Part 26 (1/2)

Of the persevering few, Some from hopeless task withdrew, When they read the dismal threat Graved upon the gloomy gate.

Few have braved the yawning door, And those few return'd no more.

In the lapse of time forgot, Wellnigh lost is Gyneth's lot; Sound she sleeps as in the tomb, Till waken'd by the trump of doom.”

THIS IS THE END OF LYULPH'S TALE.

We must now Resume the legendary strain Of the bold Knight of Triermain.

That lord, on high adventure bound, Hath wandered forth alone, And day and night keeps watchful round In the valley of Saint John.

When first began his vigil bold, The moon twelve summer nights was old, And shone both fair and full; High in the vault of cloudless blue, O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she threw Her light composed and cool.

Stretched on the brown hill's heathy breast, Sir Roland eyed the vale; Chief where, distinguished from the rest, Those cl.u.s.tering rocks upreared their crest, The dwelling of the fair distressed, As told grey Lyulph's tale.

Thus as he lay, the lamp of night Was quivering on his armour bright, In beams that rose and fell, And danced upon his buckler's boss, That lay beside him on the moss, As on a crystal well.

Ever he watch'd, and oft he deemed, While on the mound the moonlight streamed, It altered to his eyes; Fain would he hope the rocks 'gan change To b.u.t.tress'd walls their shapeless range, Fain think, by trans.m.u.tation strange, He saw grey turrets rise.

But scarce his heart with hope throbb'd high, Before the wild illusions fly, Which fancy had conceived.

For, seen by moon of middle night, Or by the blaze of noontide bright, Or by the dawn of morning light, Or evening's western flame, In every tide, at every hour, In mist, in suns.h.i.+ne, and in shower, The rocks remain'd the same.

Oft has he traced the charmed mound, Oft climb'd its crest, or paced it round, Yet nothing might explore, Save that the crags so rudely piled, At distance seen, resemblance wild To a rough fortress bore.

Yet still his watch the Warrior keeps, Feeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps, And drinks but of the well; Ever by day he walks the hill, And when the evening gale is chill, He seeks a rocky cell, Like hermit poor to bid his bead, And tell his Ave and his Creed, Invoking every saint at need, For aid to burst his spell.

And now the moon her orb has hid, And dwindled to a silver thread, Dim seen in middle heaven, While o'er its curve careering fast, Before the fury of the blast The midnight clouds are driven.

The brooklet raved, for on the hills The upland showers had swoln the rills, And down the torrents came; Mutter'd the distant thunder dread, And frequent o'er the vale was spread A sheet of lightning flame.

De Vaux, within his mountain cave (No human step the storm durst brave), To moody meditation gave Each faculty of soul, Till, lull'd by distant torrent sound, And the sad winds that whistled round, Upon his thoughts, in musing drown'd, A broken slumber stole.

Twas then was heard a heavy sound (Sound, strange and fearful there to hear, 'Mongst desert hills, where, leagues around, Dwelt but the gorc.o.c.k and the deer): As, starting from his couch of fern, Again he heard, in clangor stern, That deep and solemn swell,-- Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke, Like some proud minster's pealing clock, Or city's larum bell.

What thought was Roland's first when fell, In that deep wilderness, the knell Upon his startled ear?

To slander, warrior, were I loth, Yet must I hold my minstrel troth,-- It was a thought of fear.

But lively was the mingled thrill That chased that momentary chill, For Love's keen wish was there, And eager Hope, and Valour high, And the proud glow of Chivalry, That burn'd to do and dare.

Forth from the cave the Warrior rush'd, Long ere the mountain-voice was hush'd, That answer'd to the knell; For long and far the unwonted sound, Eddying in echoes round and round, Was toss'd from fell to fell; And Glaramara answer flung, And Grisdale-pike responsive rung, And Legbert heights their echoes swung, As far as Derwent's dell.

Forth upon trackless darkness gazed The Knight, bedeafen'd and amazed, Till all was hush'd and still, Save the swoln torrent's sullen roar, And the night-blast that wildly bore Its course along the hill.

Then on the northern sky there came A light, as of reflected flame, And over Legbert-head, As if by magic art controll'd, A mighty meteor slowly roll'd Its...o...b..of fiery red; Thou wouldst have thought some demon dire Came mounted on that car of fire, To do his errand dread.

Far on the sloping valley's course, On thicket, rock, and torrent hoa.r.s.e, s.h.i.+ngle and Scree, and Fell and Force, A dusky light arose: Display'd, yet alter'd was the scene; Dark rock, and brook of silver sheen, Even the gay thicket's summer green, In b.l.o.o.d.y tincture glows.

De Vaux had mark'd the sunbeams set, At eve, upon the coronet Of that enchanted mound, And seen but crags at random flung, That, o'er the brawling torrent hung, In desolation frown'd.

What sees he by that meteor's lour?-- A banner'd castle, keep, and tower, Return the lurid gleam, With battled walls and b.u.t.tress fast, And barbican and ballium vast, And airy flanking towers, that cast Their shadows on the stream.

'Tis no deceit! distinctly clear Crenell and parapet appear, While o'er the pile that meteor drear Makes momentary pause; Then forth its solemn path it drew, And fainter yet and fainter grew Those gloomy towers upon the view, As its wild light withdraws.

Forth from the cave did Roland rush, O'er crag and stream, through brier and bush; Yet far he had not sped, Ere sunk was that portentous light Behind the hills, and utter night Was on the valley spread.

He paused perforce, and blew his horn, And, on the mountain echoes borne, Was heard an answering sound, A wild and lonely trumpet-note,-- In middle air it seemed to float High o'er the battled mound; And sounds were heard, as when a guard Of some proud castle, holding ward, Pace forth their nightly round.

The valiant Knight of Triermain Rung forth his challenge-blast again, But answer came there none; And 'mid the mingled wind and rain, Darkling he sought the vale in vain, Until the dawning shone; And when it dawn'd, that wondrous sight, Distinctly seen by meteor-light, It all had pa.s.sed away!

And that enchanted mount once more A pile of granite fragments bore, As at the close of day.

Steel'd for the deed, De Vaux's heart Scorn'd from his venturous quest to part, He walks the vale once more; But only sees, by night or day, That shatter'd pile of rocks so gray, Hears but the torrent's roar.

Till when, through hills of azure borne, The moon renew'd her silver horn, Just at the time her waning ray, Had faded in the dawning day, A summer mist arose; Adown the vale the vapours float, And cloudy undulations moat That tufted mound of mystic note, As round its base they close.

And higher now the fleecy tide Ascends its stern and s.h.a.ggy side, Until the airy billows hide The rock's majestic isle; It seem'd a veil of filmy lawn, By some fantastic fairy drawn Around enchanted pile.

The breeze came softly down the brook, And sighing as it blew, The veil of silver mist it shook, And to De Vaux's eager look Renew'd that wondrous view, For, though the loitering vapour braved The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved It's mantle's dewy fold: And still, when shook that filmy screen, Were towers and bastions dimly seen, And Gothic battlements between Their gloomy length unroll'd, Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on thine eye Once more the fleeting vision die!

--The gallant knight can speed As prompt and light as when the hound Is opening, and the horn is wound, Careers the hunter's steed.

Down the steep dell his course amain Hath rivall'd archer's shaft; But ere the mound he could attain, The rocks their shapeless form regain, And, mocking loud his labour vain, The mountain spirits laugh'd.