Part 24 (1/2)

Onward he rode, the pathway still Winding betwixt the lake and hill; Till, on the fragment of a rock, Struck from its base by lightning shock, He saw the h.o.a.ry sage: The silver moss and lichen twined, With fern and deer-hair check'd and lined, A cus.h.i.+on fit for age; And o'er him shook the aspin-tree, A restless rustling canopy.

Then sprung young Henry from his selle, And greeted Lyulph grave, And then his master's tale did tell, And then for counsel crave.

The Man of Years mused long and deep, Of time's lost treasures taking keep, And then, as rousing from a sleep, His solemn answer gave.

”That maid is born of middle earth, And may of man be won, Though there have glided since her birth Five hundred years and one.

But where's the knight in all the north, That dare the adventure follow forth, So perilous to knightly worth, In the valley of St. John?

Listen, youth, to what I tell, And bind it on thy memory well; Nor muse that I commence the rhyme Far distant 'mid the wrecks of time.

The mystic tale, by bard and sage, Is handed down from Merlin's age.”

[17] Dunmailraise is one of the grand pa.s.ses from c.u.mberland into Westmorland. It takes its name from a cairn, or pile of stones, erected it is said, to the memory of Dunmail, the last king of c.u.mberland, who was slain and buried there.

[18] A circular entrenchment, about half a mile from Penrith, is thus popularly termed. The circle within the ditch is about one hundred and sixty paces in circ.u.mference, with openings, or approaches, directly opposite to each other. As the ditch is on the inner side, it could not be intended for the purpose of defence, and it has been reasonably conjectured, that the enclosure was designed for the solemn exercise of feats of chivalry; and the embankment around for the convenience of the spectators.

[19] Higher up the river Eamont than Arthur's Round Table, is a prodigious enclosure of great antiquity, formed by a collection of stones upon the top of a gently sloping hill, called Mayburgh.

In the plain which it encloses there stands erect an unhewn stone of twelve feet in height. Two similar ma.s.ses are said to have been destroyed during the memory of man. The whole appears to be a monument of Druidical times.

[20] Ullswater.

LYULPH'S TALE.

”King Arthur has ridden from merry Carlisle, When Pentecost was o'er: He journey'd like errant-knight the while, And sweetly the summer sun did smile On mountain, moss, and moor.

Above his solitary track Rose huge Blencathara's ridgy back, Amid whose yawning gulfs the sun Cast umber'd radiance red and dun, Though never sunbeam could discern The surface of that sable tarn,[21]

In whose black mirror you may spy The stars, while noontide lights the sky.

The gallant King he skirted still The margin of that mighty hill; Rock upon rocks inc.u.mbent hung, And torrents, down the gullies flung, Join'd the rude river that brawl'd on, Recoiling now from crag and stone, Now diving deep from human ken, And raving down its darksome glen.

The Monarch judged this desert wild, With such romantic ruin piled, Was theatre by nature's hand For feat of high achievement plann'd.

”He rode, till over down and dell The shade more broad and deeper fell; And though around the mountain's head Flow'd streams of purple, and gold, and red, Dark at the base, unblest by beam, Frown'd the black rocks, and roar'd the stream.

With toil the King his way pursued By lonely Threlkeld's waste and wood, Till on his course obliquely shone The narrow valley of Saint John, Down sloping to the western sky, Where lingering sunbeams love to lie.

Right glad to feel those beams again, The King drew up his charger's rein; With gauntlet raised he screen'd his sight, As dazzled with the level light, And, from beneath his glove of mail, Scann'd at his ease the lovely vale, While 'gainst the sun his armour bright Gleam'd ruddy like the beacon's light.

”Paled in by many a lofty hill, The narrow dale lay smooth and still, And, down its verdant bosom led, A winding brooklet found its bed.

But, midmost of the vale, a mound Arose with airy turrets crown'd, b.u.t.tress, and rampire's circling bound, And mighty keep and tower; Seem'd some primeval giant's hand, The castle's ma.s.sive walls had plann'd, A ponderous bulwark to withstand Ambitious Nimrod's power.

Above the moated entrance slung, The balanced drawbridge trembling hung, As jealous of a foe; Wicket of oak, as iron hard, With iron studded, clench'd, and barr'd, And p.r.o.ng'd portcullis, join'd to guard The gloomy pa.s.s below.

But the gray walls no banners crown'd, Upon the watch-tower's airy round, No warder stood his horn to sound, No guard beside the bridge was found, And, where the Gothic gateway frown'd, Glanced neither bill nor bow.

”Beneath the castle's gloomy pride, In ample round did Arthur ride Three times; nor living thing he spied, Nor heard a living sound, Save that, awakening from her dream, The owlet now began to scream, In concert with the rus.h.i.+ng stream, That wash'd the battled mound.

He lighted from his goodly steed, And he left him to graze on bank and mead; And slowly he climb'd the narrow way That reached the entrance grim and gray, And he stood the outward arch below, And his bugle-horn prepared to blow, In summons blithe and bold, Deeming to rouse from iron sleep The guardian of this dismal Keep, Which well he guess'd the hold Of wizard stern, or goblin grim, Or pagan of gigantic limb, The tyrant of the wold.

”The ivory bugle's golden tip Twice touch'd the Monarch's manly lip, And twice his hand withdrew.

--Think not but Arthur's heart was good!

His s.h.i.+eld was cross'd by the blessed rood, Had a pagan host before him stood, He had charged them through and through; Yet the silence of that ancient place Sunk on his heart, and he paused a s.p.a.ce Ere yet his horn he blew.

But, instant as its 'larum rung, The castle gate was open flung, Portcullis rose with cras.h.i.+ng groan Full harshly up its groove of stone; The balance-beams obey'd the blast, And down the trembling drawbridge cast; The vaulted arch before him lay, With nought to bar the gloomy way, And onward Arthur paced, with hand On Caliburn's[22] resistless brand.

”A hundred torches, flas.h.i.+ng bright, Dispelled at once the gloomy night That lour'd along the walls, And show'd the King's astonish'd sight The inmates of the halls.

Nor wizard stern nor goblin grim, Nor giant huge of form and limb, Nor heathen knight, was there; But the cressets, which odours flung aloft, Show'd by their yellow light and soft, A band of damsels fair.

Onward they came, like summer wave That dances to the sh.o.r.e; An hundred voices welcome gave, And welcome o'er and o'er!

An hundred lovely hands a.s.sail The bucklers of the monarch's mail, And busy labour'd to unhasp Rivet of steel and iron clasp.

One wrapp'd him in a mantle fair, And one flung odours on his hair; His short curl'd ringlets one smooth'd down, One wreathed them with a myrtle-crown.

A bride upon her wedding-day, Was tended ne'er by troop so gay.

”Loud laugh'd they all,--the King, in vain, With questions task'd the giddy train; Let him entreat, or crave, or call, 'Twas one reply--loud laugh'd they all.