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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Allan of Dale.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
339
Allan of Dale.
At the dawning of morn, on a sweet summer day,
Young Mary of Moy went out to pray,—
To pray, as her guileless heart befitted,
For the pardon of sins that were never committed;
A grateful homage to render Heaven
For all its gifts and favours given,—
For a heart that dreaded the paths of sin;
For a soul of life and light within;
And a form, withal, so passing fair
That the rays of love seem'd centring there.
Young Mary of Moy went out to pray,—
To pray, as her guileless heart befitted,
For the pardon of sins that were never committed;
A grateful homage to render Heaven
For all its gifts and favours given,—
For a heart that dreaded the paths of sin;
For a soul of life and light within;
And a form, withal, so passing fair
That the rays of love seem'd centring there.
Mary felt that her eye was beaming bright,
For her bosom glow'd with a pure delight:
As over the greenwood sward she bounded,
A halo of sweets her form surrounded;
For the breezes that kiss'd her cheek grew rare,
Her breathing perfumed the morning air;
And scarce did her foot, as she onward flew,
From the fringe of the daisy wring out the dew.
For her bosom glow'd with a pure delight:
As over the greenwood sward she bounded,
A halo of sweets her form surrounded;
For the breezes that kiss'd her cheek grew rare,
Her breathing perfumed the morning air;
And scarce did her foot, as she onward flew,
From the fringe of the daisy wring out the dew.
She went to her bower, by the water-side,
Which the woodbine and wild-rose canopied;
And she knelt beneath its fragrant bough,
And waved her locks back from her brow;
But just as she lifted her eye so meek,
A hand from behind her touch'd her cheek:
She turn'd her around, with a visage pale,
And there stood Allan of Borlan-dale!
ALLAN.Which the woodbine and wild-rose canopied;
And she knelt beneath its fragrant bough,
And waved her locks back from her brow;
But just as she lifted her eye so meek,
A hand from behind her touch'd her cheek:
She turn'd her around, with a visage pale,
And there stood Allan of Borlan-dale!
Sweet Mary of Moy, is it so with thee?
Have I caught thee on thy bended knee,
Beginning thy rath orisons here,
In the bower to the breathings of love so dear?
Oh tell me, Mary, what this can mean!
Hast thou such a great transgressor been?
Is the loveliest model of mortal kind
A thing of an erring, tainted mind,
That thus she must kneel and heave the sigh,
With the tear-drop dimming her azure eye?
To whom wert thou going thy vows to pay?
Or for what, or for whom, wert thou going to pray?
MARY.
I was going to pray in the name divine
Of Him that died for me and for mine;
I was going to pray for them and me,
And haply, Allan, for thine and thee;
And now I have answered as well as I may
Your questions thus put in so strange a way:
But I deem it behaviour most unmeet,
Thus to follow a maid to her lone retreat,
To hear her her heart of its sins unload,
And all the secrets 'twixt her and her God.
For shame! that my kindred should hear such a tale
Of the gallant young Allan of Borlan-dale!
ALLAN.
Sweet Mary of Moy, I must be plain:
I have told you once, and tell you again,
Though in love I am deeper than woman can be,
You must either part with your faith or me.
MARY.
What! part with my faith? You may as well demand,
That I should part with my own right hand!
Than part with that faith I would sooner incline
To part with my heart from its mortal shrine.
ALLAN.
Ah Mary! dear Mary! how can you thus frown,
And propose to part with what's not your own?
For that heart now is mine: and you must, my sweet dove,
Renounce that same faith on the altar of love.
And propose to part with what's not your own?
For that heart now is mine: and you must, my sweet dove,
Renounce that same faith on the altar of love.
Then Mary's sweet voice took its sharpest key,
And rose somewhat higher than maiden's should be;
But ere the vehement sentence was said,
A gentle hand on her lips was laid,
And a voice, to her that was ever dear,
Thus whisper'd softly in her ear:—
And rose somewhat higher than maiden's should be;
But ere the vehement sentence was said,
A gentle hand on her lips was laid,
And a voice, to her that was ever dear,
Thus whisper'd softly in her ear:—
LADY OF MOY.
Hush, Mary! dear Mary! what madness is this?
These dreams of the morning, my darling, dismiss:
Awake from this torpor of slumber so deep;
You are raving and clamouring through your sleep:
Up, up, and array you in scarlet and blue:
For Allan of Dale is come here to woo.
MARY.
Tell Allan of Dale straight home to hie,
And court Helen Kay, or his darling of Skye:
This positive message deliver from me,
For I list not his heretic face to see.
LADY.
My Mary! dear Mary! what am I to deem?
Arouse you, my love; you are still in your dream:
Your lover's views of things divine
May differ in some degree from thine;
But I think he is one who will not pother
Betwixt the one faith and the other.
MARY.
That is worse and worse: for my lover must be
Attach'd to my faith as well as to me:
We must kneel at one beloved shrine,
And the mode of his worship must be mine.
For why should a wedded pair devout,
By different paths seek heaven out?
Or in that dwelling happy be,
Who of the road could never agree?
O mother! this day, without all fail,
I had given my hand to young Borlan-dale;
But I've had such a hint from the throne on high,
Or some good angel hovering nigh,
That tongue of mortal should never prevail
On me to be bride to this Allan of Dale,
Unless he sign over a bond, for me
In the path of religion his guide to be.
340
As a sceptic of bold and most dissolute tone,
Who jeer'd at the cross, at the altar and priest,
And made our most holy communions his jest;
Yet Mary of this had of knowledge no gleam,
Till warned of her danger that morn in her dream.
He loved his Mary for lands and for gold,
For beauty of feature, and beauty of mould,
As well as a cold-hearted sceptic could love
Who held no belief in the blessings above;
And whene'er of his faith or his soul she spoke,
He answered her always with jeer and with joke.
The frowns of the maiden, and sighs of the lover,
With poutings and nay-says, were all gotten over;
And nothing remained but the schedule-deed gerent,
The bonds and the forms of the final agreement,—
A thing called a contract, that long-galling fetter!
Which parents love dearly, and lawyers love better.
In this was set down, at the maiden's indictment,
One part, to devotion a powerful incitement,
That her lover should forfeit, without diminution,
Her fortune redoubled, (a sore retribution!)
If ever his words or his actions should jostle
With the creed she revered of the holy apostle.
The terms were severe, but resource there was none;
So he sign'd, seal'd, and swore, and the bridal went on.
Well was it for Mary, for scarce were got over
The honeymoon joys, ere her profligate lover
Began his old gibes, when in frolicsome mood,
At all that the Christian holds sacred and good:
But still, lest the terms might be proven in law,
The bond and the forfeiture kept him in awe;
Which caused him to ponder and often think of it—
This thing that he jeer'd at, and where lay the profit?
Till at last, though by men it will scarce be believed,
A year had not pass'd, ere he daily perceived
The truths of the gospel rise bright and more bright,
Like the dawning of day o'er the darkness of night,
Or the sun of eternity rising to save
From the thraldom of death, and the gloom of the grave.
With poutings and nay-says, were all gotten over;
And nothing remained but the schedule-deed gerent,
The bonds and the forms of the final agreement,—
A thing called a contract, that long-galling fetter!
Which parents love dearly, and lawyers love better.
In this was set down, at the maiden's indictment,
One part, to devotion a powerful incitement,
That her lover should forfeit, without diminution,
Her fortune redoubled, (a sore retribution!)
If ever his words or his actions should jostle
With the creed she revered of the holy apostle.
The terms were severe, but resource there was none;
So he sign'd, seal'd, and swore, and the bridal went on.
Well was it for Mary, for scarce were got over
The honeymoon joys, ere her profligate lover
Began his old gibes, when in frolicsome mood,
At all that the Christian holds sacred and good:
But still, lest the terms might be proven in law,
The bond and the forfeiture kept him in awe;
Which caused him to ponder and often think of it—
This thing that he jeer'd at, and where lay the profit?
Till at last, though by men it will scarce be believed,
A year had not pass'd, ere he daily perceived
The truths of the gospel rise bright and more bright,
Like the dawning of day o'er the darkness of night,
Or the sun of eternity rising to save
From the thraldom of death, and the gloom of the grave.
Then Mary's fond heart was with gratitude moved
To her God, for the peace of the man that she loved;
And her mild face would glow with the radiance of beauty,
As he urged her along on her Christian duty;
For of the two, his soul throughout
Grew the most sincere and the most devout.
To her God, for the peace of the man that she loved;
And her mild face would glow with the radiance of beauty,
As he urged her along on her Christian duty;
For of the two, his soul throughout
Grew the most sincere and the most devout.
Then their life passed on like an autumn day,
That rises with red protentous ray,
Threatening its pathway to deform
With the wasting flood and the rolling storm;
But long ere the arch of the day is won,
A halo of promise is round the sun,
And the settled sky, though all serene,
Is ray'd with the dark and the bright between;
With the ruddy glow and the streamer wan,
Like the evil and good in the life of man;
And, at last, when it sinks on the cradle of day,
More holy and mild is its sapphire ray.
Oh! why should blind mortals e'er turn into mirth
The strange intercourse betwixt heaven and earth;
Or deem that their Maker cannot impart,
By a thousand ways, to the human heart,
In shadows protentous of what is to be,
His warnings, His will, and His final decree?
That rises with red protentous ray,
Threatening its pathway to deform
With the wasting flood and the rolling storm;
But long ere the arch of the day is won,
A halo of promise is round the sun,
And the settled sky, though all serene,
Is ray'd with the dark and the bright between;
With the ruddy glow and the streamer wan,
Like the evil and good in the life of man;
And, at last, when it sinks on the cradle of day,
More holy and mild is its sapphire ray.
Oh! why should blind mortals e'er turn into mirth
The strange intercourse betwixt heaven and earth;
Or deem that their Maker cannot impart,
By a thousand ways, to the human heart,
In shadows protentous of what is to be,
His warnings, His will, and His final decree?
This tale is a fact—I pledge for't in token,
The troth of a poet, which may not be broken;
And had it not been for this dream of the morn,
This vision of prayer, intrusion, and scorn,
Which Heaven at the last hour thus deign'd to deliver,
The peace of the twain had been ruin'd for ever.
The troth of a poet, which may not be broken;
And had it not been for this dream of the morn,
This vision of prayer, intrusion, and scorn,
Which Heaven at the last hour thus deign'd to deliver,
The peace of the twain had been ruin'd for ever.
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |