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Stood with him by the altar side :-“Thus live Belied the stern appearance,—" Priest, with him
In love will life's departure;"-Such thy prayer; But now who parted, is my soul allied
Ah, words how vain! sweet blessings unenjoy'd ! In secret, close society; his faith

Must be my faith, his God my God.”—“Fair youth,
The throng hath parted; in the House of God

I question not by what imperious tie Still knelt the ormed man; with pressure strong Of admiration or strong fove thou 'rt led; He clasp'd old Germain's hand-“Good Bishop, thou For as the Heavens with silent power intense Art skill'd in balancing nur earthly sins.

Draw upward the light mists and fogs of earth, I was a man, whose high ambitious head

And steeping them in glory, hang them forth Was among God's bright stars; Ideemid of earth,

Fresh, renovate, and radiant; virtue holds As of a place whose dust my feet shook off

The like attractive influence, to her trains With a heaven-gified scorn, so far, so high

Souls light and clayey-tinctured, till they catch Seem'd I above its tainting elevate.

The fair contagion of her beauty, beam At midnight, on my slumber came the sin,

With her imparted light. Hear, heathen youth, I will not say how exquisite and fair;

Hear and believe.”-As when beneath the nave Mine eyelids sprung apart to drink it in,

Tall arching, the Cathedral organ 'gins My soul leap'd up to clasp it, and the folds

Its prelude, lingeringly exquisite of passion, like a fiery robe, wrapt in

Within retired the bashful sweetness dwells,
My nature; I had fallen, but bounteous Heaven Anon like sunlight, or the floodgate rush
Of its most blest permitted one t'extend

of waters, bursts it forih, clear, solemn, full; A snow-white arm of rescue.”—“The hot tears It breaks upon the mazy fretted roof, Corrode and fret the warrior's brazen helm;

It coils up round the clustering pillars tall,
I will not ask thee of thine outward eyes,

It leaps into the cell-like chapels, strikes
Hath thy soul wept ?”—y Ay, bishop, tears of blood; Beneath the pavement sepulchres, at once
Sorrow and shame weigh'd down my nerveless arm, The living temple is instinct, ablaze
And clipp'd th'aspiring plumage of my soul; With the uncontroll'd exuberance of sound.
From out mine own heart scorn hiss'd at me."_"

-"Well,
Strong Man of arms, hast fought the inward fight, Even so with smoothing gentleness began
And God remit thy sins, as I remit."-

The mitred Preacher, winning audience close: " Then take thou to thine arms thy ancient friend.” Soard to the Empyrean, linking earth

Till rising up, the rapid argument So saying, uprose Samor, like a star

With heaven by golden chains of eloquence ; Out of the ocean, shining his bright face

Till the mind, all its faculties and powers, With the pure dews of penitence. But he,

Lay floating, self-surrender'd in the deep The old man, fell upon his neck and wept,

Of admiration. Wondrous 't was to see, As though th' endearing name, my Son, were voiced

With the transitions of the Holy Creed, By nature, not by saintly use, a sound

The workings of that regular bright face : Not of the lips, but th'overflowing heart.

Now ashy blank, now glittering bright, now dew'd Theirs was a broken conference, drear thoughts

With fast sad tears, now with a weeping smile, Or anguish, desolation, and despair,

Now heavy with droop'd eyelids, open now So moulded up with recollections sweet.

With forehead arch'd in rapture; till at last They made the sunken visage smile through tears;

Ensued a gasping listening without breath. A few fair roses shed on a brown heath,

But as the voice severe wound up the strain A little honey in deep cups of gaii :

And from the heavenly history to enforce Light bridal airs broke in upon by sounds

The everlasting moral, 'gan extort Fonereal, shouts of triumph languishing

From the novitiate in the jealous faith To the faint shriek of agony, direness forced

Passionless purity, and life sincere Into the fresh bowers of delight, and death,

From all the soft indulgences of sin;

Forbidden in the secret heart to shrine Th' unjoyous, in the laughing feast of joy.

A dear unlawful image, to reserve Tis th' one poor luxury the wretched have, A sad and narrow sanctuary for desire : To speak of wretchedness-yet brief their speech,

Then stood in speechlessness, yet suppliant, • Vengeance and vigilance," the stern adieu

With snowy arms outstretch'd, and quivering loose, Even in that hoary Bishop's ear, he went.

The veiling manile thrown in anguish back,

Confest the Woman: starting from their band, But by the Bishop's side, just there where knelt

Like golden waters o'er a marble bed, Th Avenger, a new form: 't was man in garb,

Flow'd out her long locks o'er her half-bare neck. Bat the thin fringing of the humid eye, The delicate wanderings of the rosy veins,

“ To tell me that in such cold solemn tones, The round full alabaster of the skin,

All, all unwelcome, bitter as it is, The briefness of the modest sliding step.

I must believe, for its oppressive truth Spething of womanly composure smooth,

Loads on my soul, and he believes it all. Even in the close and girt habiliments,

To tell it me here. here, where all around

Linger his vestiges, where the warm air

Are on him of a bashful eye, too fond Yet hath the motion of his breath, the sound To turn away, too timorous to fix of his departing footsteps beating yet

And rest unwavering. All the marriage rite U pon my heart. Long sought! and found in vain! Is acting now anew; the sunlight falls In sunshine have I sought thee and in shade, Upon the gold-clasp'd book of prayer, as then O'er mountain have I track'd thee, and through vale, It fell, and Germain speaks as Germain spake ; The clouds have wrapp'd thee, but I lost thee not, And Emeric, on her cheek the tear is there, The torrents drown'd thy track, but not from me, Where then it hung in lucid trembling bright; I dared not meet thee, but I sought thee still; The very futtering of her yielded hand, To me forbid, alone to me, what all

When gliding up her finger small, the ring The coarse and common things of nature may; Made her his own for ever, throbs again The airs of heaven may touch thee, I may not, Upon his sensitive touch. He dares not move All human eyes behold thee-all but mine; Lest he should break the lovely bubble frail; And thou, the senseless, enviable dust

His tranced eyes stir not, lest they rose away Mayst cherish the round traces of his limbs, From that delicious sight; his open hand His fresh fair image must away from me.

Lies pulseless, lest the slightest change disturb Oh, that I were the dust whereon thou treadst, That exquisite sensation : so he lies, Even though I felt thee not !"—And is this she, Knowing all false, yet feeling all as true. The virgin of the festal hall, who won A kingdom for a smile, nor deign'd regard

And it was false, yet why? that is indeed, Its winning, and who stoop'd to be a Queen ? Which is to sense and sight. Ah, well beseens And is this she, whose coming on the earth

Us, the strong insects of an April morn, Was like the Morn in her impearled car,

Steady and constant as the thistle's down Loftiest or loveliest which, 't were bold to say? When winds are on it, lasting as the flake She whose enamouring scorn fell luxury-like Of spring snow on the warm and grassy ground, On her beholders, who seem'd glad to shrink

Well beseems us, ourselves, our forms, our lives, Beneath the wreathed contempt of her full lip? The earth we tread on, and the air we breathe, This she, the Lady of the summer bark,

The light and glassy peopling of a dream,
To whom the sunshine and the airs, and all

T'' arraign our visions for their perishing,
Th'inconstant waters play'd the courtier smooth, And on their unreality to rail,
That cast a human feeling of delight

Ungrateful to the illusion, that deceives
At her bewitching presence o'er the blind

To rapture, and unwise to cast away Unconscious forms of nature? Is this she?

Sweet flowers because they are not amaranth. Those rich lips, for a monarch's banquet meet, Visiting the dust with frantic kiss, thus low,

Thou, Samor, nor ungrateful nor unwise, Thus desolate, thus fallen, of her fall

That, 'scaping from this cold and dark below, Careless, so deep in shame, yet unashamed !

Dost spread thee out for thy peculiar joy

A land of fair imaginings, with shapes, But thou, Ileaven reconciled, on earth the seal'd, And sounds, and motions, and sweet stillnesses, The anointed by the prophet's gladdening oils, Dost give up all the moon beholds to woe God's instrument, hath midnight now resumed

And tumult, but in some far quiet sphere Its spirit-wafiing function ? Emeric, she

Findest thyself a pure companionship On earth so mild, in her had anger secm'd

With spirits thou didst love, and who loved thee Unnatural as a war-song on a lute,

While passionate and earthly sense was theirs.
As blood upon the pinion of a dove.
In heaven has she her heavenly qualities
Unlearnt? is she the angel now in all
But its best part, forgiveness? Can it be

BOOK IX
Th'ungentle North, the bleak and snowy air
Estrange her now? those elements of earth
But tyrannize beneath the moon, the stars

Who tracks the ship along the sea of storms? And spirits in their nature privileged

Who throngh the dark haste of the wintry clouds From heat and cold, from fevering and from frost, Pierceth to where the planet in retired Their pure and constant temperament maintain, And constant motion the blue arch of heaven Glide through the storm serene, and rosy warm Traverseth? Sometimes on the mountain top Rove the frore winter air. Are sounds abroad, Of some huge wave the reappearing bark That Samor froin his mossy pillow, stretch'd Takes its high stand, with pennon fluttering far Under the oak, uplifts his head, and then

And cautious sail half furi'd. yet eminent Like one bliss-overcome, subsides again?

As of th'assaulting element in disdain. Half sleep, half sense he lies, his nuptial hymn, Sometimes amid the darkness falling off, Articulate each gay and dancing word,

And scattering from its crystal sphere away, Distinct each delicate and dwelling fall,

Bursts out the argent orb refreshd, and shows Is somewhere in the air about him; looks

Its lamp unquenchable. Thou voyager

'Mid the rude waves of desolation, Star

The furrowing scourge with all herself, and hung Of Britain's gloomy night, so bafflest thou

Over their backs half fury, and half joy, My swift poetic vision! now the waves

As though to listen to their bruising hoofs, Ride o'er thee, now the clouds devour thee up, That trampled the thick massacre. Erect And thou art lost to sight, and dare I say

Behind, with shield drawn in and forward spear, Lost to thy immortality of song?

The coned helm finely shaped to th'arching brow, Thee too anon I see emerging proud

The God stood up within the car, that seem'd From the dusk billows of calamity,

To rush whenever the feet wind swept by. That swoln and haughty from the recent wreck His brow was glory, and his arm was power, of thy compatriot navy, thee assail

And a smooth immortality of youth, With their accumulated weight of surge.

Like freshness from Elysium newly left, Thon topst some high-brow'd wave, and shaking off Th'embalming of celestial airs inhaled, On either side their sury, brandishest

Touch'd with a beauty to be shudder'd at
Thy solitary banner. Thee ( see,

His massy shape, a lightning-like fierce gruce,
Within th' embosoming midnight of the land, That makes itself admired, whilst it destroys.
On gliding with smooth motion undisturbid,
And through the glimpses of the breaking gloom, There on a throne, fronting the morning sun,
Sometimes a solemn beauty sheddest furth

Caswallon sate ; his sceptre a bright sword
On the distemper d face of human things.

Unsheathed; with savage art had he broke up

His helmet to the likeness of a crown, Full in the centre of Caer Ehrane* stood

Thereon unconthly set and clustering bright A temple, by the August Severus rear'd

Rich jewels glitter'd ; to his people ranged To Mavors the Implacable; what time

Upon the steps of marble sloping down, That Cæsar sloop'd his eagles on the wreck

Barbaric justice minist'ring he sate, Of British freedom, when the mountaineer,

Expounding the absolute law of his own will, The King of Morven, if old songs be sooth,

And from the abject at his feet received Fingal, from Carun's bloody flashing waves †

Homage that seem'd like worship: not alone Shook the fled Roman on his new-built wall;

From his wild people, but from lips baptized, And Ossian woke up on his hill of dreams,

Came titles that might make the patient Heavens And spread the glory of his song abroad,

Burst to the utterance of a laughing scorn; To halo round his sceptred Hero's head.

Might wake up from the busom of the grave,

A bitter and compassionate contempt,
But not the less his work of pride pursued

To hear the inheritance of her dull worms,
Th' imperial Roman; up the pillars rose,
Slow lengthening out their long unbroken lines ;

Named in his dauntless and unblushing style,
In delicate solidity advanced,

“Unconqu'rable! Omnipotent! Supreme !"And stately grace toward the sky, till met

But all along the ranging column files, By the light massiveness of roof, that sloped

And all abroad the turgid laudings spread, Down on their flowery capitals. Nor knew

“ Uncongu

u'rable! Omnipotent! Supreme !" That man of purple and of diadem, The Universal Architect at work,

Yet he, the Stranger, whom Prince Malwyn leads Framing for him a narrow building dark,

He bows nof, those hymn'd Ratteries seem to jar The grave's lone building. Th'emperor and his bones Upon his sense, so high his head he bears loro the blank of things forgot and past

Above them, like a man constrain'd to walk Had moulder'd, but this proud and 'during pile, Amid low tufts of poisonous herbs; he fronts By wild weeds overgrown, by yellow hues

The monarch, and thus 'gins his taunting strain : Of age deep tinted, soll a triumph wrought

“ Unconqu’rable! whose conquering is the wolf's O'er time, and Christian disregard, and stood That when the shifting barile rages yet, As though to mock its Maker's perishing.

Steals to some desert corner of the field,

And riots on the spoils. Omnipotent! Upon the eastern pediment stood out

Ay, as a passive weapon, wielded now, A fierce relief, where the tumultuous stone

Now cast away contemptuous for the dust Was nobly touch'd into a fit device

To canker and to rust around. Supreme! For th’immorial Homicide within: it show'd

O'er whom is Ruin on its vulture wings, His coming on the earth; the God had burst

Scoffing the bubble whereupon thou ridest, The gaies of Janus, that fell shattering back

And waiting Hengist's call to swoop and pierce Behind him, from the wall the rearing steeds

And dissipate its swoln and airy pride. Sprung forth, and with their slony hoofs the air

Whose diadem of glory, sword of power, Insalted. Them Bellona urged, abroad

Yea, breath of life, at Hengist's wayward will, Her snaky locks from her bare wrinkled brow

Cling to thee, ready at his beck to fade, Went scattering; forward the haggard charioteer

And shiver and expire."_" At Hengist's call! Lean'd, following to the coursers' reeking flanks

At Hengist's beck! at Hlengist's!"-the word choked. • York

Gibbon, ch. vi. With eyes that dug into the Stranger's face,

storms:

Yet so by wrath bewilder'd, they had lost

Against the living guilty."—And to earth, Distinction, rose Caswallon. From the wall

Upleaping, Samor dash'd the crown; the gems A lance he seized, huge as a pine-tree stem,

Lay starry on the pavement white. On high That on Blencathara stands sheer 'gainst Heaven's Caswallon the rear'd sword of justice swung,

Heavy with death, above th' Avenger's head. Far o'er all heads a long and rapid flight

'But he—“Caswallon, hold thine hand, here, here It cut along the air, till almost fail'd

Thy warrant for my safety, by thy son The sight to track it to its ponderous fall.

A poniard given, upon his heart to wreak Then taking on his throne his quiet seat,

All evil done myself." With bosom bare " Back, back to lengist, say my lance flies thus, Stood Malwyn by th' Avenger's side. But he Bid himn o'ercast it, then come here again

Viewing that downy skin empurpled o'er To menace at Caswallon.”—“Soft and weak,

With youth's light colouring, and his constant mien, (Pursued the unwondering Stranger) know'st thou not, Cast down the dagger, and “ Fall what fall may, There is a strength, that is not of the arm,

Excellent boy, my hand shall still be white Nor standeth in the muscles' sinewy play?

From blood of thine."-Like wild-boar in his rush It striketh, but its striking is unseen,

Based, or torreni-check’d, Caswallon pausedIt wieldeth, what it wieldeth seeming yet

“Now, Christian, where learnt thou the art to utest Sway'd by its own free motion. King, I say, My vengeance from me? Go, go, I may strike Thou stepp'st not, speak'st not, but obedient still If the fit fire me.

.-By Andraste. boy, To Hengist's empire, thou 'rt a dog that hunts Boy Malwyn, there's thy father in thy blood. But as thy master slips thee on his game,

Ha! Samor, thou hast 'scaped me now, erewhile A bridled steed that vaunteth as his own

I'll make a footstool of thy neck, to mount His rider's prowess.”—“ Hah! I know thee now, On Britain's throne: alive or dead, I 'll have Jnsolent outcast, Samor ?"_" And I thee,

A knee as supple, and a front as low Sell-outcast, once a Briton-ob thou fallin

From thee, as any of my milk-fed slaves : When most thou seem'st exalted, oh most base Go, go."— And Malwyn led the Arenger forth When most ennobled, a most pitiful slave

Along the dull and sleepy shore of Ouse, When bearing thee most lordly! Briton once, Till all Caer Ebranc's sounds flagg'd on his ear, Ay, every clod of earth that makes a part

And all its towers had dwindled from his sight of this isle's round, each leaf of every tree,

Ere parting, Malwyn clasp'd his hand, and tears And every wave of every streamlet brook,

Hung in his eyelids.—" Oh, thou know'st not yet Should look upon thee with a mother's glance, How llengist sways my father's passive mind! And speak unto thee with a mother's voice.

My sister, my sweet Lilian, she whose sight But thou, most impious and unnatural son,

Made mine eyes tremble, whom I've stolen to see, Hast sold thy mother to the shame and curse Despite my father's stern command, asleep of foreign lust, hast knit a league to rend

With parted lips, and snowy breathing skin, And sever her, most proud if some torn limb Scarce knew she me, her brother; her knew I Be cast thee for thy lot.”—Then rose again

So only that my spirit yearn'd 10 mix Caswallon, from his brow the crown took off,

With hers in fondness, she, even she, the soft And placing it in Samor's hand-"| read

The innocent, a wolf had loved her, she Thy purpose, and there 's fire in 't, by my throne ! Hath felt the drowning waters o'er her close, Now, Samor, place that crown upon my head, Fair victim of a hellish sacrifice" Do me thy homage, kneeling, as thy king,

After a troubled silence, spake the Chief: And thou and I, we'll have a glorious tilt

“ Malwyn, my Christian pupil, God will give At these proud Saxons. Turn not off; may boys The loved on earth another meeting-place; Gild their young javelins in Caswallon's blood, Adieu, remember, Vengeance, Vigilance." And women pluck me by the beard, if e'er On other terms I league with thee."--The crown

The spring had made an early effort faint, Samor received, and Samor look'd to heaven,

T'encroach upon the Winter's ancient reign, And Samor bow'd his knee,—“ Almighty God,

And she had lured forth from the glittering earth If thine eternal thunderbolts are yet

The snowdrop and pale cowslip. th'elder tree Unweary of their function dire, if earth

And hawthorn their green buds shot out, yet feard Yet, yet have not exhausted and consumed

T'entrust the rude air with their dainty folds, Thy flame-wing'd armoury of wrath, reserve

A fresh green sparkled where the snow had been, Some signal and particular revenge

And here and there a bird on the bare spray For this man's head: so this foul earih shall learn,

Warbled a timorous welcome, and the stream Ere doomsday, that the sin, whose monstrous shape

Of Eamont, as rejoicing to be free. Doth most offend thy nice and sensitive sight,

Went laughing down its sunny silvering course. Is to bear arms against our native land.

The only wintry thing on Eamont's shore Make thou of him a monumental ruin,

Is human ; powerless are the airs that touch To publish in the ages long remote,

To breathing and to kindling the dead earth, That sometimes is thy red right hand uplift

Powerless the dewy irembling of the sun,

To melt around the heart of Vortimer

Oh, much abused! much injured, well, too well The snow that Makes and curdles there that bank, Hath that fell man the deed of evil w rought.”That little bank of fair and cherish'd turf,

• Man, man! then there is man, whore blood will flow, Whereon his head reclines, ah, doth not rest! Whose fesh will quiser under the keen steel, By its round swelling, likest were a grave,

Samor!"— And up he leap'd, as though he flung Save that 't were brief and narrow for all else Like a dead load the dreamy madness off. But fairy, or those slender watery shapes

“Samor! thou tranquil soul! that walk'st abroad That dance beneath the stream. Yet there the spring | With thy calm reason, and thy clondless face Hath dropp'd her first, her tenderest bloom; the airs Unchangeable, as a cold midnight slar: Find the first flowery odours on that spot;

Thou scarce wilt credit. I have found a joy Cowslip is there and primrose faint and pale, In hurling stones down on that glasy tide, The daisy and the violet's blue eyes,

And with an angry and quick-dashing foot, Peeping from out the shaking grass. The step Breaking the senseless smoothness, that methought Of Samor wakens the pale slumberer there,

Smiled wickedly upon me, and rejoiced He lifts his lean hands up, and parls away

At its own guilt and my calamity. The matting hair from o'er his eyes, which look But oh, upon a thing that feels and bleeds, As though the painful sunlight wilder'd them, And shrieks and shudders, with avenging arm With stony slare that saw not. Save that lay To spring! Where is 't and who? good Samor, tell.”A shepherd's wallet by his side, had seem'd

And Samor told the tale, and thus" Brave youth, That foot of man ne'er ventured here; all sounds Not only from yon narrow turf, come up Were strange and foreign, save the pendent arms From Britain's every hill, and glen, and plain, Swinging above with heavy knolling sound.

Deep voices that invoke thee, Vortimer, But Samor's presence made a sudden break

To waken from thy woeful rest. Thy arm Upon his miserable flow of thought;

No selfish, close, and singular revenge He motion'd first with bony arm, then spake.

Must nerve and freshen; in thy country's cause, “Away, away, thou 'rt fearful, thou 'lt disturb,

Not in thy own, that fury must be wreak’d."
Away with thy arm'd head and iron heel,
She will not venture, while thy aspect fierce

His answer was the brandishing his sword,
Haunts hereabout, she cannot brook a sound,

Which he had rent down from th'o'erhanging bough, Nor any thing that's rude, and dark, and harsh, And the infuriate riot of his eye. Nor any voice, nor any look but mine; She will not come up, if thou lingerst here;

“Oh, perilous your hazard," still went on Hard and discourteous man, why seek to keep Samor, “ye foes of freedom, ye take off My own, my buried from me! why prevent

Heaven's bonds from all our fiercer part of man, The smiling intercourse of those that love !"

Ye legalize forbidden thoughts, the thirst “ Sad man, what mean’st thou !"_“Speak not, but of blood ye make a glory, give the hue begone,

Of honour and self-admiration proud I tell thee, she's beneath, I laid her there,

To passions murky, dark, unreconciled : And she 'll come up to me, I know she will,

The stern and Pagan vengeance sanctisy Trembling and slender, soft and rosy pale.

To a Christian virtue, and our prayers, that mount I know it, all things sound, and all things smile, Unto the throne of God, though harshly toned As when she wont to meet me.”—“Woeful youth.

With imprecations, take their flight uncheck’d." The dead shall never rise but once.”—“And why? The primrose that was dead, I saw it shed

But Vortimer upon the grassy bank Its leaves, and now again 't is fresh and fair;

Had fallen : “ Not long, sweet spirit, oh not long, The swallow, fed on gliding wing away,

Shall violets be wanting on thy grave!"Like a departing spirii, see it skims

Yet unaccompanied the Avenger past,The waters; the white dormouse, that went down

As though the wonted dark and solemn words, Into its cave, hath been abroad ; the stream,

“ Vengeance and Vigilance." had fix'd him there, That was so silent, hark! its murmuring voice

Prince Vortimer remains by Eamont side.
Is round about us. Lilian too, to meet
The voices and the breathing things she loved, Samor! the cities hear thy lonely voice
Amid the sunshine and the springing joy

Thy lonely tread is in the quiet vale, Will rise again." -" Kind Heaven, I should have Thy lonely arm, amid his deep trench'd camp, known,

The Saxon hears upon some crashing helm Though rust-embrown'd, yon breast-plate, and yon Breaking in thunder and in death. But theo helm,

Why see I thee by Severn side! what soft
I should have known, though furrowy, sunk and wan, And indolent attraction wiles thee on,
That face, though wreck'd and broken that tall form; Even on this cold and gusty April day,
Prince Vortimer! in maiden or in child,

To the sad desert of thy ancient home!
Fancies so sick and wild had been most sad, Why mingle for thyself the wormwood cup?
But in a martial and renowned chief,

Why plunge into the fount of bitterness? Might teach a trick of pity to a fiend.

Or why, with sad indulgence, pamper up,

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