the billow's mountain side,
Or bearing with delirious sweep
From dizzy verge into the deep.
She met the ocean's mighty swell;
Yet bounded on in all her pride,
Breasting the billow's mountain side,
Or bearing with delirious sweep
From dizzy verge into the deep.
Maid of Dunedin, well I know,
Had'st thou been there, there had been woe!
Distress of body and of mind,
And qualms of most discourteous kind.
But here, in days of yore, were seen
Young Hynde, the Caledonian queen,
With all her maids, enjoy the motion,
Blithe as the bird that skims the ocean.
Oh to have been the soaring gull,
Perch'd on the headland cliff of Mull,
There to have watch'd, with raptured eye,
That royal bark go bounding by,
Casting a tiny rainbow shade
O'er every hill the ocean made!
Had'st thou been there, there had been woe!
Distress of body and of mind,
And qualms of most discourteous kind.
But here, in days of yore, were seen
Young Hynde, the Caledonian queen,
With all her maids, enjoy the motion,
Blithe as the bird that skims the ocean.
Oh to have been the soaring gull,
Perch'd on the headland cliff of Mull,
There to have watch'd, with raptured eye,
That royal bark go bounding by,
Casting a tiny rainbow shade
O'er every hill the ocean made!
Iona bay is gained at last—
The barge is moor'd, the anchor cast;
And though no woman might come nigh
That consecrated land of I,
The queen, presuming on her sway,
Went right ashore without delay.
Her sire that isle had gifted free,
And rear'd that sacred monast'ry;
The doctrine of the cross he heard,
Believed, and paid it high regard;
For he perceived that simple plan
A band 'twixt God and sinful man,
Befitting well his nature weak,
That would not loose, and could not break;
And with his child and kinsmen came,
And was baptized in Jesus' name.
The barge is moor'd, the anchor cast;
192
That consecrated land of I,
The queen, presuming on her sway,
Went right ashore without delay.
Her sire that isle had gifted free,
And rear'd that sacred monast'ry;
The doctrine of the cross he heard,
Believed, and paid it high regard;
For he perceived that simple plan
A band 'twixt God and sinful man,
Befitting well his nature weak,
That would not loose, and could not break;
And with his child and kinsmen came,
And was baptized in Jesus' name.
When Ila Glas, in holy fane,
Announced his queen and virgin train,
Saint Oran was that very time
Giving such picture of the crime
Of woman's love and woman's art,
Of woman's mind and woman's heart—
If thou dear maid, the same hadst heard,
Thy blissful views had all been marr'd;
For thou durst never more have been
In robe of lightsome texture seen,
Thy breast, soft-heaving with the sigh,
Arresting glance of vagrant eye:
Love's fatal and exhaustless quiver
Must have been shrouded up for ever.
The perfume—simper—look askance—
The ready blush—the ogling glance,
All, all o'erthrown, ne'er to recover,
Thy conquests and thy triumphs over,—
Oh breathe to heaven the grateful vow,
That good Saint Oran lives not now!
Announced his queen and virgin train,
Saint Oran was that very time
Giving such picture of the crime
Of woman's love and woman's art,
Of woman's mind and woman's heart—
If thou dear maid, the same hadst heard,
Thy blissful views had all been marr'd;
For thou durst never more have been
In robe of lightsome texture seen,
Thy breast, soft-heaving with the sigh,
Arresting glance of vagrant eye:
Love's fatal and exhaustless quiver
Must have been shrouded up for ever.
The perfume—simper—look askance—
The ready blush—the ogling glance,
All, all o'erthrown, ne'er to recover,
Thy conquests and thy triumphs over,—
Oh breathe to heaven the grateful vow,
That good Saint Oran lives not now!
When he of such intrusion heard,
Around in holy wrath he stared:—
“What!” said the saint—“What! even here
Must these unrighteous pests appear?
Though even the rough surrounding sea
Could not protect our sanctuary;
Nor maiden modesty, nor pride,
Can keep them from where men reside;
I should have ween'd that, thus retired,
The frame of mind the place required,
The frame of holy penitence,
Had been enough to keep them hence.
Around in holy wrath he stared:—
“What!” said the saint—“What! even here
Must these unrighteous pests appear?
Though even the rough surrounding sea
Could not protect our sanctuary;
Nor maiden modesty, nor pride,
Can keep them from where men reside;
I should have ween'd that, thus retired,
The frame of mind the place required,
The frame of holy penitence,
Had been enough to keep them hence.
“I know them well, and much I fear
No good intent has brought them here.
E'er since that day, deplored the most,
When Adam sinn'd, and man was lost,
By woman tempted to the deed,
Mischief to man has been their meed.
Rise, holy brethren, rise with me,
And drive them back into the sea!
Should they resist, do them no harm,
But bear them back by force of arm.”
No good intent has brought them here.
E'er since that day, deplored the most,
When Adam sinn'd, and man was lost,
By woman tempted to the deed,
Mischief to man has been their meed.
Rise, holy brethren, rise with me,
And drive them back into the sea!
Should they resist, do them no harm,
But bear them back by force of arm.”
Up sprung the bearded group amain,
Who to be first each nerve they strain;
Whether to save the holy isle
From woman's snare and witching wile,
Or once again to fold the charms
Of beauty in their idle arms,
I nothing wot; but all was vain,
For, in the chancel of the fane,
Columba rose before the band,
With crosier stretch'd in his right hand.—
“Hold, my loved brethren—is it best
Thus to expel a royal guest?
We not as woman her receive,
But Scotland's representative;
And meet it is that maids should be
Tending on virgin royalty.”
Who to be first each nerve they strain;
Whether to save the holy isle
From woman's snare and witching wile,
Or once again to fold the charms
Of beauty in their idle arms,
I nothing wot; but all was vain,
For, in the chancel of the fane,
Columba rose before the band,
With crosier stretch'd in his right hand.—
“Hold, my loved brethren—is it best
Thus to expel a royal guest?
We not as woman her receive,
But Scotland's representative;
And meet it is that maids should be
Tending on virgin royalty.”
That word was law—the rage was o'er,
The stern Saint Oran said no more:
He down sat on his chair of stone,
Shook his gray head, and gave a groan.
The stern Saint Oran said no more:
He down sat on his chair of stone,
Shook his gray head, and gave a groan.
Come view the barefoot group with me,
Kneeling upon one bended knee,
In two long files—a lane between,
Where passed the maidens and their queen,
Up to the sacred altar stone,
Where good Columba stands alone.
Kneeling upon one bended knee,
In two long files—a lane between,
Where passed the maidens and their queen,
Up to the sacred altar stone,
Where good Columba stands alone.
There was one maiden of the train
Known by the name of wicked Wene;
A lovely thing, of slender make,
Who mischief wrought for mischief's sake;
And never was her heart so pleased
As when a man she vex'd or teazed.
By few at court she was approved,
And yet by all too well beloved;
So dark, so powerful was her eye,
Her mien so witching and so sly,
That every youth as she inclined,
Was mortified, reserved, or kind;
This day would curse her in disdain,
And next would sigh for wicked Wene.
Known by the name of wicked Wene;
A lovely thing, of slender make,
Who mischief wrought for mischief's sake;
And never was her heart so pleased
As when a man she vex'd or teazed.
By few at court she was approved,
And yet by all too well beloved;
So dark, so powerful was her eye,
Her mien so witching and so sly,
That every youth as she inclined,
Was mortified, reserved, or kind;
This day would curse her in disdain,
And next would sigh for wicked Wene.
No sooner had this fairy eyed
The looks demure on either side,
Than all her spirits 'gan to play
With keen desire to work deray.
Whene'er a face she could espy
Of more than meet solemnity,
Then would she tramp his crumpled toes,
Or, with sharp fillip on the nose,
Make the poor brother start and stare,
With watery eyes and bristling hair.
And yet this wayward elf the while
Inflicted all with such a smile,
That every monk, for all his pain,
Look'd as he wish'd it done again.
The looks demure on either side,
Than all her spirits 'gan to play
With keen desire to work deray.
Whene'er a face she could espy
Of more than meet solemnity,
Then would she tramp his crumpled toes,
Or, with sharp fillip on the nose,
Make the poor brother start and stare,
With watery eyes and bristling hair.
And yet this wayward elf the while
Inflicted all with such a smile,
That every monk, for all his pain,
Look'd as he wish'd it done again.
Saint Oran scarce the coil could brook;
With holy anger glow'd his look;
But, judging still the imp would cease,
He knit his brows, and held his peace.
With holy anger glow'd his look;
But, judging still the imp would cease,
He knit his brows, and held his peace.
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At length the little demon strode
Up to a huge dark man of God;
Her soft hand on his temple laid,
To feel how fair his pulses play'd;
Then by the beard his face she raised,
And on the astonished bedesman gazed
With such enchantment, such address,
Such sly, insidious wickedness,
That, spite of insult and amaze,
Softer and softer wax'd his gaze,
Till all his stupid face was blent
With smile of awkward languishment.
Up to a huge dark man of God;
Her soft hand on his temple laid,
To feel how fair his pulses play'd;
Then by the beard his face she raised,
And on the astonished bedesman gazed
With such enchantment, such address,
Such sly, insidious wickedness,
That, spite of insult and amaze,
Softer and softer wax'd his gaze,
Till all his stupid face was blent
With smile of awkward languishment.
Saint Oran saw—in trumpet tone,
He cried—“Satan, avoid!—begone!
Hence!—all away! for, by the rood,
Ye're fiends in form of flesh and blood!”—
Columba beckoned; all was still.
Hynde knew the mover of the ill,
And, instant turning, looked for Wene:
“I told thee, girl, and tell again,
For once remember where thou art,
And be due reverence thy part.”
He cried—“Satan, avoid!—begone!
Hence!—all away! for, by the rood,
Ye're fiends in form of flesh and blood!”—
Columba beckoned; all was still.
Hynde knew the mover of the ill,
And, instant turning, looked for Wene:
“I told thee, girl, and tell again,
For once remember where thou art,
And be due reverence thy part.”
Low bow'd the imp with seemly grace,
And humbly show'd to acquiesce;
But mischief on that lip did lie,
And sly dissemblage in the eye.
Scarce had her mistress ceased to speak,
When form'd the dimple on her cheek,
And her keen glance did well bewray
Who next should fall the jackal's prey.
Saint Oran, woe be to the time
She mark'd thy purity sublime!
Oh! never was her heart so fain—
'Twas a new fund for wicked Wene.
And humbly show'd to acquiesce;
But mischief on that lip did lie,
And sly dissemblage in the eye.
Scarce had her mistress ceased to speak,
When form'd the dimple on her cheek,
And her keen glance did well bewray
Who next should fall the jackal's prey.
Saint Oran, woe be to the time
She mark'd thy purity sublime!
Oh! never was her heart so fain—
'Twas a new fund for wicked Wene.
Meantime the queen most courteously
Address'd the seer and priest of I;
And told her latent fears at large,
Her aged father's dying charge,
And finally, with earnest mien,
Of the late vision she had seen;
And that for counsel she had come
Thus on a pilgrimage from home.
Address'd the seer and priest of I;
And told her latent fears at large,
Her aged father's dying charge,
And finally, with earnest mien,
Of the late vision she had seen;
And that for counsel she had come
Thus on a pilgrimage from home.
“Yet, reverend sires—the truth to say,
Though I have pondered night and day
On this strange vision—yet so toss'd
Hath been my mind, that much is lost,
And now I only can present
You with its startling lineament.”
Though I have pondered night and day
On this strange vision—yet so toss'd
Hath been my mind, that much is lost,
And now I only can present
You with its startling lineament.”
“Oh!” cried Saint Oran—“here, forsooth,
Is sample fair of woman's truth!
Here she pretends to ask her lot
From dream, yet owns that dream forgot!
Out on ye all!—your whole intent
Is on some devilish purpose bent!”
Is sample fair of woman's truth!
Here she pretends to ask her lot
From dream, yet owns that dream forgot!
Out on ye all!—your whole intent
Is on some devilish purpose bent!”
The queen was utterly astounded;
Even Saint Columba was confounded
At such outrageous frowardness;
The real cause they did not guess.
Even Saint Columba was confounded
At such outrageous frowardness;
The real cause they did not guess.
Ere that time, Wene, full silently,
Had slid up to Saint Oran's knee,
And ogled him with look so bland
That all his efforts could not stand;
Such language hung on every glance;
Such sweet provoking impudence.
Had slid up to Saint Oran's knee,
And ogled him with look so bland
That all his efforts could not stand;
Such language hung on every glance;
Such sweet provoking impudence.
At first he tried with look severe
That silent eloquence to sear,
But little ween'd the fairy's skill;
He tried what was impossible.
His flush of wrath, and glance unkind,
Were anodynes unto her mind.
Then she would look demure, and sigh,
And sink in graceful courtesy;
Press both her hands on her fair breast,
And look what could not be exprest:
When o'er his frame her glance would stray,
He wist not what to do or say.
No one perceived the elf's despight,
Nor good Saint Oran's awkward plight.
So quick the motion of her eye,
All things at once she seem'd to spy;
For Hynde, who loved her, wont to say,
For all her freaks by night and day,
Though mischief was her hourly meed,
She ne'er could catch her in the deed.
So instantly she wrought the harm,
Then, as by momentary charm,
Stood all composed, with simplest grace,
With look demure and thoughtful face,
As if unconscious of offence,
The statue of meek innocence!
Of Oran's wrath none saw the root,
The queen went on and all were mute.
That silent eloquence to sear,
But little ween'd the fairy's skill;
He tried what was impossible.
His flush of wrath, and glance unkind,
Were anodynes unto her mind.
Then she would look demure, and sigh,
And sink in graceful courtesy;
Press both her hands on her fair breast,
And look what could not be exprest:
When o'er his frame her glance would stray,
He wist not what to do or say.
No one perceived the elf's despight,
Nor good Saint Oran's awkward plight.
So quick the motion of her eye,
All things at once she seem'd to spy;
For Hynde, who loved her, wont to say,
For all her freaks by night and day,
Though mischief was her hourly meed,
She ne'er could catch her in the deed.
So instantly she wrought the harm,
Then, as by momentary charm,
Stood all composed, with simplest grace,
With look demure and thoughtful face,
As if unconscious of offence,
The statue of meek innocence!
Of Oran's wrath none saw the root,
The queen went on and all were mute.
“Now, sires, to you I have appeal'd,
To know what's nature, what reveal'd;
And that you may discern aright,
I'll tell you how I pass'd the night;
What feelings on my fancy crept,
And all my thoughts before I slept.”
To know what's nature, what reveal'd;
And that you may discern aright,
I'll tell you how I pass'd the night;
What feelings on my fancy crept,
And all my thoughts before I slept.”
“Now, for the Virgin's sake, I pray,
Spare the recital if you may!”
Cried Oran, with distemper'd mien,
And stretch'd his hands forth to the queen:
“My liege, whate'er the train denotes,
Oh spare the feelings and the thoughts!
We know them well—too well foresee
Their tenor and their tendency.
Heavens! how we're bearded and belay'd;
Would that the dream itself were said!”
Spare the recital if you may!”
Cried Oran, with distemper'd mien,
And stretch'd his hands forth to the queen:
“My liege, whate'er the train denotes,
Oh spare the feelings and the thoughts!
We know them well—too well foresee
Their tenor and their tendency.
Heavens! how we're bearded and belay'd;
Would that the dream itself were said!”
Columba poignantly reproved
The rudeness of the man he loved;
Though all were shock'd at what he said,
None saw how the poor priest was bay'd.
O Wene! for many a wild uproar,
Much, much hast thou to answer for!
The rudeness of the man he loved;
Though all were shock'd at what he said,
None saw how the poor priest was bay'd.
O Wene! for many a wild uproar,
Much, much hast thou to answer for!
194
Scarce had the queen again begun,
When something Wene had look'd or done
Enraged the saint to such excess,
He cried with desperate bitterness,
“Avoid thee, Satan!—off!—away!
Thou piece of demon-painted clay!
Thy arts are vain! thy efforts lost!”—
All look'd astounded, Wene the most,
So sad—so sweet—so innocent,
That all supposed the queen was meant.
Between the fathers strife arose,
And words were like to end in blows.
When something Wene had look'd or done
Enraged the saint to such excess,
He cried with desperate bitterness,
“Avoid thee, Satan!—off!—away!
Thou piece of demon-painted clay!
Thy arts are vain! thy efforts lost!”—
All look'd astounded, Wene the most,
So sad—so sweet—so innocent,
That all supposed the queen was meant.
Between the fathers strife arose,
And words were like to end in blows.
“Sooth!” said Saint Oran, “is it fit,
That you or I should calmly sit,
Listening to tale of which the theme
Is woman's thought and woman's dream?
Out on them all!”—And forth he strode,
Groaning as one beneath a load;
And muttering words they heard not well,
Of limbs of Satan, sin, and hell!
Straight to his little cell he wended,
Where loud th' impassioned prayer ascended;
Peace was restored, and Wene was left
Of every cue to ill bereft.
That you or I should calmly sit,
Listening to tale of which the theme
Is woman's thought and woman's dream?
Out on them all!”—And forth he strode,
Groaning as one beneath a load;
And muttering words they heard not well,
Of limbs of Satan, sin, and hell!
Straight to his little cell he wended,
Where loud th' impassioned prayer ascended;
Peace was restored, and Wene was left
Of every cue to ill bereft.
Columba listen'd to the queen
With deep regard and troubled mien;
And conscious many dreams were sent
By spirits kind and provident,
The more he thought and ponder'd o'er
That wondrous vision, still the more
He was confirm'd it did portend
Some evil wisdom might forfend;
And he resolved to journey straight
Home with the queen th' event to wait,
For well he knew the Christian cause
Rested on Scotland's throne and laws.
With deep regard and troubled mien;
And conscious many dreams were sent
By spirits kind and provident,
The more he thought and ponder'd o'er
That wondrous vision, still the more
He was confirm'd it did portend
Some evil wisdom might forfend;
And he resolved to journey straight
Home with the queen th' event to wait,
For well he knew the Christian cause
Rested on Scotland's throne and laws.
The vow was seal'd, the host display'd,
The hymn was sung, the mass was said,
And after gifts of value high,
The royal Hynde withdrew from I.
Columba went her guide to be,
In rule, in truth, and purity.
The hymn was sung, the mass was said,
And after gifts of value high,
The royal Hynde withdrew from I.
Columba went her guide to be,
In rule, in truth, and purity.
They halted on the shore a while,
And ere they left the sacred isle,
Oran, with holy garments on,
Bestow'd on each his benison.
Yet all with half an eye could see
He deem'd it nought did signify;
He seem'd as if with heaven he strove,
And more in anger than in love.
And ere they left the sacred isle,
Oran, with holy garments on,
Bestow'd on each his benison.
Yet all with half an eye could see
He deem'd it nought did signify;
He seem'd as if with heaven he strove,
And more in anger than in love.
Scarce had he said the word, Amen,
When petulant and pesterous Wene
Kneel'd on the sand and clasp'd his knee,
And thus address'd her earnest plea:—
When petulant and pesterous Wene
Kneel'd on the sand and clasp'd his knee,
And thus address'd her earnest plea:—
“Oh, holy sire! be it my meed
With thee a heavenly life to lead;
Here do I crave to sojourn still,
A nun, or abbess, which you will;
For much I long to taste with thee
A life of peace and purity.
Nay, think not me to drive away,
For here I am, and here I'll stay,
To teach my sex the right to scan,
And point the path of truth to man.”
With thee a heavenly life to lead;
Here do I crave to sojourn still,
A nun, or abbess, which you will;
For much I long to taste with thee
A life of peace and purity.
Nay, think not me to drive away,
For here I am, and here I'll stay,
To teach my sex the right to scan,
And point the path of truth to man.”
“The path of truth!” Saint Oran cried,
His mouth and eyes distended wide;
It was not said, it was not spoke,
'Twas like a groan from prison broke,
With such a burst of rushing breath,
As if the pure and holy faith
Had, by that maiden's fond intent,
Been wholly by the roots uprent.
“The path of truth!—O God of heaven,
Be my indignant oath forgiven!
For, by thy vales of light I swear,
And all the saints that sojourn there,
If ever again a female eye,
That pole-star of iniquity,
Shed its dire influence through our fane,
In it no longer I remain.
His mouth and eyes distended wide;
It was not said, it was not spoke,
'Twas like a groan from prison broke,
With such a burst of rushing breath,
As if the pure and holy faith
Had, by that maiden's fond intent,
Been wholly by the roots uprent.
“The path of truth!—O God of heaven,
Be my indignant oath forgiven!
For, by thy vales of light I swear,
And all the saints that sojourn there,
If ever again a female eye,
That pole-star of iniquity,
Shed its dire influence through our fane,
In it no longer I remain.
“Were God for trial here to throw
Man's ruthless and eternal Foe,
And ask with which I would contend,
I'd drive thee hence, and take the fiend!
The devil man may hold at bay,
With book, and bead, and holy lay;
But from the snare of woman's wile,
Her breath, and sin-uplifted smile,
No power of man may 'scape that gin;
His foe is in the soul within.
Man's ruthless and eternal Foe,
And ask with which I would contend,
I'd drive thee hence, and take the fiend!
The devil man may hold at bay,
With book, and bead, and holy lay;
But from the snare of woman's wile,
Her breath, and sin-uplifted smile,
No power of man may 'scape that gin;
His foe is in the soul within.
“Oh! if beside the walks of men,
In greenwood glade and mountain glen,
Rise weeds so fair to look upon,
Woe to the land of Caledon!
Its strength shall waste, its vitals burn,
And all its honours overturn.
Go, get thee from our coast away,
Thou floweret of a scorching day!
Thou art, if mien not thee belies,
A demon in an angel's guise.”
In greenwood glade and mountain glen,
Rise weeds so fair to look upon,
Woe to the land of Caledon!
Its strength shall waste, its vitals burn,
And all its honours overturn.
Go, get thee from our coast away,
Thou floweret of a scorching day!
Thou art, if mien not thee belies,
A demon in an angel's guise.”
“Angels indeed!” said Lauchlan Dhu,
As from the strand the boat withdrew.
Lauchlan was he whom Wene address'd,
Whose temple her soft hand had press'd,
Whose beard she caught with flippant grace,
And smiled upon his sluggish face.
A burning sigh his bosom drew;
“Angels indeed!” said Lauchlan Dhu.
As from the strand the boat withdrew.
Lauchlan was he whom Wene address'd,
Whose temple her soft hand had press'd,
Whose beard she caught with flippant grace,
And smiled upon his sluggish face.
A burning sigh his bosom drew;
“Angels indeed!” said Lauchlan Dhu.
“Lauchlan,” the father cried with heat,
“Thou art a man of thoughts unmeet!
For that same sigh, and utterance too,
Thou shalt a grievous penance do.
Angels, forsooth!—O God, I pray,
Such blooming angels keep away!”
Lauchlan turned round in seeming pain,
Look'd up to heaven, and sigh'd again.
“Thou art a man of thoughts unmeet!
For that same sigh, and utterance too,
Thou shalt a grievous penance do.
Angels, forsooth!—O God, I pray,
Such blooming angels keep away!”
195
Look'd up to heaven, and sigh'd again.
From that time forth, it doth appear
Saint Oran's penance was severe;
He fasted, pray'd, and wept outright,
Slept on the cold stone all the night;
And then, as if for error gross,
He caused them bind him to the cross,
Unclothe his back, and, man by man,
To lash him till the red blood ran.
But then—or yet in after time;
No one could ever learn his crime;
Each keen inquiry proved in vain,
Though all supposed he dream'd of Wene.
Alas, what woes her mischief drew
On Oran and on Lauchlan Dhu!
Saint Oran's penance was severe;
He fasted, pray'd, and wept outright,
Slept on the cold stone all the night;
And then, as if for error gross,
He caused them bind him to the cross,
Unclothe his back, and, man by man,
To lash him till the red blood ran.
But then—or yet in after time;
No one could ever learn his crime;
Each keen inquiry proved in vain,
Though all supposed he dream'd of Wene.
Alas, what woes her mischief drew
On Oran and on Lauchlan Dhu!
Sweet maiden, I thy verdict claim;
Was not Saint Oran sore to blame
For so inflicting pains condign?
Oh think, if such a doom were thine!
Of thy day-thoughts I nothing know,
Nor of thy dreams—and were it so,
They would but speak thy guileless core,
And I should love thee still the more.
But ah! if I were scourged to be
For every time I dream of thee,
Full hardly would thy poet thrive;
Harsh is his song that's flay'd alive!
Then let us breathe the grateful vow,
That stern Saint Oran lives not now.
Was not Saint Oran sore to blame
For so inflicting pains condign?
Oh think, if such a doom were thine!
Of thy day-thoughts I nothing know,
Nor of thy dreams—and were it so,
They would but speak thy guileless core,
And I should love thee still the more.
But ah! if I were scourged to be
For every time I dream of thee,
Full hardly would thy poet thrive;
Harsh is his song that's flay'd alive!
Then let us breathe the grateful vow,
That stern Saint Oran lives not now.
The sun went down, the bark went slow,
The tide was high, the wind was low;
And ere they won the Sound of Mull,
The beauteous group grew mute and dull.
Silent they lean'd against the prow,
And heard the gurgling waves below,
Playing so near with chuckling freak,
They almost ween'd it wet the cheek:
One single inch 'twixt them and death,
They wonder'd at their cordial faith!
The tide was high, the wind was low;
And ere they won the Sound of Mull,
The beauteous group grew mute and dull.
Silent they lean'd against the prow,
And heard the gurgling waves below,
Playing so near with chuckling freak,
They almost ween'd it wet the cheek:
One single inch 'twixt them and death,
They wonder'd at their cordial faith!
During this silent, eiry dream,
This tedious toiling with the stream,
Old Ila Glas his harp-strings rung,
With hand elate, and puled and sung
A direful tale of woe and weir,
Of bold unearthly mountaineer;
A lay full tiresome, stale, and bare,
As most of northern ditties are:
I learn'd it from a bard of Mull,
Who deem'd it high and wonderful;
'Tis poor and vacant as the man;
I scorn to sing it though I can.
This tedious toiling with the stream,
Old Ila Glas his harp-strings rung,
With hand elate, and puled and sung
A direful tale of woe and weir,
Of bold unearthly mountaineer;
A lay full tiresome, stale, and bare,
As most of northern ditties are:
I learn'd it from a bard of Mull,
Who deem'd it high and wonderful;
'Tis poor and vacant as the man;
I scorn to sing it though I can.
Maid of Dunedin, thou may'st see,
Though long I strove to pleasure thee,
That now I've changed my timid tone,
And sing to please myself alone;
And thou wilt read when, well I wot,
I care not whether you do or not.
Though long I strove to pleasure thee,
That now I've changed my timid tone,
And sing to please myself alone;
And thou wilt read when, well I wot,
I care not whether you do or not.
Yes, I'll be querulous or boon,
Flow with the tide, change with the moon;
For what am I, or what art thou,
Or what the cloud and radiant bow,
Or what are waters, winds, and seas,
But elemental energies?
The sea must flow, the cloud descend,
The thunder burst, the rainbow bend,
Not when they would but when they can,
Fit emblems of the soul of man!
Then let me frolic while I may,
The sportive vagrant of a day;
Yield to the impulse of the time,
Be it a toy, or theme sublime;
Wing the thin air or starry sheen;
Sport with the child upon the green;
Dive to the sea-maid's coral dome,
Or fairy's visionary home;
Sail on the whirlwind or the storm,
Or trifle with the maiden's form;
Or raise up spirits of the hill,
But only if, and when I will.
Flow with the tide, change with the moon;
For what am I, or what art thou,
Or what the cloud and radiant bow,
Or what are waters, winds, and seas,
But elemental energies?
The sea must flow, the cloud descend,
The thunder burst, the rainbow bend,
Not when they would but when they can,
Fit emblems of the soul of man!
Then let me frolic while I may,
The sportive vagrant of a day;
Yield to the impulse of the time,
Be it a toy, or theme sublime;
Wing the thin air or starry sheen;
Sport with the child upon the green;
Dive to the sea-maid's coral dome,
Or fairy's visionary home;
Sail on the whirlwind or the storm,
Or trifle with the maiden's form;
Or raise up spirits of the hill,
But only if, and when I will.
Say, may the meteor of the wild,
Nature's unstaid, erratic child,
That glimmers o'er the forest fen,
Or twinkles in the darksome glen,
Can that be bound? can that be rein'd?
By cold ungenial rules restrain'd?
No!—leave it o'er its ample home,
The boundless wilderness, to roam;
To gleam, to tremble, and to die:
'Tis Nature's error, so am I.
Nature's unstaid, erratic child,
That glimmers o'er the forest fen,
Or twinkles in the darksome glen,
Can that be bound? can that be rein'd?
By cold ungenial rules restrain'd?
No!—leave it o'er its ample home,
The boundless wilderness, to roam;
To gleam, to tremble, and to die:
'Tis Nature's error, so am I.
Then, oh forgive my wandering theme;
Pity my faults, but do not blame!
Short my advantage, small my lore,
I have one only monitor,
Whose precepts, to an ardent brain,
Can better kindle than restrain.
Then leave to all his fancies wild,
Nature's own rude untutored child;
And should he forfeit that fond claim,
Pity his loss, but do not blame.
Pity my faults, but do not blame!
Short my advantage, small my lore,
I have one only monitor,
Whose precepts, to an ardent brain,
Can better kindle than restrain.
Then leave to all his fancies wild,
Nature's own rude untutored child;
And should he forfeit that fond claim,
Pity his loss, but do not blame.
Let those who list, the garden choose
Where flowers are regular and profuse;
Come thou to dell and lonely lea,
And cull the mountain gems with me;
And sweeter blooms may be thine own,
By Nature's hand at random sown;
And sweeter strains may touch thy heart,
Than are producible by art.
The nightingale may give delight
A while, 'mid silence of the night,
But th' lark, lost in the heavens' blue,
Oh, her wild strain is ever new!
Where flowers are regular and profuse;
Come thou to dell and lonely lea,
And cull the mountain gems with me;
And sweeter blooms may be thine own,
By Nature's hand at random sown;
And sweeter strains may touch thy heart,
Than are producible by art.
The nightingale may give delight
A while, 'mid silence of the night,
But th' lark, lost in the heavens' blue,
Oh, her wild strain is ever new!
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |