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Stood with him by the altar side :-“Thus live Belied the stern appearance,—" Priest, with him
Must be my faith, his God my God.”—“Fair youth,
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,
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,
It leaps into the cell-like chapels, strikes
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,
T'' arraign our visions for their perishing,
Ungrateful to the illusion, that deceives
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.
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
His massy shape, a lightning-like fierce gruce,
Caswallon sate ; his sceptre a bright sword
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,
To hear the inheritance of her dull worms,
Named in his dauntless and unblushing style,
“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
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,
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."
His answer was the brandishing his sword,
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.
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
To the sad desert of thy ancient home!
Why plunge into the fount of bitterness? Might teach a trick of pity to a fiend.
Or why, with sad indulgence, pamper up,