Was raised for her a graven tomb And now, ye polish'd fair of modern times, With outstretch'd, straining throat, bravuras loud, Or she, whose cultured, high-strain'd talents soar LORD JOHN OF THE EAST. THE fire blazed bright till deep midnight, And the guests sat in the hall, And the lord of the feast, Lord John of the East, His dark gray eye, that wont so sly Flash'd keenly bright, like a new-waked sprite In laughter light, or jocund lay, That voice was heard, whose sound, And stretch'd so balm, like lady's palm, That hand which through a prostrate foe The gallants sang, and the goblets rang, "Who knocks without, so loud and stout? Our blazing hall hath seen. Whose finger, white and small, with ink-stain tipt,« If a stranger it be of high degree, Still scorns with vulgar thimble to be clipt; To philosophic, honour'd ignorance Of all, that, in divided occupation, Gives the base stamp of female degradation; A generous, helpful maid,-a good and noble dame. Step forth amain, my pages twain, And soothly ask him in. "Tell him our cheer is the forest deer, And the lord of the feast is John of the East, The pages twain return'd again, And a wild, scared look had they; "A stately knight without doth wait, Till the baron himself shall come to the gate, "By my mother's shroud, he is full proud! "I know not, in truth," quoth the trembling youth, "In Raveller's plight, he is bedight, With a vest of the crim'sy meet; But his mantle behind, that streams on the wind, Out, paltry child! thy wits are wild, Say plainly, then, what hast thou seen? Faint spoke the second page with fear, And bent him on his knee, Then dark, dark lower'd the baron's eye, "And is there ne'er of my vassals here, Then spoke and said, fierce Donald the Red,(A fearless man was he,) "Yes; I will straight to the castle gate, Lord John, for the love of thee." With heart full stout, he hied him out, Whilst silent all remain ; Nor moved a tongue those gallants among, "O speak," said his lord, "by thy hopes of grace, What stranger must we hail ?" But the haggard look of Donald's face "It is a knight in some foreign guise, His like did I never behold; For the stony look of his beamless eyes Made my very life-blood cold. "I did him greet in fashion meet, And bade him your feast partake, But the voice that spoke, when he silence broke, Made the earth beneath me quake. "O such a tone did tongue ne'er own It is like a sound from the hollow ground,- "I bade him to your social board. But in he will not hie, Until at the gate this castle's lord Shall entreat him courteously. But his loosen'd limbs shook fast, and pour'd As louder still the third time roar'd The thundering gate below. "O rouse thee, baron, for manhood's worth! Thou must to the stranger knight go forth, "Rouse thy bold breast," said each eager guest, "What boots it shrinking so? Be it fiend, or sprite, or murder'd knight, "Why shouldst thou fear? dost thou not wear O'er which naught ill hath power?" All ghastly pale did the baron quail, As he turn'd him to the door, And his sandals blest, by a holy priest, Sound feebly on the floor. Then back to the hall and his merry mates all, He cast his parting eye, "God send thee amain, safe back again!" He heaved a heavy sigh. Then listen'd they, on the lengthen'd way, But wilder it grew, and stronger it blew, Each fearful eye then glanced on high, "And he stretch'd him the while with a ghastly But the vision'd glare pass'd through the air, smile, And the raging tempest ceased, And never more on sea or shore, Was seen Lord John of the East. The sandals, blest by a holy priest, Lay unscath❜d on the swarded green, But never again on land or main, Lord John of the East was seen. MALCOM'S HEIR. "The seafowl screams, and the watch-tower gleams, O Go not by Duntorloch's walls And the deafening billows roar, Where he unblest was put to rest, On a wild and distant shore. "Do the hollow grave and the whelming wave Give up their dead again? Doth the surgy waste waft o'er its breast The spirits of the slain ?" When the moon is in the wane, For there the Lady of the Stream And stop not at the house of Merne, On the eve of good Saint John, For then the Swathed Knight walks his rounds With many a heavy moan. All swathed is he in coffin weeds, And a wound is in his breast, And he points still to the gloomy vault, The nightshade rank grows in the court, On it there shines no cheerful light, When the moon peers o'er the wood, No sweet bird's chirping there is heard, But the owlet hoots, and the pent blast sobs, No marvel! for within its walls Was done the deed unblest, And in its noisome vaults the bones He laid his father in the tomb With deep and solemn wo, As rumour tells, but righteous Heaven There rest his bones in the mouldering earth, But the foul, fell spirit that in them dwelt, "Another night," quoth Malcom's heir, I will not lay my head, Though the clouds of heaven my roof should be, And the cold, dank earth my bed. "Your younger son has now your love, And my step-dame false your ear; And his are your hawks, and his are your hounds, And his your dark-brown deer. "To him you have given your noble steed, But me have you shamed before my friends, "Proud son, thy anger is all too keen, "Yet rest this night beneath my roof, But nothing moved was Malcom's heir, But cursed his father in his heart, And sternly strode away. And his coal-black steed he mounted straight, Ran Swain, his faithful hound. Loud rose the blast, yet ne'ertheless Till night, like the gloom of a cavern'd mine, Loud rose the blast, thick fell the rain, At length full close before him shot And the high-arch'd gate of Glencromar's tower, His steed stood still, nor step would move, And wagg'd his tail, and feebly whined; Through porch and court he pass'd, and still Till beneath the hoofs of his trampling steed And other echoes answer gave From arches far and grand; Close to his horse and his faithful dog He took his fearful stand. The night-birds shriek'd from the creviced roof, As if waked from the hollow ground. And upward still it wore, Till it seem'd at the end of the farthest aisle To enter the eastern door. O! never did music of mortal make A horrid elrich dirge it seem'd,— The yell of pain, and the wail of wo, And the short, shrill shriek of fear, And the serpent's hiss, and the tiger's growl, Were mix'd at times, as with measured skill, Up brizzled the locks of Malcom's heir, And his heart it quickly beat, And his trembling steed shook under his hand, And Swain cower'd close to his feet. When, lo! a faint light through the porch Still strong and stronger grew, And shed o'er the walls and the lofty roof And slowly entering then appear'd, As in honour of the dead. The first that walk'd were torchmen ten And each wore the face of an angry fiend, And the next that walk'd as mourners meet, Befoul'd with many a stain. Each with a cut-cord round his neck, And after these, in solemn state, There came an open bier, Borne on black, shapeless, rampant forms, And on that bier a corse was laid, As corse could never lie, That did by decent hands composed In nature's struggles die. Nor stretch'd, nor swathed, but every limb In strong distortion lay, As in the throes of a violent death And in its breast was a broken knife, With the black blood bolter'd round; Its features were fix'd in horrid strength, But, oh the horrid form to trace, In fashion of the chief mourner, In his lifted hand, with straining grasp, In life's full prime were seen. Ay, gnash thy teeth and tear thy hair, And roll thine eyeballs wild, Thou horrible, accursed son, Back from the bier with strong recoil, Doth he in vain his harrow'd head, And writhing body throw. For, closing round, a band of fiends Full fiercely with him deal, And force him o'er the bier to bend, With their fangs of red-hot steel. Still on they moved, and stopp'd at length, In the midst of the trembling hall, When the dismal dirge, from its loudest pitch, Sunk to a dying fall. But what of horror next ensued, No mortal tongue can tell, For the thrill'd life paused in Malcom's heir, The morning rose with cheerful light, They sought him east, they sought him west, And met him at last on the blasted heath, He will to no one utter his tale, But the priest of St. Cuthbert's cell, And aye, when the midnight warning sounds, He hastens his beads to tell. THE ELDEN TREE. A FEAST was spread in the baron's hall, For gentle dames sat there, I trow, By men of mickle might, Each had fought in war's grim ranks, But who thinks now of blood or strife, As we poor lovers feel. "Come, pledge me well, my lady gay, Come, pledge me, noble frere ; Each cheerful mate on such a day, Is friend or mistress dear." And louder still comes jeer and boast, Ay, certes, 'tis an hour of glee, For the baron himself doth smile, And nods his head right cheerily, And quaffs his cup the while. What recks he now of midnight fear, Or the night wind's dismal moan? As it tosses the boughs of that Elden Tree, Which he thinketh so oft upon ? Long years have past since a deed was done, By its doer only seen, And there lives not a man beneath the sun, Who wotteth that deed hath been. So gay was he, so gay were all, They mark'd not the growing gloom; Nor wist they how the darkening hall Lower'd like the close of doom. Dull grew the goblet's sheen, and grim A flash of light pass'd through the place, Fierce glanced the momentary blaze And each visage pale, with dazzled gaze, And the thunder's rolling peal, from far, And varied its sound like the broil of war, Still glares the lightning blue and pale, And roars th' astounding din; And rattle the windows with bickering hail, And cowering hounds the board beneath At length in the waning tempest's fall, "The thunder hath stricken your tree so fair, "White bones are found in the mould below, Like the bones of a stripling child.” Pale he became as the shrouded dead, And down on his bosom dropp'd his head, Then from the board, each guest amazed, Sprang up, and curiously Upon his sudden misery gazed, And wonder'd what might be. Out spoke the ancient seneschal, Both gentle dames and nobles all, "No, fetch me a priest," the baron said, In a voice that seem'd utter'd with pain; And he shudder'd and shrunk, as he faintly bade His noble guests remain. "Heaven's eye each secret deed doth scan, Heaven's justice all should fear: What I confess to the holy man, Both heaven and you shall hear." And soon St. Cuthbert's monk stood by And cast on the baron a piteous eye, And the baron knelt low at his feet. "O, father! I have done a deed A brother's blood these hands have shed, "For fiends lent strength like a powerful charm, And my youthful breast impell'd, And I laugh'd to see beneath my arm "A mattock from its pit I took, Dug deep for the Elden Tree, And I tempted the youth therein to look "The woodmen to their meal were gone, I had planted that tree with my strength alone, "Ah! gladly smiled my father then, And seldom he smiled on me, When he heard that my skill, like the skill of men, "But where was his eldest son so dear, Who under his cold eye lives! |