Part 17 (1/2)

”A silly, ill-bred, conceited fool,” said Halcro, looking after him; ”with as little manners as wit in his empty c.o.xcomb. I wonder what Magnus and these silly wenches can see in him--he tells such d.a.m.nable long-winded stories, too, about his adventures and sea-fights--every second word a lie, I doubt not. Mordaunt, my dear boy, take example by that man--that is, take warning by him--never tell long stories about yourself. You are sometimes given to talk too much about your own exploits on crags and skerries, and the like, which only breaks conversation, and prevents other folk from being heard. Now I see you are impatient to hear out what I was saying--Stop, whereabouts was I?”

”I fear we must put it off, Mr. Halcro, until after dinner,” said Mordaunt, who also meditated his escape, though desirous of effecting it with more delicacy towards his old acquaintance than Captain Cleveland had thought it necessary to use.

”Nay, my dear boy,” said Halcro, seeing himself about to be utterly deserted, ”do not you leave me too--never take so bad an example as to set light by old acquaintance, Mordaunt. I have wandered many a weary step in my day; but they were always lightened when I could get hold of the arm of an old friend like yourself.”

So saying, he quitted the youth's coat, and sliding his hand gently under his arm, grappled him more effectually; to which Mordaunt submitted, a little moved by the poet's observation upon the unkindness of old acquaintances, under which he himself was an immediate sufferer.

But when Halcro renewed his formidable question, ”Whereabouts was I?”

Mordaunt, preferring his poetry to his prose, reminded him of the song which he said he had written upon his first leaving Zetland,--a song to which, indeed, the enquirer was no stranger, but which, as it must be new to the reader, we shall here insert as a favourable specimen of the poetical powers of this tuneful descendant of Haco the Golden-mouthed; for, in the opinion of many tolerable judges, he held a respectable rank among the inditers of madrigals of the period, and was as well qualified to give immortality to his Nancies of the hills or dales, as many a gentle sonnetteer of wit and pleasure about town. He was something of a musician also, and on the present occasion seized upon a sort of lute, and, quitting his victim, prepared the instrument for an accompaniment, speaking all the while that he might lose no time.

”I learned the lute,” he said, ”from the same man who taught honest Shadwell--plump Tom, as they used to call him--somewhat roughly treated by the glorious John, you remember--Mordaunt, you remember--

'Methinks I see the new Arion sail, The lute still trembling underneath thy nail; At thy well sharpen'd thumb, from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, The trebles squeak for fear, the ba.s.ses roar.'

Come, I am indifferently in tune now--what was it to be?--ay, I remember--nay, The La.s.s of Northmaven is the ditty--poor Bet Stimbister!

I have called her Mary in the verses. Betsy does well for an English song; but Mary is more natural here.” So saying, after a short prelude, he sung, with a tolerable voice and some taste, the following verses:

MARY.

Farewell to Northmaven, Grey Hillswicke, farewell!

To the calms of thy haven, The storms on thy fell-- To each breeze that can vary The mood of thy main, And to thee, bonny Mary!

We meet not again.

Farewell the wild ferry, Which Hacon could brave, When the peaks of the Skerry Were white in the wave.

There's a maid may look over These wild waves in vain-- For the skiff of her lover-- He comes not again.

The vows thou hast broke, On the wild currents fling them; On the quicksand and rock Let the mermaidens sing them.

New sweetness they'll give her Bewildering strain; But there's one who will never Believe them again.

O were there an island, Though ever so wild, Where woman could smile, and No man be beguiled-- Too tempting a snare To poor mortals were given, And the hope would fix there, That should anchor on heaven!

”I see you are softened, my young friend,” said Halcro, when he had finished his song; ”so are most who hear that same ditty. Words and music both mine own; and, without saying much of the wit of it, there is a sort of eh--eh--simplicity and truth about it, which gets its way to most folk's heart. Even your father cannot resist it--and he has a heart as impenetrable to poetry and song as Apollo himself could draw an arrow against. But then he has had some ill luck in his time with the women-folk, as is plain from his owing them such a grudge--Ay, ay, there the charm lies--none of us but has felt the same sore in our day. But come, my dear boy, they are mustering in the hall, men and women both--plagues as they are, we should get on ill without them--but before we go, only mark the last turn--

'And the hope would fix there,'--

that is, in the supposed island--a place which neither was nor will be--

'That should anchor on heaven.'

Now you see, my good young man, there are here none of your heathenish rants, which Rochester, Etheridge, and these wild fellows, used to string together. A parson might sing the song, and his clerk bear the burden--but there is the confounded bell--we must go now--but never mind--we'll get into a quiet corner at night, and I'll tell you all about it.”

CHAPTER XIII.

Full in the midst the polish'd table s.h.i.+nes, And the bright goblets, rich with generous wines; Now each partakes the feast, the wine prepares, Portions the food, and each the portion shares; Nor till the rage of thirst and hunger ceased, To the high host approach'd the sagacious guest.

_Odyssey._

The hospitable profusion of Magnus Troil's board, the number of guests who feasted in the hall, the much greater number of retainers, attendants, humble friends, and domestics of every possible description, who revelled without, with the mult.i.tude of the still poorer, and less honoured a.s.sistants, who came from every hamlet or towns.h.i.+p within twenty miles round, to share the bounty of the munificent Udaller, were such as altogether astonished Triptolemus Yellowley, and made him internally doubt whether it would be prudent in him at this time, and amid the full glow of his hospitality, to propose to the host who presided over such a splendid banquet, a radical change in the whole customs and usages of his country.