An Arthurian Miscellany.
AT THE PALACE OF KING LOT
by
OSCAR FAY ADAMS
The King was in the parlor, counting out his money:
The Queen was in the kitchen, eating bread and honey:
The Maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes:
There came a little Blackbird and snipp'd off her nose.
Lot, King of Orkney in the Northern seas,
Long ere the time when, fighting sword in hand
'Gainst Arthur in the barons' wars he made
His name to all true men a byword like
A thing of scorn, one summer morning sat
Within the presence chamber all alone,
For knights and squires that made his island court,
(A tiny court rul'd by a weakling king,)
Were absent at the hunting every one.
Far better had it suited with his mood
To ride with them in gay companionship
Than to have stay'd behind. But on that day
The butcher, baker, chandler, and the host
That prosper'd on the waste and riot made
At court, their bills had brought and, clam'ring, begg'd
Their dues.
As one who from his window sees
In early morning blue and cloudless skies,
And o'er him feels the breezes blowing soft,
While in his heart is peace, but later finds
The breezes risen to a gale, and dull,
Grey clouds fast shutting out the sun and sky
And in his bosom discontent is lord;
So was it with King Lot when from his chair,
After the morning meal which Bellicent,
His Queen, had with her maids prepar'd for him--
Since well she knew what meats would please him best--
He fain had had risen purpose-mov'd to pass
Without, but, rising, heard a dismal noise
And saw the door burst open while a throng
Of angry debtors clos'd him round about.
Shrill rang their voices 'mong the rafters high
O'erhead, and scarce the King could headway make
Against their loud-voic'd clamor, but at length,
When they had tir'd themselves with shriekings shrill,
He spake again and all attent they heard.
"Peace, fools, and leave me time to overlook
Your bills. This done, to-morrow at this hour
The seneschal shall see that all are paid."
This said, he wav'd his hand, and at the sign
The rout of debtors vanish'd all at once
And swift, as oftentimes a chatt'ring flock
Of sparrows disappears before the sound
Of nearing feet, so quickly drew they off,
Each man communing with himself, the while
Their sharp heels clatter'd on the flinty floor.
Then like a wrathful sunshine smil'd King Lot.
"I go not to the chase to-day, it seems,
But weary hours must spend instead, forsooth,
In balancing accounts, since in my court
Of figures none knows aught, save I, the King."
At this the sullen Modred, eldest son
Of Lot, laught softly to himself,--right glad
That any business kept the kingly eye
From him, for full of tricks and craft was he,
The Artful Dodger of an early day,
And often in an uproar set the court.
And now the knights and squires had gone without
Their King, while he, with anxious face and brow
All frown, sat 'mongst his money caskets lost
In calculations deep, and murm'ring low
Of pounds and shillings, and, at times, of pence,
And oft, for better aiming at results,
His fingers counting as do boys at school--
Like them perplext for want of fingers more--
So past his morning hours away.
Meanwhile
Had Bellicent, the Queen, her husband left,
And to the kitchen gone to oversee
The maids, for such her careful custom was.
Right bitter was her tongue when these transgress'd,
But to obedience was she all as sweet
As winds from off a perfum'd bank of flowers,--
And this her maidens knew and strove to please.
But on her brow this morn there lurkt a frown,
And in her heart reign'd vague unrest, and why
She knew not, yet she held her peace and came
And went on household quests and would have still'd
The gnawing hunger at her heart, and all
In vain.
At last she to a cupboard bent
Her steps, an oaken cupboard built within
A niche, and wisely for such purpose made,
And open threw its doors. On oaken shelf
There gleam'd the glass and silver kept for days
Of pomp and show, for Bellicent, the Queen,
Had joy in burnisht silver as became
Her state, and on her treasure gaz'd she now
With proper pride, but on the topmost shelf
Her eyes, blue as the seas that circle round
Her island realm and dash against its crags,
Espied a wheaten loaf, and, close beside,
A jar of amber honey, of some hive
The luscious spoil. Beholding these the frown
From off her brow departed, and, therewith,
The gnawing at her heart, and putting forth
A slender arm to which a broider'd sleeve,
All of red samite, clung in shapely fold,
She graspt the jar of amber sweets and next
The wheaten loaf, and, all rejoicing, bore
Them to a corner window-lit by niche
Deep sunk and narrow as the zone that bound
Her robe of scarlet samite at the waist,
A curtain loosely drawn before kept off
Intrusive eyes, and here the Queen retir'd.
Upon a ledge beneath the window lay
A sharpen'd knife with silvern hilt whereon
The cunning artisan had made the dog
To chase the boar, and, seizing this, the Queen
From off the loaf broad slices cut in haste,
And o'er them pour'd the honey from the jar
With murmurs of delight half-heard from lips
That now in ecstasy essay'd to taste.
Then o'er her senses past a drowsy calm
As, slowly eating there alone, she grew
Forgetful wholly of her lord the King,
Forgetful of the honey on her gown,
Forgetful of the dinner to be cook'd,
Forgetful of the swift-approaching noon,
Forgetful of her kitchen and its cares.
And this forgetfulness was pleasant to her.
Behind the palace, in a courtyard small,
Hemm'd in by walls to which the lichen clung
In stains of gold and silver laced with black,
The moon-faced Edith paced with hasty tread,
Bearing the basket with the Monday's wash,
Bare to the elbow were her sturdy arms,
On which, all red with labor, shone the suds.
Low overhead an hempen network fine
In intricate confusion mingl'd, cross
And bar. Thereon the damsel deftly flung
The many motley garments of the court,
Diverse of shape and in strange order set,
Since here the mended hose of poorest squire
Hung neighbor to the night-rail of the King.
Glad was the maid to think her work was done,
And all her youth broke forth in gladsome song--
The song itself a thing of little wit
But humble and accordant with her toil--
"Rub, rub, and scrub! the soap is on the shelf!
There's many a one much wiser than myself;
But not an old man counting o'er his pelf.
"Rub, rub, and scrub! the soap is here by me!
And soap is such to me if not to thee;
And whether soap or soda let it be.
"Rub, scrub and rub! and the slack clothes-line blows:
Scrub, rub and scrub, and where is she? who knows?
From one wash to another wash she goes."
Loud sang the maid, and all the while behind
An angle in the courtyard Modred sat
Sullen, and crouch'd with mischief in his heart.
Beside him glossy-wing'd, and sharp of beak,
A blackbird skulk'd, with evil eye upturn'd
To meet the evil eye of Modred bent
On him, and one were these in purpose ill.
Scarce could the knavish Modred bide the time
When he the moon-faced, unsuspicious maid
Might harm, and oft the blackbird pertly peer'd
Into his face, as one that sayeth "Here
Am I," again, and "Master, is it time?"
At last it chanced that as the damsel mov'd
Among the garments that o'erhung the space,
And glisten'd in the sun, she turn'd her head
A moment toward the angle in the wall
All unregardful of the danger there.
Full roseate were her cheeks, but redder still
Her nose, wherefore, I know not, I but tell
The tale, and this, when wicked Modred saw,
He aim'd a villain's finger toward, whereat
The bird, upstarting, flew with direful speed,
And, ere the maid could frame a thought of ill,
Had nipt the crimson'd feature with his beak.
Sore was the hurt and loud the damsel shriek'd,
And wildly from the courtyard ran in haste
And pain, but ere she many steps had gone
A cord that Modred o'er the path had stretch'd,
Catching her feet low fell'd her to the ground.
All heavily she sank to earth and lay
As one whom fright and pain have overcome
At once and stol'n away the strength to move.
This saw the Prince, the while he prais'd the bird
For faithful service done, and then the twain
Departed by a secret way that none
But Modred knew. Within the damsel's breast,
Whenas she rose and gain'd her feet
And naught of bird or other creature saw,
Both rage and grief held riot bitter there,
But in the heart of Modred joy was lord.
THE MAID'S ALARM
by
OSCAR FAY ADAMS
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey.
There came a black spider,
Which sat down beside her,
And frightened Miss Muffet away.
Queen Guinevere at Almesbury abode
Unknown, after her shameful flight from court,
And there the long days came and went, and found
And left her thrall to grief. One little maid
Companion'd her, a novice in that house,
To whom the Queen in lighter hours of grief--
For sorrow weighs not always equally,
Else there were none could bear--gave listless heed.
As one through blinding mists of care and dole
Might half discern a kitten at its play,
And smile, scarce comprehending why, so she,
The Queen, unto the novice's prattle turn'd
Half ear, dulling, it may be, thus the edge
Of grief, for low the maiden's voice and sweet.
"Sir Feumbras my father was," so said
The maid, "a knight of Arthur's Table Round,
A goodly man, much favor'd of his King.
To him King Arthur gave to wife the fair
Jehanne of Camelot, and I was born
Of these who in the selfsame summer died,
A lustrum since."
Low to herself the Queen,
"I knew them both, a simple, happy pair,
Who lov'd each other and who knew no sin."
Then spoke again the maid:
Thereafter liv'd
I with the kinsfolk of my name until
A twelvemonth back I came to Almesbury.
But oft I sigh for Camelot and think
In dreams I hear my father call my name,
The name himself would give me when I pleas'd
Him well, for yet I had another name."
"Yea, and what was it?" said the sad ey'd Queen.
To whom the novice answer'd,
"Guinevere,
The name that's borne at court by Arthur's Queen."
"A luckless name," the Queen made answer here,
"A name that carries with it shame and tears."
"And think you thus?" in awe the novice said,
"Yet so it seems these latter days, if words
They say of Arthur's Queen indeed be true.
Perchance my father fear'd it when he call'd
Me Muffet in its stead. Would I might hear
Him call me Muffet now,"--and here the maid
Her sentence broke in air and mus'd a space,
And silence fell upon the twain, and roll'd
Far off the thunder while a summer storm
Drew quickly on.
Then guilty Guinevere
Past into sadder musings than the maid's,
And nearer crept the storm and darker grew
The cell wherein they sat. But she, the Queen,
Deep wrapt in bitter thoughts, knew not of this,
But felt at last a pulling at her gown,
And, rousing, saw no form, but heard a cry,--
"The storm! the storm." Then came a deaf'ning sound,
As if the tow'rs of all the world were thrown
To earth, and in the yellow, quiv'ring flame
She saw the novice's frighten'd face and gleam
Of holy symbols on the wall. Close clung
The maid, and when the storm grew one fierce roar,
And darting flame one baleful yellow glare,
Shudd'ring, the novice hid an awestruck face
Within the folds of samite black that clothed
The Queen. Then Guinevere the elder threw
One arm about the younger Guinevere,
And waited for the ceasing of the storm.
Guilt shielding tender Innocence,--thus ran
The bitter thought of Arthur's sinful wife.
So past an hour, until, its passion spent,
The storm rush'd angrily to other lands,
And drew with it the roar and gloom and glare;
And after, through the casement, came a shaft
Of yellow sungleam, that in sport did seem
To move and flicker o'er the rush-spread floor.
Thereat the little novice rais'd her head
From out the sable samite folds, and fell
Again to harmless prattle of herself
And of her simple life before she came
To Almesbury.
"Few mates I had, nor car'd,"
So went the tale, "and happier was I
To sit at home and list to tales of arms
Told by my father and his brother knights
Than roam the city streets unthrift of joy.
And when my mother prais'd my daily task
If done as she would have it, would she place
Upon the board before me curds and whey
With snowy manchet bread for well she knew
What fare of all I deem'd the best.
And once
I sat beneath a hanging vine, that made
A cool, green shadow at the farther end
Of the long garden at my father's house.
Over me sang the joyous birds full sweet,
And close beside uprose a lofty wall,
On which the golden moss and lichen slept.
A curious, carven, wooden bowl I held,
Fill'd almost to its brim with curds and whey,
And on the crimson-tufted tuffet where
I sat, with space enow for two, a loaf
Of toothsome manchet lay. No single care
Had I, the contents of the carven bowl
The limit of my childish wants; but ere
The spoon to lip was lifted, all the song
Above my head was husht and silence crept
Athwart the golden afternoon. Then I,
With boding fear, turn'd to the lichen'd wall
And on its surface saw a hideous blot
With moving legs, and horny claws, and eyes
Quick darting. Scarce my father's blazon'd shield
Might hide the creature's bulk, for surely saw
I never yet a spider huge as this
Which from the wall at last, down-dropping, came
And on the crimson-tufted tuffet sat,
And sitting, turn'd its baleful glance on me.
A moment only stay'd I there in fear,
And then the horror of it on me grew
Until I fled in haste, the carven bowl
Rolling before me, and the garden walk
Whit'ning with streaming curds and whey. And when
I told the tale indoors, Sir Feumbras,
My father, shook his head and fear'd lest this
Might be an omen of dread thing to be,
And went at last to Merlin with the tale,
Whom all men counted wisest of the time."
With mention of the wizard's name, the Queen,
Who had half heard, not wholly lost, the tale,
Rous'd to the full ear as she ask'd, "What said
The sage?"
"But little we might understand,"
Replied the maid, "for dark his meaning was,
And faint his words behind his winter beard,
But mostly seem'd it like to this: 'Again
In years to come a shape beside the child
Shall sit; not black, like this, but fair to look
Upon, and safer were she by the first
With bowl of curds and whey.' Thus Merlin spake,
But I,--I know not all he meant."
Thereat
The Queen looked hard upon the maid, in doubt
If she were simple-seeming as her words;
And while she gazed her face grew stern and dark,
The sunshine drew itself from off the floor,
The wind swept sobbing thro' a door ajar,
And, in a sudden horror, from the room
The maid fled shuddering!
THE RAPE OF THE TARTS
by
OSCAR FAY ADAMS
ARGUMENT.
The Queen of Hearts,
She made some tarts
All on a summer's day;
The Knave of Hearts,
He stole those tarts
And carried them away!
The Queen of Hearts,
She missed those tarts
And griev'd for them full sore;
The Knave of Hearts
Brought back those tarts,
And vow'd he'd steal no more!
Isolt, the Cornish Queen, in those dark days
When Mark, her unlov'd lord, had brought her back
From woodland lodge where Tristram bode with her
The space of one revolving moon, but now
Was past to Brittany, where the white hands
Of one with name like hers, Isolt, had snar'd
Him with their gleam, so changeful-hearted he,
Fell into bitter musings lasting long,
And vexed thereby the sullen Mark, who growl'd
His anger from behind his tangled beard,
The more resentful that she took no heed.
So months went by, until at last there dawn'd
A summer morn on wave-washt Cornwall fair
And sweet as odorous white lilies are,
And sweet indeed to Queen Isolt, who lay
With silken broider'd hangings round her bed
Facing the morn. Far off the ripple broke
Upon the beach unheard, but flasht in air
Its silver, and in palace court the birds
Of morning sang. Then to herself the Queen:
"Lo, absent Tristram is not all in all
To me, Mark's wife. There yet abides in life
Something of worth, tho' Tristram be not here."
The saying pleas'd her, and she turn'd it o'er.
"Something of worth, tho' Tristram be not here."
Then rising from the couch which Mark had left
Ere rose the sun from out the Cornish sea,
She call'd her waiting maidens to their task,
And paus'd before two gowns the damsels brought,
As doubtful how she should array herself.
One of green samite, o'er which wander'd strings
Of gleaming pearls, in mazy pattern set,
So that the eye wearied to follow, held
Her but such space while one with even breath
Might count a dozen; then her glance upon
The other fell, a silken robe of blue
Shot thro' and thro' with shimmering silver lights.
And this her choice at length for that day's wear,
Not unforgetful how Sir Tristram lov'd
To see her in it; and, when her waiting maids
Had rob'd her, slowly mov'd she down the stair,
And, after morning hunger stay'd, she past
To where the palace cooks and scullions bode,
In kitchen vast, whence royal dainties came.
All sweetness seem'd her face, and music seem'd
Her voice, when she entreated one to bring
His cook's white apron for her royal use,
And when her maids had clad her in it, none
Could think her other than a gracious Queen,
Since nothing of her royal grace was hid.
So following her fancy's lead, she bade
The men about her bring the wheaten meal
And all the kitchen tools she glibly nam'd,
And place before her on a cross-legg'd stand
Of smoke-gloom'd oak; and then her round white arms
She plung'd up to the elbows in the meal,
Her red lips murm'ring,
It will serve."
Then, while
The cooks and scullions stood with hands on hips
And mouths agape to watch, she deftly mov'd
About her task, and not with awkwardness,
As one unus'd to kitchen toil or cares,
But with all grace, such grace as won all hearts,
And, ere they knew her purpose, saw before
Their eyes row after row of pastry moulds,
As shapely as the hands that made, and these
The Queen herself in heated oven placed,
And, while these brown'd in torrid darkness, sang,--
For sweetly could Isolt of Ireland sing:
"Ay, ay, O ay,--the winds that fan the fire!
Fair tarts in prospect, tarts before me here!
Ay, ay, O ay,--and tarts were my desire,
And one was not enough, and one was dear:
Ay, ay, O ay,--the winds that move so fast!
And one was far, and one tart was nigher,
And one will never bake, and one will last.
Ay, ay, O ay, the winds that fan the fire!"
Far up among the oaken rafters rang
Her voice, and clear as is the tinkling fall
Of water over rocks that chafe its course,
And all within the kitchen felt such stir
Within the blood as when the joyous wine
Sweet summer music makes along the veins.
Then one, to whom she signal'd when the strain
Was ended, open threw the oven doors,
And drew from warm concealment into light
The tarts and bore them to Isolt, who straight
Within the cup-like hollow of the tarts
One after other placed with golden spoon,
On which were graven deep the Cornish arms,
The lucent jellies quivering like leaf
Of aspen when all else is still, and sound
And other motion dead within the wood.
This done she bade the cooks have careful charge
Of these, her tarts, till she should send, then past--
Her cook's white apron doft--upward to halls
Befitting her fair presence more, and, sleep
And summer both at once assailing, slept.
Now on the selfsame morning fair Etarre,
Awaking with Sir Pelleas's sword across
Her throat and Gawain's, felt her fancy turn
To him who might have slain her, sleeping, yet
Forbore because of former love, and said
To him who lay beside her, false Gawain,
"Go hence, and see me nevermore!" The Prince,
Who deem'd he knew all women's changeful ways,
Laught lightly, and essayed to kiss, as oft
Before, the warm white hollow of her throat.
But she, recoiling, flasht such sudden wrath
He, too, drew back, and slowly rose and heard
From lips grown stern, from lips his own had prest,
The sentence, "Go! and see me never more."
Then he, much marveling on women's ways,
Obey'd, and went with slow, reluctant feet
Without, and mounted horse, and past across
The courtyard and thro' postern portal, past
Down garden slopes with musky breathings fill'd,
To where the gates, wide open, led to fields
And far beyond them forest shades. Thro' these
He went and wander'd on to where the walls
Of Mark's great palace rose across his view.
Then, for the summer noon was hot, he drew
His rein beneath a giant oak that made
A welcome shadow near the gate, and mus'd
Yet more on changeful women's ways till came
On vagrant breeze a whiff of pastry thence
And woke a sudden hunger in his breast.
Meanwhile in hall Isolt of Ireland slept,
And slumb'rous summer silence crept o'er all
The serving men and maids, till one whose care
Had been the tarts to watch, a lad in years
But few and wits as scant as years, awak'd
From dream unquiet, and awaking, saw
The Prince Gawain through kitchen gliding soft,
Bearing the great, tart-laden dish. Whereat
The lad rose, terror stricken, shrieking loud,
"The tarts." Again, and like a descant, "Gone!
The tarts."
Loud shrill'd the cry thro'out the court,
And each took up the words till rang from wall
To wall the mournful echo:
"Gone, the tarts!"
Fast swell'd the cry and louder with each voice
That wail'd the theft until the Queen awak'd
And hearing what had happ'd felt her heart sink
And visions toothsome of the well-bak'd tarts
For royal supper fade to naught, and sat
To tears abandon'd and to grief a prey.
But false Gawain to saddle leaping, tarts
In dish upborne, saw all the rabble rout
Of palace kitchen fast behind pursue,
And one in saddle follow'd while the rest
The shrill cry echo'd, "O, the tarts! the tarts!"
Forth from the gates the chase was had until
The steed of Prince Gawain stumbl'd and threw
Him, bearing still the unspill'd tarts, upon
A grassy bank where those who follow'd found
And brought him, still tart-laden, to Isolt.
Naught said Gawain to temper his disgrace,
But let his eye a moment rest upon
The Queen, an eye that many maidens lov'd,
Then fall demurely on the toothsome tarts.
That she, mov'd somewhat by his grace and glance,
That admiration show'd, forgave the theft,
And thinking:
"Lo, a goodly man he seems
Since Tristram is not by," upon him laid
But two conditions. First that never should
He enter kitchen more in act to steal,
And on his knee, down-dropping at her feet,
With many oaths the courteous Gawain swore
To keep from deeds like this thro' all his life;
The next that he should stay and eat with her.
So, nothing loth, the Prince of Courtesy stay'd
And ate with her the savory, toothsome tarts
For all an incense-breathing afternoon,
Till one in haste appear'd when sank the sun,
Crying, "I crave thy pardon, Queen, thy lord
Is near."
Thereat Gawain, warn'd by a look
Which ray'd from out her heavy-lidded eyes,
Departed with a word of farewell said,
And past to his own land, while she prepar'd
To meet King Mark returning from the chase.
THE RETURN FROM THE QUEST
by
OSCAR FAY ADAMS
Hark! hark!
The dogs do bark;
Beggars are coming to town.
Some in rags,
And some in tags,
And some in velvet gown.
The summer brooded and the winds were husht,
And on the palace walls the sunshine slept,
And all within King Arthur's court withdrew
To where the shadows deepest lay, and thought
Of winter and the snow. But he, the King,
Sitting beside a window that o'erhung
The stream that murmur'd past the lichen'd walls
And wander'd thro' the meadows to the sea,
Mus'd on the time when of the Table Round
The number was complete and of his knights
Not one was absent from his place. But now
The seat of many a one in Arthur's hall
Was vacant, and from off the walls was gone
Full many a blazon'd, burnisht, knightly shield.
This had not been, so sadly Arthur mus'd,
But for the apparition of the Grail
Seen in a vision by that holy maid,
The sister of Sir Percivale, who told
The wondrous tale to all his brother knights,
And straightway set them longing for the Quest.
Then, while he mus'd, the voice of Dagonet,
The fool, shrill'd thro' the silence, and the King
Lookt up. Before him stood the fool, who call'd,
"Arouse, my brother fool, and hark to me!"
Then answer'd Arthur, nothing loth to break
A jest or two with little Dagonet,
"But why thy brother fool am I?"
To whom
The jester, shaking all his bells, replied,
"What sayest thou of him who constant wears
A thistle next his heart and knows not whence
His pain? Who fain would make a shining crown
From lumps of lead? And such a fool art thou.
And therefore shouldst thou wear a cap and bells,
And therefore have I call'd thee brother fool."
Then thus the King:
"A bitter, pointless jest;
Thy wit doth not increase as doth thy age."
To whom, in answer, shrill'd Sir Dagonet:
"Said I not truly? Take my cap and bells;"
Then mutter'd, past the hearing of his lord,
"The thistle next his heart is Guinevere,
His Queen," and after, spoke aloud, "Thy knights,
My brother fool, are not they all dull lumps
Of lead? And after all thy pains are spent
Upon them leaden still they yet remain.
Of such as these thou vainly hop'st to make
A shining crown of manhood in thy realm,
And therefore have I call'd thee 'brother fool.' "
"Thy wit is sharply edged, my fool," here spoke
The King, "and yet, for all its sharpness, fails."
Thereat the dwarf peer'd curiously up
Into his master's face, and seeing naught
Unusual in its kingly grace, had turn'd,
But turning, caught the echo of a sigh,
And knew his arrow reach'd King Arthur's heart.
Thereafter fell a silence on the twain
And Arthur mus'd as sadly as before
On hopes that had been his in long-past days
When he had plann'd the healing of the world.
Slow past a morning hour until at last
A momentary vagrant breeze, that thro'
The high, unlatticed, open window swept,
Tost aimlessly an early wither'd leaf
Into the kingly lap. Then spoke the King,
Smoothing the fade leaf:
"Sir Dagonet,
It may be that thy song is gentler than
Thy wit; if so be, let me hear."
Whereat
The dwarf, moving to where a gilded harp
Half hidden in a corner of the room
Gleam'd like a star in mellow darkness set,
Sudden swept all its strings impatiently,
And when the gust of music sank and died
And rose again to live in wailing, sang,--
And sad and bitter were the tune and words.
"High hopes--high deeds--we hope but while we may;
The buds have blown, their perfume is no more;
The time is sped, the glory past away;
New time, new strife,--the hours of joy are o'er;
New strife, new hate, to fit this later day;
New hates are deep as those that were before;
High hopes--high deeds--we hope but while we may."
The singer ended, and his bitter notes
Were follow'd by the snapping of a string.
Then said the King:
"Ye do the harp a wrong,
To make it sponsor for your grewsome stave,
And kinder had it been to chant a strain
More pleasing unto weary ears like mine."
To whom then sadly spake Sir Dagonet:
"No lightsome lays are left to sing; the hours
Of joy are o'er;" and while the King his words
Revolv'd in mind and echo found therein,
The dwarf obeisance made and danced away.
"High hopes--high deeds--we hope but while we may."
The King said slowly to himself, and paus'd,
For sudden rose a clamor in the streets,
As if the countless dogs of Camelot
Were all one voice, such uproar was there made.
Then Arthur, wond'ring at the din, arose
And past to an apartment that o'erlookt
The city's streets, and peering forth, he saw
A train of weary pilgrims near the city walls.
Then open swung the weirdly sculptur'd gates,
And Arthur knew the men, his knights return'd
From Quest of Holy Grail. And first rode Bors
And Lancelot. Dim were the trappings once
So gay on men and steeds, and tatter'd shreds
Now wav'd and flutter'd from their garments' hems.
Behind rode Percivale, in dusty rags,
And after, others worn and torn as he,
And beggars never seem'd so poor as these,
The crest and flower of Arthur's Table Round;
But last of all Gawain in velvet fine
Flasht gayly by with knightly comrades twain,
For pleasant was the Quest for him who made
So sure the holy Quest was not for him,
And thus King Arthur saw his knights return
From Quest a twelvemonth long of Holy Grail.
Loud rose the canine clamor in the streets
As these rode by, a beggar throng to eyes
Which saw them pass beyond the city walls
The year before, impelled by holy zeal,
And he who now shone brightest, false Gawain,
In honor's ranks the faintest of them all,
But shriller rang the voice of Dagonet
Dancing beside the train, who, as he saw
The kingly face regarding all who past,
With slender finger pointed to the knights
Return'd as beggars from their bootless Quest,
And sang, and bitter both the notes and words,--
"High hopes--high deeds--we hope but while we may."
THE VISION OF SIR LAMORACKE
by
OSCAR FAY ADAMS
As I was going to Saint Ives
I met seven wives.
Every wife had seven sacks;
Every sack had seven cats;
Every cat had seven kits;
Kits, cats, sacks and wives,
How many were going to Saint Ives?
King Pellinore of Wales, the same who slew
Lot, King of Orkney in the Northern seas,
Three stalwart sons in wedlock lawful had.
Sir Lamoracke de Galis eldest was
Of these, the next Sir Aglavale, the third
The pure Sir Percivale, and these were knights
Of Table Round, and with them Tor, the child
Of shame but brother to the three no less,
And first created knight of Table Round
The Table of the great Pendragonship.
Sir Lamoracke among King Arthur's knights
Was bravest save for three, but since the three
Were Lancelot, Tristram and Geraint, no less
Of honor deem'd it reck'ning fourth with these.
In the mid-strength and hardihood of youth
He was when vision by his sister seen,
A holy nun much worn by fastings long,
Sent half the court in quest of Holy Grail;
And Lamoracke went, as eager as the rest,
And all for the holy longing underwent
Long toilsome days, and nights as wearisome,
And piteous perils manifold he knew,
Until, a twelvemonth past, he set his face
Again toward Camelot with yet no glimpse
Of what he sought, and sorrow in his heart.
One morning chanced it that while pacing slow
With head bent down and gaze upon the ground
On homeward way thro' forest deep that stretched
From Camelot southward many leagues, there crost
His path a ten-tin'd stag, and after rode
A knight he knew to be Sir Sagramour,
In fierce pursuit, who, seeing in the wood
A horseless knight all travel-worn and sad,
Left flying deer to its wild will and leapt
From his own horse and begg'd Sir Lamoracke
Ride in his place as being one of those
Who went in search of Holy Grail. Thus said
The sweet Sir Sagramour and added thence:
"Thy face, Sir Lamoracke, is not unknown
To me."
Then slowly Lamoracke answer'd him:
"O all for naught my quest and not for one
Like me the vision glorious, but thou,
Methinks, for knightly courtesy the peer
Of any at the court, might well have seen
What I, the son of Pellinore, have not."
"Not I," then spoke the sweet Sir Sagramour,
"Being ensnar'd with earthly things unto
My hurt, but an' I pray you, Lamoracke, ride.
My castle scarce a half league distant stands,
There mayst thou rest, at least until the morn,
And ride to court equipt as knight should be
So far as my poor store shall serve thy turn."
Then Lamoracke lookt up and answer'd him,
"Ah, sweet Sir Sagramour, none other suit
Suits with my sadden'd fortunes like to this
Which now I wear and therefore in array
Like this must I before King Arthur pass
Once more."
Then answer made Sir Sagramour:
"Thou knowest best, but still I pray you ride
Homeward with me and eat and rest a night;
Else thou wilt never live to see thy lord
At all, in this or any other garb."
Full gentle was the manner of the man,
And Lamoracke for utter weariness
Gave way and past with sweet Sir Sagramour
Unto the other's castle near at hand,
Yet thinking, "on the morrow I will go."
As one who following the chase for days
Scarce heeds his wearied limbs because so full
Of eager haste but home returning finds
Each step a pain and life a mockery,
So now with Lamoracke, who, with the fire
Of zeal and holy purpose quite burnt out,
Tarried for days with sweet Sir Sagramour,
Too weak for further travel and heart-sick
Withal because of failure in the Quest.
To him in those dark days came Sagramour
And whisper'd, "Courage; failure is not a crime."
And after came the wife of Sagramour
Beseeching him to be of cheer, to whom
He heark'n'd listlessly. Then came a child
The son of these, a three-years winsome lad
Who stammer'd "Courage" as he had been taught,
And seeing that Sir Lamoracke took no heed
Stammer'd his lesson o'er again, whereat
The knight, half rising on his elbow, turn'd
And saw the boy with parted lips, and cheeks
All satin soft, and hair and eyes the hue
Of sable pansies, staring full at him;
Then Lamoracke rose and caught the lad in arms
And kiss'd him oft and spoke full tenderly:
"Thou bidd'st me be of courage, little one?
Yea, for thy sake I will," and from that time
Shook off, as far as might be, sad regret.
Yet still strength linger'd on its way to him,
And with these a sennight longer bode,
And after rose refresh'd and went his way.
But ere that time he told to please his host
Full many a tale of what had hapt to him
In Quest of Holy Grail and once the tale
Ran like to this.
"One morning after dreams,"
So said Sir Lamoracke, "of Holy Grail
Seen by me who unworthy am to see
With waking eyes, I past, for then was I
In Cornwall by the sea, along a road
That wound past splinter'd crag and shallow cove
To fishing village of Saint Ives. Seaward
Saint Michael's Mount rose like a vision fair
All roseate with dawn and softly broke
Against its base the Cornish sea. A light
Breeze blew that gently stirr'd the leaves and then
Rested content while overhead a flock
Of birds shrill'd one to other, flying south
The sound clear falling thro' the morning air.
The weather-beaten fishers mended nets
Sitting on boats updrawn beside the sea
And hail'd me with 'good-morrow' as I past,
In simple fisher wise. Suddenly round
An angle in the path before me came
Full seven fisher-wives bending beneath
A heavy burden each one bore in sack
Of dusty leather on her shoulders old.
Small trace had these of brow may-blossom, cheek
Of apple blossom or the eye of hawk,
And clumsily the wrinkl'd nose of each,
Tip-tilted, like a thirsty duckling's bill
After much guzzling in the pool, did seem
To point the way. A wailing clamor rose
In air and louder grew as nearer came
The seven, halting where I stood aside
To let them pass, and lowering their sacks
Upon the ground.
In much amaze I ask'd
The seven what their burden was, whereat
The nearest shrilly pip'd forth:
"Cats, sir knight,
To rid the palace of King Mark of rats
That fright the fair Iseult, his Queen."
At this
Each wrinkl'd dame her knotted sack-string loost
And forth from out the seven sacks there stalk'd
With pace sedate, and slowly waving tails,
And deep-ton'd purings of well-fed content,
Full seven times seven cats and every one
The mother proud of seven kittens small
That sprawl'd and mew'd beside the sacks.
Such sight
I never saw in Camelot, altho'
Our Camelot is vaster than Saint Ives
And cats enow contains, as one may deem
Who finds his slumber broken by their wails
On roof and tow'r from midnight till the dawn,
And long I star'd at sprawling kits, and cats,
And sacks, and wives, until within the sacks
The seven wives replaced the cats and kits
And journey'd forward, wives, and sacks, and cats,
And kits, while I with musings curious
Past onward to Saint Ives."
"A sight indeed,"
Here spoke Sir Sagramour, "and speedily
The burden of the seven wives should clear
The Cornish castle of its brood of rats
Save one, its churlish lord, for fouler rat
Than Mark, the craven, lives not upon earth."
To whom Sir Lamoracke:
"True, Sir Sagramour,
But tell me of thy wit, which passes mine,
How many, reck'nest thou, to fair Saint Ives
Were going on that morning, kits, and cats,
And sacks, and wives."
So sweet Sir Sagramour
Knit brows, and tighten'd lips, and fingers told
The space of three long hours till fell the sun
And creeping darkness came upon the land,
And still no nearer was he to result
Than he had been at first when Lamoracke put
The question, nor with morning was it clear,
And with the morning Lamoracke went his way.
THE WATER CARRIERS
by
OSCAR FAY ADAMS
Jack and Gill went up the hill
To draw a pail of water.
Jack fell down and broke his crown
And Gill came tumbling after.
"So all day long the noise of battle roll'd
Among the mountains by the winter sea,"
But young Lavaine, the knight of Astolat,
And brother to the lily maid who died
For Lancelot's love, was reckon'd not of those
Who "fell in Lyonnesse about their Lord,"
King Arthur, whom the three Queens bore away.
For he, Lavaine, who lov'd Sir Lancelot
But reverenced his King and conscience more,
Had hasten'd to the standard of his King
When evil-hearted Modred rais'd revolt,
And Lancelot, the faithless, stain'd, alas!
His manhood, warring 'gainst his friend and King.
And so, because the lad was true and brave,
And modest seeming, nor was rash of speech,
Had Arthur made him of the Table Round
And lov'd to have him near. Whereat Lavaine
Greatly rejoic'd and gladly would have died
To serve in any wise the blameless King.
But when the sun came from the under world
And shone upon that field of battle near
The winter sea, Lavaine by Arthur's side
Receiv'd a vengeful thrust aim'd at the King,
And from his horse, slow reeling, fell, and o'er
Him swept the host; but bluff Sir Torre, who saw
His brother fall, came spurring hence and dragg'd
Him to one side, and there, in knightly wise,
Gave him such tendance as his wit devis'd,
And left him, guarded by a humble squire,
But thinking, "If I live, I will return;"
And scarce an hour was gone before a stroke
From one of Modred's men had cleft Sir Torre
From brain to nape. So died he for his Lord.
But of his tendance or his death Lavaine
Knew naught, but lay in stupor deep as death,
And to the eye that watch'd he seem'd as dead.
Whereat the humble squire mus'd to himself:
"If he be dead, he needs not me to guard;
And if he be alive his foes will think
Him dead, and truly I do deem him dead,
Yet be he dead or living I must see
The issue of the fight," and saying went
And saw, and, seeing, met the death which might
Have spar'd him by the side of Sir Lavaine.
"So all day long the noise of battle roll'd,"
Yet Sir Lavaine in stupor lay upon
The field until the sun went down, and shone
The moon at full upon his armor clasps
And glinted on the chasing of his sword.
As one who journeying in lands remote
Returning takes by slow degrees the old
Life up, so Sir Lavaine return'd from death
Or what had seem'd like death, not all at once
But dimly had a knowledge of his state
And what had past, and then, because too weak
To think, he fell in sleep again and wak'd
Not till the sun brake from the underworld,
And near him, having watch'd the barge that bore
King Arthur out of sight, there slowly drew
The bold Sir Bedivere. These two last left
Alive upon the field.
The mournful twain
At length slow moving from the field, because
Lavaine was weak from hunger and the wound,
Past on to where within a little wood
A simple hermit liv'd a blameless life.
With him the pair abode until Lavaine
Was heal'd and then the bold Sir Bedivere
Past to his own land, distant Cameliard,
And then, a little later, past Lavaine
To his.
Small joy was now at Astolat
For him, the last of all his race, and night
And day he seem'd to hear the lily maid
Singing her swan song from the eastern tow'r,
Or bluff Sir Torre stride thro' the broken halls,
Or else his father, dead a year agone,
Calling him tenderly as was his wont,
And so by always listening to the dead
He ceased to hearken to the living voice,
And more and more withdrew into himself.
But when the next approaching spring had fail'd
To stir the languid blood within his veins,
The dumb old servitor before him stood
One April morning in the castle yard
And pointed to the south, and then by signs
Essay'd to free his mind, and Sir Lavaine,
Half comprehending, asked him, "Shall I go
Thither?" Thereat the dumb old man nodded,
His finger once more pointing to the south.
So, deeming that his humble servitor
Had deeper knowledge of the best, Lavaine,
A little later gathering the few
Who serv'd for love, not hire, within the halls
Of Astolat, past with them into lands
Of Cornish name, and made a home for them
And for himself; and, marrying a maid
Of Cornish race, saw children of his own
And all the past became a memory.
Before his home in Cornwall lay the sea,
And a thick wood behind it northward stretch'd
But to the left a dusty white road climb'd
A hill on which there frown'd a single tow'r,
And on the farther side a hamlet slept
In peace and plenty, owning him for lord.
There o'er his Cornish castle past the years
From churlish winter into spring until
Ten times the ash buds blackened with the winds
Of March since blameless Arthur past beyond
The mournful gaze of bold Sir Bedivere.
A younger copy of himself, or like
Himself when but eight tender seasons old,
Now listen'd, wonder-ey'd, to Sir Lavaine
When he would talk of arms and of the last
Great day in Lyonnesse. Jack had the lad
Been call'd for some past claimant for the hand
Of her Lavaine call'd wife, yet this Lavaine
Knew not, but deem'd the unfamiliar name
A careless fancy of his Cornish wife's,
Whose lightest fancy 'twas his care to please.
Slender the lad, as once his father was,
But all the blood of lusty Astolat
Made summer in his veins. Seldom apart
From him his sister Gillian was, and each
Without the other droopt and pin'd. Most like
Her aunt, the dead Elaine, young Gillian seem'd,
And oft the father, looking at her, felt
Remembrance of the distant past confuse
The present, till if he were boy or man
And this his child or playmate sister seem'd
Sometimes a thing of doubt.
The two, the maid
And Jack, lov'd better than all else to climb
The long white road, that steep and stony, led
Up to the single, broken, frowning tow'r.
Four trees beside the tow'r bent o'er a spring
That broke from out a sombre, rocky cleft.
Here Tristram once had drunk with fair Iseult,
Mark's wife, and laught to see the shining drops
Slip thro' her fingers, when she held her hand
Cupwise, that he might drink therefrom. And here
Had sweet Sir Percivale once stopt to drink,
Returning from the Quest of Holy Grail;
Here, too, had Pelleas, the bright boy knight,
A brief hour linger'd, flying from the court
In that dark time when all his early faith
In woman's virtue died, and good Sir Bors,
The false Gawain, the pure Sir Galahad,
And many more of that great Table Round
Had drunk from these sweet waters to their gain.
Full oft had Gillian and the stripling Jack
Bent o'er the spring as bent the trees above,
And laught to see two faces gazing up,
One fair and pale, the other fair and red.
Maid Gillian's was the one, the other his.
Now as it hapt, Lavaine in that tenth year
Fell ill of some dull fever in the blood,
And twenty mornings past and still the knight
Felt the slow poison creeping thro' his veins
And grew at last indifferent to the end.
To him maid Gillian pityingly came
And said with tears:
"Sure am I that one thing
Would cure this deadly fever."
Then Lavaine:
"Yea, dost thou think it, little maid? then let
Me hear."
Then she:
"A draught of water brought
From spring beside the tow'r would cure, so pure
It is and sweet, and Jack and I would bring
It gladly an' 'twould please you drink, my lord."
To whom the sick man answer'd wearily,
Yet thinking she by chance had spoken truth
As he bethought him of the water's fame:
"Child, since you wish it, bring, and I will drink."
Thereat and lightly sprang the maiden down
The steps that led to outer air, and close
Beside came Jack, a silver vessel swung
From one small hand, and so the childish twain
Went up the hill and quickly reach'd its top.
Then Jack, with Gill beside, stoopt low and fill'd
The vessel till the drops did chase themselves
All down its burnisht sides. This done, they left
The spring, and holding each the vessel's rim,
Return'd as they had come, but slower, lest
By haste the precious draught were spilt and lost.
Then as in distance smaller grew the tow'r
Behind, the maid broke out in tender song:
"Sweet is the sunshine coming after rain;
And sweet this water unto lips in pain:
Which is the sweeter? that in truth know I.
"Light, art thou sweet? then sweeter waters be:
Light, thou art grateful; sweet this draught to me.
O light, if death be near him, let me die.
"Sweet light that fades at eve too soon away,
Sweet waters springing from the dark to day,
Which is the sweeter? that in truth know I.
"Pain, follow night, and henceforth from him flee;
Thou needs must follow night that waits for thee;
But, if thou wilt not, then O let me die."
Clear with the last line rang her voice, and Jack,
Who heeded not his ways when Gillian sang,
Slipt, as the last note ceas'd, upon a piece
Of sliding stone, and slipping, fell, dragging
The singer down, and both together roll'd,
All in a horror of loose stones and dust
And flying limbs and broken bones and crowns,
Far down the steep side of that rocky hill.
So perish'd these two of the fated house
Of Astolat; and in the night that follow'd,
And near a dawning fierce with wind and rain,
Wherein the sea wag'd battle with the sky
And both with earth, to final judgment past
Lavaine.
THOMAS AND VIVIEN
by
OSCAR FAY ADAMS
Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
Stole a pig and away he ran.
The pig was eat, and Tom was beat
And Tom went crying down the street.
Thomas the young, Thomas the mischievous,
Thomas the dark-brow'd lad of Camelot,
After a day of mirth and reveling
At court, in which, tho' oft rebuk'd, his voice
Had ever mingl'd, louder than the rest,
And shriller than the storm-drave seabird's cry,
Alone within a triple-window'd room
That in his father's dwelling faced the east,
Upon his bed, ere sleep her wings had wav'd
Above him, lay and meditated much
In what new mischief he should next engage;
Then, ere conclusion harmful could be reach'd,
Slipt into sleep, and dreaming, past to fields
Where youth and mischief held high holiday.
Sole son was he of old Sir Guy; a man
Of stature humble, but of wisdom great,
Who now was counted of the Table Round,
But in his youth, as some could still recall,
Ere from the land of Cameliard he came,
The sometime piper to its lord and King
Leodogran, 'gainst whom the heathen warr'd;
But after, when the peerless Guinevere,
The daughter of Leodogran, had been
By holy Dubric to King Arthur wed,
Had past to Camelot; and there by dint
Of faithful service in a humble place,
But more because the King the fire of truth
And nobleness perceiv'd in him and lov'd
Him for it, was now made knight, and brightly shone
In burnisht armor at King Arthur's court.
With him the King had counsel many times,
For knowledge deep of men and things Sir Guy
Possest, and year by year his wisdom grew
The riper as his head grew white. But since
To no man living perfect wisdom comes
It hapt therefore, that in one thing, not small,
Sir Guy, the sage was wanting, and the King
To him had that day put a question hard.
"How chances it, Sir Guy," had Arthur said,
"That thou whom all men reverently call
The wisest of our court, now Merlin lies
A pris'ner in the wood of Broceliande,
Hast fail'd, or so it seemeth to our eyes,
To rule and govern well thine only son?"
He ceas'd and then, from out a passage close
Beside, a woman came and stood before
And cried:
"O king, who never yet wouldst see
And willingly, injustice done to aught,
Hearken to me. But now my son, in years
Scarce ten and slender as a flower, was set
Upon and beaten by a lad, the son,
It hap'neth, of thy wisest knight, Sir Guy,
And therefore may it please thee, noble King,
To see that this young Thomas, for so him
They call, be dealt with sternly, as is sure
His due."
She spoke in haste, not seeing him
Who stood beside the king, and courteously
Made Arthur answer to her, and she went
From out the kingly presence glad of heart.
When the last echo of her steps had ceas'd,
The King again to his companion turn'd
Repeating in the glances of his eyes
The question that before was ask'd with lips.
Stroking his chin in thought, Sir Guy abode
In silence for a space, then, sudden, flasht
A face of mirthful radiance on the King,
And begg'd his lord would listen to a tale.
"Full willingly, Sir Guy," replied the King,
And smooth'd the gilded dragon on his robe.
"A peasant in the land of Cameliard,"
Began Sir Guy, "a slender living won
By keeping ducks and geese, and round his hut
Their constant screams and quackings harshly rang
From earliest hours,--sweet music to his ears.
One spring it chanced that from the nest two geese
Came off at once leading their callow young.
One mother proudly walk'd in front of ten
Yellow as gold, and all submissively
They follow'd where she led, nor seem'd to dream
Of will apart from hers. The other goose
Was mother of but one, and this one black
And wayward, such as never had been seen.
In vain the mother strove obedience
From this to gain; and oft her comrades shook
Their heads, foreboding ills that lay in wait
For errant goslings that obey'd no law.
At last the mother strove no more but left
Her single gosling to its own wild will:
But when a year had gone the peasant saw
No finer bird amongst his flock than this
Of which such dire prediction had been made.
But she that led abroad her brood of ten
Ere summer ended saw them fall a prey
To enemies that lurkt in grass and pool,
And one by one they slowly disappear'd
Till autumn came and found her desolate."
"A clever tale," here spoke the King, and smil'd
"But all things are not rul'd by accident,
Sir Guy, and seldom from the thorns do men
Attempt the purple-cluster'd grape to pluck,
And this, Sir Guy, the wise, should know as well,
Or better, even, than the King himself."
Then, rising, Arthur past with thoughtful step
Unto the bower of Guinevere, his Queen.
Thomas the young, Thomas the mischievous,
Awak'ning on the morrow from his sleep,
Beheld from out the windows of his room
A sight that fill'd his bosom with delight,
For while as down the narrow street he glanced,
A well-fed sow, attended by the train
Of youthful swine that made her litter small,
With grunts of deep content slow rang'd along.
A moment only gaz'd the lad, then stole
With soundless steps down the long stair, and peer'd
Into the street without. In narrow lines
Thro' rifts between high houses shone the sun
And lay in golden bars across the street.
A soft breeze lifted banners from the walls
And tost them lightly in the air. Scarce had
The city wak'd, and only here and there
An early-risen scullion, rubbing eyes
In which the sleep yet linger'd, went his way
To morning task. The lagging steps of these
And noise of swine the only sounds that stirr'd
The silence of the town. All cautiously
The lad with careful feet, on mischief bent
Crept toward the trustful, unsuspicious swine,
But, as his shadow fell across a bar
Of gold, the mother felt the danger near,
And, shrieking, fled, with all her litter'd tribe
At heels. But one, the smallest, tenderest
Of all, because less swift of foot than all
The rest, the ruthless Thomas seiz'd and bore
Triumphant to his friend, the palace cook,
The twain intending later on the pig
To dine.
Ill reckon'd they, the knavish pair,
For wily Vivien thro' her lattice saw
The theft, and so, because she lov'd to tell
A tale, and more because the lad had been
Full oft a torment to her, later went
And told King Arthur what the son of Guy
Had done. The blameless King when he her tale
In silence heard, not doubting that for once
She spoke the truth, bade some one call Sir Guy
And Tom, and summon likewise all the court.
When this was done the King upon Sir Guy
Bent brows of sudden wrath and said:
"Thy 'one
Black gosling,' O Sir Guy, in growing up
To be the chiefest goose, or what thou wilt,
Of all his time, is like, I fear me much,
To prove a very fruitful source of ill
Among the youth of tender age at court."
To this in humbleness Sir Guy replied:
"It may be as thou sayest; therefore do
Unto him as thou wilt."
Then call'd the King
Sir Kay, the seneschal, and gave command
That at the stroke of noon Sir Kay should lay
On thieving Thomas full twelve stripes with rod
Of season'd birch; and hearing this, a smile
Of joy ran round the court, and no one rais'd
A voice of pity, for none pitied him.
Then as Sir Kay the luckless Thomas led
From out the presence of the court and King,
The wily Vivien past to where the cooks
And scullions bode and singling out the one
She knew to be the friend of Thomas, drew
From him with all her wondrous woman's art
The after hist'ry of the stolen pig.
Won by the damsel's smile, before he knew,
The cook, a simple knave and all unus'd
To arts like these of Vivien's, promise gave
That he at noon the roasted pig would place
Upon the table in her private bower,
For on such fare full well she lov'd to dine.
The promise made again she smil'd and seem'd
As innocently fair as Enid, wife
To Prince Geraint, and, dazzl'd by such grace
To him, a kitchen servingman, he stood
With floury hands on hips and open mouth,
And wide eyes staring as she past without.
Thomas the young, Thomas the mischievous,
With dark anticipation watcht the sun
As rapidly it clomb the morning sky,
And much too short the time till from the tow'rs
Was clasht the hour of noon, but to the maid
The hours paced slow, and oft she sigh'd for noon
Impatiently exclaiming to herself
That never had been known a morn so long.
But when, on platter hot, the cook the pig
Brought it, her humor chang'd and thereupon
Grew all as sweet as breath of flowers in June.
Low bow'd the man as she within his palm
A gold'n token slipt from fingers white,
The while he heard her voice his cooking praise,
And felt the magic of her presence near
And vainly wish'd himself of her degree;
For breath of scandal soiling Vivien's name
Had not so far as palace kitchen blown,
And therefore deem'd he still the damsel pure.
Long linger'd she o'er this her fav'rite dish,
And none the less 'twas sweet to her who knew
That high above the tumult of the streets
Below, in direful anguish, rang the shrieks
Of Tom.
GAWAIN AND MARJORIE
by
OSCAR FAY ADAMS
"See, saw, Margery Daw:
Sold her bed and lay on straw."
The first born son of Lot and Bellicent,
Gawain, in far-off days of striplinghood,--
Before men call'd him "false" or "light of love,"
And yet the same, for as the boy, the man,--
Half-aimless wandering upon a day
In sweet mid-summer of the Orcades,
Slack-footed under heat and thirst, had come
To a lone fountain in the woods, and bode,
List'ning the tinkling fall of waters cool
And watching the swift arrow-flight of birds.
Tall as a man was Gawain, yet in sooth
The prince was but a lad in years, and all
The curves of his lithe body spoke the boy;
But let a twelvemonth pass and these would pass.
So stood the time with restless Gawain, who
By fits and starts chaf'd at the island ways,
And gladly would have left the court of Lot
For lands to southward, but that Bellicent
Had pray'd him "Stay a little," and again,
"O stay!"
Now, as it hapt, to quiet lull'd
By fall of waters and by stir of leaves,
He past the gates of sleep before he knew,
And woke to find the shadows trebl'd, while
A face was looking into his with eyes
Darker than water in a sunless pool:
A maid scarce two years younger than himself.
A gown clung round her, leaving feet and arms
Bare to the summer's sun, and down her back
There roll'd the rippling blackness of her hair
That sparkl'd like the feathers of the daw.
All this young Gawain saw, half won from sleep,
And then his marvel had found tongue, but she,
The maid, a little drawing to one side,
Took up a lute, and twanging all the strings
A moment's space, sent out her voice in song
That maz'd the hearer, who had never known
There might be aught so sweet this side of heaven.
"Wind, sun, and rain! and sweet the murmurs be
Of rill and runlet tinkling to the sea:
Yet not so sweet as sweet Love's voice to me.
"Rain, wind, and sun! and dear the wood paths are,
And dear the glimmering of the evening star,
But not so dear as Love's step heard from far.
"Sun, rain, and wind! and fair all blossoms shine;
Fairer are moonbeams thro' the quivering vine:
Fairer are Love's eyes looking into mine.
"Fair, sweet, and dear! and light of heart am I!
Dear, fair, and sweet! I cannot choose but cry.
Sweet, fair, and dear! Oh, love me, or I die!"
So ran the words, and when the lute had twang'd
Itself to silence, and the song had end,
The maid had turn'd to pass adown the wood
Without a word in parting. Gawain then--
"Fair, sweet, and dear, so seems thy song to me:
What may they call thee, singer?"
"Marjorie,"
The maid gave answer. Then the prince: "Thou art
No maid of Orkney, with such eyes and hair."
To which the other:
"No, but since my life
Was pluckt from welter of down-streaming seas
In some wild storm, so they that sav'd me say,
None other home than Orkney have I known."
Then by degrees in question and reply,
Did Gawain learn the maiden's history,
Simple enough and like the maid herself:
For after that chance rescue from the sea,
The rough shore folk, kind after their rough kind,
Had made her welcome unto all they had,
And she, content, had dwelt with them till now.
And once a damsel from King Arthur's court
Had taught her songs; she knew not what they meant,
But lov'd to sing them to the damsel's lute.
She ceased and turn'd on Gawain a full face,
And crying, "An it please you, sir, farewell,"
Was gone as lightly as the thistle-down
Is blown along upon a summer breeze.
Then Gawain, rising, strode back slow to court,
Musing the while upon the maid whose hair
Outmatch'd the daw's for blackness, and whose eyes
Gleam'd like the water in a sunless pool,
And on the morrow sought the forest fount,
And on the the morrow after, and again
Until a week was past, yet never saw
Her whom he would, and day by day grew sick
At heart, till all the court had talk of it.
The queen alone, out of her mother wit
At last made happy hazard of the cause,
And drew from him the story of his love;
And, for she hoped this love might keep the prince
At Orkney ever, set herself to find
The maid, and finding, brought her to the court
To serve as maid of honour till the time
Were ripe for her and Gawain to be wed.
Then, thinking, "All is well for them and me,"
Bided content.
Months sped till twelve wore past,
And still Maid Marjorie bode at the court;
And Gawain likewise bode, till through his blood
Ran sudden promptings like to drive him hence
Ere long, forgetful of Maid Marjorie
Or Bellicent. Now, as it hapt, there came
Rumours of Arthur to the Orkney court,
And how he beat the heathen down, and how
He fain would build a kingdom in the south
And rear a throne and reign for love of Christ,
And how all brave knights crav'd to serve with him.
This Gawain heard, and, fir'd with knightly zeal,
Past in an hour from boy to man, and took
His armour from the hall, and girt his sword
Upon his thigh, mounted his horse and rode
Away to Arthur in the far southwest,
With scarce a word of parting.
Then the maid,
Who until Gawain went knew not her heart,
Felt that her heart was reft from her, and droopt
Like some dark lily in an August noon;
And all the court were ware and pitied her,
Save one, who fain had drawn Prince Gawain's love
To her, and failing, hated all men sore,
But most the maid in favour at the court.
Slow wan'd the months, and scant the tidings brought
Of Gawain till a year had past, and then
A rumour blown about the court proclaim'd
The prince was yet with Arthur, and was made
One of the Table Round, and now was fam'd
As much for conquest in the court of Love
As service in the field or tournament.
Many a noble maid, so blew about
The word, had caught the young knight's fancy, caught,
But failed to hold, save for a week or month,
And he had gone his way and left the maid
To grieve, and all men call'd him "light of love,"
"False Gawain," too, but naught did Gawain care.
Now when the accusing whisper reach'd the queen,
She laid command no tongue should tell the tale
To Marjorie; but one, the vengeful maid
Past o'er by Gawain, brought the flying word
To Marjorie, and, fierce with spite, told all.
This when the damsel Gawain first had lov'd
Heard but still clung to hope, she straightway came
To Bellicent beseeching that the queen
Would grant her escort of some faithful squire,
That she might go herself to Arthur's court
Of Camelot; and pitying Bellicent,
Making no question, knowing well the cause,
Granted the boon, but swell'd it till the maid
Was 'compani'd befitting one of rank.
Then followed weary days, for first there came
The passage over seas, and journey rough
By ways of peril next, until they drew
Nigh unto Arthur's city of the West,
The hundred-tower'd Camelot.
It hapt
That day the king rode forth alone, and met
The damsel and her train; she knew him not,
But staying him besought his kingly grace
To tell her if Prince Gawain yet abode
Within that city. These were all her words,
Yet her whole hist'ry trembl'd in her voice,
Flusht in the rose upon her cheek.
Then he,
The blameless king, thought in himself, "This maid
Is one our Gawain light has lightly lov'd;"
And then to her:--"The knight of whom you ask
Is absent far upon a quest of mine;
Not for a month will he return--but bide
You here at court that space. I am the king."
So Marjorie abode with Guinevere,
To whom the king that night unbarr'd his thought
And added, "When the prince returns, those twain
Shall be made one by Dubric, shall they not?"
And she: "Your will is ever mine, my lord,"
And set herself to bring the thing to pass.
Now when the month had end and he came not,
And yet another month and still he lagg'd,
Maid Marjorie, boding ill, crav'd to be free,
To go and seek him; and the kindly king,
Doubtful, but fearing to deny the maid,
Let her go forth in charge of good Sir Bors.
Three days they rode, till on an eventide
They came to a lone castle on a crag,
Empty in seeming while the gate swung wide,
And, for they needed shelter, enter'd. Scarce
The band had clear'd the archway, ere the gate
Clang'd to behind them, and an evil host
Who made that dismal place their robbers' nest
Fell on the slender train with swarming force,
Disarm'd and bound them, though Sir Bors fought hard.
Then Marjorie, who in woman-fear had cower'd
Till now within her litter, drew aside
The hangings. Mov'd by her strange beauty, yet
Still more by her sweet voice beseeching them,
The host, scarce knowing why, made pause. Then she,
Fing'ring her lute, sang as she once had sung
To Gawain on that day when first they met.
And when the song was done, she crav'd from these
Freedom for all her train, and in exchange
Offer'd her litter and rich hangings. They,
Won by the sweetness of the song, or fill'd
With sudden madness never felt before,
Gave all she ask'd and set their captives free.
That night they lay on damp and mouldy straw
Within a lowly hovel in the wood,
And on the morrow would have gone once more
Upon their quest had not a fever seiz'd
The maid and held her fast; and good Sir Bors,
Knowing the deadly fever of that land,
Was ware the end was near.
So past two days,
And on the third they heard the jingling reins
Of horses, and a train of knights and dames
Drew near and stay'd to rest. Sir Bors, alert,
Amongst them spying Gawain close to one
Whose name was lightly tost about the court,--
The subtle Vivien,--pluckt him by the sleeve,
Crying, "Come hence with me!" And Gawain went
And after them stole Vivien, and the three,
Ent'ring the hovel, came where Marjorie lay
Moaning with fever on her bed of straw.
She, feeling subtly the fine Gawain's eyes
Upon her bent in wonder, open'd hers,
Half rais'd herself, and stretching out her arms
Toward him, gave a joyful cry, and past
Without more utterance where no soul is vext
With sighing or the myriad pains of earth.
So died the maid Prince Gawain first had lov'd.
He, when he saw the damsel dead, and heard
The voice of good Sir Bors, "Your work, my Prince!"
Had felt a pain much like remorse within,
And would have stay'd to see that all was done
Fitting the time and her, but Vivien came
And wound her arms about his neck, and said
This thing and that thing of her wiliness:
So maz'd by Vivien was light Gawain's thought
That he departed leaving all to Bors.
Four days had end, and into Camelot
Light Gawain rode with Vivien beside,
But all the walls were hung with black, and all
The bells made music doleful from their towers.
Forth from the palace came a train of maids
Chanting a hymn, and after, on a bier
Pall'd all in samite blackness, lay the maid
Whose love had been her doom. King, queen, and court
Pac'd slowly after, and King Arthur bent
A brow of gloom on Gawain, but said naught.
Then Gawain turn'd and follow'd the dark train
Till all was done, the while the music roll'd
Sadly above the head of Marjorie.
Then, for the man was light, he past once more
To his light loves; and all that was, became
Erewhile to him as that which never hapt.
Such honour Gawain did to Arthur's court.
THE PLEASAUNCE OF MAID MARIAN
by
OSCAR FAY ADAMS
ARGUMENT.
"Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
Silver bells and cockle shells
And fair maids all in a row."
Isolt the White, the daughter of a king,
Hoel of Brittany, the same who wed
Sir Tristram of the Woods, who lov'd her not,
Within a shadowy hall sat by herself,
Upon an autumn midnight drencht with rain
And loud with shrieking of the gale, and mus'd
How her white hands had been too weak to hold
Her lord, Sir Tristram, who had sworn to love
But her, then lightly broken, for the man
Was light, his promis'd word. He first had call'd
Her by that name, Isolt of the White Hands,
When those white hands had heal'd him of his hurt
Got in some tourney held in Brittany,
And she had lov'd him for the name, and thought,
"Full surely is he mine as I am his;"
And this had lasted but the waxing old
Of the same moon that crescive saw them wed.
Then he had left her taking slight farewell,
And over seas had come no word from him
Of bale or comfort, and a year was past.
Now as she mus'd on love, and musing felt
Aweary of her life because no love
Was had for her, the tempest-driven rain
Beat at the casement, and small puffs of wind
Flutter'd the flame that burnt upon the hearth,
And stirr'd the many-coloured tapestries
That lin'd the wall; and once a fiercer gust,
It seem'd, drave ope the door, and with the wind
And rain there came one trailing dripping weeds
Of samite after. Then Isolt thereat
Rais'd eyes amist with tears, and thro' these saw
Her cousin, sharp of tongue, sharper of face,
Of all men call'd Maid Marian the curst,
And gave a doubtful welcome. Thereupon
The sharp-fac'd damsel, clanging to the door,
Laught shrilly, crying out the while:
"Your guest,
Good cousin, is not to your mind, meseems."
Thereat Isolt, as stung to courtesy
Perforce, would fain have call'd for lights, and food
And all things needful, had not she, the maid,
Shook off in haste constraining hands and cried:
"I care not for your simple kindnesses,
Cousin Isolt;" then louder, "I have news
Of him you call your Tristram, so much yours
Indeed as any knight may be the prize
Of one among a score of maidens whom
He loves and leaves."
By this, Isolt the White,
Trembling to hear what she for long had fear'd
To hear, had murmur'd, "False, my cousin, false,"
But that Maid Marian shrill'd it once again:
"Ay! yours and hers, and woman's else
On whom his fancy lights," and crying out
On all false lovers, fled into the dark
That clos'd about her, and Isolt was left
To such small comfort as her prayers might yield.
But when the morrow brake upon a world
Washt clean with tempest, light'd by a sun
That drave the mists before in streaming lines
Of golden vapour, she, the white Isolt,
Out of a tender heart was fain to doubt
The word Maid Marian brought, had not the maid
Stood once again before her crying, "Come!
Sad cousin, and behold your lord."
So they,
The twain, took ship, past over seas, and came
To where Tintagel with its crown of towers,
Defies with frowning might of splinter'd crag
The stormful tossing seas of Lyonnesse.
There, favour'd by the tangl'd arms of trees
That stretcht deep shadows on the landward side
Of the huge castle, went they by a path
That led with many windings to the tower
Of Queen Isolt of Britain, she men call'd
The Fair. Within her bower she lay asleep
Upon an azure-broider'd silken couch,
And half her robe had slipt aside and show'd
A silver skin glossy as satin, fair
As none was fair before in all that land.
At her Maid Marian pointed hissing, "See!
The false queen whom false Tristram loves." Then she,
Isolt of the White Hands beholding Queen
Isolt the Fair, belov'd of Tristram, knew
That never would he leave that woman there,
That woman in the high tide of her youth,
That woman with the glory in her hair,
For her, his faded wife of Brittany,
For her, his pale Isolt of the White Hands,
And bitter was this knowledge unto her,
And bitter, too, the cry within her heart
At thought of it.
Now, as they drew behind
The silken hangings of the room, the queen
Awoke, a step came up the circling stair,
And Tristram enter'd, whom all women lov'd.
On him the twain gaz'd through the narrow rents
That time had worn within the hangings' folds
And saw him stoop to greet the queen with kiss
Such as he never yet had laid upon
The lips of her of Brittany, and heard
Those false ones utter their adult'rous love
Till gloom had fallen, and King Mark, whom none
Remember'd, softly stole into the bower
And from behind false Tristram clove his skull
From crown to nape. So died the sinful knight
Belov'd of women, slain by him he wrong'd.
But she, Isolt the Fair, beholding him
She lov'd dead at her feet, and him she loath'd
Holding the sword, rais'd such a storm as husht
The outcry of those twain in hiding there,
And swiftly moving to the casement's edge,
And shrieking, "Him I follow whom I love,"
Leapt into that white surge which foam'd below,
And past to judgement as the sinful pass.
Then came the white Isolt with Marian
Forth from her place, and stood beside the dead
Sir Tristram, crying, "He is mine, none else
May claim him dead, for he was mine, not hers;"
Whereat the king star'd full upon her. Face
And voice alike he knew not, but some thought
That she too was by Tristram wrong'd, mov'd him
To growl in churlish answer,
"Woman, take
The man you claim, if you will have him dead
Who living little lov'd you, as I deem,"
Then turn'd and past adown the stair, but sent
No long time after two stout churls to bear
Dead Tristram forth where these two women will'd.
So white Isolt bore home her murder'd lord
Across the sea to Brittany, and there
Entomb'd him piously like some dead saint,
And made a pleasaunce all about where vine
And flower grew thickly, and would walk therein
At morning, noon, and even, silently,
Till three slow twelvemonths past, when there was dole
In Brittany. So hers they made the tomb
She built for sinful Tristram of the Woods,
And after that long sorrow follow'd peace.
But one whom Tristram lov'd in earlier times,
Maid Marian, when she was fair as she
That wedded Mark, came when Isolt was dead
And pac'd the pleasaunce silently at morn
And noon and even, sowing seeds of some
Strange plant from far-off lands, that bloom'd when next
The summer came, in fair white silver bells
Of fragrance such as no man in that land
Had knowledge of, and by the tomb of him
All women lov'd she laid the fiery-edg'd
And many-wrinkl'd shells that hold within
Themselves the voices of the sea. And when
The autumn tempests came upon that shore,
Driven from streaming seas, she flitted through
Her wind-torn, faded, dripping pleasaunce like
Some wan leaf flying before the gale. And high
At such times shrill'd her voice in broken song,
That seem'd the harsh note of some bird at sea.
"False life! false love! Oh, why was I deceiv'd?
False heart! false love, that I, poor maid, believ'd!
False life! false love, that me of hope bereav'd!
False heart, false love!
False lips! false tongue that spake false vows to me!
False face! false eyes, whence truth did turn and flee!
False hand! false heart that brake sweet love's decree!
False life! false love!"
But when the spring was nigh there came to her
A little comfort from the budding leaf,
As still she pac'd the pleasaunce sowing seeds
Of that strange plant, and year by year there bloom'd
Within it such a wilderness of branch
And flower and wandering vine as none had seen
The like. Now fifty tides of Martinmas
Were past and over when there came a gale
Fiercer than any on that wind-swept coast,
And in the night above the storm some heard
The song that ancient Marian sang at whiles
Of false love and false life, and hearing shook
With fear of some dread thing.
But those who stirr'd
Upon the morrow earliest beheld
Within the pleasaunce, on the tomb of him
All women lov'd, the dead maid Marian.
About her brows was wound a faded scarf
That dead Sir Tristram wore as knight of hers
Full sixty dusty summers back at some
Forgotten tourney held in Brittany,
And in her hand was claspt a golden chain
That he had given her, and some there were
Who held that death had made her fair again,
Working a miracle for very ruth.
So past her soul to judgment and its rest.
But when three days were past there stood ten maids
Arow within the pleasaunce strewing blooms
Of latest autumn on the tomb disturb'd
Once more to hold the dust of Marian.
Full quickly glide the years, and none of all
Who knew that land in those dim days are left,
Yet still the pleasaunce shows an isle of green
Midmost of a wide, open, herbless space,
A desolate, waste country no man tills.
THE BALLAD OF GLASTONBURY
by
HENRY ALFORD
Glastonbury, anciently called Avalon, is a place much celebrated both in tradition and history. It was here, according to old legends, when the neighboring moors were covered by the sea, that St. Joseph of Arimathea landed, and built the first church in England. It was here that the glorious king Arthur was buried, with the inscription:
It was here that the scarcely less glorious King Alfred took sancturary, and hence that he went into voluntary obscurity when the Danes invaded England. Here also was built that magnificent abbey, whose riches and hospitality were known to all Christendom. Its last abbot was murdered on the Tor-hill by order of Henry the Eighth, and the building was sacrificed to the misguided fury of the Reformation. The very ruins are now fast perishing.
The Quantock Hills, alluded to in the following poem, are in the autumn profusely covered with the mingled blossoms of heath and furze.
The hills have on their royal robes
Of purple and of gold,
And over their tops the autumn clouds
In heaps are onward rolled;
Below them spreads the fairest plain
That British eye may see--
From Quantock to the Mendip range,
A broad expanse and free.1
As from those barriers, grey and vast,
Rolled off the morning mist,
Leaving the eyesight unrestrained
To wander where it list,
So roll, thou ancient chronicler,
The ages' mist away;
Give me an hour of vision clear,
A dream of the former day.
At once the flood of the Severn sea
Flowed over half the plain,
And a hundred capes, with huts and trees,
Above the flood remain:
'T is water here and water there,
And the lordly Parret's way
Hath never a trace on its pathless face--
As in the former day.
Of shining sails that thronged that stream
There resteth never a one;
But a little ship to that inland sea
Comes bounding in alone;
With stretch of sail and tug of oar
It comes full merrily,
And the sailors chant, as they pass the shore,
Tibi gloria Domine.
'Nights and days on the watery ways
Our vessel hath slidden on,
Our arms have never tired of toil,
Our stores have long been done;
Sweet Jesus hath sped us over the wave,
By coasts and along the sea,
And we sing, as we pass each rising land,
Tibi gloria Domine.
'Sweet Jesus hath work for us to do
In a land of promise fair;
Our vessel is steered by an angel-hand
Until it bring us there:
To our Captain given, a sign from heaven
Our token true shall be;
And we sing, as we wait for the Promise-sign,
Tibi gloria Domine.
'When a dark green hill shall spire aloft
Into the pure blue sky,
Most like to Tabor's holy mount
Of vision blest and high;
Straight to that hill our bounding prow
Unguided shall pass and free;
Sweet Jesus hath spoken, and we believe;
Tibi gloria Domine'
Thus far they sung, and at once a shout
Peeled upward loud and clear;
For, lo! the vessel onward ran
With never a hand to steer;
And full in sight that Promise-hill
Towered up into the sky,
Most like to Tabor's holy mount
Of vision blest and high.
Now raise the song, ye faithful crew,
Let all the uplands hear;
It fitteth Salvation's messengers
To be of joyous cheer;
For Avalon isle ye make the while,
By angel-pilot's hand;
Right onward for that pointed hill,
Straight to the sloping land.
Each arm is resting, and every eye
With thankful tear is bright;
Thus spake one high upon the prow,
Feeding his forward sight:
'The word of God is just and true,
And the mountains green that stand
To the left and right in the morning light
Lead on to our Promise-land.
'Sweet Jesus hath broken the sepulchre,
And pours His golden grace,
Clothing the earth with the joy of birth,
In every fairest place:
His servant asked a token sure,
And a token sure is given;
And He that lay in the garden-tomb
Is Lord of earth and heaven.'
By this the vessel had floated nigh
To the turf upon the strand,
And first that holy man of joy
Stepped on the Promise-land;
Until the rest, in order blest,
Were ranged, and kneeling there,
Gave blessing to the God of heaven
In a lowly chanted prayer.
Then over the brow of the seaward hill
In their order blest they pass,
At every change in the psalmody
Kissing the holy grass;
Till they come where they may see full near
That pointed mountain rise,
Darkening with its ancient cone
The light of eastern skies.
'This staff hath borne me long and well,'
Then spake that Saint divine,
'Over mountain and over plain,
On quest of the Promise-sign;
For aye let it stand in this western land,
And God do more to me
If there ring not out from this realm about,
Tibi gloria Domine.'
A cloud is on them--the vision is changed,
And voices of melody,
And a ring of harps, like twinkles bright,
Comes over the inland sea;
Long and loud is the chant of praise--
The hallowed ages glide;
And once again the mist from the plain
Rolls up the Mendip side.
With mourning stole and solemn step,
Up that same seaward hill,
There moved of ladies and of knights
A company sad and still;
There went before an open bier,
And, sleeping in a charm,
With face to heaven and folded palms
There lay an armed form.
It is the winter deep, and all
The glittering fields that morn
In Avalon's isle were over-snowed
The day the Lord was born;
And as they cross the northward brow,
See white, but not with snow,
The mystic thorn beside their path
Its holy blossoms show.
They carry him where from chapel low
Rings clear the angel-bell--
He was the flower of knights and lords,
So chant the requiem well:
His wound was deep, and his holy sleep
Shall last him many a day,
Till the cry of crime in the latter time
Shall melt the charm away.
A cloud is on them--the vision fades--
And cries of woe and fear,
And sounds unblest of neighboring war,
Are thronging on mine ear:
Long and loud was the battle-cry,
And the groans of them that died;
And once again the mist from the plain
Rolls up the Mendip side.
From the postern-door of an abbaye pile
Passes with heavy cheer
A soldier-king in humble mien,
For the shouting foes are near;
The holy men by their altars bide,
In alb and stole they stand;
The incense-fumes the temple fill
From blessed children's hand.
Slow past the king that seaward brow,
Whence turning he might see,
Streaming upon Saint Michael's Tor,
The pagan blazonry;
Then a pealing shout and a silence long,
And rolling next on high
Dark vapor, laced with threads of flame,
Angered the twilight sky.
The cloud comes on--the vision is changed--
And songs of victory,
And hymns of praise to the Lord of Peace,
Comes over the inland sea;
The waters clear, the fields appear,
The plain is green and wide;
And once again the mist from the plain
Rolls up the Mendip side.
The plats were green with lavish growth,
And, like a silver cord,
Down to the northern bay the Brue
Its glittering water poured:
Far and near the pilgrims throng,
With staff and humble mien,
Where Glastonbury's crown of towers
Against the sky is seen.
By the holy thorn and the holy well,
And St. Joseph's silver shrine,
They offer thanks to highest Heaven
For the light and grace divine;
In the open cheer of the abbaye near,
They dwell their purposed day,
And then they part, with blessed thoughts,
Each on his homeward way.
The cloud drops down--the vision is changed,
And an altered sound of pride,
And a glitter of pomp is cast athwart
The meadows green and wide.
The servants of a lowly Lord
On earth's high places ride;
And once again the mist from the plain
Rolls up the Mendip side.
The strong man armed hath dwelt in peace
Till a stronger hath sacked his home;
And the Church that married the pride of the earth
By the earth is overcome:
There hath sounded forth upon the land
That wicked king's behest,
And Lust and Power from Lust and Power
A blighted triumph wrest.
The winds are high in Saint Michael's Tor,
And a sorry sight is there--
A dark-browed band, with spear in hand,
Mount up the turret-stair;
With heavy cheer and lifted palms
There kneels a holy priest;
The fiends of death they grudge his breath,
To hold their rapine-feast.
The cloud comes on them, the vision is changed,
And a crash of lofty walls,
And the short dead sound of music quenched,
On the sickened hearing falls;
Quick and sharp is the ruin-cry--
Unblest the ages glide;
And once again the mist from the plain
Rolls up the Mendip side.
Low sloping over sea and field
The setting ray had past,
On roofs and curls of quiet smoke
The glory-flush was cast.
Clustered upon the western side
Of Avalon's green hill,
Her ancient homes and fretted towers
Were lying, bright and still;
And lower, in the valley-field,
Hid from the parting day,
A brotherhood of columns old,
A ruin rough and grey;
And over all, Saint Michael's Tor
Spired up into the sky--
Most like to Tabor's holy mount
Of vision blest and high.
The vision changeth not--no cloud
Comes down the Mendip side;
The moors spread out beneath my feet
Their free expanse and wide;
On glittering cots and ancient towers,
That rise among the dells,
On mountain and on bending stream
The light of evening dwells.
I may not write--I cannot say
What change shall next betide;
Whether that group of columns grey
Untroubled shall abide;
Or whether that pile in Avalon's isle
Some pious hand shall raise,
And the vaulted arches ring once more
With pealing chants of praise.
Speed on, speed on: let England's sons
For England's glories rise;
And England's towers that lowly lie
Lift upward to the skies:
Till there go up from England's heart,
In peace and purity,
From temple-aisle and cottage-hearth,
Tibi gloria Domine.
TRISTRAM AND ISEULT
by
MATTHEW ARNOLD
TRISTRAM
Tristram
Is she not come? The messenger was sure.
Prop me upon the pillows once again--
Raise me, my page! this cannot long endure.
--Christ, what a night! how the sleet whips the pane!
What lights will those out to the northward be?
The lanterns of the fishing-boats at sea.
Soft--who is that, stands by the dying fire?
Ah! not the Iseult I desire.
* * * *
What Knight is this so weak and pale,
Though the locks are yet brown on his noble head,
Propt on pillows in his bed,
Gazing seaward for the light
Of some ship that fights the gale
On this wild December night?
Over the sick man's feet is spread
A dark green forest-dress;
A gold harp leans against the bed,
Ruddy in the fire's light.
I know him by his harp of gold,
Famous in Arthur's court of old;
I know him by his forest-dress--
The peerless hunter, harper, knight,
Tristram of Lyoness.
What Lady is this, whose silk attire
Gleams so rich in the light of the fire?
The ringlets on her shoulders lying
In their flitting lustre vying
With the clasp of burnish'd gold
Which her heavy robe doth hold.
Her looks are mild, her fingers slight
As the driven snow are white;
But her cheeks are sunk and pale.
Is it that the bleak sea-gale
Beating from the Atlantic sea
On this coast of Brittany,
Nips too keenly the sweet flower?
Is it that a deep fatigue
Hath come on her, a chilly fear,
Passing all her youthful hour
Spinning with her maidens here,
Listlessly through the window-bars
Gazing seawards many a league,
From her lonely shore-built tower,
While the knights are at the wars?
Or, perhaps, has her young heart
Felt already some deeper smart,
Of those that in secret the heart-strings rive,
Leaving her sunk and pale, though fair?
Who is this snowdrop by the sea?--
I know her by her mildness rare,
Her snow-white hands, her golden hair;
I know her by her rich silk dress,
And her fragile loveliness--
The sweetest Christian soul alive,
Iseult of Brittany.
Iseult of Brittany?--but where
Is that other Iseult fair,
That proud, first Iseult, Cornwall's queen?
She, whom Tristram's ship of yore
From Ireland to Cornwall bore,
To Tyntagel, to the side
Of King Marc, to be his bride?
She who, as they voyaged, quaff'd
With Tristram that spiced magic draught,
Which since then for ever rolls
Through their blood, and binds their souls,
Working love, but working teen?--
There were two Iseults who did sway
Each her hour of Tristram's day;
But one possess'd his waning time,
The other his resplendent prime.
Behold her here, the patient flower,
Who possess'd his darker hour!
Iseult of the Snow-White Hand
Watches pale by Tristram's bed.
She is here who had his gloom,
Where art thou who hadst his bloom?
One such kiss as those of yore
Might thy dying knight restore!
Does the love-draught work no more?
Art thou cold, or false, or dead,
Iseult of Ireland?
* * * *
Loud howls the wind, sharp patters the rain,
And the knight sinks back on his pillows again.
He is weak with fever and pain,
And his spirit is not clear.
Hark! he mutters in his sleep,
As he wanders far from here,
Changes place and time of year,
And his closéd eye doth sweep
O'er some fair unwintry sea,
Not this fierce Atlantic deep,
While he mutters brokenly:--
The calm sea shines, loose hang the vessel's sails;
Before us are the sweet green fields of Wales,
And overhead the cloudless sky of May.--
"Ah, would I were in those green fields at play,
Not pent on ship-board this delicious day!
Tristram, I pray thee, of thy courtesy,
Reach me my golden phial stands by thee,
But pledge me in it first for courtesy.--"
Ha! dost thou start? are thy lips blanch'd like mine?
Child, 'tis no true draught this, 'tis poison'd wine!
Iseult! . . . .
* * * *
Ah, sweet angels, let him dream!
Keep his eyelids! let him seem
Not this fever-wasted wight
Thinn'd and paled before his time,
But the brilliant youthful knight
In the glory of his prime,
Sitting in the gilded barge,
At thy side, thou lovely charge,
Bending gaily o'er thy hand,
Iseult of Ireland!
And she too, that princess fair,
If her bloom be now less rare,
Let her have her youth again--
Let her be as she was then!
Let her have her proud dark eyes,
And her petulant quick replies--
Let her sweep her dazzling hand
With its gesture of command,
And shake back her raven hair
With the old imperious air!
As of old, so let her be,
That first Iseult, princess bright,
Chatting with her youthful knight
As he steers her o'er the sea,
Quitting at her father's will
The green isle where she was bred,
And her bower in Ireland,
For the surge-beat Cornish strand;
Where the prince whom she must wed
Dwells on loud Tyntagel's hill
High above the sounding sea.
And that potion rare her mother
Gave her, that her future lord,
Gave her, that King Marc and she,
Might drink it on their marriage-day,
And for ever love each other--
Let her, as she sits on board,
Ah, sweet saints, unwittingly!
See it shine, and take it up,
And to Tristram laughing say:
"Sir Tristram, of thy courtesy,
Pledge me in my golden cup!"
Let them drink it--let their hands
Tremble, and their cheeks be flame,
As they feel the fatal bands
Of a love they dare not name,
With a wild delicious pain,
Twine about their hearts again!
Let the early summer be
Once more round them, and the sea
Blue, and o'er its mirror kind
Let the breath of the May-wind,
Wandering through their drooping sails,
Die on the green fields of Wales!
Let a dream like this restore
What his eye must see no more!
Chill blows the wind, the pleasaunce-walks are drear--
Madcap, what jest was this, to meet me here?
Were feet like those made for so wild a way?
The southern winter-parlour, by my fay,
Had been the likeliest trysting-place to-day!
"Tristram!--nay, nay--thou must not take my hand!--
Tristram!--sweet love!--we are betray'd--out-plann'd.
Fly--save thyself--save me!--I dare not stay."--
One last kiss first!--"'Tis vain--to horse--away!"
* * * *
Ah! sweet saints, his dream doth move
Faster surely than it should,
From the fever in his blood!
All the spring-time of his love
Is already gone and past,
And instead thereof is seen
Its winter, which endureth still--
Tyntagel on its surge-beat hill,
The pleasaunce-walks, the weeping queen,
The flying leaves, the straining blast,
And that long, wild kiss--their last.
And this rough December-night,
And his burning fever-pain,
Mingle with his hurrying dream,
Till they rule it, till he seem
The press'd fugitive again,
The love-desperate banish'd knight
With a fire in his brain
Flying o'er the stormy main.
--Whither does he wander now?
Haply in his dreams the wind
Wafts him here, and lets him find
The lovely orphan child again
In her castle by the coast;
The youngest, fairest chatelaine,
Whom this realm of France can boast,
Our snowdrop by the Atlantic sea,
Iseult of Brittany.
And--for through the haggard air,
The stain'd arms, the matted hair
Of that stranger-knight ill-starr'd,
There gleam'd something, which recall'd
The Tristram who in better days
Was Launcelot's guest at Joyous Gard--
Welcomed here, and here install'd,
Tended of his fever here,
Haply he seems again to move
His young guardian's heart with love;
In his exiled loneliness,
In his stately, deep distress,
Without a word, without a tear.
--Ah! 'tis well he should retrace
His tranquil life in this lone place;
His gentle bearing at the side
Of his timid youthful bride;
His long rambles by the shore
On winter-evenings, when the roar
Of the near waves came, sadly grand,
Through the dark, up the drown'd sand,
Or his endless reveries
In the woods, where the gleams play
On the grass under the trees,
Passing the long summer's day
Idle as a mossy stone
In the forest-depths alone,
The chase neglected, and his hound
Couch'd beside him on the ground.
--Ah! what trouble's on his brow?
Hither let him wander now;
Hither, to the quiet hours
Pass'd among these heaths of ours
By the grey Atlantic sea;
Hours, if not of ecstasy,
From violent anguish surely free!
All red with blood the whirling river flows,
The wide plain rings, the dazed air throbs with blows.
Upon us are the chivalry of Rome--
Their spears are down, their steeds are bathed in foam.
"Up, Tristram, up," men cry, "thou moonstruck knight!
What foul fiend rides thee? On into the fight!"
--Above the din her voice is in my ears;
I see her form glide through the crossing spears.--
Iseult! . . . .
* * * *
Ah! he wanders forth again;
We cannot keep him; now, as then,
There's a secret in his breast
Which will never let him rest.
These musing fits in the green wood
They cloud the brain, they dull the blood!
--His sword is sharp, his horse is good;
Beyond the mountains will he see
The famous towns of Italy,
And label with the blessed sign
The heathen Saxons on the Rhine.
At Arthur's side he fights once more
With the Roman Emperor.
There's many a gay knight where he goes
Will help him to forget his care;
The march, the leaguer, Heaven's blithe air,
The neighing steeds, the ringing blows--
Sick pining comes not where these are.
Ah! what boots it, that the jest
Lightens every other brow,
What, that every other breast
Dances as the trumpets blow,
If one's own heart beats not light
On the waves of the toss'd fight,
If oneself cannot get free
From the clog of misery?
Thy lovely youthful wife grows pale
Watching by the salt sea-tide
With her children at her side
For the gleam of thy white sail.
Home, Tristram, to thy halls again!
To our lonely sea complain,
To our forests tell thy pain!
All round the forest sweeps off, black in shade,
But it is moonlight in the open glade;
And in the bottom of the glade shine clear
The forest-chapel and the fountain near.
--I think, I have a fever in my blood;
Come, let me leave the shadow of this wood,
Ride down, and bathe my hot brow in the flood.
--Mild shines the cold spring in the moon's clear light;
God! 'tis her face plays in the waters bright.
"Fair love," she says, "canst thou forget so soon,
At this soft hour, under this sweet moon?"--
Iseult! . . . .
* * * *
Ah, poor soul! if this be so,
Only death can balm thy woe.
The solitudes of the green wood
Had no medicine for thy mood;
The rushing battle clear'd thy blood
As little as did solitude.
--Ah! his eyelids slowly break
Their hot seals, and let him wake;
What new change shall we now see?
A happier? Worse it cannot be.
Is my page here? Come, turn me to the fire!
Upon the window-panes the moon shines bright;
The wind is down--but she'll not come to-night.
Ah no! she is asleep in Cornwall now,
Far hence; her dreams are fair--smooth is her brow.
Of me she recks not, nor my vain desire.
--I have had dreams, I have had dreams, my page,
Would take a score years from a strong man's age;
And with a blood like mine, will leave, I fear,
Scant leisure for a second messenger.
--My princess, art thou there? Sweet, do not wait!
To bed, and sleep! my fever is gone by;
To-night my page shall keep me company.
Where do the children sleep? kiss them for me!
Poor child, thou art almost as pale as I;
This comes of nursing long and watching late.
To bed--good night!
* * * *
She left the gleam-lit fireplace,
She came to the bed-side;
She took his hands in hers--her tears
Down on his wasted fingers rain'd.
She raised her eyes upon his face--
Not with a look of wounded pride,
A look as if the heart complained--
Her look was like a sad embrace;
The gaze of one who can divine
A grief, and sympathise.
Sweet flower! thy children's eyes
Are not more innocent than thine.
But they sleep in shelter'd rest,
Like helpless birds in the warm nest,
On the castle's southern side;
Where feebly comes the mournful roar
Of buffeting wind and surging tide
Through many a room and corridor.
--Full on their window the moon's ray
Makes their chamber as bright as day.
It shines upon the blank white walls,
And on the snowy pillow falls,
And on two angel-heads doth play
Turn'd to each other--the eyes closed,
The lashes on the cheeks reposed.
Round each sweet brow the cap close-set
Hardly lets peep the golden hair;
Through the soft-open'd lips the air
Scarcely moves the coverlet.
One little wandering arm is thrown
At random on the counterpane,
And often the fingers close in haste
As if their baby-owner chased
The butterflies again.
This stir they have, and this alone;
But else they are so still!
--Ah, tired madcaps! you lie still;
But were you at the window now,
To look forth on the fairy sight
Of your illumined haunts by night,
To see the park-glades where you play
Far lovelier than they are by day,
To see the sparkle on the eaves,
And upon every giant-bough
Of those old oaks, whose wet red leaves
Are jewell'd with bright drops of rain--
How would your voices run again!
And far beyond the sparkling trees
Of the castle-park one sees
The bare heaths spreading, clear as day,
Moor behind moor, far, far away,
Into the heart of Brittany.
And here and there, lock'd by the land,
Long inlets of smooth glittering sea,
And many a stretch of watery sand
All shining in the white moon-beams--
But you see fairer in your dreams!
What voices are these on the clear night-air?
What lights in the court--what steps on the stair?
ISEULT OF IRELAND
Tristram
Raise the light, my page! that I may see her.--
Thou art come at last, then, haughty Queen!
Long I've waited, long I've fought my fever;
Late thou comest, cruel thou hast been.
Blame me not, poor sufferer! that I tarried;
Bound I was, I could not break the band.
Chide not with the past, but feel the present!
I am here--we meet--I hold thy hand.
Thou art come, indeed--thou hast rejoin'd me;
Thou hast dared it--but too late to save.
Fear not now that men should tax thine honour!
I am dying: build--(thou may'st)--my grave!
Tristram, ah, for love of Heaven, speak kindly!
What, I hear these bitter words from thee?
Sick with grief I am, and faint with travel--
Take my hand--dear Tristram, look on me!
I forget, thou comest from thy voyage--
Yes, the spray is on thy cloak and hair.
But thy dark eyes are not dimm'd, proud Iseult!
And thy beauty never was more fair.
Ah, harsh flatterer! let alone my beauty!
I, like thee, have left my youth afar.
Take my hand, and touch these wasted fingers--
See my cheek and lips, how white they are
!
Thou art paler--but thy sweet charm, Iseult!
Would not fade with the dull years away.
Ah, how fair thou standest in the moonlight!
I forgive thee, Iseult!--thou wilt stay?
Fear me not, I will be always with thee;
I will watch thee, tend thee, soothe thy pain;
Sing thee tales of true, long-parted lovers,
Join'd at evening of their days again.
No, thou shalt not speak! I should be finding
Something alter'd in thy courtly tone.
Sit--sit by me! I will think, we've lived so
In the green wood, all our lives, alone.
Alter'd, Tristram? Not in courts, believe me,
Love like mine is alter'd in the breast;
Courtly life is light and cannot reach it--
Ah! it lives, because so deep-suppress'd!
What, thou think'st men speak in courtly chambers
Words by which the wretched are consoled?
What, thou think'st this aching brow was cooler,
Circled, Tristram, by a band of gold?
Royal state with Marc, my deep-wrong'd husband--
That was bliss to make my sorrows flee!
Silken courtiers whispering honied nothings--
Those were friends to make me false to thee!
Ah, on which, if both our lots were balanced,
Was indeed the heaviest burden thrown--
Thee, a pining exile in thy forest,
Me, a smiling queen upon my throne?
Vain and strange debate, where both have suffer'd,
Both have pass'd a youth consumed and sad,
Both have brought their anxious day to evening,
And have now short space for being glad!
Join'd we are henceforth; nor will thy people,
Nor thy younger Iseult take it ill,
That a former rival shares her office,
When she sees her humbled, pale, and still.
I, a faded watcher by thy pillow,
I, a statue on thy chapel-floor,
Pour'd in prayer before the Virgin-Mother,
Rouse no anger, make no rivals more.
She will cry: "Is this the foe I dreaded?
This his idol? this that royal bride?
Ah, an hour of health would purge his eyesight!
Stay, pale queen! for ever by my side."
Hush, no words! that smile, I see, forgives me.
I am now thy nurse, I bid thee sleep.
Close thine eyes--this flooding moonlight blinds them!--
Nay, all's well again! thou must not weep.
I am happy! yet I feel, there's something
Swells my heart, and takes my breath away.
Through a mist I see thee; near--come nearer!
Bend--bend down!--I yet have much to say.
Heaven! his head sinks back upon the pillow--
Tristram! Tristram! let thy heart not fail!
Call on god and on the holy angels!
What, love, courage!--Christ! he is so pale.
Tristram!--Tristram!--stay--receive me with thee!
Iseult leaves thee, Tristram! never more.
* * * *
You see them clear--the moon shines bright.
Slow, slow and softly, where she stood,
She sinks upon the ground;--her hood
Had fallen back; her arms outspread
Still hold her lover's hand; her head
Is bow'd, half-buried, on the bed.
O'er the blanch'd sheet her raven hair
Lies in disorder'd streams; and there,
Strung like white stars, the pearls still are,
And the golden bracelets, heavy and rare,
Flash on her white arms still.
The very same which yesternight
Flash'd in the silver sconces' light,
When the feast was gay and the laughter loud
In Tyntagel's palace proud.
But then they deck'd a restless ghost
With hot-flush'd cheeks and brilliant eyes,
And quivering lips on which the tide
Of courtly speech abruptly died,
And a glance which over the crowded floor,
The dancers, and the festive host,
Flew ever to the door.
That the knights eyed her in surprise,
And the dames whispered scoffingly:
"Her moods, good lack, they pass like showers!
But yesternight and she would be
As pale and still as wither'd flowers,
And now to-night she laughs and speaks
And has a colour in her cheeks;
Christ keep us from such fantasy!"--
Yes, now the longing is o'erpast,
Which, dogg'd by fear and fought by shame
Shook her weak bosom day and night,
Consumed her beauty like a flame,
And dimm'd it like the desert-blast.
And though the bed-clothes hide her face,
Yet were it lifted to the light,
The sweet expression of her brow
Would charm the gazer, till his thought
Erased the ravages of time,
Fill'd up the hollow cheek, and brought
A freshness back as of her prime--
So healing is her quiet now.
So perfectly the lines express
A tranquil, settled loveliness,
Her younger rival's purest grace.
The air of the December-night
Steals coldly around the chamber bright,
Where those lifeless lovers be;
Swinging with it, in the light
Flaps the ghostlike tapestry.
And on the arras wrought you see
A stately Huntsman, clad in green,
And round him a fresh forest-scene.
On that clear forest-knoll he stays,
With his pack round him, and delays.
He stares and stares, with troubled face,
At this huge, gleam-lit fireplace,
At that bright, iron-figured door,
And those blown rushes on the floor.
He gazes down into the room
With heated cheeks and flurried air,
And to himself he seems to say:
"What place is this, and who are they?
Who is that kneeling Lady fair?
And on his pillows that pale Knight
Who seems of marble on a tomb?
How comes it here, this chamber bright,
Through whose mullion'd windows clear
The castle-court all wet with rain,
The drawbridge and the moat appear,
And then the beach, and, mark'd with spray,
The sunken reefs, and far away
The unquiet bright Atlantic plain?
--What, has some glamour made me sleep,
And sent me with my dogs to sweep,
By night, with boisterous bugle-peal,
Through some old, sea-side, knightly hall,
Not in the free green wood at all?
That Knight's asleep and at her prayer
That Lady by the bed doth kneel--
Then hush, thou boisterous bugle-peal!"
--The wild boar rustles in his lair;
The fierce hounds snuff the tainted air;
But lord and hounds keep rooted there.
Cheer, cheer thy dogs into the brake,
O Hunter! and without a fear
Thy golden-tassell'd bugle blow,
And through the glades thy pastime take--
For thou wilt rouse no sleepers here!
For these thou seest are unmoved;
Cold, cold as those who lived and loved
A thousand years ago.
ISEULT OF BRITTANY
A year had flown, and o'er the sea away,
In Cornwall, Tristram and Queen Iseult lay;
In King Marc's chapel, in Tyntagel old--
There in a ship they bore those lovers cold.
The young surviving Iseult, one bright day,
Had wander'd forth. Her children were at play
In a green circular hollow in the heath
Which borders the sea-shore--a country path
Creeps over it from the till'd fields behind.
The hollow's grassy banks are soft-inclined,
And to one standing on them, far and near
The lone unbroken view spreads bright and clear
Over the waste. This cirque of open ground
Is light and green; the heather, which all round
Creeps thickly, grows not here; but the pale grass
Is strewn with rocks, and many a shiver'd mass
Of vein'd white-gleaming quartz, and here and there
Dotted with holly-trees and juniper.
In the smooth centre of the opening stood
Three hollies side by side, and made a screen,
Warm with the winter-sun, of burnish'd green
With scarlet berries gemm'd, the fell-fare's food.
Under the glittering hollies Iseult stands,
Watching her children play; their little hands
Are busy gathering spars of quartz, and streams
Of stagshorn for their hats; anon, with screams
Of mad delight they drop their spoils, and bound
Among the holly-clumps and broken ground,
Racing full speed, and startling in their rush
The fell-fares and the speckled missel-thrush
Out of their glossy coverts;--but when now
Their cheeks were flush'd, and over each hot brow,
Under the feather'd hats of the sweet pair,
In blinding masses shower'd the golden hair--
Then Iseult call'd them to her, and the three
Cluster'd under the holly-screen, and she
Told them an old-world Breton history.
Warm in their mantles wrapt the three stood there,
Under the hollies, in the clear still air--
Mantles with those rich furs deep glistering
Which Venice ships do from swart Egypt bring.
Long they stay'd still--then, pacing at their ease,
Moved up and down under the glossy trees.
But still, as they pursued their warm dry road,
From Iseult's lips the unbroken story flow'd,
And still the children listen'd, their blue eyes
Fix'd on their mother's face in wide surprise;
Nor did their looks stray once to the sea-side,
Nor to the brown heaths round them, bright and wide,
Nor to the snow, which, though 't was all away
From the open heath, still by the hedgerows lay,
Nor to the shining sea-fowl, that with screams
Bore up from where the bright Atlantic gleams,
Swooping to landward; nor to where, quite clear,
The fell-fares settled on the thickets near.
And they would still have listen'd, till dark night
Came keen and chill down on the heather bright;
But, when the red glow on the sea grew cold,
And the grey turrets of the castle old
Look'd sternly through the frosty evening-air,
Then Iseult took by the hand those children fair,
And brought her tale to an end, and found the path,
And led them home over the darkening heath.
And is she happy? Does she see unmoved
The days in which she might have lived and loved
Slip without bringing bliss slowly away,
One after one, to-morrow like to-day?
Joy has not found her yet, nor ever will--
Is it this thought which makes her mien so still,
Her features so fatigued, her eyes, though sweet,
So sunk, so rarely lifted save to meet
Her children's? She moves slow; her voice alone
Hath yet an infantine and silver tone.
But even that comes languidly; in truth,
She seems one dying in a mask of youth.
And now she will go home, and softly lay
Her laughing children in their beds, and play
Awhile with them before they sleep; and then
She'll light her silver lamp, which fishermen
Dragging their nets through the rough waves, afar,
Along this iron coast, know like a star,
And take her broidery-frame, and there she'll sit
Hour after hour, her gold curls sweeping it;
Lifting her soft-bent head only to mind
Her children, or to listen to the wind.
And when the clock peals midnight, she will move
Her work away, and let her fingers rove
Across the shaggy brows of Tristram's hound
Who lies, guarding her feet, along the ground;
Or else she will fall musing, her blue eyes
Fixt, her slight hands clasp'd on her lap; then rise,
And at her prie-dieu kneel, until she have told
Her rosary-beads of ebony tipp'd with gold,
Then to her soft sleep--and to-morrow'll be
To-day's exact repeated effigy.
Yes, it is lonely for her in her hall.
The children, and the grey-hair'd seneschal,
Her women, and Sir Tristram's aged hound,
Are there the sole companions to be found.
But these she loves; and noisier life than this
She would find ill to bear, weak as she is.
She has her children, too, and night and day
Is with them; and the wide heaths where they play,
The hollies, and the cliff, and the sea-shore,
The sand, the sea-birds, and the distant sails,
These are to her dear as to them; the tales
With which this day the children she beguiled
She gleaned from Breton grandames, when a child,
In every hut along this sea-coast wild.
She herself loves them still, and, when they are told,
Can forget all to hear them, as of old.
Dear saints, it is not sorrow, as I hear,
Not suffering, which shuts up eye and ear
To all that has delighted them before,
And lets us be what we were once no more.
No, we may suffer deeply, yet retain
Power to be moved and soothed, for all our pain,
By what of old pleased us, and will again.
No, 'tis the gradual furnace of the world,
In whose hot air our spirits are upcurl'd
Until they crumble, or else grow like steel--
Which kills in us the bloom, the youth, the spring--
Which leaves the fierce necessity to feel,
But takes away the power--this can avail,
By drying up our joy in everything,
To make our former pleasures all seem stale.
This, or some tyrannous single thought, some fit
Of passion, which subdues our souls to it,
Till for its sake alone we live and move--
Call it ambition, or remorse, or love--
This too can change us wholly, and make seem
All which we did before, shadow and dream.
And yet, I swear, it angers me to see
How this fool passion gulls men potently;
Being, in truth, but a diseased unrest,
And an unnatural overheat at best.
How they are full of languor and distress
Not having it; which when they do possess,
They straightway are burnt up with fume and care,
And spend their lives in posting here and there
Where this plague drives them; and have little ease,
Are furious with themselves, and hard to please.
Like that bald Caesar, the famed Roman wight,
Who wept at reading of a Grecian knight
Who made a name at younger years than he;
Or that renown'd mirror of chivalry,
Prince Alexander, Philip's peerless son,
Who carried the great war from Macedon
Into the Soudan's realm, and thundered on
To die at thirty-five in Babylon.
What tale did Iseult to the children say,
Under the hollies, that bright winter's day?
She told them of the fairy-haunted land
Away the other side of Brittany,
Beyond the heaths, edged by the lonely sea;
Of the deep forest-glades of Broce-liande,
Through whose green boughs the golden sunshine creeps,
Where Merlin by the enchanted thorn-tree sleeps.
For here he came with the fay Vivian,
One April, when the warm days first began.
He was on foot, and that false fay, his friend,
On her white palfrey; here he met his end,
In these lone sylvan glades, that April-day.
This tale of Merlin and the lovely fay
Was the one Iseult chose, and she brought clear
Before the children's fancy him and her.
Blowing between the stems, the forest-air
Had loosen'd the brown locks of Vivian's hair,
Which play'd on her flush'd cheek, and her blue eyes
Sparkled with mocking glee and exercise.
Her palfrey's flanks were mired and bathed in sweat,
For they had travell'd far and not stopp'd yet.
A brier in that tangled wilderness
Had scored her white right hand, which she allows
To rest ungloved on her green riding-dress;
The other warded off the drooping boughs.
But still she chatted on, with her blue eyes
Fix'd full on Merlin's face, her stately prize.
Her 'haviour had the morning's fresh clear grace,
The spirit of the woods was in her face.
She look'd so witching fair, that learned wight
Forgot his craft, and his best wits took flight;
And he grew fond, and eager to obey
His mistress, use her empire as she may.
They came to where the brushwood ceased, and day
Peer'd 'twixt the stems; and the ground broke away,
In a sloped sward down to a brawling brook;
And up as high as where they stood to look
On the brook's farther side was clear, but then
The underwood and trees began again.
This open glen was studded thick with thorns
Then white with blossom; and you saw the horns,
Through last year's fern, of the shy fallow-deer
Who come at noon down to the water here.
You saw the bright-eyed squirrels dart along
Under the thorns on the green sward; and strong
The blackbird whistled from the dingles near,
And the weird chipping of the woodpecker
Rang lonelily and sharp; the sky was fair,
And a fresh breath of spring stirr'd everywhere.
Merlin and Vivian stopp'd on the slope's brow,
To gaze on the light sea of leaf and bough
Which glistering plays all round them, lone and mild,
As if to itself the quiet forest smiled.
Upon the brow-top grew a thorn, and here
The grass was dry and moss'd, and you saw clear
Across the hollow; white anemonies
Starr'd the cool turf, and clumps of primroses
Ran out from the dark underwood behind.
No fairer resting-place a man could find.
"Here let us halt," said Merlin then; and she
Nodded, and tied her palfrey to a tree.
They sate them down together, and a sleep
Fell upon Merlin, more like death, so deep.
Her finger on her lips, then Vivian rose,
And from her brown-lock'd head the wimple throws,
And takes it in her hand, and waves it over
The blossom'd thorn-tree and her sleeping lover.
Nine times she waved the fluttering wimple round,
And made a little plot of magic ground.
And in that daisied circle, as men say,
Is Merlin prisoner till the judgment-day;
But she herself whither she will can rove--
For she was passing weary of his love.
LA MORT D'ARTHUR
NOT BY ALFRED TENNYSON
by
WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN
Slowly, as one who bears a mortal hurt,
Through which the fountain of his life runs dry,
Crept good King Arthur down unto the lake.
A roughening wind was bringing in the waves
With cold dull plash and plunging to the shore,
And a great bank of clouds came sailing up
Athwart the aspect of the gibbous moon,
Leaving no glimpse save starlight, as he sank,
With a short stagger, senseless on the stones.
No man yet knows how long he lay in swound;
But long enough it was to let the rust
Lick half the surface of his polished shield;
For it was made by far inferior hands,
Than forged his helm, his breastplate, and his greaves,
Whereon no canker lighted, for they bore
The magic stamp of MECHI'S SILVER STEEL .
CIAN OF THE CHARIOTS
by
WILLIAM H. BABCOCK
"His Right Wheel Struck and Shattered."
CIAN OF THE CHARIOTS: A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF ARTHUR EMPEROR OF BRITAIN AND HIS KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE HOW THEY DELIVERED LONDON AND OVERTHREW THE SAXONS AFTER THE DOWNFALL OF ROMAN BRITAIN [Note to the text]
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THE most romantic period of English history is surely that chronicled by Geoffrey of Monmouth, sung by Alfred Tennyson, put into modern story by Sidney Lanier, and told in pictures by Abbey--the days of the knightly and royal Arthur of Britain.
To ascertain, as nearly as may be, the real truth of that time, and embody a typical part of it in the guise of modern fiction, has been the labor of years, that has finally found expression by the writer in this romance of love and valor--the story of Prince Cian of the mistletoe crest, Cian of the Chariots.
That it may make more real the deeds of that remote and misty time when the last wave of Roman occupation was receding from Britain, when, between Rome and barbarism, between Christianity and heathendom, stood only the conquering sword of that splendid knight of the Round Table and the Holy Grail, Arthur the Emperor, is the hope of the author, who here presents the old tale in modern dress for modern readers.
It was a stirring and pivotal time. In The Two
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Lost Centuries of Britain we read: "The true story of the Arthurian campaigns would seem to be this. At the same time with the grand assault of Cerdic at Netley, or in the confusion following the death of Ambrose, the northern Saxons came crowding down. Arthur, issuing from Caer Lerion (formerly Ratae, now Leicester), met their army as it crossed the valley of the Glem; drove it back to the mouth of that stream, and there inflicted on the shore of the Wash a defeat whereby men chiefly remembered the campaign. The Saxons may have taken to their boats and escaped him by sea. One result of his victory was the relief of Caer-lud-coit (Lindom, Lincoln), which had long been standing isolated beyond the true border. No doubt the uplands of Lincolnshire were regained.
"At the west the border-line had been carried back to the Mersey. Chester was in danger. The young general went to its relief; took the offensive; pressed the Saxons northward to the Duglas, and struck them a severe blow near Wigan. Perhaps for the time he drove them from the little valley.
"But they returned in greater force the next season, and the next, and the next. The bone of contention was there, in spite of indecisive victory, until at last he was able to drive them bodily north as far as Westmoreland. A final success on the Pesa made a complete clearance of all that region.
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"But the Deirans of York were unbroken as yet, although beaten back along both lines of approach. They invented a third, by way of surprise, and fell into a trap, whence, by all accounts, none issued alive and free. Hardly any event made a deeper impress on the minds of that generation than this total overthrow in the haunted wood of Celidon.
"Now the scene moves to the southward. At this time Arthur may first have been formally invested with the supreme command throughout Britain. As Guledig, or Imperator, what a claim London must have had upon him; the most renowned of all his cities, though fallen into decay; the most recalcitrant, and thus in need of conciliation; the most endangered, so requiring aid. He found her with the enemy before the walls, the irrational hope of superstition in her heart."
Our story opens after the battle of the Pesa or Bassa, and while both sides were gathering their forces, and beginning to move toward that still more decisive encounter in the wood of Celidon. Arthur, already Emperor, has sent Cian and Llywarch as envoys to summon the aid of the semi-independent city.
All else that is needful will reveal itself as the story goes on.
WILLIAM H. BABCOCK.
ROCK HAVEN, NEAR GEORGETOWN,
March 12, 1898.
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CHAPTER
I. CIAN TO THE RESCUE 9
II. WITH THE GUARD OF THE GATE 23
III. THE FIGHT BEFORE THE SHRINE 35
IV. THE RETURN TO THE VILLA 45
V. A DIP INTO OLD ROME 52
VI. THE HOME OF AURELIA 57
VII. FEAST AND SONG 72
VIII. LONDON AND LONDON'S COUNCIL 78
IX. THE EMPEROR AND THE QUEEN 98
X. A VISIT TO THE SWORD OF FIRE 104
XI. THE PERPLEXITY OF ARTHUR AND THE MISSION OF OISIN 120
XII. ARTHUR WITH LANCELOT AND GUINEVERE 125
XIII. FOREBODING AND DANGER 133
XIV. THE CONFLICT AT THE LAKE VILLAGE 140
XV. LONDON BEFORE THE STORM 150
XVI. AN INTERVIEW WITH THE DEAD 162
XVII. THE FIRST SERVICE OF THE CHARIOTS 172
XVIII. THE MIRTHFULNESS OF GUINEVERE 181
XIX.. ARTHUR AT LEGIOLUM 190
XX. IN THE VALES OF ARGOED 195
XXI. A RIDE THROUGH THE SAXON-WASTED LAND 202
XXII. AMONG THE CAVE-DWELLERS OF THE SCAUR 208
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XXIII. THE RIDE TO ISURIUM AND A WILDER RIDE HOME-WARD 224
XXIV. FROM LOIDIS TO LEGIOLUM 241
XXV. ARTHUR IN COUNCIL 248
XXVI. IN THE FOREST OF CELIDON 255
XXVII. A PASSAGE AT ARMS BETWEEN LANCELOT AND VORTIMER 260
XXVIII. THE NIGHT BATTLE OF THE GREAT WOOD 271
XXIX. THE BLOWING OF THE ELFIN HORN 279
XXX. THE DEATH OF AN ARMY 286
XXXI. THE TOKEN OF OISIN AND THE MARCH TO LONDON 292
XXXII. BROUGHT TO THE LIGHT 299
XXXIII. HOW ARTHUR AND CIAN RAISED THE SIEGE 309
XXXIV. THE MYSTERIES OF MONA 330
XXXV. HOW ARTHUR DEALT WITH THE HEATHEN 338
XXXVI.. THE FIERY TRIAL OF CIAN 345
XXXVII. AURELIA AT CAMELOT 352
XXXVIII. HOW SANAWG WAS THE SUMMONER OF CIAN 357
XXXIX. THE LONG BATTLE OF CAMELOT 362
XL. HOW CIAN SAVED ARTHUR FROM CERDIC 377
XLI. ALL WELL ENDED 390
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CIAN OF THE CHARIOTS.
CHAPTER I.CIAN TO THE RESCUE.
Thou Guider of the chariot of Arthur.
--GILDER.
RED through the fringe of the river of mist, it shone to the eye of Cian, Arthur's fighting man, Briton of Britons, prince and poet of the north. The sunset was on him. He had halted a little over the round of the hill, where the ancient Ermine way came southward out of the woods.
He marvelled at the unwholesome ruddiness in that dying light, the parti-colored streaking of distemper, the ruinous upjutting of wall and house-top bathed in the dimming vapor. Only in one spot a white tower, delicately strong, lifted itself high above the reek. He knew it for the work of a people whom he did not love, a race that had but lately melted from the land, with its magic of beauty and of power. And still the vapor shroud flowed on above the liv-
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ing stream, and the town enfeebled and hidden, until it spread over the eastern marshes like an inland sea.
The soul of London seemed melting by him, and away. He called to mind the young strength and glory of Camelot, the ripe splendor of far Caerleon. Words of forecast came to him, as they came full often and strangely. He said aloud, "A city in its winding-sheet; a dying city."
A strong figure was that of Cian Gwenclan; every way memorable. Cian of the chariots, men oftenest called him; Cian of the golden mail, from the flexile body-garment,--a filmy corselet hiding the good bronze or steel,--which burned even now in the low sunbeams. Over the heart a single spray of mistletoe was wrought in silver. It had a magical look and name. This repute often befriended him.
His chariot stood near,--for almost alone among northern princes he fought and journeyed in the light rushing war-vehicle of elder Britain,--the brown horse turning from the light, the carven boar's head grinning on the front of it, the helmet and weapons glowing within where he had flung them down.
His eyes were deep, dark, and bright in that western glow, his face dark and vivid also,--a warrior-minstrel face of action and many musings. The hair fell to his shoulders in masses, fine, glossy black, gently waving. He wore the long mustache also of his time. He had the bearing and stature befitting
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an equestrian of Arthur's court, a veteran of rough campaigns.
There came a patter of hoofs behind; and Llywarch of Argoed, in the saddle, drew up at his side. Llywarch had the fuller outline, a trifle the lesser height. His raised visor showed a younger-looking countenance, winning and flushed. The heart shone out of it. There were mischief and waywardness in the hazel eyes, but also uprightness and clear wisdom at need. Like his friend Cian and many others of their rank, in that romantic day, he touched the harp-strings, and put words of melody to them; although not yet had suffering and loss wrung from him that enduring poetry which later ages associate with his name.
"Not the cheerfullest of places," quoth he, with a glance at the city. "Yet after all it is no more than water in the air. And you--hatching prophecy and destruction, I warrant? You look it."
Cian regained his seat, and replied: "I have been waiting for a man who has time to follow stray footmarks in the woods, when the emperor sends him."
Llywarch grew sober. "It was an archer who made that footprint," said he, "a lively fellow who can hit his mark from a swaying bough. See here," and he put his finger to an arrow-dent in his casque. "By the time I was right in the saddle again my grinning marksman was gone. I followed as far as
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a brookside, but that was all of him. I began to fear that he would let fly at me out of the water."
"A Saxon?"
"Not a doubt of that."
"So near the great city? When the stag weakens, the wolves gather. Listen."
They looked at each other, as the cry of a wolf indeed came lugubriously from the depth of the wood. As they rode on, it opened again, with purpose in it; then another and another, a succession of racing voices.
They were descending a tongue of the highlands which tapered very gradually into the marsh by the northern wall. On their left a depression deepened and widened into a ravine, where mist-films were drifting, and water murmured. Beyond it, farther down, they could discern the outline of some large low building. Lights were coming out in it. Beyond, masses which might be villa ruins half showed themselves. But everything grew momently thicker to the sight, and, indeed, could scarcely be seen with certainty at all, unless it stood on high ground in the very eye of the west.
They had neither met nor passed any wayfarer. The road was all their own. No sound came to them but of the wolves, the low-complaining runnel, and the uneasy soul of London, murmuring. It was a region where great wealth had been and should be
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again, but not the remotest wilderness could be more lonesome and desolate.
"Are they after us, I wonder?" queried Llywarch, with a smile; for armed and mailed men had no need to concern themselves at that season. It was comical to be wolf-hunted, with an emperor's despatches, into one of the great cities of the world.
"Hardly," answered Cian. "It seems rather like the purposeless demon-hunting of old tales and winter nights. Listen. See."
He pointed down obliquely to where that sinister hurrying chorus came up again from the slant of the farther side. Fancy and eye-straining gave them vision of dim, long, swollen figures, making forward ravenously. The lights of the villa were seen in sudden motion, and voices called with anxious inquiry and dismay. The horses meanwhile made wild haste down the road, the mere presence of the wolves being more than any whip or spur.
Then from over the gulf came the scream of a child and a woman's call for aid, in evident extremity of need. They shouted back, and plunged down together, uncertain of obstacles, forcing the horses on as into the shock of battle. As they went they could hear before them exclamations of horror and repulsion, the child's broken wailing, and the ring of metal on stone; but no more call to them, for the woman knew they were coming.
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Only as Cian sped up alone over the crest, a glad cry broke from her. He saw the sweep of a great weapon, and heard a brutish howl. Then his right wheel struck and shattered, the chariot spun round, pitching over, and he barely saved himself by a forward leap. That landed him among the already scattering pack, and his sword cut into them right and left, as he made his way to her.
He had not, for long, the picture before him there which abode in memory always. Where some white goddess had toppled over in the ruin of the villa garden, on the tall pedestal the lady towered above her crouching sister, the over-heavy battle-axe shearing every way in her hands, a divine maid, the very genius of armed and wrathful protection.
Instantly her enemies were gone. The mist of the deep hollow received them. With long breaths, she dropped her weapon behind her, and leaned back on the helve of it, unhurt, her brow smoothing itself, and a smile growing in her face, but weariness growing also.
"I cannot tell you how I thank you," she said, with labor, as he came near, holding out hands of aid. "Go, Sylvia," she added faintly.
Pretty Sylvia was still in the bewilderment of terror; but she glanced upward at her tall sister in new concern and surprise,--for how could weakness be there? Then she gave herself, nestling and shudder-
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ing, to the arms of the stranger. When he had set her down beside him, she remained watchful and silent, except for a word of persuasion,--"Aurelia! Aurelia!"--as he reached up his hands again.
"I must be a Saxon this time, and rob the pedestal," said he reassuringly.
She waved his hand aside with a smile, then laid her own on his shoulder to descend." I would rather not be pulled down and broken. That is the Saxon way," said she.
But she lingered, swaying.
He watched her, fearing a fall, and ready; yet answered," I do not carry my animosity so far. Though I have little love for Roman gods, old or new."
"Then I will be Hecate no longer," she said, laughing weakly, and let herself down with a half spring.
It was her utmost endeavor. As her feet touched the ground, she bent, and would have quite fallen, but for his arm thrown around her. She had no choice but to rest against him a moment.
"The goddess of feebleness, if there ever was one!" she murmured ruefully.
I am Cian Gwenclan," he said. "Rest easy. Breath and vigor will come again."
Small wonder if he were not very eager for that revival, her face being very near his shoulder, her
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form close against his own. Her imperial womanliness, unwillingly appealing, carried his whole nature by storm. In all his stirring life, Cian had never felt so almost fiercely happy.
"Cian of the Chariots? Prince Cian of the golden mail, whom we have heard about?" she said after an interval; then she straightened herself, remembering that this knowledge had first come by touch. But she added frankly, "Before you spoke I knew you. My name you have heard. My father is Constantine the merchant, grandson of Constans, who was Cæsar, as you know. And to-night--but that does not matter. Our home is just above, the only one left near. But for you, the wolves would have torn us."
There was an involuntary movement toward him, but she felt the little one pulling distressfully at her tunic.
"What makes him smile so?" demanded Sylvia. "I don't like him to smile that way."
She did not mean Cian, though some such odd notion at first came into his mind. Her gaze was on a dark wolf-form which lay twitching, too low for them to see plainly. Cian took up the axe, and ended it at a blow.
"That was hardly needed," he said. "You should be a warrior maiden of olden time, such as the legends tell."
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"It was the weapon," she said. "I picked up that massive thing, as I hurried out after our truant."
"Massive--yes! And I have borne arms up the hills by the Duglas, and in the deep sands of the Glem."
By this time lights and voices were wandering anxiously. She called back to them. Cian added his voice, "Ho, Llywarch!" as they with Sylvia began moving away.
For answer the horse of the prince of Argoed came and stood riderless before them. Cian gave a quick cry; then called vehemently, "Llywarch! Llywarch! Llywarch!"
In the confusion of voices now centring on them he could not find that of his friend; but a sound of savage worrying came up out of the hollow. He wavered for a moment. "Go!" said she, and he began rushing down the slope. At a little distance the answer of Llywarch halted him; and as Cian turned aside, the two were together.
"The child--the woman?" Llywarch demanded.
"Safe,--but I feared"--
"What, that the messenger of Arthur had gone to the wolves? No, man, I am all here--and rather more of me by weight than formerly. For I have been headlong into the mire, I promise you."
"But what is that?" indicating the noise below.
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"I cannot say. Let us see."
Guided by ear, they came presently on a clump of dark bodies in turmoil, working away mercilessly at something on the ground. Cian had drawn back his sword, when lantern-light shone on it and its living target. Several voices called on him to forbear. "They are our brave house-guards," Aurelia explained, as she joined them. "Off, Dorwach! Here, Juno!"
They were beyond mistaking now. The body of the great mastiff was too thick and furry for any of his wild kin; and though the hound, his companion, was leaner and smoother, no wolf ever came thus gambolling about a mistress. Little Sylvia screamed, for there was blood all over their jaws, and the lamplight made it vivid, while their antics brought it very near.
"One of the wounded enemy," said Llywarch, bending over something which they had left. "Served as Caowl, the woodlander, would serve a Saxon. I have no liking for that inhuman way."
"The dogs have done well," said one of the attendants, in surly protest.
"Well for dogs with wolves," replied Aurelia. " Not so well for men with men. You see," she added, turning to the gentlemen, "our people have no wish to be the thralls of sea-robbers."
Llywarch was examining the dead wolf closely.
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"A strong blow," said he. " I marvel the beast got so far. Shoulder bitten through from in front--blade-bitten. Chest laid half open. A strong blow--yet not a man's blow," he added, raising himself inquiringly.
"I remember the frightful creature," said Aurelia, quivering a little. "He was the worst of them."
"This is the lady whose father we were bidden to have speech with," said Cian, and presented his friend in due form.
"Also," remarked Llywarch, "the lady who saved herself while two fighting men of Arthur's camp were making a poor pretence of coming to her aid." He drew his face down ruefully.
"I was not stuck in a bog," observed Cian.
For indeed all the upper part of Prince Llywarch was eloquent beyond expounding, the helmet, especially, being two or three of itself in mass, notwithstanding a continual dislodgement. The domestics began laughing. Even Aurelia half joined. "Come," said she, "we who caused your distress at least will relieve it. Surely you will go no farther now."
Llywarch shook his head. "Our first charge is to deliver, somewhat within the gates," he said. "To our grief, we may not tarry--unless there be other noble damsels by the way who keep tryst with wild animals in the dark."
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"You will find none," she said; "all is waste between here and the walls."
"And you linger on with the wolves?"
"We linger. But they rarely come ravening like this. It is held an evil sign."
"Of the Saxon?"
"So say our people; and there has been dreadful work eastward. However, by day all is yet safe here from man and beast. This is a rare place for play, and garden flowers run wild. No doubt Sylvia slipped off on some such quest, and lingered until the twilight surprised her. Was it not so, Sylvia?"
The child began to whimper at the remembrance. "Let us go home; do let us go home," was her imploring cry.
"Patience, darling. Yet I, too, think that would be well. Gentlemen, I urge no one from duty; but since you have errands with my father, we may perhaps hope to see you soon again."
"But is he not at the city?"
"Yes; and it is as well. Though if spared the wolf-howling and worrying"--
"He enjoys other fraternal sounds. There they are again."
From distant London angry calls came confusedly.
"Yes," she replied with a sigh; "farewell, until you return--with my gratitude."
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"Ours, much rather," said Cian and Llywarch in a breath.
As they spoke she turned away with her men. From the other side the princes' horses were brought. There was a saddle on Cian's already. It was bridled also. They regained the road easily, and pressed on again.
"A surpassing woman!" commented Llywarch, after silence.
"Imperial," assented Cian. "Hence our errand, it may be." The words had an ill taste evidently.
"Cian," said Llywarch with seriousness, "it is hardly for us to judge. But the emperor will not, I deem, look outside of the house of Caradoc. He can very ill spare the right arm of his realm and host; but he knows if there were one man here such as she, London would count for Britain."
"There is her father."
"He is the last you should praise. Rome has gone. You cannot turn the stream backward. That is what Constantine seeks to do. Nevertheless, he may have a trial."
But there was more against Constantine than his worship of old. He had thriven vastly in trade, whatever his claim by birth, beginning with hidden stores put by in the great exodus with the legions, to be found by those who knew. He could marshal wealth and the wealth-bringers mightily and with
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skill; and very proud he was of some resemblance in feature to that great Julius who crossed the Rubicon into empire. But the dread of loss came easily to him; and he had the trader's instinct to conciliate and bargain, rather than the iron hand of the soldier, holding its purpose with firm grip unto the end.
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WITH THE GUARD OF THE GATE.
Of manly disposition was the youth.
--ANEURIN.
THE two travellers passed from the high ground to the causeway which pierced the strip of marsh that lay just beyond the city wall at and near the Ermine gate. The air was foul, the fog wrapping them closely. Dim forms, which might mean anything, even fancy, brushed by them. All sounds were muffled. Those ahead, though near, had seemingly grown more distant. The wall, when at last it loomed over them, was very welcome.
Ascending a little, they entered a broad gateway. A light shone transversely. They saw before them the glint of crossing metal, and the two helmeted spearmen who thus barred their way. The customary challenge was given.
"We are friends," answered Llywarch, "and glad enough to get in out of the corpse-breath. We are officers of Arthur the Emperor, too, no matter what we may look like in this guise."
His eyes ran dismally over himself.
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"Moreover, we bear a letter from him to your city rulers," added Cian.
The soldiers were opening the way, awed, yet grinning as often as their eyes met the figure of the miry Prince of Argoed; but one came forward, lantern in hand, with a light, quick step, at whose gesture the spear-points dropped again.
"Your first words," he said, "would have let you through over willingly, for a British fighting man is of all men the most welcome just now. And I do not doubt you shall have the greater honor for slight delay. But this is matter of moment, it would seem, and must be referred to the captain of the guard. Call him;" and he turned to one of the men.
They could see that he had a slight figure, unarmored, as though he had risen in haste to make inquiry; a young subaltern, it was plain, and of a type to hold boyishness well into riper years. Close-curling hair between red and gold, a light pointed mustache, an alert, intelligent face, a mantle of rich red stuff and tossing embroidery, a general impression of quick motion and brightness,--these made up the rest of the half-shadowed picture. All his attire ran very near a delicate foppery. A two-edged sword of the old leaf pattern hung sheathed from his side. His belt bore also a dagger and an elfin-like forester's horn.
Cian looked him over, with sudden recognition.
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"I know you very well, Dynan, son of the Three Shouts; it seems, though, you do not remember me."
Dynan's face lighted responsively. He stepped forward, offering his hand.
"How should I know you," he answered, " without your chariot, and back yonder in the shadow. Moreover, you have thrown something around the natural golden glitter of you," as indeed the dense fog had prompted.
"And this," he continued, "Llywarch of Argoed, surely!--in misfortune?" and he began to laugh.
"Yes, Llywarch, who swam the Duglas with you to get at certain Saxons. He would like to swim a few more rivers just now. Known at present as Llywarch the Wallower."
"We thought you had gone home," said Cian.
"Rightly," answered Dynan. "But who could stay there? By the time all my neighbors had quarrelled with me because I wouldn't make fairy gold according to my lineage, and hadn't any coin of my own, I found it best to do my fighting farther away, in town-service.
"And so you chose London!" suggested Llywarch disparagingly.
Dynan raised his eyes with a quick movement. "Not first nor most wisely," said he. "I have eaten the bread of Caer Segeint the Beautiful. I have held
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the gates, also, of the White Town of the Wrekon, the Shining City. But this--I call it the sulking den, the cave of unreason, the hive that quarrels inwardly, unappeasably."
"Don't snarl at the paymaster, lad. Never do that," announced a strong voice, nearing them. A hand was laid familiarly on Dynan's shoulder--a hand with a strong tendency to grip, and showing the knuckles over plainly; for this Osburn the Frank was a very oak of a man, everything about him giving the impression of rooted strength. He had a large forehead over keen blue eyes, and a way of thrusting out his long chin, as he uttered his curt sentences. His broad, bony face was bearded all over with stubble, in contrast to the mustachioed Britons.
"I am centurion of the gate," he explained." That is all just now. Where I am put, I stay. Where I am sent, I go. And I don't growl about it. I don't, if the money comes. What, then, have you brought us?"
"A letter-imperial from Arthur, our emperor," answered Llywarch formally. "It is addressed to the ruler or rulers of London, by his or their proper style or title, whosoever and whatsoever he or they--and it--may be."
Osburn's face twitched with grim enjoyment.
"The council is trying to find out," he replied dryly." They will scarce hear you to-night."
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"I pray you arrange for audience to-morrow then," said Cian. "The emperor will bear no trifling."
"Amen!" responded Osburn. "A strong hand is needed. Dynan, see who is uppermost at the basilica. If Constantine, all will be well. Tell him. If not--the best you can. Shout, if beset. Any one of the three shouts,--your inheritance."
Dynan laughed. "About all of it, except a fund of tolerance for bad jokes."
Forthwith he was gone for his armor.
Following Osburn, who followed Dynan, the envoys entered, through a narrow side passage, a lighted guard-room in a bastion-like thickening of the wall. Here all seemed in practicable order and readiness. Armor, chiefly bronze, hung on the walls with a reddening gleam. Weapons were shining where they leaned together in corners or from racks that held them. Large men of divers aspects, though sufficiently alike in attire, sat about or lounged or stood. One pair of them looked up from a board of draughts, or some such game. A soldierly set, but gathered from everywhere, for a few seemed Britons.
Osburn turned to Llywarch: "Better leave your shell, it needs brightening;" and, at the word, one came forward, grimacing, to render aid. It was not possible to look at the mud-caked paladin very solemnly. He took their mirth cheerily, as usual.
Presently they were ushered into what had been
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a series of cells, where, on the smallest possible scale, the Roman officers had persisted of old in their elaborate bathing system. The ornaments were mostly plastered over now, and the partitions knocked down for greater elbow room; but water was to be had very amply.
Passing thence to the dining-hall, they found it absurdly narrow for its length, as the conditions compelled. The mural paintings were preserved, though fading; two long processionals, which could never have been very good. On the board sundry Roman pieces of varying merit still held their ground amid spoils of raid or purchase, mementos brought from over sea, and chance findings of every kind, a very strange medley. A vase of coralline Samian ware, with hunting scenes winding over it, beside a green-ribbed Saxon goblet, translucent and tapering slenderly; a silver platen alive with racing nymphs under an acorn-shaped cup, older than the Celts, of polished Kimmeridge coal.
Two other officers awaited them at supper; and soon the soldiers off guard came in, taking the lower seats.
The talk began, wandered, then came to an end. All saw that Osburn was listening uneasily. At last he held up Dynan's elfin horn--transparent as the summer heaven, yet threaded with wild scrollwork of fire.
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"He has left what some call his luck," said Osburn gravely, neither denying nor affirming, as became a man who had served respectfully under many gods, and knew that strange influences were astir among men.
"But we have it, and he goes on our errand," answered Llywarch.
"Do you thus read the omen?"
"God forbid that we should waste time in construing what a few minutes will reveal. But ask Cian, if you will. He has been to the Druids."
One of the lesser officers looked at Cian with heightened interest. The other made the sign of the cross.
Cian's lip twitched. "Oh, this horn is not of the devil," said he. "You know the tale."
"Not certainly," said Osburn.
"Then my prophecy is that Llywarch, being glib of tongue and smooth of humor, will surely tell you."
Llywarch bowed low, but fell in with their wish. "Before our time," he said, "there were dwarfs and elves and powers of enchantment in the land, as all men know; and some have lingered on in hidden places, now and then showing themselves, for good or ill, to one of our race. In deep glens and forest shadows you meet them, it is said, and chiefly by the fountains that come bubbling up with the life of the under-world.
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"In such a country as this dwelt Dynan's mother's mother's mother, I know not how remote in ancestry. One day, passing through the meadows to bathe, as was her custom, in a secret pool fed by undying springs under curtaining boughs, she heard a faint cavern-muffled call from before her, and was minded to return. But coming a little nearer, she found the place quite vacant, save for dipping ouzels and water-rats that went gliding away. Having waited a while, she laid aside her garments, and stepped in through the shallows. Then again out swelled the cry, but now deep-throated, vehement, exultant, and very near, seeming to heave up the water before some bodily presence. It thrilled and wrapped and all but overcame her; yet she sprang away, snatching her clothing, and wrapping it around her as she ran. And, running thus, she heard yet a third time that voice of the under-world, but now sent after her in accents of more than human despair. Yet she had seen no form at all; and the Three Shouts was the only name she could ever give, or which might be given."
"But what is this to Dynan?" demanded Osburn.
"Why, if the story be told truly, she must have sought that pool again--overcoming her fear, or because of it, for there are strange things in enchantment. It is thought, also, she made tryst with him otherwhere. A dimness, not human nor heavenly, was seen beside her in lonely rambles; and one starlit
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eve she had vanished quite away. Long afterward she returned, and bore a son among her own people, with a tale of wedlock in wild, lonely places, by rites unknown; and this magical token, wrought by no earthly hand, she showed as her voucher. When the right lips blow it, the voice of the Three Shouts will be sent abroad, and hosts of terrible power will come to the rescue. But they exact their price, and claim their own."
Cian took the horn from Osburn's hand, poising it carefully. "Shall I blow it, for trial?" said he.
"Forbear!" cried his host uneasily.
Even while he yet held it, yielding, there came a far cry to them. All looked through the wall windows toward the house-lights, which glimmered across a broad open belt.
"No distress in that!" exclaimed Osburn. "He is on the way."
"Good," said Llywarch. "Now make Cian tell you how he saved a pack of wolves this evening from a terrible lady."
"What!"
"Aurelia, daughter of Constantine," explained Cian gravely.
"So she fought the wolves?" queried Osburn.
"Protecting her little sister."
"And she hewed down well?"
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"You should have seen. But the axe wearied her."
"Of course, of course!" and Osburn looked from one of his officers to another with eager appeal. "There's a woman, grand and lovely! Emperor's blood, they say. A king's daughter, at any rate! To-night will show."
Some of his men looked uncertain or indifferent, but the most were evidently with him. Cian and Llywarch turned to each other in congratulation.
"For how long?" suggested Cian.
"There you have it. That is the worst. How long?--I don't know. I don't know my own title in this place. One day I am centurion--when the Romans, as they call themselves, are uppermost. The next, I am commander of a hundred--then the Britons, so called, rule. Once Constantine has been consul; once, tribune. Now he is to be king. And there have been chiefs and princes and governors, and what not. And the factions wrangle, and the city goes to ruin, and the Saxons draw nearer, and the wolves howl about the gates. Whatever else we need, we need--Arthur."
Seeing that he longed for it, they told him then fully of Arthur the Guledig,--Arthur the Emperor, as men would say. They told what manner of man this was in camp and court and daily converse, who had risen steadily, a star of hope for all the land;
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his campaigns, how fought, and whither tending; his every hope and plan so far as made known among his following, while yet he stood there by the northern border, watchful. "Stanch men, like you," said Llywarch, "are men after his own heart."
Osburn kept silence a minute. Much of this did not come newly to him; but it was a tale well told again, and they rounded hints and fragments with fuller and surer knowledge. At last he said,--
"I like the wise brain; I like the strong hand--the man who can learn from Rome, live for Britain, and yet value any soldier. That leader is mine who has never yet been beaten. If they choose Constantine, and he chooses me, London is for Arthur."
They looked at him with widened interest, for he spoke assuredly. His men followed with sounds and signs of applause, but their eyes opened as at something new.
"May it indeed be so!" Cian answered. "What force have you here?"
"A legion--which is a half-legion--in fair shape, at the gates and the White Tower. And the citizens turn out--sometimes. And there are always spears--a few--about Caer Collin, our worst border. And the foresters will fight, but as readily against us, for Vortimer of the Andred-wood. The city is full of them now. That is Dynan's danger. What keeps him?"
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"You can't go fast through the fog."
"True. But it's too long. By St. John!--too long."
For Osburn was confusedly Christian in his swearing. He clenched his hand as he spoke; when another cry from Dynan brought them all to their feet together. It came from far to the right, and this time there could be no doubt at all of its exceeding urgency. In a breath each man snatched his armor, and then all went tumbling out--one on the heels of another--except the very few that Osburn's hasty word in passing bade remain on guard. He restored some part of order as they ran.
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THE FIGHT BEFORE THE SHRINE.
He that was the shelter in battle.
--LLYWARCH.
OSBURN'S precautions, rapid though they were, held him a little behind his anxious guests. Presently these also parted company in the fog; and Cian, being the nimbler, found himself racing on alone, with merely sound for a guide.
There had been enough of it all that evening about London; but it was easy to single one commotion with the din of real combat in it. He made this his aim, shouting ahead to hearten Dynan and the two or three soldiers who were with him.
The moon was up now, though pale and slender, and the veil began slowly thinning away. They were in that forsaken belt left by Roman custom between houses and city wall; in this instance broader than usual by reason of the dying of the outskirts, and also much more desolate. Now they were stumbling over ruinous brickwork; now routing dim sneaking beast forms out of their lairs, and sending them scurrying onward; now splashing through pools and mire which
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proved that the northern marsh was beginning to spread within the wall.
Suddenly Osburn and Llywarch, now together, were aware of figures dimly flitting backward from them; and at a turning by an old corner of masonry a fury of weapons, curses, limbs, and faces came at them all together, holding them for a moment. Then it vanished as suddenly.
Cian heard the clash and uproar obliquely behind him, but kept on. A light and agile figure leaped in front of him, with the voice of the elf-son Dynan. "So near? I came for aid; come now!" Forthwith he was flying back, while Cian followed as best he could. It was not their first race into danger, but no wholly mortal man could equal that speed.
For a moment the elf-son was lost to sight, then discovered in violent action, while a form flew from him, moaning. He sprang, his sword fell again, and he sped on. As Cian passed the spot, a form, dead or living, at full length, nearly tripped him. Glancing back, he could see fighting, or fancy that he saw it, where tumult had broken out afresh around the voice of Llywarch. At the crossing of a little rill, two men faced him; but he sprang by, dealing one of them a backward blow. Twenty yards farther he saw Dynan spring on the skirts of a throng with nimble execration, while men scattered right and left. Before they closed again Cian also was cutting vehe-
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mently among them, while a third figure broke outward to his aid. The three together made such clearance that they won swiftly to a little apse or shrine which had served already as a shelter.
Here some pious legionary had reared, of old, a small temple, it may be to Juno or Proserpine, doubtless a lovely thing in its day. But the pillars had fallen long ago, and very little indeed remained beside that cave-like half-dome and its supporting walls, with two forward running wings of masonry, which left only a narrow entrance with a litter of fragments before it. Inside, three or four men could yet find room, though not with ample motion. A soldier crouched there, unable to dash out with his comrade, but holding his spear forward still.
Cian took a step out of the portal, and his foot slipped on the rounded body of the deity cast down. His hand, coming on it to stay his fall, was wet with blood. A dead man lay half across the marble, face on breast.
There had like to be another; for the enemy, very near, took advantage of his mishap, and one spear at least would surely have gone through him, but that Dynan turned it, and leaped in, thrusting thrice to a breath, until the point found an undefended spot and the man fell. In a moment the elf-son was out and beyond, flitting over obstacles and under blows, bounding, twisting, lunging and striking, everywhere
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at once, like a figure driven by some prodigious spring-work.
Cian, busy enough himself, kept an eye on this darting friend, for he felt that the ending of it all must be very near. Twice he dashed out to Dynan's aid, but each time that ally was elsewhere already. At last, with a great bound, the nimble-footed fellow came over one of the masonry wings, landing close behind Cian. Then he gave forth once, brokenly, his peculiar call for aid, and fell exhausted before the entrance and the altar.
Cian stepped back, watching warily the rush that followed, and making the best use of edge and point that he could. The strait was so narrow and cumbered that there was rarely a chance for a full blow; but his enemies were hampered likewise, and they also jostled each other, while not one was nearly a match in fence for the best swordsman, save two, of Arthur's court. Had there been but fair light to see him, the tall dark prince of the northern hills, sword in hand, framed by the rough temple archway, had never appeared more grandly. From each side of him, too, a spear-point darted out, gashing one or another of his assailants in breast or limb, as they were driven over near.
More than once they surged quite up to him, ebbing again after fierce stabbing at close quarters, almost like throbbing of steel. Rather by touch than
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by sight, he knew that some of them were in armor, some skin-clad, some all but naked, and with weapons as various. "Who are they?" he asked, at a half-minute's breathing spell.
The soldier first wounded was beyond answering. The other replied weakly, "Foresters, rabble, a few of our own men, townspeople who have bought armor, all sorts"--
But again they were on him together, at the closest quarters and with the deadliest intent. One led them whom he had marked before as the most persistent of all, a shorter man than himself, yet of good height and very active, with sinewy arms and a passionately hostile face. "Tigernach, Tigernach!" he cried, as if his ominous name were a spell.
"And I am Cian Gwenclan," was the proud answer. At the same time the moon shone out more plainly. However paled in that gleam, there could be no mistaking the golden lustre nor the silver spray.
Now indeed it seemed that a spell was working very strangely. Tigernach drew back bodily, shouldering those behind him. "It is Cian of the Chariots," he cried, turning. "I will not fight him of the golden mail, the heirloom of the awful dead. I will not fight the mistletoe, nor yet Arthur the Guledig."
"Why not," said one, "if he lays open my arm?"
Nevertheless, they swayed about, with signs of melting; then vanished dispersedly, as hurrying calls
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were heard near at hand. Other forms fleeted by, with Llywarch hotly behind them.
"Praise Mary!" he cried, seeing his friend yet living.
"For letting good men be slain while doing their duty?" inquired Cian, with a glance at the dead soldier. "Or for the wonderfully swift feet of Argoed?"
"Swift enough," said Dynan, as he rose achingly by sheer will. "See what comes of swiftness. But where's Osburn?"
For answer, they could hear a new clangor and cursing voices not far away. Hurrying thither,--Dynan for once hobbling desperately in the rear,--they came on the stout centurion, with two or three of his men, holding a clump of the enemy penned in an angle of a broken wall, whence they endeavored to escape, now and then one succeeding. But they did not stir Osburn from his foothold. His blows and anathemas were hammer-like, men rattling down under them. Just as his re-enforcement came up, the last few of these human rats in a trap, with a frantic effort, went scrambling over the ragged masonry behind them, while hip-slashes and a blast of hoarse words helped them up and on. Osburn turned from them with laughter, and presently had Dynan by the hand. His eyes were eager questioners. Dynan, when breath would serve him, answered as eagerly.
This was his tale:
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Going in, he had no disquiet beyond a continual hovering in the fog, as of spectres, but there was confusion enough when once among the houses; and the council-house, or basilica rather, seemed a place of frenzy, the party of Constantine claiming power already by election, and their opponents furiously contesting it. Nevertheless, he gave the message, and received instead a summons and an invitation, which was a warning. To Osburn: "Come; bring your men; expect preferment;" and to Arthur's envoys: "Pray rest at my home until to-morrow." Also he was adjured to hasten, and watch keenly.
This he did. But soon after his first call the way was barred, and he was driven to edge away and make détours, until he reached the shrine by the wall. There, being closely pressed, he left his two followers to make good their den, and darted by and through their enemies to bring aid.
"It has a bad look," he conceded ruefully; "but if either of them could have stirred his toes a third as fast as I, he should have gone instead. Now, there's a leader's qualifications for you!"
Osburn pressed his hand reassuringly. They had regained the shrine. It was surprising to find, after all, how little fatal damage had been done. But there was blood enough about certainly.
Cian could feel his own trickling, while a weak indifference gained on him. Presently his head swam
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and rang; but he held up and said nothing, as they moved back toward the Ermine gate. He heard some stern order from Osburn about leaving the wounded enemy where they lay, and Llywarch's kindly protest. Then there was a startled exclamation; and he felt them supporting him, while some hand presented a flask to his lips.
When he quite came to life again, a surgeon was saying, "He need not be much the worse for it;" while a soldier bathed his limbs, and bandages went around them. He knew that he was in the wall-quarters of the guard again.
Every face showed pleasure that his hurts were no worse; but he was very sore, and felt it all as a satirical absurdity. "A rabble-mauled veteran," he said with deliberate effort. "One Cian, a swordsman, formerly known at Camelot."
"Not all rabble, not all," answered Osburn. "Tigernach was there, a born chief of the forest, good at his weapons. We know him."
"Swift as I nearly; obstinate almost as Osburn; hotter than either or any," added Dynan.
Cian looked from face to face. "Why, Tigernach?" he said. "Ah! bring him in."
"His forty wild followers may wait outside, I trust," suggested Llywarch.
"You may trust him," answered Cian, putting his forefinger significantly on the silver mistletoe.
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Tigernach entered, in hastily brightened mail, with brilliant apparel showing through the rifts and joinings. He carried himself so as to give an effect of greater height and shapeliness than in the recent struggle. He had the look of true Celtic fervor and irascible pride, with suggestions of romance also. His black eyes, keen and burning, were fixed on Cian, who was plainly far more to him than all besides.
"We have mingled our blood by a very unfriendly rite," he said; "but you will not blame one who could not know."
He turned the hollow of his shield outward. It also bore the silver mistletoe.
"You know now," answered Cian, "and will stand by me and Arthur the Guledig?"
He used the Celtic title. The forester bowed.
"And by Constantine, King of London," pursued Cian.
The other's lips twisted. "I have no liking for men who lie down to their meals," he said, "and pirate of Rome, Rome, Rome! But I suppose it must be."
Osburn laughed sympathetically. "We may count on him," said he.
"So thoroughly," added Cian, "that I take him and his tribesmen for my guard to-night, setting your men free."
Osburn hesitated. Llywarch looked uneasy.
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"That is going far on scant knowledge," he said. "No offence to this spirited gentleman, but we should not be the worse for a dozen drilled soldiers also. Bear in mind, Cian, that there is a lady to be looked after."
"And we savages are unworthy?" commented Tigernach. "As you will. As pleases you!" He forced a laugh.
"Perhaps it is from the lady that he should be guarded," whispered Dynan.
"You are right," answered the woodland chief, his face partly clearing at the jest, also in memory of her, for every man in the little kingdom knew the kind charm of Aurelia.
Osburn decided: "All are right. We trust Tigernach. Prince Cian shall have him--and his men. Prince Llywarch shall have my men, whom he honors by preference. But I can't spare many. Dynan, I commit to you the royal villa and this gate; the princess, who is waiting; the Saxons, who maybe. Now I must go."
Dynan drew a long breath, looking blank. "So much for an enchanted reputation!" he said. " If it were not for the gnats and the ghosts and poisoned air, I would make my headquarters in the marsh midway. I shall get a fine name as a flying cavalryman."
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THE RETURN TO THE VILLA.
To view the comely forms of the lovely ones.
-- Black Book of Caermarthen.
CIAN rode slowly, without speaking; for he still drooped, and every movement hurt him. Tigernach also was silent, but resentfully. Llywarch spoke in kindness.
"You should not mind a soldier's frankness--a fellow woodlander's too. Which way lie your domains?"
"In the heart of the great Andred wood, toward what they call Sussex now, on the old way to Anderida. We hold the ridge, and ever have held it. The Saxons did not come by me. After that town fell, they tried; but we cut up the first party in the thickets, and there never was a second."
He warmed a little in speaking of this achievement.
"You hold of London?" pursued Llywarch, with an interested air.
"Why, so they hold. We do our buying here, and some of our fighting. This time Vortimer in-
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vited us--of the lower woodlands. He has some shadow-claim too, and a borrowed name from olden times that every Briton loves. But he looks the Saxon that he is, on the father's side. We lead our own life, and go our own ways."
"You came lightly attended. Surely you do not usually adjust the affairs of London with half a hundred men."
Tigernach laughed. "Such a kingdom! The only way to adjust a Londoner is to kill him. Then he knows his own mind, and is reasonable. As there was to be a fight, of course I came, with a few who were nearest, losing no time. Others will follow. Half my young men are on the way before this, if I know them."
"I would send word," suggested Cian.
Tigernach took on a more deferential tone. "That I have done. They will gather for us near the northern gate."
"Re-enforcements for me!" cried Dynan, who had just ridden up, with breath and spirits back again. "We are well rid of the prisoners too. They didn't keep me long."
"Ah!" growled Tigernach. Then he added calmly, "they were not of my people."
"Oh, nothing in the way of slaughter. I turned them loose to bring recruits. One was a neighbor of yours, a tribesman of Caowl, that beetling-browed,
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slant-eyed, hard-fighting man. My compliments go with him."
"Nimble of wit as of foot! Caowl will come over to us for that. Otherwise I harry him from one end of his land to the other."
Dynan laughed merrily. "Dear neighbors are much the same in the Andred woods as up my way,--do as I bid, and, oh, how I love you!"
"But you were given the prisoners to keep," said Cian.
"There spoke Duty. Know, then, O Conscience! that our well-anchored commander bath endowed me with a huge discretion--which was wise and liberal of him, it being greatly needed. Moreover, I have the countenance of Prince Llywarch of Argoed."
But Llywarch demurred at once, "Oh, no! my countenance was never a thing of red banners and blazes. My countenance is where it ought to be for decency's sake. Yet I did counsel mercy. It is well to err that way, as in over-care of friends."
Tigernach bowed. "That is manful," said he.
"And heart-warm," added Cian. "Thence comes all the craftiness of Llywarch."
The lift of the land had taken them into clear moonshine. Looking back, they could see very little of London, except a low, formless gloom, with veiled glimmerings of light in it, and here and there a lamp on some house-roof or tower, shining like a red star.
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There was a diffused gleam about the basilica, and, more doubtfully, along the great bridge.
The noise behind grew louder to them, as they ascended, but rarely made any one sound distinguishable. The howling of the wolves came from the hill-country quite as plainly.
This time they crossed an affluent of the Wallbrook on a bridge a little above the villa. It must have been hidden from them by the fog and the twilight before--a strong bit of olden masonry, in the dip of a branch road, with passage for three horses abreast. New lights came out at this, moving from window to window. The lodge by the gate brightened also.
A group of figures came hastening over the lawn, with sounds of laughter. When the gate swung open, Aurelia and Sylvia were there, breathing fast, but with eyes of welcome. Clad in white, flushed with exercise and expectancy, graceful and stately, with no thought of grace or stateliness, the tall daughter of Constantine had never looked more divine.
"My father?" she inquired.
"King Constantine, Princess," proclaimed Dynan. "Osburn the Frank is to be his general, at a bound. I have charge of the Ermine gate and this villa."
While all made obeisance to her, she replied demurely, "Then we will all obey you as king at third hand, Dynan."
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But Sylvia was not content. She pulled at her sister, and began to whimper. "Why don't they bow to me , if I am a princess too? Why don't they look at me ? I want to be a Princess."
"And if you are," answered Aurelia, with a responsibly improving air, "be sure it will not add one cubit to your stature."
"Heaven forbid, if I know anything of ancient measurement!" protested Llywarch. "Would you have this sweet little maiden shoot up all at once into a mate for the giant of Skiddaw?"
"Prince Llywarch wishes to say that some of us are over-lofty already," expounded Aurelia to the lesser one.
Llywarch looked that way too. "I will do homage to you, and be your champion, my bright little lady," said he.
Sylvia eyed him with grave approval. Then, at a motion of Cian, she shook her ringlets. "This one; he has fought for me already," said she. There was a laugh, but she drew near to her rescuer confidingly. Even her slight touch fell by chance where it made him flinch.
"See," she cried distressfully, "he is hurt. Aurelia, somebody has been hurting him."
"Not much, dear," said Cian, laughing weakly at this new way of viewing his adventure. "That's what we are for, you know."
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But Aurelia had heard. "Wounded? and I am keeping you here!" she exclaimed. "Oh, come, come! No, you shall not dismount. At the house, not before."
She walked easily beside him. "We heard there had been fighting," she said gravely, "but not this."
"I shall not grieve," said Cian. "It will keep me your guest a little time."
"Nor shall I grieve for that," she replied frankly.
Turning to those who came behind, she added in a clear, full voice, "All my father's friends are more than welcome."
The soldiery clanked their swords on their shields in response, and the woodland men shouted vociferously. Her beauty, her lavish benignity, the warmth and strength of her nature, were not new to them, but worshipful, as of old.
They were now by the great front portico. Cian, dismounting, began to sway and reach. Aurelia stepped nearer. "It is my turn to help you," said she.
He drew back, fearing to lean such weight on her. "Forgive me," said he, and rested his hand on the shoulder of Tigernach, who was there already.
No greater sense of luxury had ever befallen him than when at last he lay full length in the chamber appointed, sipping a cordial, and disencumbered. With Tigernach watching, he soon slept.
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Llywarch brought the good news to their hostess, all the more willingly for the quick turn of her head as he entered, and the inquiry in her kind eyes. He did not love her in the first person, but he was half in love with her for Cian's sake. He made it tenderly plain to her that Cian's wounds were trivial, and that the surgeon had so well treated them, that there was little, beyond common kindness, for anyone else to do. But the beauty of her home, he told her, would be in itself a reviving medicine.
She truly needed comforting, for the strain of that evening had been severe. After her first great peril the wolf-voices had come to her again, hour by hour, as reminders. Her people had told her also of wild human figures that gathered on the hills or went savagely by. Also, there were both the rumor and the noise of conflict in that tormented city where her father was risking life to win a shadowy crown. But now all had gone fairly well. Her home for the time was in safety, and she, too, might sleep.
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A DIP INTO OLD ROME.
Here the baths were
Hot on the breast.
--THE RUIN, Codex Exoniensis.
WHEN Cian awoke he was not at first very sure of his awakening. The scenes of the wild evening before melted into the equally strange fancies of the night, and shifted with them interchangeably. As his thought cleared, there was still something astounding and unreal in his memory of the shrouded city, the goddess come to life among the wolves, and that spectral combat of the shrine, where men of frantic and varied aspect, in what quarrel he hardly knew, dealt blows at him unceasingly out of the moonlit haze.
But there was no haze now. The sun, very real and bright, came slanting in through the glassless windows. There were no bird songs. A dry leaf or two drifted by. Summer, after once leaving, had come back again in the lovely air.
He had lifted himself on his elbow, and was inspecting a slit in his forearm, when Llywarch appeared.
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What tidings?" Cian inquired.
"Chiefly that the bud of the morning is uncommonly full blown, and that bath and breakfast wait. I am glad to see that the Gwenclan has enough of 'pure blood' left to warrant his title."
"Oh, I shall live. But as to the bath: you know my way."
"Cold water in great severity. It is no doubt a thing of virtue. But when I hinted it a certain royal lady uplifted her brows at me. I think her counsel would be to have you sponged tepidly in bed, and anointed with healing unguents to slow music."
His friend sat upright with a grimace.
"Good!" said Llywarch. "Yet a little warmth in the water would be useful in removing blood-stains. Pray yield thus far to Roman effeminacy, and let me help about the bandages."
Cian was looking at them, "I am less like a man than a disorderly bale of goods," he mused aloud. "How those fellows did get into me! There were enough of them. Is it far?"
"Two rooms;" and Llywarch lent him a hand to rise, then led the way over a bright tessellated floor, flinging the silken door-curtains aside as they came.
Cian entered the anteroom of the bath, and stood gazing.
Before tendering his spear to the great Arthur, Prince Cian had been but a hillside ruler, the lord of
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a northern valley nook. Later, his had been mainly the soldier life; and he knew the Roman splendor by rumor only, or in mere external view. He could not choose but hear of the surpassing luxury which yet hid itself in a few safe and indolent places, as about the western Waters of the Sun. But he had been content to go on, disapproving, disregarding, in his own simpler ways. What he now saw was a revelation.
The apartment was walled shoulder-high on the right and left with delicate, flower-painted tiles of many varying blossoms. Above these, Corinthian pillars of blue-veined marble, wound with vine-leaves and laurel, rose to the ceiling. The light admitted was nearly as brilliant as in the outer air.
Over the doorway before them, in tints unfading, Apollo, thrilled with inner flame, threw eagerly from him the cloud-veil of the morning. In the mosaic under foot were the foaming waves and the quaint, jubilant Triton-figures of the welcoming sea. Around the ceiling ran a merry rout of fawns and nereids--racing, overtaking, disrobing--about a central figure of airy loveliness, neither wholly spirit nor winged goddess, but quickening with the life of free air, blue water, sunshine and the bright dew.
"Behold the stoical Briton!" said Llywarch, observing his friend's trance of admiration. "It is a relief, you were such a standing reproach to me. But Tigernach will be the death of you."
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Cian scarcely heard the voice, or the steps of withdrawal. Warmth, soothing odors, and the sound of falling water, came to him through the inner doorway, deepening as he entered.
One side of this second apartment was as before, only here the tiles bore fruit instead of flowers,--the peach, the orange, the pomegranate, with many besides,--and the columns had the warm tints of a sensuous life in them.
The fresco of the opposite wall had been given an undulating surface by the broad, hidden tubular tiles which conducted the heated air from the regions below. There the goddess bent, as in the old tale, above the slumbering youth. But the mist waved upward from the lazy stream beside him, the grass billowed in the light wind about her feet, and mortal and deity seemed fluttering together as her lips called him away through vistas of dreamland.
But everywhere the wall-space and flooring were rich in languor--inviting design,--the softly moving damsels of "the hollow lotos land," with the enchanted fruit they bore; Narcissus propped on elbow beside the fountain; a shoal of water nymphs, who floated face upward among white lilies under the leaf shadows that flecked a silent pool. The ceiling afforded a vision of clear sky, white drifting clouds, and, over all, the calm gods at rest.
In one corner stood the great bath of fine porce-
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lain, blue almost with the blueness and brightness of amethyst. Creamy figures in relief banqueted at ease along the side, reclining to await the cup. A veiled statue of Slumber stood at the head, pouring drowsily from hand to hand the perfumed water of oblivion, which shattered again as it fell, so that the air was heavy with fragrance. Beside this an ample stream, warmed on its way, flowed into and out of the bath unceasingly.
He lay there long, seeming to take no harm. Regret and aspiration, all bitterness of spirit, and every anxious murmur, had floated quite away. Fancy moved indolently. The pictured scenes about him grew almost as real as the changeful life he had led. The soul of the lotos-bloom was the soul of all.
At length an attendant entered in some anxiety that he staid so long, and the dream was broken. Cian arose with languor, and passed into a third chamber, which lay snow-white and roofless. Marble figures peopled it, of stately mien, ranged about an ample sheet of water that stirred invitingly. Cool airs kept fanning over the surface, awakening early memories of forest and riverside. The plunge seemed very tempting, and it was taken quickly. He rose to the light and air, with life and vigor returning.
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THE HOME OF AURELIA.
Usual it is for maids to be lovely.
--TALIESSIN.
OSBURN had found Constantine enthroned in the basilica among his adherents, not very certain of anything outside, but comforting himself with their number and spirit, the insignia of royalty about him, and above all the augury of his own countenance. This trick of outline had much to do with his aspirations. The man who duplicated the world-conqueror stood pledged from birth to mighty deeds. How could fate fail him? He brightened as Osburn entered, but rather with relief than heroism.
There was welcome also in the faces below, though some had looked ill-pleased over the sudden and great uplifting of this mercenary. He knew it well, and knew them also, not wholly with disapproval. For those were days when every trafficker must be something of a fighting man as well; and the mailed London merchants, with their sons and nephews and followers, made a martial array indeed. There was a sprinkling of foreign features; for the commercial
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houses of Gaul had yet some agents there of their own people, and many adventurers from abroad had taken service. Plainly this was the side of civilization, or what remained of it, militant by necessity.
Osburn was soon aware of some natural disquiet among the Celtic part of the men-at-arms whenever the truculent uproar of their kin outside grew louder than usual. He took his measures promptly, being the one man of either side who knew just what to do and what he dealt with. All the forum space was cleared by trusty legionaries, and securely guarded thereafter. Another gate of the city-wall gave in its adhesion when his men appeared there. The merchants' quarter, already held for Constantine, was more strongly occupied. The governor of the White Tower had been temporizing, but Osburn ended that by a sudden movement in force; and the partisans of Arthur and Constantine in that garrison threw all open to him directly. Before morning, through management and active skirmishing, three-fifths of the city were in Roman hands.
But the remainder was held in disorderly fashion by fierce men, growing more and more reckless, as they felt the tide running with greater force against them. Few had anything to lose beyond what pillage might repay. Very many were of the woods, half savage, and caring nothing for the city. Out of their exasperation arose the threat of fire; a shrill
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cry borne to Constantine in many echoes, making him his enemies' ally. For he had much at stake, and his partisans had more,--had their all.
Osburn would have met the issue sternly, but Osburn was disquieting him already. Action was too instant; things went well too quickly; he had felt that it could not last. Now and here he would make a stand. So he interfered suddenly, shutting his ears to all dissuasion, and closed a truce with Vortimer.
Each was to hold his ground, and a new and greater council was to settle or unsettle everything on the evening of that day.
When this had been told by Llywarch in outline, Cian shook his head. "Who would hold a throne by mercy of the torch?" he said. "The head which bows will never keep that crown."
Cian was breakfasting in his room after the bath, with his friend for company.
"The daughter said nothing when it was told us. But--you should have seen her."
"That may yet be done, and ought to be. She will think me a sluggard or a sorely crippled man."
"Also, it may be well to see where you are; for night shows little."
The house lay four-square over a great area, and was built casemate-fashion, one story in height and depth. A great court, which had been turned into a
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garden, filled the interior. Two lesser wings jutted out from the rear corners. One of these, by the purity of its art, may have been the original home or house-kernel, but was now overflowing with looms and fabrics, in proof that manufacture, no less than more gracious employments, went on in the villa. The other was evidently a granary; though it had been in its day a temple of Minerva, and afterward a Christian chapel, as inscriptions went to show.
The front portico, long and lofty, was very beautiful in an ornate, florid way. Care had been taken to preserve it; with the utmost need, for there was no surviving power to repeat such work, as the sorry patching of the mosaic floor demonstrated all too plainly. The outer wall, enclosing the lawn and shrubbery, was recent also, the stones being uncemented.
There was a stir of population. From the rear came an intermittent jangling, where the repairs of Cian's chariot were going on. Also there was much ado about harvesting, as wains, laden or empty, came and went between the granary wing and the fields.
Entering the garden-court, they found quietness. Hedgerow walls and masses of shrubbery, with purple grape arbors and beds of autumnal flowers between them, broke it up very pleasantly. Every vista ended in rows of ornamented columns, white or veined or tinted, along some one of the inner house
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fronts, with graceful statuary niched therein, or standing where the alleys crossed.
There were fountains, too, fed by conduits from a hillside rivulet--a very great one in the centre, which made the chief sound of the place.
Beyond this, a little within a ring of evergreen, the only monster lay--a white sphynx with unusual attributes--of doubtful meaning. Below its impassive countenance a living human face looked upward, all else being hidden by the creature's bulk. The brow was broad; the outlines were manly, kind, and noble, but with intense foreseeing horror in every line. A tender and shapely feminine hand, belonging to the left forearm of that stony, crushing thing, was thrown over against the victim's cheek in a negligent caress.
Just now a little child, Sylvia, who had seen it every day, was idly smoothing the dust from those lady-like fingers, and leaning her bright locks where the heart of the terror should be. Perhaps it had given a turn to her questioning; for her sister made answer with one of the subtly and wildly poetic myth-tales of the British race.
Aurelia was seated in a slanting wicker chair, half under the cedar shadows. A rolled manuscript, lately fallen from her hand, showed that she had been reading. Both arms were uncovered, as also her sandalled feet, but for the light straps across them, and
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the brown tresses of her hair, in ample undulations. Her scarlet robe, a color held peculiarly noble, was fastened above both shoulders by golden fibulæ, ornamented with blue enamel, the especial pride of Celtic art; for she had the life and love of her own people in her, whatever the fancied claims of Rome. A larger brooch below her neck displayed a Cupid on a dolphin, sporting over the same blue background for their sea.
Her large gray eyes were at rest. She spoke leisurely, as relating what was well known. Her voice was raised a little to be heard above the falling water, wherewith it chimed very well. Cian had found her marvellous in the cloud and the twilight, in the stress of action and peril; but she belonged with even more enchantment to this perfect splendor and peace. He heard Llywarch whisper, "A royal girl indeed! And such kind eyes!" Then they both awaited, unseen, the end of her story.
She continued: "So by reason of this great fault and failure, Cunebelline could not pass into the upper world, but was held here on earth. And the dark goddess of the star-eyes felt pain at heart. In her very great love of him, she came where he was, often, at the ending of the day. But he only felt the night wind breathing, and heard, when she spoke, the faint murmur of the water; for she was of another and subtler kindred than his, from far away. He was,
Aurelia in the Garden
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indeed, doubtfully aware of a presence unseen; but this grew on him as a fear, and she could not be with him any more, unless in sorrow.
"Then she besought that she might come before him in such form as he could see and touch without dread, and by choice a beautiful woman; yet, if not that, at least a woman still, however wrinkled and unlovely. But even this might not be granted, except as a goddess, for love of a man, should become far less than he! That was hard measure, and for a long time beyond her; but the yearning grew until the life of the upper world was more a life of torment than any life below.
"One daybreak a strange and lovely thing was found, night-black and lustrous, with silken mane, coat of satin, wistful velvet eyes,--a creature incomparable for power and beauty. And he said, 'Surely some benignity of heaven has sent me this marvel;' for no one could deem her altogether earthly. Therefore he took exceedingly great care of her, saying, 'Henceforward I will have no other steed to bear me in peace or war.'
"Then came to him great continual gain in dominion and glory. For she whispered wise counsel to him when none were by, which brightened the land, keeping men kind and genial. When he would ride afield, no bird could bear him more swiftly. And the rush of them in battle was like the rush of the
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lightning. There was panting and fleeing before their aspect more than from the coming thrust or blow.
"Many kings took him willingly for their emperor; his ships went afar, bringing wealth to him from the ends of the world; he was known openly for the equal friend of Rome; and every one in every land had heard of Cunebelline the golden.
"All this he owed to her; for he was but a man, and no very surpassing man, left alone. Moreover, when the end of his life drew near, she did not leave him to die, like all others of our race, but bore him bodily away among the stars."
"Oh, did she?" inquired Sylvia doubtfully.
Aurelia laughed with an awakening air, having grown dreamful in the peace of that nook, with the lulling of the fountain-fall and her own voice, weaving again the fairy web of enchantment.
"Why, so runs the story," she answered; "and I have thought it a pretty one. Don't you?"
Sylvia looked thoughtful. "Yes," she replied hesitatingly. Then she shook her head. "I think the goddess was a fool," said she.
"Hush, dear!" protested Aurelia, though not greatly horrified. "Newer gods have come and gone, and yet newer ones are here; but let us not be disrespectful to the oldest of the old."
"If she were a very pretty horse," conceded Syl-
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via. "But then," with a sudden freak of judicial wisdom, "suppose she had turned out a donkey! How did she know?"
Aurelia laughed again. "Oh, don't ask me to help the immortals out of that," answered she. "You may find yourself playing the donkey some day, Sylvia."
But a footstep had drawn her attention, and she was rising in pleasure, with a greeting. "I feared we could not see you to-day, she said."
"Oh," answered Llywarch for his friend, "it is of no manner of use to poke spears into this gnarled old campaigner. . Nothing does him any good at all."
"One thing at least--the legend of the starry goddess," declared Cian, bowing.
"Is this magic, or simple eavesdropping?" inquired she. "Now, my father would never listen to that tale, nor to anything against the faith of his first great namesake. As for me, I have a feeling for that excellent legionary from Mesopotamia who built over yonder a temple to 'the gods of all nations."'
Cian made answer dryly, "I see a Christianity with an old British tap-root and a vast hospitality." But she understood his approval.
Sylvia changed the topic by walking up with deliberation, and laying her hand experimentally on his silver mistletoe spray. Then she looked up into his
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face, considering gravely. "I am not a bit afraid of you," she observed, "if it is magic."
He laughed with the others. "Thank you, my dear child," he answered simply.
"Afraid--after he saved us from the wolves," exclaimed Aurelia.
"I said I wasn't afraid of him," protested Sylvia, frowning defensively, yet half in mind to cry. Then, taking refuge in him, "Where did you get this pretty thing?" she inquired confidentially.
"In a solemn place, very strangely lighted," he replied. "I would scarcely know how to tell any one much more, little Sylvia. But it was after combat with something invisible, whether man or ghost or demon, I do not know."
"Oh, I know, I know!" cried Sylvia. "It must have been a goblin. Why, this is a nice story, like Aurelia's. Is it true?"
"Pretty well for Sylvia!" laughed Llywarch. "But I am afraid you have ended it all at once, my dear." For Cian was looking absurd.
"When did this happen?" inquired Aurelia, controlling her amusement.
"Not very long after the return of the Druids to Mona, in the time of Ambrosius. I was hardly more than a lad. But for this," and Cian touched the golden garment, "I, too, should hold it a dream. After all, the past is dreamland."
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"What was it like?" inquired Llywarch, though he had heard before.
"A room below ground, all mirrors and smoothness; a great form lying in state, and multiplied in them all around; a huge lamp on shining ebony, dazzling by reflection from every side; a sword flashing at me like a thousand, so that one could not tell the real blade from the phantasms; a sudden darkness, a form that wrestled with me therein, and fell with no sound; a deep prophetic voice going after me, as I fled with my prize up the narrow way,--and that is all."
Here Tigernach appeared among them, announcing rather sourly, "The king is coming, in the Roman fashion." He added more suavely to Aurelia, "It is indeed a fine display."
Yet hardly Roman so truly as a Rome-imitating medley. The purple robe of Constantine was excessive in amplitude and depth of dye. A great tuft of scarlet feathers went before him, borne aloft. A flaming banner came after him, with a gilded eagle above it. Three hundred horsemen in gay armor rode behind, the sunshine glorifying their bronze, their jewelled weapons, their ruddy, blowing scarfs, tasselled with acorns of gold. More than a score of them had wound about their necks the golden chain of leadership.
At the bridge there was a blare of music from the head of the cavalcade, answered by the population and
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the garrison of the villa with varied outcry. A faint echo came from the distant concourse about the Ermine gate. Three by three the armored horsemen rode over and on to what was now a royal palace indeed.
Constantine greeted his guests with majesty, tempered by the deference due to those who came from a greater even than he. It suited him presently to put magnificence away, and walk simply with them and his daughter. But none who met them were allowed to forget that it was a monarch with whom they spoke face to face.
Aurelia may have felt this unpleasantly, for there was sobriety in her enjoyment. Otherwise, her demeanor did not vary, no one finding more or less than usual of her cordial frankness and queenly charm.
At the first turning, Sylvia came running to meet them, her little soul full of the wolves and their teeth; also, the fright they had put her in, the valor of Aurelia, the crashing among them of Cian and his chariot. "Oh, how they did scamper!" she cried.
It was a bit of news that she had been saving up for him, after her custom, and telling to herself over and over again, with foreknowledge of its absorbing interest. What had come since was to rule her fancy later. That drama of emotion had the foreground.
Constantine picked up the little thing, and clasped
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and kissed her, looking vastly more genuine than when playing at Julius Cæsar.
"You won't let the wolves get me, will you?" besought she, for the mere pleasure of reassurance, being very secure in mind just then.
"No, no!" he replied. "Not wolves of any sort. Oh, we have wolves in London too, and some of them put their teeth into your champion last night. But the Saxon wolves are worst of all--those who have driven the poor people of the Stour to our shelter. Princess, there are infants lying cold in the fields where Saxon spears have tossed them. There are homes black as coal and white with ashes. There are altars toppled down where men were used to worship. There are wives, not a few, borne wofully away--lifelong thralls to the men who have slain their husbands. But you should hear Oisin, and doubtless will. We always do hear Oisin. And who can wonder?"
Yet there was an accent of weariness.
Aurelia explained to her guests, "They begin to call him St. Oisin now, a very zealous man. He was priest of a parish below Caer Collin. Eschwine, the East Saxon, came--his own escape was a miracle. They say that many of his people were tortured in his sight."
"In the days of Rome such things could not be," observed Constantine.
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"You will find the strength and safety of Rome in our great emperor," said Llywarch, with conviction.
"Of Britain also," added Cian.
"God grant it!" was Constantine's reply. "But--he will want levies and supplies, and they are not in favor with our people. Many put their trust in Vran--you know the story. The head of that wonder--worker, buried in the White Hill, facing seaward, protecting London forever. Why send men to fight in distant quarrels, they say. I but repeat the talk of the town. For my own part, the Saxons have robbed me every way, in ship and caravan, and I am always very willing to have at them."
Still there was a bargain in his eye, and the child had been set down. "A chapman in soul!" thought Cian resentfully.
"It would be insufferable," declared Aurelia, "to wrap ourselves in a magic cloak of safety, and leave all others to their fate."
She spoke with deprecation, if not shame.
"Yes," replied her father; "and nothing is too bad for the Saxons. Why, it was but last year that King Aesc of West Kent, after I had duly bought the monopoly of the wool-trade from him, let three ships of my neighbor go by full laden, so that the price fell to very little. When I complained, he burnished up some old charge against me, and held my
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next convoy for double tribute. Oh, the Saxon is the ruin of the British exporter!"
"We ought not to submit to any tribute," said Aurelia, darkening.
"The Thames should be as free as the Severn," added Cian.
"True," admitted Constantine; "but we count ourselves fortunate when it is half-way open on any terms. Perhaps the emperor may help, and the council. But I fear you will see a bear-baiting, as usual--with Constantine as the bear," he added ruefully. And now they are coming for us."
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FEAST AND SONG.
Many a mead hall
Fragrant with human joys.
--THE RUIN, Codex Exoniensis.
A NOTABLE banquet awaited them in that great dining-hall, which its owner yet persisted in styling the triclinium, while so many of its kind had gone to ruin or been given over to later ways.
The great table and the couches round about occupied nearly one-half the floor; harpers were stationed, in bright apparel, at the other end. The mosaic work of the space between was at its best, a picture of leisurely Olympian enjoyment, from which the great-eyed Juno turned her welcoming face on the mere mortals invited thus into the company of the gods. There were many other decorations, above, below, and all around; but none filled the eye and mind like this.
Both speech and song turned toward what was yet a vivid memory, the war-filled siege and destruction of Anderida. There may have been forethought in this, for nothing could more readily bring together
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in feeling the different elements assembled. Tigernach's pride was all inwoven with the theme. The father of Caowl had fallen in a furious endeavor to break through the beleaguerment. Constantine's one feat in justification of his aspect--the relief of an ambuscaded provision train--had been wisely and daringly performed not far away. Also he had the chief management of supplies for the forest-entangled army of Ambrosius during all that campaign; and if this effected little, the fault was not his own. Every family of his Roman and mercantile adherents, including nearly all the wealth of London, had contributed both men and needful things, and had lost friends there. It was a retrospect of complacent pride and of pity.
The woodland men had been glooming discontentedly over unfamiliar ways. But now their faces quickened, and their voices came freely, proving them at one with their company. Even their limbs grew more supple in conformity.
Constantine, in high feather, looked toward Llywarch and Cian. "Will one of our guests from the emperor," said he "give us in music the tale of the town which is gone?"
"Willingly," answered Llywarch; "but we need the future, also, to hearten us. Now I never feel sure of my prophecy unless I am hungry, and the Saxons before me, pugnacious. Then I can prophesy
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heavenly vengeance very confidently. But Cian here, if he is strong enough, will find Tophet ahead almost any time for anybody, and not mind the trouble at all."
Cian's face, perhaps from weakness, had a faraway look. He rose without a word, and took the great harp in hand. In his touch and voice there was something compelling, so that they bore the hearer's heart and mind with them, into what had been, and was no longer, and into what was yet to come:
THE SONG OF CIAN.
Where is the woodland city,
The city beside the sea,
White from her ramparts towering,
Queen of the Andred lea?
Lovely her courts were, and woven
With rainbows her palace walls;
The voice of her many fountains
Was the song of the waterfalls.
But ever a threatful shadow
Grew from the eastward haze,
Out of the bath of burning,
Dawn of the evil days.
And ever a wordless horror
Deepened in heart and eye,
Till the noisome breath was o'er her,
And the coils were winding nigh.
Then broke her trance of anguish
Abroad in a mighty wail;
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And the forest arms gave echo,
Smiting the monster's mail:
For round the tightening spoiler
A whirl of fury sped;
And still the spears of Britain
Drove at the giant head.
But foes more grim and ghostly
Hid by the idle gate;
And the life within grew weaker
In all but the force of hate.
There came an eve and a morning,
The blackness of Hell between;
By fire-waves broken, and flashes,
And outcry wild and keen.
The sun came up through smoke-clouds;
Never a soul was near.
The sun went down in glory;
But the walls were riven and drear.
Drear was the riven rampart;
The light of her brow had fled;
The maiden city of Andred
Was a city of the dead.
Nor ever morrow shall see her
Blithe as before and fair;
The life that she found so lovely
Is a life she may not share.
A thing of blackness and ruin,
Of lichen and mould and rime,
Of waste where there has been beauty,
She waits till the end of time.
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He paused a moment, with one or two hesitating notes, then swept on,--
But she, the lordlier, grander,
Who proffered the aiding hand;
So long as the Thames runs seaward,
So long her walls shall stand.
The tempest may break upon her,
The billows may whelm and hide;
But there with the life still in her,
She stands in the ebbing tide.
Nor all of the world's old grandeur
Holds aught to hers akin
In the noontime of her glory--
The town by the reedy lynn.
Had Cian, as he went to his couch, a faint memory of that other forecast, "a city nearing its end"? Yet surely both were true. That London should die; but London should live on.
For a moment all were silent, looking at each other with widening eyes; for it was a very wonderful promise that he gave to men who felt the overshadowing of Caerleon from afar, and knew themselves outshone by that Caer Segeint which the Romans had called Calleva. Surely there were at least three more towns in Britain already beyond them.
But at once all doubts were swept away in the will-
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ingness of city pride; for what could be too good and fair to foretell a man of that home which was his birthplace. Acclaim arose, beyond any that the villa of Constantine had ever known. But the look of a dreamer was on Cian still, and the strength and the vision were ebbing away.
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LONDON AND LONDON'S COUNCIL.
I saw Arthur
Emperor and conductor of the toil.
--LLYWARCH.
CONSTANTINE returned cityward with a greater display, wherein Cian had some part, against his will. His chariot was bright and strong again, being prized highly as a proof of unusual resource and imperial favor. After all, it was the easiest way of going, with a gaudy young charioteer to drive. Moreover, Aurelia rode near him, resplendent, watchful. Admiring murmurs from those around showed that the gorgeousness insisted on by her father met their taste, if not wholly her own. And, indeed, her beauty was of a kind to bear much brilliancy of apparelling. Her chief concern was for her wounded guest.
The basilica, as the Roman faction called it, was a large domed building of brick and marble, the former predominating in the walls, where the white courses were narrow and far between. Inside, the rule was reversed, the very numerous fluted pillars of the
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main hall being Parian, or as pure. These were in two stories, the gallery resting on the taller series, and bearing the lesser at its front. All were decorated in the extreme. If such art were not the highest, it at any rate made the place bewilderingly beautiful.
There was yet time to explore some part of London before the meeting of the council; so Llywarch and Cian set out on a hasty round. The chariot was discarded by reason of the general narrowness of the streets. Often they had to ride singly, even in the saddle. In the better parts northward, good houses, often of brick, less often of marble, stood, each by itself, in ample grounds; but elsewhere there was chiefly a tangle of alleys and painted or unpainted woodwork. Sometimes a mansion would be found in a pack of shops like booths, attained by hardly passable ways.
Along the river-front the sailor life and artisan life of foreign lands had made some impress, there being even one little colony of Saxons on doubtful tolerance. They were mainly of Kent, and recognized as more human than the lately come barbarians of Eschwine.
There was no real risk; indeed, something of courtesy, by Vortimer's command, everywhere awaited them. He had no wish to break prematurely with Arthur the Emperor.
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Cian was growing weary, when Dynan came flitting after them to bring them back. He was full of excitement and significance, talking rapidly of the strangers in the city, their number and importance, the entanglement of intrigues, the possible surprises. Llywarch replied easily that it must all be very bad indeed if it could in any way surpass the complexity of that ill-scented labyrinth.
But Cian went in silence, with a sense of doom. O, London, London! a chaos of disorder, crudeness, and rottenness; of relics half given over, and new, random passions and expedients warring on every hand! What but worse confusion and destruction could possibly come of it all?
The council-hall was full now; eyes were turned every way with uneasy expectancy. At once they were recognized; and a lane was formed for their passage to the raised platform or dais, on which Constantine occupied a kind of throne. At their entrance his face lighted, as though the accession were a boon indeed. But instantly it grew high and stern again, the face of the Rubicon and Pompey's overthrow!
"How little a thing would unsettle him," thought Cian, taking the seat appointed, near Aurelia.
But on either side of the king-elect, Osburn and Tigernach had taken their stand, the one rough-bearded and resolute, the other intent with repressed
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fierceness, as any one might see. Presently Caowl also was called to this post of honor, where his Hun-like visage, if not a decoration, had very evident value among the mass of Celtic people. It needed all the towering scorn of Vortimer lo hold them. They looked one at another, and said that he would speak by and by, and they should know.
Who, indeed, of them all, Celt or Roman, had such eloquence of lip and swaying hand, such goodliness and mightiness of limb, such smooth, high-tinted, handsome breadth of countenance as Vortimer the Londoner. He stood in the glare of lamp-light, where a little space had been made for him near the right corner of the dais, his head rising above every other with a profusion of clustering hair turning to waves and ringlets of fine-spun gold. It was the head of a Grecian demi-god.
"Wonderful--here, and with that name!" exclaimed Cian to the son of the Three Shouts, who leaned over him, expounding men and their histories.
But a glance below answered him. Notwithstanding a prevailing likeness, there were hints to be found in face and form of nearly every conquest-wave or importation of soldiery which had ever diversified the island blood.
"Not more than--some of the rest of us," answered Dynan. "Look at Caowl. I credit him to some pretty recruit of Scythia who sought the woods
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a century ago. As to Vortimer, the facts are known. His mother was a slave to the Saxon, or wife unwilling, carried away from her father's corpse, on that night of "fire-waves and flashes" and "the blackness of hell," by one of the Merscwara serving under Elle. Her people had been noble, her slain father a ruler of towns and men. Her grace and delicate loveliness, well taught in every way, are said to have been surpassing. For all that, she had no choice but to dwell in the marsh-border with robber-folk and fisher-folk, just settling down to a rude husbandry, and do the bidding of her captor in the rough work to which Saxon women were used. There she bore him this manchild, with girls who died--and that no doubt was best.
"But she never found home among them; and always, when occasion served, there came piteous messages from her to London and to the woodland people and to the fortress towns yet held for us, imploring rescue or ransom. But she was beyond help in arms, and the chief who owned her laughed at every offer while her beauty lasted. When that was gone he made his best bargain, Saxon-wise, throwing in the boy rather than lose the sale, and because there was no love between them.
"So she got into friendly hands again, choosing the Andred shadow, as best suiting her; for in few years she had grown bitter and crone-like, She gave
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the boy a new name, taking that of him who first made head against the invaders, that her son might not bear himself less hardily, nor give them any peace. And, indeed, he has done them great injury in raids and thicket fighting, for, however it may be elsewhere, there is not often anything but war along the southern border of the great wood. It is a life to breed turbulence; and he brings his turbulence here, along with those great thews that his father left him, and a tongue that is very persuasive and inciting among men of our race."
His attention was wandering to a group of tall men by one of the doors, whom all about them regarded hatefully. Their weapons and costume showed them to be Saxons. One stood in their midst, as if designedly covered by the others, although maintaining a defiant calmness.
"The Sword of Fire," murmured Dynan.
"Eschwine? Ah!" said Llywarch, "a bad place for him! Hence this quietness. When the wolf is in dread of being butted to death, he holds his peace, and maintains his dignity."
"Eschwine never yet kept peace in any sense. He will speak; be sure. No doubt he has some ledge of safety."
"And who are these?"
Another party, wholly mail-clad, were just entering from the opposite side. They passed at once into
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shadow. One of them wore steel, from crown to toe. It was bright as any mirror. This alone marked him out from all present.
"If you know not, how should I?" inquired Dynan significantly. Cian nodded.
"But yonder?" said he, quickly casting his eyes toward the gallery, where a hungry intensity of expression, bitter yet exalted, came to a focus.
"They are Oisin's Christians, village people mostly. Yet some are Londoners, and they grow in number. Oisin is the man to make them grow. It's a frightful thing to be a preacher, anyway. Think of having to pour heaven and hell white-hot into men, and work holy magic over them--for without miracle, what sanctity? And to have all his labor swept away in an hour by jeering demons! No wonder he chants to wild music!"
"That seems the sort of thing to expect of everybody," said Llywarch."Denunciation is the one strong point of your Londoner. Do you happen to see anybody, Dynan, who is not eager to denounce?"
The assembly grew impatient. Constantine had delayed, and delayed again, the inevitable moment of collision. There were derisive calls for "his majesty, the purveyor."
"Now, now!" urged Osburn. Constantine arose, incontestably royal in bearing, as though he had
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chosen his time, and all things were working together excellently. Briefly referring to the choice before them, and the two envoys now in their presence, he called on them first of all to hear the message of "the conqueror of conquerors, the ruin of the Saxon, the salvation of Britain, the immortal and imperial Arthur."
At that there was acclaim from all quarters, even the Saxons joining recklessly. Only the man in steel and a few of Oisin's people kept silence.
"Prince Llywarch of Argoed is the bearer, of whom you know," said Constantine, presenting him.
Vortimer responded for his faction, "We do indeed know of the Prince of Argoed. May his message prove as welcome as his song ever will be."
"If aught have a sound of severity," pursued Constantine, "let us remember that our turmoils and standing alone have not been blameless."
There were murmurs of displeasure.
"At least," he urged, "you will hearken to the great emperor's words, not mine." But he could not keep the deprecating tone from his voice.
Llywarch looked over the concourse of his countrymen with a friendly gaze; calmly smiling. None could fancy any unkindness in his face, nor any weakening, by excuse, of what he was given to convey. His voice reached every corner of the hall. He read:--
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"To the present rulers of London.
"Arthur Mabuter, Emperor of the armies of Britain, sends greeting.
"That I know not your true title is enough to show the confusion of your unhappy city, wasting her strength in senseless broils, while Britain suffers. Nor do these matters improve; but even grow worse, insomuch that ye can no longer keep your own borders.
"Now, we have sure knowledge that the Saxons of Deira and many more are gathering about Caer Ebrauc and beyond the northern woods, undoubtedly in such numbers as will task the whole strength of the land to meet them. If this suffice not, every city, even the most distant, the most secure, will be endangered.
"Therefore I, who have heretofore entreated and adjured, do command that you send forthwith a good force of men under capable captains to the camp of our army.
"To assure this, if the succession be still unsettled in your city, I commend to you the house of Constantine, kindred of Ambrosius, well knowing that there can be none with greater natural claim to your devotion."
Uproar was seething before he had ended. The little kingdom had so long ordered, or disordered, its own affairs, that intervention seemed revolutionary, even to those who favored it.
"Constantine!" shouted Vortimer, swollen with derision, his arm brandishing as the words crowded. "And is there none nobler for the Briton to follow, for the Briton of Britons to name? Constantine, the valorous purchaser, the hero of the provision trains, the doubtful branch, half disowned and wholly
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unworthy, of a foreign tree! Is it Arthur of Celliwig who bids us bow down before this shaking, mimic Cæsar? Verily, the curse of the world-curser is dangling about us still."
Constantine held a stern front, but shifted uneasily. Aurelia frowned and reddened. More than one of their party was on the point of interrupting. Cian rose first, though painfully, with the silver misletoe full in view, a guaranty to many below. His face, dark and spiritually exalted, was as true to the Celtic race tradition as Vortimer's belied it. His voice went clearly abroad with lingering emphasis,--
"I also am a Briton."
Whereat, as more than self-evident, both Tigernach and Caowl, with more, began to laugh mightily.
"Assuredly," began Vortimer. But Cian went on,--
"I have waded with our Emperor waist-deep in the red water and shifting sands of the Glem. When Arthur darted up the Duglas side through the slaughter of the green embankment, I saw the blades and spear-points fly from him like icicles from a winter-sheeted tree when a strong wind shatters them. Let Vortimer lead the men of London, and prove beside the Emperor Arthur what better may be done by British valor unbreathed on of Rome."
"I have led them," retorted Vortimer sullenly and defiantly. "In skirmishes,"and "With our aid," in-
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terjected Caowl and Tigernach. "So will I lead them again," he continued, unheeding. "Think not, Prince Cian, there is no fighting but in the far northwestern hills and northeastern marshes. There Arthur's victories have been. But who fights for us,--a mere wedge of Britondom left pushing out into the mass of the enemy--the South Saxons, the East Saxons, the men of the populous Caint? Who but ourselves, left lonely? We grapple with them in the fastnesses of the Andred wood, the vales below Caer Collin, the open land between the Thames and the Cray. Wonder not that we must lose a little, when we have held so much so long and so well. Ask not of us to drain away our life-blood, with the Saxon almost at our walls. And since Arthur of Celliwig has done so little to shield or aid us, why should he have more at our hands than we of him?"
"No, surely," called out Dynan, "since that would be transcending salvation. Little good would your bush-wrangling have done, had those `northeastern' and `northwestern' battles gone the wrong way."
Vortimer waved his hand impatiently. "I hold no discussion with triflers, nor with little emissaries of the usurper. Be sure our goodly city will never need aid nor fear enemy while the head of Vran watches from the White Hill of Cynvelyn."
"Woe betide us! Woe betide us!" cried a shrill voice from the gallery, and looking up, they saw the
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craning, narrow, bird-like visage of Oisin the Christian preacher bent upon them. The power of his eagerness bowed him forward like a strong wind, until he seemed likely to lose his balance and pillar-hold together. His brow was ridged between the eyes as if by unremitting pain. Those eyes burned. The frivolous decorations beside them, cupids and vine-sprays and bacchanals, deepened that burning by contrast. He gathered himself a little, as attention centred on him, then burst forth in passionate invective: "Woe betide us for that our strongest can but wrangle over the hearth-fire while the slaughterer is in the fold; that our wisest put their trust in the promise of a dead magician, or in a soldier-king seeking his own glory far away! Woe, for that ye tear each other, one and all, like most unworthy hounds, and are given over to believe the lies of the heathen; and open not your ears to the great cry that goes up continually from the places of anguish and desolation, nor know that the one true cause is the cause of God's suffering people, and the one true leader is the everlasting Lord God of Sabaoth!
"What mean ye lurking here or idling otherwhere, when His dread summoning is abroad? What mean ye, when the death-wails have not yet ceased their shrilling from the pleasant villages of the East,--those death-wails which are but the precursors of your own! Ah, that Arthur could but see as I have seen,
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and loathe his glory! Far away at the north, far away!--yet how near is the murderer in the home-stead, Eschwine, the Sword of Fire, where hamlets roll up their sad witness unto heaven!
"I tell you, men of London, there was a village once. You knew it well, and I knew it to my appalling sorrow. Peace abode there, and comfort and virtue, a little nest of all kindly good that we had made, although so near the heart of all evil that is under the sun. But there came to us a day of rumors, and the going forth to fight, and the quick warnings of those who fled by, all broken, and the growth of clamorous voices, and the crowding, crowding of terror.
"The tale--have ye forgotten it? Yet dare not I again abide the telling. Go search the fields for the split skulls of our old men, whitening like dog-bones where they fell under the swords of merry making pursuers. And this were mildness, were mercy! Oh, the damnable sea-people, the wolfish and impious Saxons, abominable heathen, God-hating and God-hated, bloody followers of Eschwine, that prince of demons, whom may God speedily overthrow in the fires of hell forever."
A deep angry hum followed this appeal of frenzy. Eyes were turned murderously on the little party of Saxons, who stared back, though doubtless ill at ease. Their leader pushed the others aside, and stepped out,
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that all might see. He had bony, aquiline features, keen and enterprising, and only less brown than his hair, matching, likewise, his tall, broad-shouldered, very sinewy form; a face hardly capable of indolence or meditation; watchful, unremorseful, daring, dangerous.
"With many thanks," he announced, "I am that Prince of Demons, coming under safeguard of Constantine, your king."
"Who is this that palters with the powers of darkness?" demanded Oisin.
"It was weeks ago," Constantine began, "and for a meeting"--
"No time was named," the Saxon shouted; "to your word I hold you."
But at this a great baying began. "Give him the safeguard of Hengist," cried one. "Have you forgotten the feast of the Long Knives?" jeered another. A third, behind Oisin, called aloud, "It is time for the Sword of Fire to be quenched in blood."
Vortimer, more concerned for his own interest, added his cry, "Behold a Roman cloak thrown over the dripping hands! O men of London, behold the boon and the giver!"
Constantine wavered visibly. "It was for your good; it was in your behalf," he protested, facing about, as the stress of the uproar shifted. "It was for our dear city and her people, God be my
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witness. Yet if I exceeded--I was surely not king then"--
But his daughter had half risen, with shamed, imploring eyes that held his own. In the pause, came Eschwine's voice clear and fearless,--
"Give me that maid, and I will bring you a crew to lash off this yelping pack, and have done with them. Give me her. She is tenfold the man of any of those who scream and gibber about us."
But the very splendor and excellence of her, standing there, made the demand all the more obviously extravagant. Laughter ran through all the hall, with lessening of Eschwine's danger. "Nothing less than the lady Aurelia?" cried Tigernach. "One would think he would be glad of any chance to save his forfeit life."
"Forfeit or no," said Aurelia, "he cannot fall here by any hand but that of an enemy to me."
Her voice, full and musical, was welcomed by a hush that made every word audible.
"Well said, my Roman princess," cried Eschwine jubilantly. "Between us we will make such a throne as no battering-ram on earth shall topple over."
Amid the beginning again of wrathful murmurs, Aurelia looked at him steadily. "I can have nought but hatred," she said, "for the doer of deeds of hate, and a good longing to see the smiting down of the merciless."
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"Amen!" cried Oisin.
"I like you none the less for plain speaking," averred Eschwine. "But when was it ever heard that war went on without bloodshed, or that the fighting man with the fury on him could tell one red from another. If I have been at fault, you will have the more scope in tutoring me."
"Too many British women have left their homes against their will," said Aurelia, "for one more, though the lowliest--and such am not I--to go with any Saxon willingly."
Her face was set and stern. There was no yielding in her voice, but calm scorn and resentment.
Eschwine answered, self-restrained, but chafing. "As for the girls taken, spoil is spoil. So has it ever been. These noisy people may have ours, if they can get them. No doubt many of our slaves might be bought back again at fair value. Bear in mind, maiden, that we riders of the rough sea ways are not given to abide denial from any, be she high or low."
His followers had tried to check this impolitic close, and now gathered again before him in his defence; for an angry rush was beginning. Eschwine half drew his sword, and frowned, yielding not at all.
But Aurelia interposed with a wave of her arm, and the call, "Forbear." Constantine also com-
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manded, "Hold!" with strenuous endeavor to be resolute.
"Back, every man of you!" shouted Vortimer, not to be outdone. Then, turning toward Aurelia, he added, "There is one member of the house of Constantine whom we are all more than willing to obey." And many shouted at his words.
"To this I hold you," cried a new voice, with a certain genial roll in it, but more of authority. The man in steel was advancing toward the dais. He bore his armor lightly, as if dancing under it would be easy to him; yet there was dignity in his port also. Though lacking the towering bulk of Vortimer, or even the more than usual height of Cian, his advent was as if real kingliness had but just come among mankind. When he turned his face uncovered to the throng, clean-shaven alone of all that presence, with a complexion of surpassing purity, broad of brow under browner waving hair, a face of romance and frankness, yet of forethought and zeal which might become exaltation, men had no need to be told that the very genius of peace and of war shone on them then out of the strong blue eyes of the great Arthur.
Those were present who had spoken ill of him but lately; yet there went up from nearly all the same enthusiastic cry, as they knew their visitor. Only Oisin watched silently, and Vortimer with chary
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participation, each having a few imitators near him.
Arthur was kindly smiling, and his speech was easy.
"When a man is vexed, and writes over harshly to his friends," he said, "what is there better for him than to come and see them face to face? You had given some cause, you know. Truly, I come in the best of time; for in my own hearing you have announced with acclamation what I would most desire. Most gladly I make your will my own; seeing that of your own free choice, and with uncommon zeal, you have preferred, from the house whereof I wrote, the very maiden gem in her golden setting. Let Aurelia, chosen of Britain as of London, be hence-forward your queen."
There was a moment's hush; then the hall rang. Aurelia, thoughtful of her father, had half risen to speak in disclaimer; but something in the Emperor's look, between deprecation and command, held her still. She would not harm nor hamper him in any crisis. Moreover, she had perforce taken the measure of her father more clearly that day. It might be very unfilial to keep him in that dangerous seat.
"Vortimer of Andred," resumed Arthur, "you have well said that London needs both men and weapons to regain her losses and hold her lands. Her turn shall come. Together, if we live, we will seek repri-
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sal, but not now. We have no choice but to meet first, and overthrow, the northern enemy. London must aid me there, and you must lead her men."
Vortimer looked unwilling, yet hesitated, as he had not before Constantine or Cian. The unique fame of the Emperor, the continued fortune which marked him out as strangely favored, the almost magical element of surprise in his coming, whatever interval or obstacle might lie between, his astuteness, his amplitude of resource, the concentration of purpose that shone out of him,--all these made refusal very difficult.
Before Vortimer had spoken, Arthur turned to Constantine. "Yours shall be a wider charge than I had thought of," said he. "Our armies are larger now than they were, and more scattered. We need a more general and efficient system for supplying them. Constantine, as of old in a lesser undertaking, can do more for us there than any other."
There was but little wavering, for the half-crowned was momentarily losing his desire to rule the unruly. "Whoever exalts my daughter exalts myself," he said. "I will go where I may be useful."
"What for me?" demanded Eschwine mockingly.
Arthur made calm answer, "You have your life. Let that content you. It is safe, till we meet again."
"Perhaps I shall keep it a little longer," scoffed the Saxon; "I have carried it in hand over many
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British men, living and dead. And, queen or no queen, I will have the maid."
But now his followers urged him, with entreaty, toward the door; while a crowd of their enemies, hardly held in leash, came close behind.
"Llywarch," said Arthur, "see them beyond the city wall."
Then he also departed for the villa of Constantine, his abode that night.
Soon afterward the great council ended, all its members going their ways.
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THE EMPEROR AND THE QUEEN.
The chair of the sovereign,
He that keeps it is skilful.
---TALIESMIN.
CIAN was glad to be in the open air again, on the way toward rest. Weakened and fevered, he carried thoughts with him which were better away. He had seen Arthur's eyes meeting those of Aurelia's; and already, though he had given no name to his own feeling for her, a breath of fear was astir.
Thus brooding, a dimness came over him, and he swayed to and fro where he sat. But Tigernach sprang in beside him, and Aurelia rode up.
"Oh, pardon me!" she cried. "You have over-tasked yourself in our behalf, and we neglect you."
For indeed she had not felt so drawn to his side, returning, as when they rode in. The knowledge of it hurt her.
Cian raised his head, and sat quite stiffly. "I have no need," he said.
Llywarch, who had rejoined them, looked at him and at her. "Surely, Cian, the new cares of the
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throne"--he began. "There is enough in London to overwhelm all else."
Aurelia felt ill at ease under his words; for in truth it was not the burden of greatness which had so filled her mind, as the vision of the Emperor, flashing among them suddenly in assurance of power.
"I am not yet queen," she answered gently. "Nor ever will be, I hope, if it is to make me behave unworthily."
Cian did not reply, being wholly occupied in mere endurance. Aurelia watched him with solicitude.
"You saw Eschwine well away?" she inquired of Llywarch.
"Not very far, unhappily. I heard a word at the gate. He is yonder, waiting."
Where he pointed, the Thames and the Lea out-spread together in an estuary-like morass. There was vapor over it now. The light of a half-moon fell slantwise on reedy, glistening expanses, on gleaming, winding, branching inlets, on tufted black islands of forestry, all mapped out as on the face of another world, withdrawn into the dim life of menace and mystery.
It chilled Aurelia, and she turned silently away.
At her home they found her father with the Emperor. Already a general scheme of commissariat had been outlined,--great depots, widely and wisely distributed, with lesser between; interlinking caravan
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routes like the crossing lines of a spider's web, whereby material in masses could at once be supplied anywhere,--a system worthy of an earlier or a later era.
Constantine was astir with delighted interest as the possibilities grew on him. He was deeply impressed by Arthur also, the soldier-king eager for adventure being hidden in the man of affairs, prompt, full of forethought, quick to learn, shrewd in applying, possessed of every capability.
There was reason why Arthur should strengthen himself with all. Guledig, imperator, emperor, men called him; but this was, first of all, a battle-title, a kingship over armies and kings in armor; beyond that, more or less, according to opportunity and the strain of public need. Never before, in the case of a great city, had he ventured on interference and command. Chance had aided him, but he knew that even friends would recall his action uneasily.
The chiefs of Andred, lately in opposition, could not resist his friendliness. He gave them straightforward words, though, evading nothing, not even religious differences, for he made no secret of his championship of the Cross. When the talk was of worldly and common matters, his attention was calmly given to the speaker, or passed from one to another whom he addressed. When he spoke of man's faith and soul and after life, or of Britain's interminable struggle with the destroyer, his eyes often wandered
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away and brightened, coming suddenly back with the fire in them of one whose innermost passion and certainty were astir.
There was nothing marble-like about that face; rather a quivering susceptibility, noticeable in the nether lip when not resolutely controlled, as though emotions came too fast and strong for him. In his greatest feats recorded of Arthur Mabuter, it was averred that his whole frame trembled like a harpstring. More than one renowned enemy had felt it with elation, yet broken utterly before the fury of purpose which underlay that vibrating fineness of nerve. In spite of error, it raised him above meanness and grossness, giving him a dedicate fervency, as of one running a great race greatly. At his best, he might well be called the soul of Britain.
After a time he drew away to Aurelia, who was about going within to escape the chill of the autumnal evening. His manner was deferential, with a touch of playfulness.
"I come to you as a bird of warning," he said; "and I would rather warn out here."
Following his words, a wolf-howl came lugubriously from some forest nook, with the usual discord-murmur of the hidden city for its echo.
"With such music?" she replied sadly.
His face grew very grave. "You see your task," he said. "To keep the wolf from the door of a di-
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vided people. It has been mine also. But we are drawing mightily together now."
"All but London! Poor, rich, great, distracted London!" said she.
"London will not fail such a queen," he answered; for the beauty and easy majesty of her face and form were on him like a spell. Oh, the incredible perversity that could turn away from such as she! He grew stern at thought of it, and added, "Those who will be blind may at least see their own ruin."
She answered gently, "They are my people. Without my destruction, that shall not be."
His face brightened and deepened. "I could not ask a better word from the best fighting man of my Round Table."
"No place for me! I am sufficiently exalted by the charge my Emperor has given;" and she made him archly an obeisance.
"Greater exaltation may"--but he checked himself with remembrance and misgiving.
She did not seem to give his words especial meaning; but his tone awoke a slight perversity, brushing the sense of distance away.
"At least," she said, "I may be better employed than in tilting after rainbow treasures and phantom goblets."
"It is not well to speak lightly of things beyond us," he answered with serious mildness. "Our life,
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which begins in mystery and ends in mystery, is wrapped in mystery between. But this is my warning. I pray you be very careful in your coming and going after I am gone. Forget not that you rule only a point of doubtful light, jutting into a black sea. Remember that London ever wrangles with the hand that serves and saves it. Above all, bear continually in mind that the Sword of Fire is never far away. Yet I hope he may seek to do no harm. He will get word from me by Llywarch, who goes with Dynan and Caowl into the great marsh to-morrow, demanding his pledge of peace, toward you above all, under penalty which he will hardly dare. He will keep it, I believe, since it has ever been Eschwine's pride to make good his word. But be more than careful."
Aurelia looked at him, thankful and open-eyed. Then there came a saddening thought. "How shall we drive out the hard Saxons with plans which a woman's mishap may overthrow? You must not bring your men from where they are most needed, for me."
"They will not stir," he answered. "The threat suffices. Trust me."
"Trust me also," she replied, as she passed within. "I shall be on my guard."
But that did not long trouble her. She found pleasanter matter of meditation in the Emperor's thoughtfulness.
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A VISIT TO THE SWORD OF FIRE.
Laughing, treacherous,
And of bitter disposition was he.
-- Black Book of Caermarthen.
LLYWARCH awoke the next morning with a sense that some one was making loud and distressful havoc of his heroic lays. He beheld, on the bed-corner, Dynan, harp in hand, fantastically balancing, with the airiest finger-play and a plain intention of fairy in voice and air. Beside him, the gnome-like features of Caowl were broadly grinning.
"A wild pair for a sane man to be sent with," grumbled LIywarch, not stirring. "There ought to be nightmares enough in that place without you."
Dynan broke off with a final twist and shower of sound. "Oh, we are the people to keep you to the marsh-lights," he cried. "If the hunt should last so long."
"And howl at me in that demon-alluring way for greater cheerfulness! But what must be, must be!" and with a leap he was beside them.
They took the eastern gate, and thence through
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that unkempt suburb which had been known in Roman days as "the native town" to the open country beyond.
"The first time I rode out like this, three together," said Llywarch, between his comrades, "it was in quest of a monster. The next time we were after a holy maid."
"Two fearsome creatures," quoth Dynan.
"However, Geraint was with me, and Maelgwn."
"Whom they have taken to calling Lancelot, the people's spear. Much he disturbs himself about the people!"
For there was jealousy abroad of this vain, uncertain, ambitious, daring, and skilful Prince of Gwynedd.
"But did you find either of these wild fowl?" Dynan inquired.
"Not precisely, only a bit of some stone which the lady left before her shrine, by chance or in reward. Merlin said it had healing virtue, but I never could get sick enough to try. As to the dragon, I do not know; many tales are brought to Caerleon and to Camelot. It makes one unhappy to see his friends riding furiously after stray moonbeams."
"Yes, a holy maid would be better, if not necessarily more lovely;" and Dynan took on an air of discriminating wisdom.
Near the meeting of the rivers a boat awaited them, containing two marshmen, who settled to work
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at once with pole or paddle, as the depth of water varied. They wore mud-stained breeches which had once been gaudy; above these, in the one case, a sleeveless tunic badly frayed below the girdle, in the other, a scarf wound obliquely and much faded. They had no other apparel except otter-skin caps, which often lay about their feet, leaving uncovered their masses of dark, coarse hair. They were very gaunt and yellow-brown with wind and sun and the miasma of the marshes.
Curiosity as to the outer world was numb in them; but they had learned to observe without speech, think within narrow limits, and act noiselessly. They made at first one movement of recognition and subserviency which was less surly in intent than in seeming; and now they had eyes only for the banks beside them and the water ahead.
Yet they answered Dynan's questions; and Caowl, who best knew them, added some explanations of his own. It seemed their people were but scanty in number, with only one village remaining, a stronghold built on piles, in a little lake near the river Lea.
One by one, the others had fallen; for the water-ways tempted Saxon incursions, making the great marsh their nearest approach to London, and a scene of`continual warfare, though in a small way. The marshmen were doing good service very savagely, threading the maze at all hours, with swift knowledge
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of any hostile coming, retorting surprise for surprise; hardly so intent on their livelihood by trapping and fishing, as on the merciless give and take of their struggle with the invaders. Nothing but the tyrant power of habit could explain their remaining year after year in such a dreadful place.
Their crude stoicism made even a tried soldier like Llywarch uneasy. They did not at all conceal their sense of the risk to that boat-load, nor seem to care about it. "Eschwine," said one, "was more likely, maybe, to spear the whole party, or to toss them, weighted, headforemost into some pool, than to flay them in strips from head to heel, or put them to fire-torture; but there was no telling what whim would take him. He might even entertain them with honor, and let them go." It was grim thinking to one with bright life in him, and no kinship to deeds and beings of darkness.
Through a gap in an old Roman dyke, now long neglected and ruinous, they entered a broad swamp-artery that swayed this way and that in long curves, branching and dwindling. The tide at first drove them in, but later was offset by the drain of the marsh, or in some other way, and gradually ceased to aid.
Civilization was gone now, as though it had never been, except when it came before them out of a dead world in stretches of yet distinguishable road-bed, or some haunted pile, where fort or blockhouse had
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defended it. In all but these, the mere savagery of nature had regained its own.
Deer-tracks and the footprints of beasts of prey became frequent along the margin; wild fowl hovered and floated numerously, or flapped heavily away before them, after the manner of their kind when affrighted. Once a lubberly bear broke away, half seen, trampling the reeds. Amid an islanded bit of oak and yew forest, in a glade, a white cow, wild and shapely, turned from drinking, to be presently lost in the shadows.
At last they entered a pool toward the northern border of the swamp, with raised and wooded ground on the farther side. Here they went circumspectly, for there was no sign of any feathered thing which might serve for food; and they looked that Eschwine should not be far away.
While they were near the middle, an arrow came from a reedy point on the left, in a long, low flight, and struck slantwise across their bow, barely missing it. Then they stayed paddle, and cried out their peaceful intention, with only silence for an answer, until a second shaft, and then a third, flew by them, the last between Llywarch's head and that of Dynan, very venomously. So they came to regard that outlying Saxon as not amenable to reason, but merely perverse and dangerous, and went on without delay. Yet there fell two more of his favors, quickly shot,
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in their wake, whereat Caowl grew angry beyond control, and objurgated the invisible archer, with hand-threatening, in a language that was neither English nor British, but made up of shreds and patches for that border.
Now, ahead, there were boats by the shore, or drawn up into the bushes, and men very ready to fill them, called by the shouting. Yet they desisted at command of Eschwine, who came to them out of the wood, and waited, lounging and curious.
"He does not seem to intend any great harm," said Dynan.
"Our friends are not the easier for that," returned Caowl, indicating the paddlers.
He met them at the landing, with curt recognition of these two, and a very ample civility to the northern prince. But his look at the boatmen should have made them visibly unhappy. He bade all to the camp, which was in a sloping meadow, between a brook and a wood, Llywarch walking beside him.
Here were men of divers aspect, busy over weapons, game, and apparel, or amusing themselves as best they might, being the picking up of sea-rovers who had welcomed any fighting hands for their crew. Yet an amplitude of muscle prevailed, a ruddiness of face and hair, such as men thought of in naming the English race. By the number of them, it seemed that something graver was projected than waylay-
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ing the wandering marsh-people, or any such petty prey.
"Is Prince Llywarch here of himself, or from whom?" Eschwine spoke with a twang, as at the council, but in the usual Celtic of the low lands, not unlike the later speech of Brittany. Llywarch noted how well he had caught the idiom, and how justly his words were chosen.
"From Arthur Mabuter, Emperor of Britain," Llywarch made answer.
Eschwine held himself square-shouldered at his full sinewy height. "What does Arthur offer me?" he inquired.
"Offer!" cried Dynan.
Eschwine half turned to him with a look which might easily become a menace.
Llywarch, understanding both, and feeling how much hung that instant on himself, answered calmly, "The Emperor of Britain, victor in many battles, re-conqueror of provinces and of kingdoms, offers to Eschwine--peace."
The Saxon looked the surprise and distrust which were in him. His followers, but half understanding, snorted with amused contempt.
"Will he add," inquired Eschwine, "the very handsome young woman they call queen?"
"'Call!'" echoed Caowl; "be sure we will maintain her so."
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"You may not have the chance," Eschwine suggested. "The way out of here is hard to find."
Again Llywarch remained resolutely equable. "You are to promise, King of Essex, to forego all annoyance of her.''
Eschwine stared, frowned, stirred angrily; then smoothed his face again, with a harsh laugh. The other Saxons echoed it more loudly.
"Modest!" he cried. "I am to spare London, then, and its appurtenances; in fact, almost everything and everybody! Is there any more?"
Llywarch bowed. "Nothing more, except that it is for sixty days."
"Now, Prince Llywarch, tell me why, in your good judgment, I should do this."
Llywarch watched intently that hard, keen, bantering face. He discerned uneasiness and growing anger, but kept a "diplomatic cheek and eye."
"Being Arthur's counsellor, when called on," he replied, "I cannot well be Eschwine's also. Yet, consider; the bravest, if wise as brave, will not war needlessly with a power inordinately beyond him."
"What is the meaning of that?" and Eschwine ground his heel among the pebbles.
"I am bidden to say--and say but as I am bidden--that in case of refusal, Arthur will leave all other enemies, and bring the whole force of his armies, with London added, to utterly crush Essex. What, then,
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have you wherewith to oppose the whole power of Britain? The Sword of Fire will be known no more among men."
Only a part of what he uttered bore meaning to the raiders and loiterers around them. But they caught at the ending with fury. "Carve the blood eagle on him!" yelled one. Others, rising, took up the cry.
Llywarch fronted them with kindly dignity; indeed, he stood as though they were offering some tribute of admiration to his worth, instead of the most frightful death-punishment devised by even their ingeniously cruel race.
Their precipitancy saved him. Eschwine's countenance had been tightening murderously. But this clamor came as a travesty on his own purpose, half-formed. Moreover, some of the later accessions to his camp had troubled him within the hour by unruliness of tongue where they should only hear and obey. With a half-spring, and a snatch at his weapon, he shouted them into silence. Then he turned abruptly, and forced himself to be calm.
"Arthur has brave men," he announced at length.
"Many," said Llywarch. "But as to that, I have seen Eschwine also affront death very lately."
The Saxon laughed a note or two, and took on a more genial aspect. This fearless urbanity, being new, pleased him wonderfully. Llywarch heard be-
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hind his shoulder Caowl's sigh, as if a burden were lifted. He could not see Dynan. The marshmen were as impassive as ever, but with hopeful eyes.
"I do not know that," said Eschwine. "We Saxons have weighty weapons, and a long reach with them."
Llywarch looked around him. They truly surpassed the average of British massiveness and stature.
He bowed in admission. "But it would have needed the hammer and the arm of Thor to have shattered a way through a city's walls and an army."
"I had Constantine's pledge. You came with nothing."
"Ah, no! With the message of one mighty warrior to another. Would any one deem that so great an honor could end in harm or loss?"
Here even the wilder freebooters, easily shifting in mood, broke out applaudingly. Eschwine looked on with no displeasure. "I don't wonder that you witch men with your singing," he said. "Mere talk suffices. Prince Llywarch, it shall be in every way as you have spoken. And now between us, and with all these, the harp will be sooth and safe, to keep the tongue out of trouble."
"What skill I have," said Llywarch, "is for you."
"Bring then your harp, Wolfnoth;" and Wolfnoth brought it.
"I cannot say how it may misbehave in British
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hands," he said, tendering it reluctantly. He was more fanciful in apparel and eager of eye than the rest, but more indolent in motion. His manner of holding the instrument showed how he prized it. There were curiosity and interest in his face; for a master of some renown in the craft was before him, being also the prince of a bold people.
Llywarch overcame his hesitation by minstrel free-masonry. He spoke in Saxon, making sad work, for he had studied it little; but the other understood him. "I can do nothing," said Llywarch, "without rhymes. Therefore your hero-songs would be beyond me. It is wise to keep to waters that one knows. I will give you a battle-piece of my people, put together by myself. You may like it or not; I don't know."
Dynan had been edging near, with lively concern. "For the love of God," he protested, "not the lay of Ambrosius!"
Eschwine watched. "What is that?" he demanded sharply.
The little man turned pale, but looked back, eye for eye. "The tale of a death-fight!" he said simply.
His hand was on something in his belt--a dagger, Eschwine thought, but really what had been called the fairy horn, which might never be more urgently needed.
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"The death-fight of one who stayed the oncoming of Cerdic," added Caowl bluntly, being more mindful of the jealousies of that coast.
"That will I have, and no other," declared Eschwine, smiting his hand on his thigh, and looking around him with a clearing brow. Alone among the chieftains of the south, great Cerdic of Wessex as yet outshone him, often drawing recruits away, so that rivalry was bitter, and envy bitterer still. "Let us have it all, full tilt; it will do my men good,"he cried gleefully.
Now, Llywarch had a different ballad in mind, and smiled inwardly at the combining of Dynan with Eschwine to take the choice from him. Still, the general aspect was favorable, and he struck into it spiritedly; the rude harp, though poorly worthy of him, doing good service among war-loving ears, in the echoes of the woods. Danger and the strain of self-control gave his voice an unusual reckless resonance, when at length set free.
His theme was the last charge of Aurelius Ambrosius at Netley, in his old age and snow-white armor, defending the way to that Holy House named after him (Amesbury), whence came his title, Prince of the Sanctuary.
And this was the lay sung by Llywarch, Prince of Argoed, to the Saxon marauders in their camp by the marshes of the Lea.
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THE SONG OF LLYWARCH.
White was the great steed under him,
White was the gleam of mailéd limb--
Swift as the warrior seraphim!
White was the steed, but dashed with red,
White were the locks that blew outspread,
White was the sword-hilt overhead.
White as the sea-wave's flower of foam!
One shout for Britain, Christ, and Rome!
Horseman and horse went shattering home.
I saw them, as he onward sped,
White horse to white horse of the dead:--
Then the pale banner whirled and fled.
I saw the thousands in his wake,
The wingéd spears that stream and shake,
I heard the crash, as thousands brake.
And, borne upon the wind along,
A faint far swell of chant and song,
A jubilation vast and strong.
Where Ambrose and his thousands fell,
There rises still that holy swell,
Proving their work was done right well.
Where Ambrose and his thousands lie,
The stars of Heaven go sweeping by,
The eyes of Heaven that shall not die.
Where Ambrose and his thousands are
There needs no light of dawn or star,
For the great glory shining far.
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Glory to glory, grace on grace!
Hero of Britain's ancient race,
Our crowned one of the holy place!
"It is not for me," said Eschwine, rising gravely, to offer gifts to one not less great every way than myself, and tuneful, as I am mute, in song. But I would change hunting-knives with you, if I may. I cannot spare my sword; there is a fate in it."
"Willingly," said Llywarch; but all his companions looked uncertain. Ever since the death-feast at Wipped's-fleet, the Saxon blade and Saxon friendship had been frightful in British eyes. Yet all was done fairly, and Llywarch found a handsome Frisian haft in his hand.
"Long ago," said Eschwine, "I took it in fight at sea."
His men applauded also, understanding at least the rush of the lines; and that they dealt with battle. Those who had caught the names of a hostile faith cared little, for religion was no passion with them.
Next Wolfnoth took the harp, tossed back his head, and began chanting emulously, in a wild voice, to a wilder accompaniment, one of the staves, unrhymed but alliterative, which delighted his people. The envoys, in their turn, lost many of the words, and found more stress in it than melody; but it somehow brought home to them the sense of death affronted, of shadows overwhelming and feared not, of ear-
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nest grappling with man and fate, with gods and the hereafter.
When they departed, Eschwine called after them, "Good luck to Arthur with Ossa Cyllalaur!"
Now Cyllalaur was the great Saxon leader of the north.
Llywarch bowed, but later said quietly, "In other words, he would be well content to see an enemy and a rival wear each other out."
"There is comfort in getting off with a whole skin for any reason," observed Caowl.
The marshman in the stern grinned appreciatively. "But we will go back another way," said he.
"I have no fear of waylaying," declared Llywarch. "We were quite in his power."
"It may suit him to play cat and mouse," Dynan suggested. "I vote for all prudence and caution."
"Do you mean that he would be capable of shaking hands for good-by, with an ambuscade awaiting us by his orders?" demanded Llywarch.
"He would. He has done worse than that," Caowl replied, darkening.
"For my part," said Dynan airily, "I put no limits to him; he is a very 'capable' man."
But this time there came no missile at them in crossing the pool. Nor indeed afterward, except once, far away, when a spear was cast viciously into the boat, and a dwarf, nearly naked, went scuttling
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off where pursuit was not easy. But they judged him to be neither a Saxon nor any settled Briton, but a mere wandering waylayer, of malice toward every one; for there were always a few such about these desolate places.
Most of the time they were in what might be called open land for that region, though the rank growth was neck-high to a standing man, where not fallen in patches with the decrepitude of the year. At last they made firm land at a ring of oak-trees, thick enough to form a screen, enclosing a clear, shallow lakelet, the very centre of which was occupied by the palisaded village of the marshmen. A platform running around the inside of this tall barrier near its top gave the defenders a great advantage. A single narrow causeway led out from shore; but the gate of this was strongly guarded, and the whole structure, down to the water-bed, could be torn away very speedily in case of need.
Here they rested a little time, with much consideration from the villagers, who could find nothing less than magic in the successful outcome of their errand. Thence they easily reached London.
When Arthur heard the tale, he blamed himself, even more than he praised those whom he had sent into such danger. With all his knowledge of Eschwine, he had not felt it fully. Savage demonry, beyond example, was indeed very near the great city.
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THE PERPLEXITY OF ARTHUR AND THE MISSION OF OISIN.
I have repented of the time that I entreated
That thou shouldst not have thy choice.
--LLYWARCH.
THOSE were noisy and busy days around London, preceding the coronation. There was other marshalling, too, for the good will in the air and some touch of policy had brought Vortimer forward with a late display of military zeal; and Arthur, with this aid, and from other elements, began forming a great encampment on the hills. Meantime, counselling with Osburn and Aurelia, he supplied safer men gradually to the gates and strong places which Vortimer had held.
Cian kept his room, lest, as they quoted him, he should glower, and tear somebody. Although his hurts and later efforts might be reason enough, Arthur felt disquieted, and set himself kindly to heal the inner sore that he feared.
Cian half rose as the Emperor entered, but Arthur waved him down, saying,--
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"The wound always has precedence. If some one must suffer for my being here, no doubt Tigernach will stand hard enough for two. Yet I see no need, remembering that such as he have made me."
"It is beyond mortal power to make one like our Emperor," declared Tigernach, with pleased and hot directness.
"Why, as to that," began Arthur, laughing. "But it is true I do not owe it all to your people. When before was it ever heard that a man should wave aside the purple to the shoulders of his friend?"
"He knew the gifts of Caradoc and the gifts of Arthur," said Cian. "The event has proved."
"How it might have been, we cannot say. It is as it is. I am glad that he is coming to help me. They are at Caer Segeint now, with Maelgwn and the pick of his mountain men, also a very great following."
"And the Lady Guinevere," suggested Cian, with covert brightening.
"She also," Arthur answered quietly, and the men understood one another; but Cian conjectured even more than Arthur had in mind.
"Lancelot takes a long road, in good company," said he.
That was an ill return, and he felt it so. But the instinct to awaken anxiety for the one whom he did not desire was too strong for him.
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"It is true," answered Arthur, and spoke of other things.
When they parted, Cian's eyes were hopeful and thankful, but Arthur bore away more discomfort than should follow a kindly deed. Being only human, whatever the credulous might say, with two women and two men to think of, and no way opening that was free from harm to some one whom he loved, he found himself distressed very sorely. There was that in his heart which told him the wiser choice did not lie with the earlier claim. Yet he had long felt the bright enchantment of Guinevere, and been drawn to her in many ways of late, believing undoubtingly that her sunny love was all for him, though no binding word had been spoken.
He knew that a halt would be made for the night, in her behalf, about midway in the forty-mile ride which was to be that day undertaken. He promised himself to meet her there in the morning.
Meantime, chance threw him again with Aurelia.
The yellow light was fading from the lawn; the brighter stars were just coming into vision. She stood on the lawn hearkening to Oisin, who gesticulated as he spoke. Arthur fancied, resentfully, that the passion of admonition had possessed him. But she turned her face, and he saw that it was not so. "This good man comes to me for aid," she said with grave deference.
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Arthur looked into her eyes, a little charged with excitement, then at the anxious ones of the evangelist.
"What aid?" he inquired.
"It has partly to do with Eschwine," she explained.
"By way of conversion?" with a smile.
"No!" broke in Oisin shrilly. Then he recollected himself, hearing their laugh, and added, "If there were any hope--why, surely--even he."
"We must admit that 'even he' has shown some motions of peace and good will," observed Arthur gently.
"Trust him not! trust him not!" cried Oisin. "His heart is the home of hell fire. Not seven devils, I say unto you, but seventy times seven!"
"Then I infer it is not--at present--a mission to the heathen?"
Arthur's glance questioned both of them with puzzled gravity, although he smiled. Aurelia answered.
"As a barrier only. Oisin will make his home with the lake-people of the great marsh. He will teach and preach to them, comforting and uplifting them in every way until death. He will take his own homeless villagers also, with such as may join them, to strengthen these hunted creatures. They will settle on firm ground near the river Lea. I have promised, with the Emperor's good will, such land and arms and other aid as may reasonably be needed. Oisin hopes with time to build up an outer and living
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wall for London on that most open side. And the people of the marsh will no longer be crushed into mere brutishness."
Cried Oisin: "The distortion of their belief is unspeakable, unspeakable! And as to ritual, I doubt indeed if they have any whatever." His claw-like hands went up and down as he spoke.
"Is not this better than rainbow-chasing?" asked Aurelia, watching the Emperor's eye.
"Nothing could be braver or grander," answered he. "I will not warn you from slow dying by marsh-poison, Oisin; you have taken counsel of One greater than I. I would ask His blessing of you, for in that name only shall we conquer."
So Arthur Mabuter had the blessing of Oisin; and Oisin had of him whatever might be any aid and stay.
The image of Aurelia, royal, yet not beyond archness, haunted Arthur in the early hours of the night. But he slept at length; and when he woke it was with other fancies, which drove him to the saddle a long time before the brightening of the sky.
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ARTHUR WITH LANCELOT AND GUINEVERE.
I wanted warmth and color.
--TENNYSON.
ALL along the highway between London and that fair city whose ruins underlie the Silchester of later time, villages attested the westward shifting of life and traffic that followed the loss of Kent, Sussex, and the lower Thames. Of these a few were still Roman in part, though the largest had grown up on Celtic lines.
It did not suit the gay court people to abide in any. They chose rather one of the wild spots which lay between, beloved by wandering folk and by citizens willing to take some risk with their outing. Here were you at once in both worlds; the merchant's caravan and the merry riding-party being proper to the glade, while yet the Saxon scout might prowl around its border in the dusk, or the great bear take complacently the measure of its shadow by the light of the moon.
But there was clearly no present danger of human enemy nor of wild beast. Long before Arthur
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reached them, he could discern the fire-glow in many places among the trees, where each night-long blaze was dying down to embers. The tents grew from ghostliness into brightness as the morning expanded.
Except the sentinels, few forms were yet astir. He recognized one discontentedly. Tall, richly attired, perfect in grace, with a cloven-pomegranate beauty of countenance, that was dreamful now, but marked by spoiled wilfulness, dark pride, and fitful intensity, Maelgwn of Gwynedd, whom we know better as Lancelot, stood watching the tent of the incomparable Guinevere. Was it herself that he awaited by appointment, or the mere sight and sound of her, issuing into the new day?
Arthur felt the stir of such questions as he halted, and therewith the sun and the lady came forth from their hiding together. Guinevere was like the very heart of gladness in those golden rays. There was that about her which, like the sunshine, belonged impersonally to one and all, yet which every man might take unto himself, and deem an especial treasure evermore his own. It came only from her glowing beauty, her love of life and splendor, her ready responsiveness; or, if ever from any deeper fountain, there was yet no such strength of flow but that ambition very easily would turn it and hold it. Still there were few who could believe her otherwise than very loving; as the sun itself appears genial, and we call it
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so, although in truth it cares nothing whatever for human kind. Already her name everywhere meant the enthralling, the irresistible.
On first passing beyond the tent-flap, she had Maelgwn evidently in her mind, perhaps by reason of preliminary peering, for her smile turned naturally, as by instinct, that way. But in a moment Arthur had that welcome in his stead without change, as he came into her vision; nor could either of these men be sure that it was not thus first intended. Maelgwn received only her passing graciousness and the word-signal, " He comes," abounding in loyal fervor, which proclaimed that it could not doubt his own sympathy.
There was hot blackness in the face and heart of the Welsh prince for a moment. Yet, Guinevere aside, he was Arthur's very stanch partisan, and so had been ever since his first entry as a stripling on the life of arms. He felt, admiringly, in another nature the aspirations which were beyond his own. Sometimes it befell that an unreasoning passion of remorse and penance took hold on him in their stead; but it never lasted long, and left him open, as before, to very pitiful sinning. These traits grew with years, but even in that earlier time he was far from a continuously happy man.
His memory held many fond trifles which yet were no trifles at all to his love and pride; though Guin-
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evere, if driven to it, would have denied all semblance of claim growing from them. He was not wrong in holding himself more congenial to her personally than any other man, though he were twice an Emperor; yet no man could be so near her heart as the imperial power and dignities. A dim occasional sense of this awoke in him a helplessness and bewildered raging.
Yet now he greeted the Emperor with all, deference and welcome, and, apart from his baffled hope in Guinevere, they bespoke him truly.
"So early!" he cried." It must have taken swift riding or no rest. And all alone! Is that wise, my Emperor?"
"Wisdom would not be worth much penned in a corner or baby-tended," answered Arthur. "There are enough of them behind. This is a good swift fellow," and he patted his steed. "As to rest, I had all that might be had--while awaiting."
His eyes, at the last word, were fondly on Guinevere, who would not meet them, but flushed and checked herself uncertainly in answer. Maelgwn made obeisance and went rigidly away.
Arthur blamed himself momentarily for a tone which fretted him, the tone of one tempted from thorough good-will by a sense of rivalry. But it could not last in that presence.
Guinevere looked up, as in self compulsion, with
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delight in her eyes. "It is so long," she said, "yet so very kind of our Emperor to meet us thus by the way."
They walked side by side toward the tent of her uncle Caradoc. Her voice went before, and brought him out to them. On his bluff countenance there was a shade of displeasure as he glanced at the receding form of Maelgwn. A small part of it was for her also. The insight which comes to the dullest by kinship and daily proximity made him unsure of her. Since his great renunciation, there had been seasons of regret, and he looked that his niece should bring the purple back to him, in a way, enhanced by Arthur's glory. It was worse than vexation to think of any coquetry with the Welsh prince. But he could not look deep enough, nor do justice to the cool, unchanging purpose of Guinevere. He would not have loved it, had he known.
A very giant of a man was this Caradoc Vriechvras, careless in his strength, negligently ungraceful, and showing woodland build rather than royal; a man living more in the body than the mind, proud mainly of prowess, as some burly man-at-arms might be, over willing to dare, impulsively generous to resign.
He gave Arthur a grasp that was hard to bear.
"And which Saxon shall we fall on next?" cried he. "I thought it was Ossa Cyllalaur. But I hear
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strange tales of Eschwine's sauciness. I have men enough to break him up, if ordered."
"He is no dry reed," answered Arthur, with a smile. "When the time comes he will give some trouble. For the present I have his pledge of peace toward the new Queen of London, where the chief danger lies."
"The new queen; her name is"--Guinevere suggested, as one who seeks about in memory.
Caradoc was about to supply it, marvelling at her quick forgetfulness, but Arthur spoke before him.
"Aurelia, daughter of Constantine." He fretted inwardly that he could not make the syllables quite like those of any other. It was the more unreasonable, since the present beauty eclipsed her, to his mind and eye. Guinevere was watching him from covert with oblique demureness.
"A very musical one," she said sweetly. "But have you only this Eschwine's promise? No hostage? Nothing in pledge?"
"A man's pride is the best pledge," answered Arthur. "Eschwine's word is his God. He has never failed in it. He stakes his manhood on it."
Guinevere listened, childlike, as to wisdom in matters beyond her, then answered with maidenly diffidence,--
"Yet--I was thinking of that Gaulish trader, who came and went so many times between our city and
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the coast, and was always true to the least that he uttered, and would do errands for one beyond the narrow sea, bringing all back faithfully, and showed himself so very honest in little things"--
Caradoc interrupted her, with an impatient sound. "In brief, I trusted him with a treasure caravan," he said. "The Saxons got it; and he does not trade our way, being rich and wise."
There was a veiled keenness of satire in Guinevere's mild young eyes, unnoticed by either of the men. "Are not the Saxons wily?" she queried, in the same submissive way. "A woman knows little of such matters; but they tell me so. May not Eschwine have been upbuilding his fame as a promise-keeper, only to throw it away for a great prize? Or may not the temptation overcome him? London is very rich, and I hear that--Aurelia--is--exceedingly fair."
For she was testing Arthur; not greatly caring for the danger which yet, by inner light, this woman, wilier than the Saxon, well knew.
Caradoc heard her with dissatisfied opening of the eyes. But he caught the drift of her last words. It seemed to him that there would be a better time to consider matters militant.
"It is true that women do not distinguish," he said. "Kings are not chapmen. Wider experience will show. But now I must prepare for departure," and
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he moved away with a sense of sagacity. There was a smile on his face as he left to her the trial for that "wider experience."
Her scrutiny of Arthur was assuring. He showed no great concernment of any kind, answering only, "It is so; a noble woman too, proud, strong, and trustful."
In that she felt his regret, if not disquiet, for her own suspicious knowingness. That mattered little. She fastened liquid eyes on his, hurt and meekly protesting.
"But the Queen of London has seen so much more," she said; "and no doubt is far wiser. I did wrong to obtrude my foolishness. But one feels--and one counsels from"--
"Her kind heart," he responded, with quick self-blame, taking her hand impulsively. "Don't doubt that I feel that, Guinevere."
Her eyes beamed into his with ineffable admiring devotion. "There is one," she said, "who is too high-souled, too generous, for doubting. May he never suffer for his greatness!"
In part, that was the true voice of her own spirit that day; in part, mere audacity, affronting and trifling with what, as she had even then some glimmering, was in store for them all.
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FOREBODING AND DANGER.
I have become a predicting bard.
--RED BOOK OF HERGEST.
IN that morning's ride Arthur's fancy busied itself more than once in discomfort with the picture of two royally fair women face to face. But when it became real there was nothing to regret. Guinevere beamed and flowed and sparkled in full wisdom of rivalry, and won her reward; for this urgent speaking loveliness had power over him beyond any more reticent though nobler beauty.
One kind thing he had done in preparing Caradoc to accept as authentic his kinsman of London; and Constantine accordingly was made very happy.
The coronation passed in all magnificence, a breathless, proud, bewildering time; and the army, now swollen to great proportions, went northward, leaving the young queen and the remnant of her people to face whatever might befall.
Never in two generations had money flowed so freely nor in such variety of coinage through all the channels of trade,--Roman gold from Augustus to
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Honorius; the experimental island mintage of Allectus, the evanishing usurper, and Tetricus, the tyrant of an hour; older British pieces, ranging from the pure fine art of Cunebelline to mere Brigantine savagery; the fair coins of Massilia and their Gaulish wheel-marked copies. Yet the multitudinous bits of brass which alone had often served their needs before were with them still for lesser uses, being mainly the counterfeits or makeshifts of a hundred different hands.
But what all these had brought was of necessity consumed or away. In food, apparel, arms, and men, the draft on the little kingdom had been excessive. Londoners looked about them on empty fields and barns, on empty shelves and warehouses, on lean garrisons, and streets with women and children only, and there were stirrings of disquiet. Never had their city been so tempting to a money-hungering enemy; never so ill defended.
From the beginning Aurelia was alert to prepare and strengthen, with Osburn for her general in command, and Cian for her counsellor and guest. He was yet at the villa, guarded by Tigernach and a few tribesmen. She saw him often there, although, following Arthur's counsel, her main abode was now within the city wall. At times, with returning strength, he joined her in journeys, undertaken hastily hither and thither.
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At first these were indeed royal progresses, that she might feel amply guarded. But there was much to be done, and the cumbersomeness of such doing was against it. Also the cost and the loss of time and labor, when nothing could be spared, made it seem rather an evil than a good. So she took very soon to plainer ways, which yet seemed safe enough.
Once, with Cian and Tigernach, she penetrated the Andred-wood to its inmost hill-chaos of wild thicketry, and was greeted tumultuously on an open plateau about old altars by a skin-clad assemblage, more barbarous than any new-come Saxon, but with Vortimer's mother, and many older memories, to keep them vivid in Saxon-hating. She made great friendship there, for they delighted in her courage; and a band of their sturdiest men went back with her, where men were needed. But most often her wanderings were not so far.
Returning from one of these, a sound of ill omen came to Cian midway between the city wall and the villa, a sound which had not been heard before since the Emperor left them, a wolf-howl out of the forest. At once that first desperate peril of the woman now beloved awoke in memory; and her call for aid seemed verily to shock and thrill him again, as the terrible pack broke around her, a note of far range and compass, appalled, urgently appealing. He had
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this mainly in his thought as he turned to Tigernach, who rode near him.
"Did you hear?" he queried.
"Could one fail, having ears? After all, a wolf-cry is no very great thing in the woodlands."
"But here it has a meaning. The wolf returns," answered one behind them.
"What then?" demanded Tigernach. "First time or second time, wolf or Saxon or death's-head, the men of the Andred-wood are ready."
"Well said!" exclaimed Cian. But he had a sense of trouble impending, as though in truth her need were calling to him.
He hinted this to Tigernach, who kept silence a moment, then answered: "Prince Cian would have been quite well before this, if he had but eschewed the ways of those who loll in hot waters, and sprawl, gorging sumptuously, and are beaten in arms whenever they take the field."
Cian laughed, saying, "That curse, at least, has not yet reached me." But no doubt his fevered nerves might have their share in so vague a dread.
That night their converse was of secret and eerie things, the poet-mystic and mystic of the woods meeting on such ground with a fearsome comradery. Were they not face to face with knowledge and peril which went by the multitude unregarded, like ghosts in the day?
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When all was still except the low wind, Tigernach yet lingered, dozing. For all his disclaimer as they rode, a sense of menace to his leader and the queen hung about him, even at the gate of slumber.
That leader's voice came again startlingly: "Tigernach!" He looked up with a start. Cian was speaking with deliberate gravity. "Either the dregs of fever-poison are yet in me, or I am haunted. I cannot feel that all is well with Aurelia. I seem to be aware of something like a far cry from her, and a dense cloud--nearing, nearing me."
"It is fever-dreaming," answered Tigernach decisively. But he rose, and took down his cloak and sword-belt.
"What are you about?" Cian demanded. "If it be truly no more than dreaming, what need"--
"There will be sleep-walking or sleep-riding next; and I cannot tell what that might end in. Much better my riding--wide awake." He took a lance from one corner of the room. "Prince Cian, if I bring you word with all speed, will that content you?"
Cian looked at the devoted obstinacy of his face, and laughed. "I would argue the matter if it would do any good," he said.
"Nothing does any good to an ill but the remedy. I am the remedy."
"More exactly, your journey, without sleep, after nothing. But--thank you!"
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This was given with a hand-clasp and grateful eyes. There was relief in the tone.
Cian followed his partisan in thought a while. "Now he is crossing the courtyard; now mounted; now over the bridge; along the road with the moon rising behind him now"--until his own consciousness melted in a jumble of fancies. He knew nothing more until Tigernach stood in bright daylight before him.
Cian studied that face, remembering slowly. "I see that all is well," said he.
"Assuredly!" growled Tigernach; and he turned away.
Later he revealed that he had seen the queen, very early astir as was her fashion, but easy in mind, even laughing. She was to ride somewhere, on some errand, perhaps even his way. "Then our royal lady will have an opportunity of explaining in person to Prince Cian that she did not really call him to her at midnight."
Cian flushed and frowned. But he set the kind deed against the random words, and forebore. He even smiled inwardly, noting that they had a grievance in common. For wherein shall high and subtle prescience avail, if it lead utterly astray? Yet no doubt it was far better that all the prophecies of the world should fail than that harm should befall Aurelia.
He watched for her through the day; but she did
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not come, nor did any certain tidings, except--late in the afternoon--that she had ridden eastward toward Oisin, who was always needing more and more for his amphibious mission. This made a ripple among them; but it appeared that she had gone well attended, and there could be no great danger by the way.
They spoke little after sunset, for Cian was weary of himself and of all. He fell asleep quickly, with no soul-warning.
Again a cry assailed him! This time it was real and insistent: "Wake and come! Wake and come!" A glare of lamplight filled his eyes. Moreover, a hand was shaking him. Then Tigernach broke his bewilderment with a great shout, rough and wrathful; and Cian all at once began tumbling into his apparel and armor, thrust at him faster than he could seize them. A few moments more, and they were mounted and speeding away.
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THE CONFLICT AT THE LAKE VILLAGE.
True it is deliverance will come
By the wished for man.
-- Red Book of Hergest.
TIGERNACH was the fevered one now. "Faster!" cried he to the horsemen hurrying behind them. "Faster! There's not one second to lose. Ride to death; ride to death if need be!"
Cian put forth his hand to bring his follower within bounds. "Tell me," said he; and in fragments Tigernach told him, with some aid from one of Llywarch's two marshmen, who had brought the news, and was their guide.
Eschwine had indeed broken faith, coming secretly against the lake village, in the hope of seizing Aurelia. His force was a great one, according to the measure of marsh-fighting. Oisin, in perfect good faith and zeal, had tempted her to remain over long. There was barely time to send this messenger to the villa, and one other toward London, before they were wrapped all around with enemies. Neither had failed; for while they spoke sounds of contention
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came to them, as though Osburn, with his mercenaries and citizens, was vigorously attempting the guarded lower ford of the Lea. Their own route lay otherwhere; a détour reaching the northern border of the great marsh at a point where a path went inward--barely practicable and known to few.
It was not until they had crossed the lesser waters of that river that the uproar around Oisin and the queen became audible. At the same time, under thick hanging clouds, a beacon-flare of red and yellow light, waving with the wind, made a silent, powerful appeal for aid. All around it were lesser lights, doubled by reflection in water, and broken by intervening boughs. The marshman, pointing to these, laid his hand on Cian's knee. While he pointed, these divided and multiplied, as though fire were being borrowed from fire. All at once a flight as of shooting-stars went centring in from them toward the roofs under the beacon light.
Their guide gave a grunt of answered expectation, with no pleasure in it. All behind cried out once, but ceased as suddenly. In that breath came to them the fierce yell that went with the fire-arrows, and the high-keyed, harsh defiance of the villagers answering.
Flight followed flight, with the same company of noises. There was waving of flambeaux, also, about the palisades, and a huddle of dark forms, actively
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moving, below them, with every discord of onset. Here and there a fresh outburst of flame within, as some bit of woodwork caught fire, showed the defenders with equal plainness. The outlines of the houses, too, were thrown out with fitful vividness; and their walls and slanting thatch danced back and forth between illumination and shadow.
Cian lost nothing of this, but saw as he hurried on, with only a moment's halting. His teeth and eyes were set, his breath came laboringly. Prayers and curses were in his heart together.
Suddenly there were no more meteors. The torches, being inverted, flared higher, and then were dark. Shadows went hurrying back across the half-lighted lake. A loud call of taunting and gladness followed them. One crisis of the little city of refuge had come and passed in Cian's distant vision; and, behold, it was living yet. But dwellings were ablaze already, so there was no more need for the beacon.
Their course was yet wide of that shining mark. Impatience assailed Cian; doubts began to hover; the night air, now clammy with marsh dampness, chilled him thoroughly; but he clenched his countenance, and kept on unquestioning.
The footing grew soft under a thin shell of frozen mire. At every step they sank deeper.
"Where is that secret way you promised us?" Tigernach demanded sharply.
"They Went in Ribbon-like Order."
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"Here, turn!" was the marshman's answer, hoarse and savage as though from hostile lips. His gesture directed them toward that lessening riot of flame and the ruddy smoke-masses which overhung it.
They still went heavily, yet at first not increasingly so; having for path a narrow ribbon of moist but solid land, which dangled a good way out from the higher country into that bleak morass. They kept a thread-like and winding order, following the guide with good heed; their best light was the mere intermittent glimmer of a thin paring of moon from behind the now broken and marching clouds.
At last they had to leave their horses under guard at a little eyot of firm sod where some bushes grew, and pushed on afoot from tuft to tuft very precariously, now leaping, now dragging one another out of some oily hole where a man unaided would have sunk forever.
It was all a desperate task to Cian, the imperfectly convalescent; but he called wit to aid nerve and sinew, measuring the steps, and marking the footholds of the sure-stepping native next before him, and leaving rescue-work to those who were in better case for it. All strength which he could husband would be needed elsewhere, soon and right urgently.
The lights, fading down, appeared ever farther and farther ahead, until their seeming withdrawal grew disheartening. Then revelation came very start-
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lingly. Once more the earth and air were alive with confusion of sound, with volumes of reddening cloud and dragons of fire--all just before them, with only a thin hedge of forestry between. They hurried on, and paused, as yet unseen amid the lake-encircling trees, with the glare of fire and water in their faces. Their nearest enemies were not a spear's throw away.
Eager-eyed the tall Saxon bowmen stood, sending arrow after arrow in long flight with fiery mane into and over the palisade, or bending to light at the fagot-pyres the tow, tar-painted, until impatience drove them, one after another, out through the ice-crusted shallows to a more immediate share in the assault.
The lake on that side was no real obstacle to these fighting watermen, except as they could not get footing for their strokes and labor at the last. Already in and on the deep water, next the palisade, there was a broad entanglement of boats and rafts and logs and swimming men. Some of the latter were chopping steps in the tall piles before them, others were swarming up with desperate energy at points that looked more nearly practicable than the rest. Many more came to them continually, either straight out from the shore, or around the village, wading knee-deep, waist-deep, neck-deep, and waist-deep again, or swimming overhand through the ice-film with great strokes.
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To judge by the excited clamor and signs of effort, the besieged were not less busy. At the moment of Cian's appearance, two or three of the climbing Saxons were flung, from the top of the wall, with stabs or without them, and the air thickened with other missiles, often glowing hot, showered on the heads below. Yet the escalade was gaining, urged on to fury by yells of fight in the marshes toward the Lea, which were heard interruptedly through their own hurly-burly, and seemed approaching, though distant still.
Osburn was coming--resolutely, vehemently, in spite of all resistance, and with the utmost speed which it would allow; but he could never come in time. Well for the village folk, well for Aurelia, that there was no need to await him, with the Sword of Fire in person almost over the palisade!
Cian quickly spread his men to cover that curve of shore from which wading was possible, and then sent them at Eschwine, convergingly and with a dash.
Even while the last lingering archers were staring with half-turned heads at the sudden apparition of lines of armed men behind them, a great shout went up from these, which every Briton knew, and the keen cry of the marshman-guide followed it. As he sent that forth, he sprang on the nearest enemy, spearing him through the throat, and driving weapon and Saxon headlong into the water together. From
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the village came a glad chorus of many applauding voices. The other Saxon bowmen hurried out to join their comrades, letting fly an arrow or two behind them as they fled.
Nearly the whole Saxon mass was now in such depth of water as allowed neither secure footing nor free arm-play. Before them was the well-manned barrier which had so tried their strength already; behind them a bristling array of new enemies, not very many in number, but with order yet unbroken, pausing where the bottom suddenly fell away, standing knee-deep or thigh-deep without harm since their part was simply to hold their places. Only at the ends of the curving line was there any outlet.
Eschwine stood on the platform of the palisade with a handful who had followed him, fighting bitterly to make good their hold; while Aurelia urged forward her guards, and Oisin called on the wild, lank villagers, to dislodge them.
Such of the Saxons as were yet climbing scrambled desperately up to their king. The others floundered uncertainly for some moments, with cries of discomfiture. Then, back toward the shore went the sea-heathen, swimming and wading as they could, mostly spear in hand, but some with swords, battle-axes, knives, and clubs of war, keeping no order, but fierce as cornered wolves.
There was very grim fighting then, so that the
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water frothed and spouted with the frenzy of it, and men everywhere fell singly or in writhing and strangling couples. But the Saxons went down seven to one, growing momently less. Very soon there were none withstanding or assailing the Britons, but only a few who had broken through or swam around, and were now hastening to the woods, if so they might escape pursuers, and another few who sought refuge with Eschwine above the palisade.
These last were closely followed, Cian's men cutting into them as they swam, or dragging them down by the feet from the rough wood. Nevertheless, enough of them reached the top to extend very briefly the struggle of the Essex king. He gave those few moments to a charge against Aurelia, most likely in mere fury and bravado, for he could not hope to carry her away.
She did not shrink. The press behind her was such as to preclude any motion. Cian, painfully drawing himself up to the top of the palisade, discerned them both with blurred vision, and tumbled over upon the platform before her in a last violent effort.
Then another form sprang over him, a starved infuriated hovel-dweller of that border, prematurely aged, who had lost all who were dear to him by that Saxon, and had passed bodily under his torture. Like a figure of frenzy this odd assailant came at
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the Saxon chief, bony and knotted, agile as a dancing dervish of later days, white-hot with remembered outrage and ravening zeal, a firebrand in one hand, a great knife in the other, striking right at the enemy's eyeballs with the rapidity of cat-clawing, either weapon or both together--a very mountain-devil of a fighter.
Eschwine was bewildered and half blinded by the fantastic onfall. He took one step awry, swaying for the stroke that should end it; lost his balance under a new smiting of the torch, and went headlong down into the water, leaving that human firebrand to chant his pæans of victory alone.
The villagers and London men, with a shout of laughter, flung themselves on the remaining intruders, hewed them down, and cast them over after him, all but one likely youth, whom Cian bade them spare.
There were splashing and fighting where Eschwine made his unwilling dive, and many calls afterward, as that he was here, or here. Those within the wall were in high hope of his capture. But at last no one could find him, and there was little doubt that some chance had aided his escape to the wood.
Not long afterward, Osburn, with his forces, came up, all opposition having suddenly left them. Their loss had been far greater than that of the other Britons, as Osburn had steadily to dislodge an enemy
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noted for doggedness, who fell back again and again from one strong position to another.
He was ill-pleased with Cian that even one prisoner should be taken after so much slaughter and broken faith, and incensed above all against Oisin--who joined very willingly in his condemnation--for having by his spiritual solicitude brought such trouble on them all. Not even the queen escaped his censure. He would take no rest until he had her within London wall again.
Therein the villagers mightily concurred. She had indeed been the soul of the defence from its beginning; but what need to defend, if there were no temptation for Eschwine? Better than royalty with fireworks was their safe and wonted obscurity.
Meanwhile Eschwine, safe now beyond the Thames, was blaspheming and grinning together over the grotesqueness of his overthrow, as he made his way to take shelter with that half-ally, half-competitor, Aesc, the Under-king of West Kent. He had hope of aid there, when wrongs and opportunities should have been thrillingly presented. He had no thought of giving up his purpose or his future prize after all that had been staked thereon.
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LONDON BEFORE THE STORM.
I love not him that causes contention.
--TALIESSIN.
IT was but a dismal home-journey to Aurelia, notwithstanding the great joy of rescue, and though they spared her whatever they could. There were no sounds to distress her, for the Saxons had been put beyond moaning, and the wounded Britons borne tenderly away; but along that hard-fought road, which was rarely more than a mere path or cartway, the dead of either side were strewn. Hide-bound forms of the populace, and sons of wealthy houses in glittering mail, encumbered the shallows of the Lea. Roman-trained mercenaries, iron fellows of the Teuton borderland, with teeth yet locked together and blades held forward, lay where Osburn had led them again and again, up the eastward slope, ever stabbing at the face, until at last with those insistent points he bore a way over and through. They were very grim relics to her in the light of that wintry sunrise.
She paused on the London side with a backward
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look, wistful and faintly shivering. Silence fell on her companions. The face of Osburn darkened with returning blame.
"We have many dead," he reiterated slowly. "We cannot spare so many."
Cian saw her under lip quiver, and it stirred him.
"It is the part of a man to die for his queen," said he.
"Doubtless--where she is queening."
"Ask any one who fought there. How could her bearing have been more queenly?"
Osburn bowed with gravity. "Undoubtedly a hot fight, well fought--which never needed fighting. Is that queen-craft?"
"You presume too far," began Cian angrily; but Aurelia interposed.
"I cannot blame Osburn," she said; "and if I could, I would not, after what he has done for me. Nor will I blame myself unduly. I was on my proper errand, with good intent; and I am well assured that the Sword of Fire would have found occasion before long if I had stayed or gone elsewhere. For what truth was in him had wholly turned to falseness. My danger might have come where Prince Cian could not so fatally have trapped them. But I will not serve again as a marsh-decoy if I can help it."
"Your majesty is very right!" answered Osburn, with slow emphasis. "Yet it was the hardest cuff
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Eschwine has taken. Mere luck saved him, to sting again--if we let him get ready."
"But Eschwine is in neutral territory."
"No Saxon is neutral," exclaimed Tigernach.
Osburn grunted assent. "We should strike all who harbor him, and talk about neutrality afterward."
Aurelia smiled, shaking her head, and looked at Cian.
"It might be fairer," he admitted, "to ascertain first whether they intend to come with him against us."
"You don't doubt it," answered Osburn. "Fooling is dangerous."
"We might try an embassy to Aesc of West Kent," Aurelia suggested.
"An embassy to the wolf's teeth!" growled Osburn. "I know the cut of them. The two fiends are cousins."
Cian considered. "I feel with you," said he. "Yet we may be wrong. But if we could keep this down to a fight with Essex! We need risk no man. There is the prisoner."
Osburn and Tigernach muttered something with black looks.
But when they were again in London and in council, Aurelia sent for the youth.
He came between guards, with a fair show of nimbleness, both in wit and form. Bright colors in stripes bound his legs from foot to knee. His tunic
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--he had lost his mantle--was of scarlet, broidered with tattered gold. All this gayety of garb had been dimmed by swamp service. His head was bare and sunny. His right arm hung in a sling.
"What is your name?" Aurelia inquired graciously.
"Wulfhelm," returned the lad, with a bow.
"Wulfhelm, Wulfnoth, Wulfgang, Wulf!" muttered Tigernach distastefully. "Show me a Saxon name without the wolf in it."
"Better wolves than sheep!" retorted the Saxon.
Aurelia looked at the woodland chief with offended eyes. Then, turning to her prisoner, she said gently, "Wolves would have slain you."
"True. I owe my life to the boar's head." He bowed toward Cian.
"I will leave you to him," said she, with a smile.
Cian had not thought his cognizance known so far, and the allusion pleased him.
"What I need of you is very simple," he said. "Ask the King of West Kent for me--'Is it peace or war?' If you will do this, you are free."
"To join the Sword of Fire?"
"What you will."
Within the half-hour he was away.
"If they kill him for the inquiry, at least it will not be one of our own people," said Osburn. "Let us make ready to fight--in case the answer should be `Peace.'"
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While he busied himself in and about the city, Cian was given charge of all the northern and eastern country to and beyond Caer Collin, where he made his headquarters. Chariots began to grow plentiful, even to be a jest. Not a smith nor wagon-maker but was overdriven with work on them.
His late signal triumph answered all murmuring. Truly it had been won where scythes and wheels could never be of much avail. But there was plenty of firm open land for them. Osburn had already begun to obstruct the river with barriers.
Wulfhelm was back very speedily, with the answer "Peace," and left again hurriedly. But there were more disquieting tales through other channels, and the work of making ready went on. It was too late to do more.
Daily the population of London grew, as the few remaining people of exposed places flocked in at the urgent call of their queen. For she had begun to dread lest she had brought ruin on some of her friends by persistence in untimely scruple.
There was a little stir of trade in the shops again, as provisions came from far corners of the outer country, and mouths which must eat them. There was a stir of labor also, both in strengthening the defences and bringing disused homes into some kind of life and service again. The houses yet intact were mostly
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crowded. Many tented families occupied in part the belt between these and the walls; and others lay about near their fires in the open air or under any rude shelter.
The Celtic and pagan element of the cruder sort had been re-enforced beyond any other. Its manifestations of grotesque faith and fervor were disquieting. The dread silent watcher of the White Hill--dead but sleepless--was more than ever a power among men, but the power of a palsy.
The victory in the marsh, that made Oisin's people chant so loudly, did not turn the tide. It was too plainly the rescue of one who had been quite safe while within the wall and the promise. How grievous, too, were the losses that followed her escapade!
This current of feeling disturbed Aurelia. Her amplitude ef vision and contact with many beliefs had not wholly freed her from a fantasy born in the blood. Sometimes, when weary, she seemed to feel eyes on her out of that august burial-place; and though such fancies might be resolutely put by, the legend haunted her memory.
"Sylvia," said she, in a lonely hour, after many trying things, "what am I ever to do with all these people?"
"Send for papa!" was the natural child-answer.
Aurelia petted her, but did not look exhilarated.
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"He is busy elsewhere," she replied. "No, my dear, our papa cannot come."
Sylvia gazed at her with the huge responsibility of tender years called on for a decision. Presently it came abruptly: "Aurelia, send for Prince Cian."
At that name the queen sister put her involuntarily away; then, seeing in the little counsellor those lip-quiverings which precede the tears of pain, Aurelia folded the ringlets very close to her, exclaiming: "I did not mean to be unkind."
"But why?" began the pretty wondering mouth and eyes together, uptilted from their nest.
"Oh, never mind, never mind!" and a soft hand pressed the sunny head down again. A low laugh followed, with an echo of self-impatience in it. Presently Aurelia said, with complimentary gravity, "I think so highly of your advice, my dear, that I am going to do just as you have said. And that is more than I always do for our wisest old men. Even our good bishop," she added meditatively.
"He isn't a 'good bishop,"' declared the child, with emphasis.
"Why do you say so?"
"He talks against Prince Cian."
"Ah!" Aurelia found herself admitting this in evidence. But she answered very justly, "They don't agree, you know. And when people don't agree they misjudge."
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"I don't like him," persisted Sylvia. "Besides, he hates our Holy One, the sacred Head. He hates Vran!"
"Why child; what do you know of Him?"--smiling at this echoed earnestness.
"Just what so many people say. What you have told me, sister."
"I--oh, I have told you many things. As an old tale, not for certain truth."
Sylvia pondered dubiously. "Anyway," said she, "I think it's very good of him to keep watch for us. And such a long, long time! Just think! And only a head to him! It must be very lonesome, Aurelia."
"Would you like to see it and talk to it, then?" Aurelia blamed herself for the question before she had done asking it.
Sylvia sprang up and off with a gasp, looking about her and trembling. "No!" she cried, with a stamp of her foot, half-petulant, half-terrified.
"There, there," said Aurelia soothingly. "I see the most fervent partisans of the great Vran are even more so at a distance. I must own I think him rather a frightful defender. But you wouldn't be afraid to talk with--Prince Cian?"
"No," demurely; "I love Cian."
"Oh, you do!" said Aurelia. "Why?"
"Because he is good--and kind. And he kills the wolves and the Saxons."
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"So does Oisin. Didn't you hear how he made the people knock Eschwine into the lake?"
"Yes," judicially, "I love Oisin too."
"What, that little croaking rook of a man!"
"Yes, I do."
"But he doesn't like Vran."
"I don't care," with another glance around. "Don't you love Oisin?"
"I like him, and trust him, and prize him."
"Don't you love Cian, Aurelia?"
"I like him, and trust him, and prize him, too. Sylvia, don't you love Osburn and Vortimer and the great Emperor?"
Sylvia reflected. All items but one were passed by in her slow answer. "The great Emperor Arthur was like the sun, when he rode in his armor up the northern road," she said. "I was very glad to look at him. But he is too far away."
This lingered in Aurelia's mind with something, perhaps, of that comfort which we find in a spokesman raised up for us unexpectedly. Both of these notably strong and picturesque men had been in her thought and her fancy, and the child had spoken.
Yet, when Cian came hurrying to her presence, he was received only with an elaborate presentation of affairs. For the moment he would gladly have been back at Colchester.
He took himself to task after the manner of the
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disconcerted. Beyond question, the queen had good right to send for him when needed; nor would he loiter by the way if thus summoned again. Ay, Cian--yet hardly would that coming be with the same stir and thrill of expectancy, a star-gleam going on before.
But soon she passed to matters of more intimate disquiet--those eyes of fire that verily burned through black night out of the blacker hillside; the frenzied processions winding upward in the moonlight, imploring an answer.
"Did they really hear anything?" he inquired.
"A thunder of words in tongues unknown. The sound came to me even here. It makes the votaries more assured, more darkling, more uplifted."
Cian looked grave. He could not feel so sure of the redoubtable obstructive dead, as of wonders which belonged to the common faith of all elder Britain. Yet, true or false, it was a very disturbing feature of local lore and pride.
"I will see and hear to-night," he answered at last.
"Oh!" and she put her hand forward dissuasively; then added, with quiet self-command, "If it seems best to you."
That let the sunshine through. Surely he was, at least, a little more to her than a mere engine of war and pillar of the state. His look, going beyond his
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will, told her of what he saw and felt, and her face warmed again.
But before either spoke, word was brought of the presence of the Saxon whom they had freed.
"Let him enter," said Aurelia, surmising urgent tidings; but Cian fancied a touch of resigned vexation in her tone.
When Wulfhelm appeared, the marks of wild unresting haste were apparent all over his new and brave attire. He had indeed come fast and far, and sighed with relief, as one who could not hold his course much longer.
"I thought never to be here again," he said. "But since my word was `Peace,' your destruction unarmed would weigh on me more than death."
Cian took his hand and pressed it. "So they are coming," said he.
"From everywhere--the town of the Cantwara, the wet Merscwara country, the walled isles of the sea, and the valleys of the Darent and the Medway. Both Kents and all Essex. They will strike at the heart, hoping to catch you asleep. And that very soon. They look for rain and mire to clog your wheeling scythe-devils."
Cian bowed to the compliment. "So they hope to see my chariots mud-locked at Colchester?"
"That is their hope. I brought word there, found you gone, and followed."
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Cian looked him over. "Will not Eschwine carve the blood eagle on you for this?"
A shiver passed through the young man's frame. He made no answer.
"Oh, stay with us! you shall have what you will," cried Aurelia.
He glanced at her haughtily, softening to indulgence, but answered nothing.
"We will neither tempt you nor hold you," said Cian. "But Cerdic is as good a Saxon as Eschwine, with a greater name, and hates him no less than I."
The face of Wulfhelm brightened. "Will you send me to Cerdic?" inquired he.
"Surely. That is over little for all your peril and kindness. My letter to him may aid you. He knows of Cian Gwenclan. Sooner or later, with him, you will be made happy in fighting against us. And now I pray you to await me below, for we must see Osburn."
At the door Wulfhelm turned again, and came back with extended hand.
"It is not only for the life that you have given me," said he. "But you have not asked me to change my soul,--to become a Briton."
"A fine compliment!" quoth Cian; but he seized on the hand with kind eyes.
But what he saw in those of Aurelia drove the Frank and the Saxon together out of his mind.
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AN INTERVIEW WITH THE DEAD.
"An astrologer then he may be . . .
He would make the dead alive."
BOTH elation and trouble were in Cian's heart as he walked towards the White Tower between Wulfhelm and Tigernach, the three together nearly filling the narrow ways. The two enemies by race at first eyed each other across him with looks of reserve, then kept on, saying little.
As they ascended the hill, although not on the haunted side, the face of the Andred man grew reverent, his very feet moving as if in deprecating good will; whereas the Saxon glowered and grinned sardonically at the hostile holy ground, as though very willing to disbelieve, but hating and fearing. This contrasted witness of the two men to the intensified power of the legend impressed Cian very deeply.
They found Osburn disturbed about the matter, and in no amiable mood. He bent devouring eyes on the outwardly indifferent Wulfhelm, until Cian explained how much they owed this young man.
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Osburn listened gravely, put a question or two, declared himself satisfied, and forthwith issued orders for an escort of honor befitting a noted chieftain. "My best way of thanking," he observed. "It may help you with the King of Wessex."
Wulfhelm grew taller in his delight and pride. "This will pair with Prince Cian's letter," said he--"the best fighter and leader that our great enemy, Arthur, ever had."
There was a deliberation in his praise, evidently intended to enhance its value. It cost effort.
Cian laughed. "Over commending may make a bad ending," quoted he.
"It wouldn't do to tell Maelgwn," suggested Osburn, quizzically and grimly, though kindly.
"If my tongue makes an enemy for Prince Cian, my hand can unmake him," Wulfhelm replied stoutly.
"No need to defend one who has commonly been able to defend himself," Cian declared. "Yet I thank you; farewell."
He turned to Osburn, when the others had gone. "You have made the lad's fortune, yonder; and I am grateful."
"I paid my own score," was the answer. "We're all in one crazy boat. I've been looking for such news. Now's the last chance to strike, but with what? Half our people crooning about that death's head of a Vran, who unluckily isn't where he ought to be."
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There was a defiant uplift of the voice in the close of this denunciation, proving that the denouncer was not wholly fearless and at ease with regard to the power upbraided. The northern prince felt this, and therefore disliked the implied blasphemy all the more.
"Whatever else may be said of Vran, he is ours," Cian replied gravely.
"And we are likely to be his," retorted Osburn. "Much like an otter with one paw in a trap, and the hounds coming."
Cian smiled again. "Not so bad, I hope," said he. "It is something to find such terror-breeding power in a dead Briton. But I mean to try persuasion and argument with him this very night, if you will have me duly awakened."
Osburn stared and laughed oddly at the means suggested; then, on second thought, looked at him with mingled hope and disquiet. Prince Cian's repute for occult knowledge hung about him like a magic robe. Just what might be possible with such a man, it did not become a Frank soldier of fortune to say. But, after all, what need to shrink from a comrade who had done so well? If there were other weapons which he could turn to account, by all means have the good of them.
"Bring 'old Vran' to terms in your own way," quoth he.
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Late that night Cian was duly awakened. "You may hear them at it now," said the Frank sombrely.
They listened. A hum of voices, low and thrilled, but broken now and then by some sharp cry, came from the southern face of the hill--a murmur charged with dread and anxiously imploring worship. "The Saxon coming is bruited abroad already," said he. Osburn nodded.
The two went out together, taking a half-circuit. It was dark everywhere, yet, as always, a little lighter up the height; so, from the hollow which they had reached, the mob of swaying, gesticulating forms might be discerned like living shadows. The voices of them were chanting an invocation monotonously, all together, except a passionate break or call now and then.
While the two men strained eye and ear, a sudden outleap of light made Osburn throw up his hands, as though he feared blinding. There was a gasping cry among the worshippers, and then all were silent in dread and rapture. For the glare was dual, and came seemingly from within the hill, as though two great fiery eyes were seen, not quite nakedly, but through a film which hardly dimmed them.
Every human figure had moved aside in fear, and was hidden by the great contrast.
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"There lies our task," said Cian, with resolute effort.
Osburn forced himself to look. "I--will--go," said he.
"No," answered Cian. "You cannot help here. To say truth, I doubt if any one can."
"'To say truth'--come away!" urged Osburn, with sudden revulsion. "Anything for duty! But I would rather go at the Saxon army with ten men."
Then he seemed to bethink himself. "After all," said he, "there should be nothing within one's command which one doesn't know." He braced himself for the ascent.
Cian answered, "If--or rather since--Vran is in your command, how much greater must you be than the angels of Heaven, or the lords of the darker place!"
Osburn said nothing, and they went upward together. For ten steps or more the glare was on them, with preterhuman life and will in it, long smouldering. Then--suddenly as it began--there was darkness. Not the mere obscurity in which one may discern outlines or shadows, but the smiting of blindness which follows a lightning flash when clouds are heavy, and there is neither moon nor star. They stood still, being helpless. Then they were aware of curses uttered in the black void, and that the curses were for them. That was never a pleas-
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ant sound to any man, least of all when a very little fancy-play might make the unfriendly sounds unearthly also.
"I gather that they charge us with bringing them into disfavor," said Cian.
By this time they could dimly see a medley of figures, the nearest almost touching them, all swayed by some eager feeling. The voices had changed again, and were swaying, too, in a low singsong of adjuration.
Again, as in response, came the dual outglaring, so that every one before it stood vivid in vision,--marshmen, hill-folk, city rabble, villagers, even a few soldiers, nearly all the forms, it seemed, of London life within or without the city. Into the heart of the light Osburn could not look; and he felt, rather than saw, that it had two radiant points as before. Sounds came out of it also, addressing Cian, as it seemed to the Frank, in a tongue unknown; but he could only turn his eyes a little aside, and note what he might between darkness and dazzle.
For Cian, that light soon softened into friendliness. He was aware of no cleft in the hillside through which it could come; but he seemed to follow it to a subterranean chamber, with walls like those he had known at the winning of the golden corselet; glassy as by fusion, dense and ponderous, yet illumined, by a dreamy light. He was dreamily
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aware also of a presence within it, but the form and aspect he could not certainly perceive.
The voice which Osburn heard, and many more as well, came thence to him with meaning; for he well knew that ancient speech of the island, which was now forgotten by all save adepts among the priesthood and wonder-workers. The popular fancy ascribed it unto the squat necromancers of the north who dwelt in hollow terraced hills before ever the Druids came, and who were Celtic in nothing except as being the topic of Celtic song and tale.
"He who cometh," it said, "bringeth my own."
It was a mellow sound, though so deep and resonant. Cian understood the allusion to the golden mystery that he wore. After a pause, the voice resumed.
"What he hath won he shall wear, and not yet hath ended the winning. Yet the victory lies not in wheels, nor shod hoofs, nor winged blades, nor the fleetness of men and beasts, nor in any manner of onset. The great waves shatter on the rock while it abides their coming. If it roll to meet them, it shall be lost in the depth of the sea. I, Vran, am the life of London. He who would go forth to battle, leaving his life behind, must needs take death in its stead."
Cian was awed and shaken; yet he felt that he must make answer and inquiry. He spoke with
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reverence. "As one who has been admitted to the light, and has wrestled in the darkness, I would ask why it is your august will to lay a palsy on us."
There was no reply. The light shone on. The crowd listened, recognizing no word.
He inquired again: "Is it the part of men to nestle under the hovering wing while the Saxon hawk is sweeping the field?"
There was stillness again, and he fancied an angry wavering. Those about him shared the fancy; for there were murmurs, blaming presumption. But he hardened himself and raised his voice. "London is without the walls no less than within. What aid had I of Vran when the queen was threatened in the marshes by the Lea? Withdraw, then, your prohibition, I adjure you! Let the life of London willingly go forth with its strength."
At this there was an indescribable stir of light and sound within the crypt. The voice thundered forth amid many echoes. "Woe unto him who heeds not the words I have spoken! Woe unto him who idly breaks my holy peace and vigil!"
Then, as by the shutting of a lid, all was blackness and silence.
There breathed a great sigh among the people, as knowing that the awful communion was ended. A few struck lights, after a brief time, and began to talk, though suppressedly, as they moved away.
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Cian knew that their attention was on him, but with little hostility.
"Hardihood wins favor," said Osburn. "The more they think, the stronger you will be with them." He held himself erect and weightily while thus moralizing; but, when they were well around the curve of the hill, he drew a long breath and moved faster. "Better a terrible friend than a terrible enemy,"he said bravely; yet his eyes went back over his shoulder.
"What do you call this Vran?" he demanded a little later, pausing squarely; "Ghost? God? Devil?"
"Pray ask me an easier question,"responded Cian. "A highly patriotic and mysterious Londoner, with a sense of what is due to himself--so much, at least, one may say. What he was, you partly know, and there is not any man who knows wholly. What he is--may be a mere trick of priestcraft and false voices."
For there was a soreness in Cian over that abrupt ending.
Osburn looked at him, and shook his head. "A hard saying that for a brother wonder-worker!" he observed very dryly.
"You do me wrong,"answered Cian, with smiling dignity. "If I have concerned myself about hidden things, it was not for deceiving."
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Yet each remained in doubt, with little faith as to the explanation by trickery. Osburn was half-minded to move his headquarters. But there was a sense of shame in flight, even from the unearthly. And by the haunter's own averment, it was a place of peculiar safety.
Cian slept little, what he had seen and heard lingering on in his mind. Moreover, there was the dread that, on next issuing from the walls, he would be at the head of ghost-seeing men foredoomed by their fears to disaster.
When the queen heard the tale the next morning, it was with no great heightening of concern, that being near its highest already. At heart she would have been better pleased than the men with extra human aid; but its limitation stirred her more angrily. What, desertion as the price of protection? Defensive magic bounded by a petty ring! Cruel selfishness made holy! Shameless and shocking niggardliness of the mighty dead! Her own words made her tremulous; but she was set on befriending the weak in their peril at any risk, and on doing her full duty, although every power of the unknown should thunder against it.
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THE FIRST SERVICE OF THE CHARIOTS.
The wonderful rush of the gale,
The pervasion of fire, the war of youth.
--CUHELN.
NOT so much for the oracles of the dead as for the tidings of Wulfhelm, such communities as were still outlying were warned and summoned yet again. Colchester, confident in its strength and the weakness of the enemy before it, sent no fugitives, but even aid. Oisin, for the lake-village, responded with a blast of denunciation directed against all truckling to the heathen and the devil. But there were few other exceptions, and in particular every soul southward of the Thames came pouring in with absolute assurance of the enemy close behind.
As always, these first tales brought the danger nearer than the fact; and there was little certainty of any kind until Tigernach, with a party of horsemen, scouted out to a hill overlooking a good reach of the road.
Here he came suddenly on a mounted party of
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Jutes or Kent-folk, well-blown with the speed of their advance, and sent them back hurriedly, for that was not the arm in which the Saxon excelled. Behind were many footmen, the main body of the army, so the pursuit went no further. The glance that he gave in turning showed Tigernach the three Saxon kings riding together near the van, Eschwine between the others.
He bore the news homeward. Before his party had crossed London bridge, there was a great uprolling of smoke and flame from more than one spot behind. Voids cried, "The Sword of Fire! the Sword of Fire!"with quick recognition.
A great overspreading and sagging of clouds coming up from the sea threatened these Saxon bonfires with a speedy end. "Something from heaven for our side," said Osburn. "To clog our wheels with mire," grumbled Cian. "We must make a push while we can."
Acting on this thought, he set his chariot-procession in motion. Many horsemen and footmen followed, the legionaries and some Christian bodies of the town men pushing forward with alacrity; while the greater mass, who adored Vran or feared him, required all Aurelia's urging. The most utterly prophecy-ridden were left at the last in the outer defences, being more likely to spread panic than to fight.
Cian found his enemy in the open country south-
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ward beyond the marshes and the first low hills,--a great spear-point of men, with another close behind. Eschwine strode in the tip of the former; in the space before the latter rode the young king of West Kent.
Cian threw out his few archers in front, with orders to aim at Eschwine only; then spread his chariots in a very open line, so there should be no entangling in the rush. Osburn and Tigernach led the cavalry, next behind, fairly numerous and good. Last of all the infantry, to cover the archers when these should be driven in or withdraw, and at all times to afford a bristling nucleus. At the best the array was pitiably meagre in comparison, excepting those wheeled engines of uncertain prowess.
The first drops of rain were beginning to fall, as these came rolling forward. The archers, well ahead, kept the game to themselves for a time, excepting trivial responses from scattered Saxon bowmen. But when the especial intent became obvious, and Eschwine was nearly smitten off his feet by half a dozen arrows that reached him all together, a wrathful outcry arose, and men broke from the wedge to get at his assailants. Before these were back again, the chariots raced in among them, each with its chosen fighting man and with its armed charioteer on the shaft. Perhaps a third of them bore also revolving scythe-blades on their axles. As they rushed
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through, mowing and tearing, the horsemen swept around on either side, and dashed against the broader part of the wedge.
Nothing stood before it, not Eschwine, who was all but ridden down by Cian himself, and swept, exchanging blows as best he could, back to the post of his Kentish ally. Not that potentate either; for the very next chariot on the right sheared at one plunge both the legs from his screaming horse, and it and he rolled together. Not the Saxons of either front in either wedge, for the mounted spear-man of that day was the better soldier, and what was not done by the thrust, or the push of the excited beast, the downward sweep of metal was sure to make good. Thus line dragged into line, then broke in fragments, while the battle-axes took them keenly, and the two charging bodies of horsemen met in the midst.
Then was there mere confusion of fighting, where the darting Britons drove at any Saxon cluster which might be found, and the Saxons made head as they could defy them, for few would leave the spot. Meanwhile the British footmen came up, and a far greater number of the Saxons.
Obstinately the heathen clung, like winter fruit, to pole or rein or wheel, avoiding as best they could those ghastly mowers of steel, or clambering up on the chariot from behind. Withal they were so very numerous and determined that it was often hard
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to make any headway; and here and there a vehicle was overturned with slaughter of the inmates. Although Cian and Tigernach disengaged a few horsemen and chariots to beat back or cut up reenforcements, the great bulk of these last very quickly took part in the battle.
There was now only a great mass of Saxon footmen, thinner in places and thicker in places, through which the chariots were cutting lanes; while into the borders horsemen and footmen were pecking with desultory assaults. But the soil was not over firm, and every rush of the wheels tore it, under the incessant and thickening rainfall, while the hoofs and wrestling feet aided in churning it into mire.
A little more, and that power on which Cian most relied would be quite helpless. At the first outlet, he sought the open ground with such as he could signal, and then, in swift rushes, freed others where best he could; and the remainder, catching his thought, everywhere essayed the same. So, very briefly, there were again two hostile armaments, each arrayed disorderly, but one vastly the greater, with a narrow interval between.
Then came a great Saxon onset, heavier at the right, where Eschwine led. Osburn struck across his path, with quick interchange of blows, whereby each was slightly wounded, until the wave of men bore the Frank aside, and the Sword of Fire well
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into the mass of his enemies. But the chariots, even where they could not move freely, at least served as barriers, and a group of three or four that were anchored most firmly checked him like a rock. The British footmen clambered upon them, and smote down, or thrust spears through the wheels and between them, and under the horses' necks and bodies; and there was a very bedlam of struggling and screaming.
Meantime Cian had wheeled about with two or three dozen of his war-vehicles where the ground was firmer, and came plunging in a half-circle to take the Saxons crosswise--the horses gasping and wild with effort, the wheels going deeper and deeper, now and then coming up with great leaps that nearly unsettled charioteer and rider together, or bounding aslant, in clashing over fallen men, who lay singly or in locking couples, and could not shun them. It was the clumsiest and most preposterous of counter-charges, but it served.
At the same time, those who were a-saddle, minding less the mire, struck in where they could, or galloped along the border of the Saxons, lancing them. So, after a time, the flood was surely ebbing; and Eschwine, finding himself altogether cut off, doggedly fought his way out and back, and was glad enough to be with his men again.
"The work of the chariots is done for this day,"
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said Cian bitterly. "We must not leave them here." It was a hard thought that they might have won him a victory, but for the falling deluge and the softening ground.
So, before the enemy had yet gathered themselves to try another assault, he set his footmen to freeing the sunken wheels, and led his mounted lances and battle-axes in a spirited dash at Eschwine, to cover the work.
That astute Saxon was not at all deluded, yet had no choice but to meet it. Indeed, Cian's weapon, quivering as it struck his sword-blade aside, very nearly transfixed him. But at that moment Cian reeled, the spear-point veered, the shaft rattled on the ground. An arrow, shot out of the mass of men before him, had seemingly struck him full in the breast over the sprig of misletoe, an inviting mark. Yet, as he came upright again, and turned, now sword in hand, all of either army who were near could well see that no part of the thin gold or silver had sufered any scath, and a great cry of magic went up about them.
Eschwine himself, though he doubted, was no longer wholly in love with the encounter. Partly for this, and partly for Cian's greater skill, it fared badly with the great Saxon, so that he took a sharp gash in the hand, and another in the cheek; and when he leaped up to grapple, the point met him
"He Led His Mounted Lances and Battle-Axes, in a Spirited Dash at Eschwine."
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half-way, cutting through the flesh of his left side. The hilt sounded against his ribs, driving him staggering earthward.
Then there was a rally of Saxons over him, and a wrangle of the old Greek and Roman fashion; and at the last Cian broke away with his men to rejoin the chariots, already moving cityward. The golden mail and the mistletoe spray were bright as ever. He had left nothing but his lance behind.
But the Saxons began to feel themselves victors, with the well-won prey escaping them, and ran breathlessly in pursuit. There were times when depth of soil gave them advantage; but in the main, traversing firmer ground, the superiority of four feet over two showed itself. If the Saxons broke ranks in over eagerness, Cian or Tigernach or Osburn, with a cohort, was back at a gallop among them directly. When the whole mass made a vehement push together, it was hampered on every side by light smiting charges that clung a moment, and came again, frittering away all impetus. At last, when a bit of gravelly upland was reached, within sight of the walls, and the rain ceased for a spell, Cian wheeled his chariots about, and struck back with them very surprisingly. The sun shone out on the moving steel with manifold glinting.
Before the forward running Saxons the British footmen had broken partly away, the horsemen also
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slanting off divergently. Through the gap hurried the gayly-clad stream of warlike men, the young king of West Kent at their head. Then wheels and scythes and horses and fighting men dashed at them in counter-charge all together, with a rumble and a crash; and, while they smote, the horsemen and footmen on either side smote also. There was very wild and reckless turmoil for a while of the blinded among the blinded, in the midst of which that long-tapering tongue of the Saxon army was torn and shredded, and so whirled back to the lower and softer ground.
Before they recovered, Cian was well on his way to the city. But one hope had failed him.
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THE MIRTHFULNESS OF GUINEVERE.
Usual is wind from the north,
Usual for maids to be lovely
Usual a handsome man in Gwynedd,
Usual after drinking is derangement of the senses.
--LLYWARCH.
ARTHUR the Emperor and his army, bound northward, made good progress, for all their many appurtenances; having under them an excellent Roman road, beaded with rich and helpful cities. Some of these contributed men also; but there was one at least which levied a draft on those gathered already. Yet, after tasting the good things of Verulam, and witnessing how much of the white glory of Rome was yet kept alive in the moonlit beauty of her shrines and porticos, and above all her great amphitheatre, it was not easy to remind her friendly people that they might as wisely have had care for stout walls and a better armament of their own, to keep these fair things in being all the longer.
Nor would it have served any purpose. Hither the wealth of Londinium, when once out of trade, had drifted for centuries; and though there had been a
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passing thrill of zeal and persecution, leaving still its memorials in a very few Christians of the Oisin type, the Rome which dreamed on in Verulam was mainly the nerveless and pleasure-loving Rome of the days before her fall.
Guinevere was infatuate with these people, their easy, laughing philosophy, and the indescribable loveliness of all things around. Even after departing northward, on the second day she declared herself aweary, and that she must needs return. A force went back with her for better protection, although the Emperor had been constrained to leave a garrison already.
"Verulam gives us not much in return," said he, "beside the memory of pleasant hours." He looked at her with kindly, wistful eyes, as though he would willingly have heard the wish recanted. She, giving look for look, warming and melting, made answer. "You know--how well you know!--that I shall follow when I am restored but ever so little. Must a woman be an iron campaigner, or there is no love for her?--not any, not any!"
For they had been betrothed since before leaving London. With the words repeated, she offered her lips bewitchingly. He kissed them, laughing, and yet again in his delight. "I would not have you an iron campaigner, Guinevere!" he answered; "it might be painful."
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"How could I know?" she replied demurely. "Half the time you spend with Prince Llywarch or my uncle or your Lancelot, weaving plans, till I feel like a poor tangled fly, with you three grim spiders watching."
He laughed again. "Have you the heart, then, to call Llywarch 'grim,' and the daintily stately Maelgwn? Surely I shall tell them. Above all, since one of them must go with you."
She did not show the covert contemning smile that was in her. "You scarce can spare Llywarch's counsel," said she. "And he is anxious incessantly for Argoed. Maelgwn and I have long known each other, boy and girl; and for that little time I can abide his pretty graces."
This, to startle out any disguises of his, that she might see it. One reluctant word from him would have left Maelgwn to Arthur and the army. She had no mind to risk empire in any degree; although--that being safe--there was nothing to hamper her fancy and sportiveness, come of them what might.
But Arthur made no sign, being too trustful and too sure of his supremacy in all things, the grace and the foible which together slew him. "Let it be Maelgwn, then," said he; and embraced her lovingly for farewell. But when her face was safely turned away, her smile did not resemble his, having a merry derision in it, not hostile, but foresightful and aware.
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When Caradoc, her uncle, heard of this return, his brow grew stormy, and he sought her. There was long speech between them that wearied her, but she met him steadily with the uncomprehending openness of a child. "Why not Verulam, then? And why not Maelgwn, her own old playfellow, whom he had first invited?" And Caradoc, the rough and ready, though beginning doughtily, soon found himself at a loss how to speak and not to make more mischief.
Guinevere, to whom nothing could well have been suggested and found new, easily read him, and wondered at the dulness of men who read not her at all. Yet she knew that the veil over his vision was not so dense as that upon the Emperor's, the love being less in degree and in nature different. So she deemed best that their talk should end without more risk of disclosure.
Therefore her under lip quivered, and quivered again; and there were grief and pride in her face as she stiffened herself, sitting upright.
"Since every coming and going of mine is to bear comment," she said, then broke off, adding, after a minute, "will even the Empress--when she is Empress--be spared Prince Caradoc's censure?"
Her tone stung him; and he went out forthwith, holding his breath, lest he should say more. Yet soon he laughed aloud in the surprise of finding so much loftiness where other traits had been. "Our
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kitten will bear rule overwhelmingly," he cried. "Ay, but what man's ruling?"
Meanwhile the "kitten" laughed also, rolling about, after her kind, the silken ball wherewith she had been embroidering. But, however she might seem to the nearly gigantic Caradoc, there was nothing minimized nor pettily outlined about the charms of Guinevere. As little, also, of over amplitude. If kitten at all, the word must have belonged to some greater and more perilous exemplar of the feline tribe.
As always, she had her will; and Maelgwn rode back with her, flattered, tempted, anticipating, yet uncertainly at ease, finding her the very perfection of uncomprehending, incomprehensible decorum. At him, too, though in her heart she liked him best, Guinevere was covertly smiling. In Verulam there were labyrinths, or what might pass for such, with many things to see.
In these, wholly by his contrivance as he thought, this Lancelot, before three days went by, was for many minutes lost with her and wandering. They paused in a shadowy corner, half below the ground, lit faintly by a narrow stream of yellow motes, which came through some cranny above them. Little else could he see, except bright living eyes fixed on his own, as if they would speak to him thrillingly. With no word or movement of hers--the provocation yet came upon him so strongly--he took Guinevere,
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all of a sudden, and kissed her face over and over; until--rallying but a little before searchers came--she made him, by word and gesture, set her free, and stood quivering, palpably insulted.
Yet not so that others should see in that dimness. Nor, as they passed out through it, was her cold silence toward him observable, all being full of query and narration as to the losing of their way. In the sunlit outer air she was quite her daily self again; and he wondered at her containment, which allowed not so much as an angry flush or a meaning glance to appear. Yet he knew well that, whether for punishment or reward, the matter would not thus end between them, and that the memory would dwell through life with him, over stirringly, of those few moments in the mazes of Verulam.
As soon as might be he sought--and found with no great effort--opportunity to make his mercy-beseeching plea. She heard him at first severely and with extreme offence, made obvious; but his passion was permitted to move her, above all by memory-awakening allusions to early days. She must grant, judicially, that he had fared ill with her, and that the fault was not all his own. She hinted of her uncle's pressure, and grave reasons of state and duty, and paused on the very verge of remorsefully hinting her feminine love of brilliancy, and the tempting attributes that begirt the station of the Emperor.
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The regret that she would not precisely utter he yet found in her half-sigh, when she announced, with positiveness of words--and almost of tone and mien--that her lot was now settled beyond all rightful disturbance. She displayed to him didactically and with elaboration how very censurable and distressful such disturbance would be; for though their earlier experience might this once excuse--as but brotherly--such tokens of kindly feeling, these were easily to be misunderstood by the world and by one above them.
Moreover, if there were to be continuance thereof during her high betrothal, how could she trust him to leave her in perfect serenity even when uplifted to the Emperor's side? wherein might be a gulf of ruinous disaster beyond all foreseeing! True words, as the event proved very sadly, but with suggestion in them.
When he had gone away, contrite externally, she bethought herself in idleness how long it would be ere such dangerous dallying would come to pass again. She had no regret so far, since nothing was as yet seen or known; and Maelgwn, the daring, fervent, beautiful, and forbidden--was he not tempting also? Yet wisdom might hold with abstinence until all was safe. There were moods when, regarding what she had in the balance, she wished him well away.
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Oddly, before long he felt likewise; although his heart had exulted as he left that adorable presence, and the half-admissions extorted seemingly from the grip of will and duty. Defiance ruled him too, of himself and of all others. A power bore him along unresisting, with only some dim inner question as to what should follow. Yet in a little time that questioning grew; and one word which he had heard used of them in the labyrinth abode with him still--the word "lost."
How many other losses there were, and worse--of fidelity and honor and manhood and all that was princely! The soul, most of all her soul, counted for something likewise; and so did the words that she had said as to dark days in store for all the land. Now and again such thoughts leaped out upon him as real things, and he shivered in the saddle under the bright sun. He had never more than a faint hope of resistance, of holding aloof. A grasp was on him, at once loved and hated, until it seemed that interposition of any sort would be welcome. Yet he resented the word of command when it came, though it was almost a summons to battle.
This was from Arthur, most kindly, with no mention of the watchful prompter Caradoc. At the second reading, the wholesomeness of a soldier's effort came home to Maelgwn; with awakening self-scorn for lingering softly and warmly about a woman soft
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and warm--and untrue. At the third, he was all abashed by the greater strength and manhood of his imperial leader, too great and kind to mistrust on the very brink of treachery.
In the quick revulsion of his wayward soul, he was all passionate devotion to that injured comrade-king, all remorse and bitter eagerness to repair the wrong by fierce service and hot blood. Yet, courteously, he went first to Guinevere with tidings and farewells.
She read them before he spoke, and forthwith perversely wished that he should stay. Also she was pleased to keep him in the wrong, with no mitigation, but rather exacerbation, of shame. Her resolute austerity of aspect, so foreign to her texture and outlines, and broken by quick waves of feeling that seemed to be beyond all government, was a nearly intolerable thing. At the last he broke away blindly, not knowing what would befall if he were to look and listen longer.
When he had gone she was first angered and astounded; then mirthful, with some touch of scorn; but after a little not ill pleased that the risk of unwary demeanor was in any way removed from her. Yet Verulam soon grew a weariness; and the game in which she had so great a stake called her northward by easy stages to that bright border city where she knew the imperial encampment to be.
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ARTHUR AT LEGIOLUM.
The first thing to be aimed at
In every usage and action congenial to the brave
Is a pure life unto the day of judgment.
--TYSSILIS.
MAELGWN had been called to withstand those North-folk and South-folk who were pressing through the fens and up along the streams to the assault of Caer Lerion. They menaced also the cities of the Cam, and that great Ermine road which was the main artery of Arthur's northern army.
All along it, where the risk was great, troops had been left in clusters and nuclei; but these needed leadership. Meanwhile the enemy, though in scattered bands, grew daily thicker and more fierce, with concerted movement seemingly in aid of the vaster gathering under Ossa Cyllalaur.
He felt the opportunity tinglingly, being quite in the mood for smiting out self-chastisement on some one else. All the better that this some one should be Saxon! His overflowing zeal and vigor reanimated all his following, who so maltreated their many scrambling assailants, by ambuscade, open rout,
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relentless chasing down, and whirlwind-like surprise in their own strongholds, that he was soon able to promise the Emperor immunity from further trouble.
It was too brief and confused an experience to be called a campaign; a mere chance-medley in detail, fought out by detached parties in a dozen places at once, but withal co-acting rationally to one end. Arthur's best lieutenant began to feel in some measure rehabilitated in his own eyes.
Arthur, too, was relieved; for he needed all watchfulness toward the front. Elsewhere everything went well. His appointment of Constantine, at once a pleasure and a tactful compromise expedient, had amply justified itself. Many threads of management were weaving through the fingers of the merchant who had been king so nearly. Never had Legiolum been more adequately provided, even in Roman times, with all that could comfort man, or make him formidable. Recruits came also with his provision trains from distant valleys. With the spreading of the news, there were adventurers riding in daily to volunteer.
The brightness of the city was a magnet. The reckless, mirth-loving temper of a frontier garrison was enriched by the still remaining beauties of an elder time wherein lay its pride, and by the influence of that imperial court which blended Celtic picturesqueness with the lingering majesty of Rome.
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What more had earth to offer? Men rode into Legiolum to the tossing of light words and lances, high-hearted with the mead-cup and the zeal to display, eager for the beauty and the thrill awaiting them, and for battle in that realm of wild emprise and mystery that lay beyond.
Arthur, knowing deeply his people and in full sympathy with all that lent glamour to their life, wisely gave rein to their romance, enlarging it in every way. Week in and out, there was jousting, with the clash of keen weapons on armor. The Emperor himself often came to look on, thoughtful; also the sunbright Guinevere; the presence of either lifting strife into frenzy.
Only in such things could she comprehend and aid him, but there she was a power. Not queen of the revels only, but queen of all revelry. Furious it grew at times, yet never beyond her pace; and frivolous, yet never too light for her footing.
There were some who shook their heads over this, but their uncertainties could not live on before her gracious tongue and eye. Mindful of what presence was near, and admonished by the near past of Verulam to be wary, Guinevere was a masterpiece now of giddiness adroitly shown to be in keeping with wise policy, of exuberant kindliness that never became unqueenly, of extravagance in genial merriment, wholly delightful.
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Yet at times what was most earnest in Arthur went back to a nobler queenliness beside the Thames, or forward to matters of hope and faith in which his sunbeam-goddess could have no share, or out toward his redoubtable enemy of Caer Ebrauc, with real longing for a trial of skill in something more manly than cajolement. He could only promise, in self-assurance, to be strong for both; and protest that she was the very bloom and sparkle of life to him, which he must not altogether forego.
Yet in duty he must watch London and that stately maid whom his word had lifted into danger. It was a task made easy by the solicitude of Constantine. At first all went well. Disquieting rumors followed, which yet might be set aside. Then, suddenly as a cloud-burst, there fell on them all the tale of Eschwine's treachery, Aurelia's danger at the lake-village, the swift sequence of punishment and rescue, and the Saxon's flight to kinfolk beyond the river, with all that it presaged.
Arthur sprang to his feet, and smote out his anathema. Constantine waited before him, watchful, reticent, and bitter; for he loved his daughter, and harbored unacknowledged hope. Now what dreadful things had nearly befallen her, while a lesser woman filled his Emperor's heart and eyes?
"It was Prince Cian who saved her," he said.
"God bless him!" cried Arthur. "He never de-
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served better of me; and that is saying much undoubtedly. As to Eschwine, let him wait. Other Saxons claim me now. Yet if there were a myriad, I would get at him yet for this,--and with the hand of death. Meanwhile, pray urge on her to keep within the walls."
"Prince Cian has already done so."
Arthur moved uneasily, but answered, "His are very safe hands. Worthy of any reward."
After that, little came to them beside matters of preparation, until the sudden march of the Saxon kings on London, and their struggle with the chariots in the mire. Then Constantine and Vortimer, this once together, were for detaching a strong corps to relieve the city. All the northern men protested as strongly, Guinevere siding with her gay companions. Arthur stood in the strain of counsel, wavering beyond his wont, until fate spoke the final word for him by the mouth of Llywarch.
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IN THE VALES OF ARGOED.
The men of Argoed have ever supported me.
--LLYWARCH.
THE absorption of the Prince of Argoed in his little realm had grown on him daily, as he went northward from London with Arthur's army. In his genial way he was a man of duty, nor could anything warm or brighten him more than his people's love. On the very eve of the entry into Legiolum he sought and obtained the Emperor's assent to be gone.
"For surely," said Arthur, "no truer man ever went anywhere. Take Dynan, if you will, for company, and bring me word of whatever you may find that will be any aid."
In the spirit of their time, that friendly pair, all alone, rode straight out into the outlaw-haunted and homeless land which lay next beyond them on the northwest, as though adventures were the especial gifts of heaven. Their voices went ringing in song through the hollow woodlands and the morning frost, or echoed among great rocks at the close of the short, still day.
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Beside the night-fire on the hill-top they matched well in minstrelsy; although Llywarch touched the harp to his own lays, Dynan, as he said, to those of many others. But they were every way strange to his companion, and some had an elfin revelry to make one stare. Questioning drew only a laughing answer. Whatever the truth might be, such melody suited well the slender lance of fortune, his nimble wayward wit, his flitting unexpectedness, his unvanquishable gayety. Surely he might well be half akin to the wild wee people of the hollowed hills, driven from the sunlight to the moonlight, yet whirling their dances and pealing their elfish laughter in the face of an iron fate.
One day these twain came suddenly upon three hostile men, who would have been called felon-knights in later days; very dirty, stout vagabonds, in armor which was green with verdigris, who lived mainly by robbing lone houses, and picking up what they might between town and town. They showed fight, being the stronger party as it seemed, and also hungry, but did little damage except to the harp-strings which were hanging from Llywarch's saddle-bow. After that there was voice-music only, but it answered; and this was their only adventure on the way to Argoed.
It was a bright morning when they entered the head of one of its lesser branching valleys. From a
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spring at their feet a rill went downward to a slender waterfall, and a woodman's cabin, where children already were looking up from their play, ready to run or cry. Other such homes were visible every way among bare hillside boughs, or in dimpling hollows and glades. There was nothing squalid about them as far as could be seen. The unseasonable mildness of the melting air made the crude scene gracious after the desert they had left. Dynan uttered a low exclamation of pleasure.
"Yes," said Llywarch, "there has ever been warmth in Argoed." He stooped, and tossed the water with his hand so that the drops fell in a shower. "How bright they are!" he said, "as, indeed, they ought to be. They go to make the Vale Royal. The least of them is on its way to the unconquered fortress-queen beside the Dee. Come, come!"
He strode down the hillside, leading his horse. No boy returning home after weary exile was ever more blithe of heart.
But this proved too much for the wavering covey below. They hurried into hiding with much outcry of terror.
He called after them, in a mellow voice of reassurance, "It is only Llywarch! Your good friend, Prince Llywarch! I shall not hurt you."
But evidently the name had no great nor sure
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meaning to them after his long absence. Not so with their mother, peering anxiously from the doorway. She stepped forth at once, calling it abroad as joyful tidings, for the ears of her husband and son at work not far away; then advanced to meet them, with a pleased, if ungraceful, welcome. Yet, almost before she spoke, "Llywarch, Llywarch!" resounded from every side, and hurrying figures were breaking the brittle undergrowth.
"This is a better reception than any monarch could give you!" exclaimed Dynan, doubling the delight of his friend.
"We are of one mind on that," answered Llywarch; and in a moment he was among the throng of them, with heart-greetings and eager inquiries. But presently the two must mount again and hurry on.
As they rode, the valley wound about, and joined with others and widened, until they could see where it ended, as did many like it from every quarter, in a sunken, hill-rimmed space like a bowl. Neat hamlets enlivened many parts of it, with signs of thrift multiplying all about them. A walled circle near the outlet showed where Rome had left her mark through early imperfect imitations. Near the centre of the bowl, in the sunset, over the level land, his little capital, Loidis, lay smiling.
"I don't see that you were distressfully needed here, after all," said Dynan, looking about him.
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"With such stewardship, a man might safely go anywhere and stay forever."
"I must tell them that," answered Llywarch; "here come the stewardesses."
"Those ladies?" for a party of distinction, at a distance, were riding towards them.
"My mother and my sister--Freur by name," explained Llywarch, bowing sedately; though, of course, it was well known already to his friend.
In a few moments these were with them; the elder lady of a gracious comeliness, and showing all the vigor of that long-lived race; the daughter brightening out of habitual thoughtfulness, which yet had a gentle and sympathetic charm. She was darker than her brother and slighter, with all allowance for the difference of sex, yet indefinitely like him notwithstanding.
Dynan rightly felt sure that these were very good people, not proud beyond what is well for mortals, but above all meanness, and alive to every call of love and duty. They gave him a very frank and ample welcome to Argoed.
Freur rode back with him, chatting of many things,--her pretty toy-world so much more perfect in itself than she knew!--the outer wonders which had come to her only in reflected vision or echo, but of which none could know better than he.
Then Dynan told her the glory of camp and court
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and lovely dream-like cities; the shattering of arms on armor in mimic battle; the riding two by two, day by day, on high and mysterious quest over bleak waste-land or through goblin forestry; the putting forth of ships adventurously westward, where any monstrous form or scene divine might yet be hidden; the century-long combat with the ever-raging sea-heathen, wherein spears were bowed like the bowing of thicketry, and came on with the rush of the wind. All this was an awakening to her indeed.
Llywarch heard, with less enthusiasm, from his mother those secrets of statecraft which even princedom in a glove-box could not wholly dispense with. Here the village leader to be conciliated, there the trusty subject who had deserved every rewarding, and again the spirit of mischief that stood cryingly in need to be repressed. There was no disparaging smile on the face of the court-minstrel and widely ranging soldier. He well knew how real and great his mother found these things, and what witness to her methods there was around him.
A few happy days followed, in and around Loidis. Llywarch brought the flutter of new life into the little state. Here and there men were sown over it who had fought for him and Arthur long ago; or households that missed a member now in camp under the walls of Legiolum, or, it may be, garrisoning the far southwest. He was the pride and hero of
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the land unto all; its future "shelter in battle" should danger turn aside, as well might happen, into the quiet dells of Argoed.
The eyes of Dynan also found enough to fill them. Loidis was charming, though less charming than Freur. Here he came upon no great ruinous villa, no disused military station half made over to suit later needs. Roman civilization had been felt only as a humanizing thrill, a delicate tint and flavor. The best of this lived on, with much that was delightful beside.
There was no noisome quarter, no street where Freur could not accompany him with pleasure. The houses were often very attractive in coloring and design, the streets broad and well-shaded. Down the stream which flowed through it, lazy flat-boats often floated, laden with fleeces and orchard produce for the queen-city of the Dee.
But soon all this must be left behind for an inspection of Cian's patrimony, where already the Saxons were troubling.
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A RIDE THROUGH THE SAXON-WASTED LAND.
By the common oath,
In the midst of his Cymry
Defending Tren,
That wasted town.--LLYWARCH.
TWENTY men rode with them; this time not through desolation at the first, for some hearth-smoke was always rising. Yet the human thread remained very slender everywhere.
Toward the end they came into a better region than the hill-country of Argoed; but plainly it had fared much worse. The ruins which they passed were significantly humble ones, and of recent date. There was that in the air which made human spirits fail. The faces of men looked haunted and fugitive.
Dynan felt it all with strange intensity. Though dropping his passing word of hope on unpromising soil, he sat often for a long time by the fire with chin on hand. His soul, tired of despondent things, went lightly over the hills in his musing, to find Freur of the pensive eyes in her cloud of hair, amid the calm of eventide.
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It passed on also into a future that should not be lived alone. In lovely scenes he saw her; but all faded away as he sank from those welcome visions into the wilder, vaguer, and more shifting ones of sleep.
Then a dread thing came to pass. A woman-like form held his eye. Waveringly apparelled was she in that lightest, filmiest green of the bud-bursting in early spring. Whether of good or evil, he could not say, but a being of the subtler world most surely. He could not fix any lineament and remember it. There were only the essence of a mockery, a living, denying perversity, an inexplicable power to whirl away and inthrall. He was aware of motion, as though that head of haze and starlight were very slowly shaken. A voice like running water reached his ears--"No, for I claim you." There was a sound as of the blowing of his own elfin horn, a rush upon him of many terrors; and in the dawn he awoke. But thereafter his mirth grew fitful and no longer free. The unearthly chord in him answered to unearthly vibrations.
Not all were overborne in Cian's realm, but industry had been broken. Why sow, for the raiding enemy to reap or destroy utterly? Why build the bonfire of the Furies? Life tended toward the simple ways of hunting and herding. Flocks were gathered within walls of a night, and often by day.
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They were made also to grow, in a manner, by wide-ranging, retaliatory forays. Villages had given place to towers with outlying enclosure, even the prince's birthplace being more a fortress than a town.
There they found Cian's father, badger-gray, and badger-like in endurance, with two war-hardened sons, both a little uncouth by reason of harsh conditions and stunting. Proud of his eldest, fighting far away with Arthur, the old man, from first to last, had set his teeth, holding the bones of his princedom with a bitter grip, sending news of each victory as best he could, but stifling every cry for aid. Even now, in trebly welcoming Llywarch, this tough old border-king--who still maintained that title--must needs tempt him aside, and beseech him to be silent. "For we would not draw Cian away from the greater work before him."
Yet the thought crossed the Prince of Argoed that right here, in the midst of these hate-stimulated, half-organized resources, well within stroke of the enemy, there might be for Cian of the Chariots such an opportunity as no one had yet felt or seen.
Even to Llywarch, free as any living man from Druidic ties and mystery, strange allusions were addressed, having to do with the occult power, fore-knowledge, and design of his friend. There was very evident expectancy abroad of great things from him.
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In this sequestered and battered bit of the island were more men than elsewhere who had openly taken to the restored rites of Mona with superabundant zeal.
But Llywarch and Dynan were not even yet in the extremest ragged selvage of living Britain. The rush of the northwestern Saxons through the old soldier population--the far-descended offspring of many races in garrison along the great wall--had borne fragments before it which resisted as they could, and for the most part left them stranded at last along the edge of the great woods or in isolated fastnesses.
Thence at intervals masses of people came in, of varying quality, often before unheard of. Still out in that land, now growing strange unto men, abode the sons of the crags and caves, the daughters of myth and rumor. It seemed well every way to seek these lost people of the wild, and also to see with his own eyes what the Saxons were doing. Therefore they took horse again, with Cian's youngest brother for escort and guide; also a few of his men. Their course was partly at random, with frequent changes, but having certain points in mind where people who had taken refuge were reported.
One of these they found, but not its people, nor any hint as to why they had gone, or when they had been borne away.
Another small settlement lay north of the Saxon
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war-road which ran toward the cities and valleys of the west. There was little to be noted in it beyond a very hideous idol-god in a hollow and doleful place. Even a sea-robber would hardly covet it.
"I thought I knew all about Poverty," said Dynan; "but until now I never saw him bowed down to and worshipped. There's not a doubt of it. As soon as I set eyes on the old fellow, I knew him for the jolly abominable acquaintance of early days."
These demi-savages were but faintly stirred by the name of Arthur or by any news from the south. Yet they fancied themselves, vaguely and crudely, more in the world than were some others,--especially the cliff-people, of whom, in their uncouth way, they told wonderful things, after the manner of men concerning what is hid by a veil, though near. For across the interval bands of Saxons and lawless renegades were roaming continually.
Not long after setting forth again, the explorers had some taste of these latter people. Riding briskly through open woods, their hoofs rang out such music from the frozen ground that they tempted an ambush. A flight of arrows, coming from everywhere, emptied three saddles together; and then spears were in play.
During the first bewildered moments, there were those who would have fled if they had any fancy whither to go. But Llywarch and Cian's brother held them together by voice and deed; while Dynan,
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catching sight of horses, made for them with a great clamor, whereby the Saxons lost their main advantage, being driven to hurry from covert in defence of their booty. Yet even this proved unavailing; and in the end they were driven away, leaving most of it.
From one of them, wounded and captured, Llywarch learned that their foray was a most recent one, made on those very people whom he sought.
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AMONG THE CAVE-DWELLERS OF THE SCAUR.
With a fair maid, a paragon of splendid form,
Have I been wandering in gloom and among sprites.
--MERDDYN.
THE snow was driving, the wind was making uncanny noises, and the night was coming on with benumbing cold in those naked heights where Llywarch and his company had travelled for a day and more, when they rode out suddenly on the brink of a cliff. Below their horses' heads there was nothing but air; a great rough wall, snow-dimmed, opposite; the bottom of the cleft in shadow already.
"It must be the place--the Scaur, as they call it," said Dynan, but not very confidently; for of late nothing had been quite certain to them except losing their way in the storm. "Look!" he exclaimed the next moment, jubilantly pointing across.
The sunset reflection from a cloud that floated high was thrown aslant a ledge of the opposite cliff. There, faintly rose-flushed in it, stood a token, quaint and homely, of man's presence,--a brown goat, motionless as though carved from the rock.
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"Not wild," said Cian's brother. "He listens for men without being afraid."
Then, drawing breath, all of them raised a shout together, which the echoes hurled from side to side below, prolonging it down the valley.
At once there rose the barking and baying of many excited dogs of every degree. Human voices awoke also, in tones of concern and warning, then ceased with a sudden hush. A half-grown lad, bow in hand, was where the goat had been, peering keenly upward, but holding himself ready to spring away at need. The arrows which he carried were held loosely, as though snatched up on the moment. A ragged mantle of some bright stuff dropped from him as he turned, showing a goat-skin tunic below. But the knife-hilt in his girdle had the glitter of jewellery, and he was brow-bound with gold like a chief.
At first sight of them he called out gladly, then paused, shading his eyes for closer scrutiny. Thereupon they announced their names and quality. He seemed to strain in comprehending them amid that reverberation of sound; but he repeated "Argoed" with evident recognition. He indicated a way down quite near them, and shouted delightedly below. Then the hubbub began again, but in a different tone. They saw him hurry down, with a gesture to show that he was coming to guide them.
It was needed. On reaching the shelving ravine
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of their pathway, they found it so enveloped in murk, so steep and narrow, winding and uncertain, that they slipped willingly one by one from their saddles, and felt their way cautiously, bridle in hand. But before any real trouble had been encountered, sturdy figures were beside them, offering aid, though sometimes in unfamiliar speech. The stripling who had greeted them across the chasm was almost among the first, wofully out of breath, however willing to be voluble. There was a kindness and wildness of pride about him which they found becoming.
For some moments, to the discomfiture of their horses, great movements of light, as from hidden fires, had rolled and shot across the valley. As they turned a corner in reaching the level ground below, there came on them a flood of smoky brightness. Looking up-stream, the cliff swelled outward at a little height over the turf, so as to form a long, low, narrow chamber, now stockaded for the protection of cattle. Horns and ears appeared above the pointed stakes and well behind the gorse-fires, too much accustomed to excitement among their human companions for any grave disquiet. But their own horses and some of the recaptured ones made stout protestation. They had, therefore, to be picketed farther away.
On the flat summit of the arch a good pile of solid wood was blazing. Behind it, a broad patch
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of blackness, fitfully relieved, indicated the cavern home. All about it were men and women, variously clad, but mainly in some makeshift between civilization and the life of the wild.
One tall and martial figure, though very aged, borne just then on a litter through the entrance, lifted himself at sight of Llywarch and Dynan, and waved his hand with a sonorous call of welcome. A warmer greeting awaited them when they had mounted the path to his side.
"There is not much that Edyrn can bid you to," said he. "This hole in the cliff has been castle and banquet-hall and everything to us for so long that we have come to love it as men will love their home. But more sunshine than I can tell you is in the heart of a long-buried old man like me for the friends who come to him with kind faces and good deeds from the living world of his own people."
"Not surely Edyrn of the Scarlet Coat?" inquired Dynan, with a bewildered air.
The old man's eye brightened, but he smiled and shook his head. "That great hero--my father's father--died while I was young," said he; "before misfortune"--
At the word a spasm of coughing took him, and two of his people bore him out of the smoke and heat. At the same time a very graceful and womanly figure issued from the cave, going anxiously toward him,
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but with a side-glance at themselves in passing,--kind and grave and gently curious. Llywarch's heart stirred as at a summons. Those eyes of Lebanon and of the desert!
The same Oriental quality was in the countenance and bearing of the venerable man who now addressed them, a Christian priest, undoubtedly, by the surplice he wore. No need to explain that this, kept sacredly, had outlasted all other outer apparel, and so come of necessity into daily use. An odd contrast! for by all hints of aspect that venerable figure should rather have been practising the grim rites of Astarte, or the thoughtful magic of Zoroaster, under fervid skies far away.
"Pray come in," said he. "The torches are lighting. The evening meal will soon be ready." They followed him into the now brightening and reddening cavern.
It was a great natural hall, with a long table in the middle, of oak slabs hewn to tolerable smoothness, but left uncovered. Seats of various patterns, mostly crude, were along the sides; one at the farther end being throne-like and carved with elaboration, as if brought from elsewhere. Many doorways opened into branching cave-chambers, which served the various needs of the settlement. Some of these were left open, others hung with skins by way of curtains; almost all had been smoothed and rounded from
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their first rude shape. As Llywarch was marshalled through one, there came to him through another a vision of a domed sparkling chapel, and a whitespread altar aglow with tapers, as at a thank-offering. He bowed without speech. It made his heart swell to think that his coming had been so devoutly welcome.
The priest had seen the motion. "We could not do less," he said. "We have never done less when any one has come to us, by God's will, out of the life of Christian Britain. We esteem them his light-bearers."
"Angels, that is to say," laughed out Dynan. "Oh, now, if you are going to convince us that we are angels!" His face grew respectfully sober, as he added, "But I saw indeed a spirit of the holy twilight pass in before you bade us."
Llywarch looked repression; but the priest accepted his words quite simply. "It was my dear daughter Sanawg," said he. "She has been lighting the tapers. You saw her also with the chief outside. And now I hope you will find here all that is needful. We of the under-world must content ourselves, not with what we would, but what we may."
Truly a very incongruous toilet provision awaited them. The water running freely through clefts in the rock fell, indeed, into a natural basin, half niche, half ledge, and thence into a greater one in the floor
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itself before passing away. But to supplement these--there being so many guests--a great variety of vessels had been brought and filled. One, richly ornamented, was of silver, heavy and pure, the little arrows, cupids, and snake-heads around its border, and the rounded outlines of the nude, struggling nymphs below, gleaming in the torchlight. Just beside it was another, of uncouth shape and ill-baked clay, almost like some child's plaything moulded of the roadway mire. Then a finely woven piece of tarred wicker ware. And again a shallow thing of fretted coralline pottery, very thin, and resonant even to light tapping.
"There is something of all our history here," said the old man, by way of comment. "If it links us one way with the savage, it links us the other way to kind homes which the Saxons burned for us, and the vanished beauty of Isurium."
"It is a city my father has spoken of," said Llywarch, with a tinge of sadness.
"And it may be of some who dwelt there," suggested the old man, smiling. "If so, you perhaps have heard of me, `Gwydion.'"
"Often!" exclaimed Llywarch.
"Who has not?" echoed Dynan.
In their minds an old song-fragment ran:--
"Gwydion ap Don of the toiling spirits,
By enchantment created a woman from blossoms."
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With it came to mind a repute for learning so wide in range and uncommon in quality that the rumor of magic went with it. They saw how well the look of the man and his accessories fitted the fancy. Dynan shifted his footing. Llywarch seemed half uneasy, then smiled at himself.
Gwydion reassured them pleasantly. "I could not venture to cope with one so much more nearly allied to faery," said he, pointing to Dynan's wonder-working heritage. "But in truth I am very far from a magician. Nothing more, I assure you, than a harmless old man, who has learned a little something of a great world, and a much greater one to follow. Meanwhile I aid a hero, still older, who needs it, and strive to keep yet a remnant in the right way. The church of God has taken to the under-world before."
He bowed, and passed from them. Dynan hummed the song-words to himself again, "a woman from blossoms" coming forth aloud.
Llywarch splashed impatiently, half-drowning his face in the water, then raised it good-humoredly.
"I should not wonder if you have hit the mark," said he.
When summoned again to the dining-hall, they found a fire burning at the far end, seemingly for the good of old Prince Edyrn, who sat nearest it, now in full vigor and almost impossible youthfulness. As he completed for them that joyous greeting which had
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been interrupted outside, they could see that their mere presence, and the revival of old patriarchal memories, had left little need for any other cordial. All the cavern people, both men and women, in due succession were made to know them, even to young maidens; for of these last, not uncomely, there were more than a few. The sounds, rather than the sight, of children showed that these, too, were plentiful, though just then in some subterranean hiding-place.
Now, whether of Edyrn's will or her own, Llywarch was given seat nearest that of Sanawg, daughter of Gwydion. Very gracious and welcoming he found her; subtly strange with that beauty from afar, but more than pleased to please, and eager beyond eagerness to hear; yet self-restraining, and willing to learn by his general answer rather than by closeness of questioning, nor in any regard less than modest. But, as to that, there were so many anxiously querying or boastful that she had little need.
Edyrn in especial often spoke, exulting openly, as one who deemed the Saxon host would soon be broken, and that the great Emperor with all the embattled powers of Britain would come sweeping by, to do him honor before the setting of his day,--the dream of a lone champion who sees, after years of hidden strife and silent waiting, the gathering of many friends! The hearts of the young men warmed toward him; nor less to the grand old priest, the
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wisest of his day, yet child-simple, keeping faithfully one little taper of faith aglow in the hollow of the hills, out of all sight but that of God, abiding in patience, manful and holy, the slow wearing from them day by day of whatever was most gracious and lovely. Llywarch knew, moreover, that Sanawg read the admiring compassion of his soul, which made him thankful.
Merry as that gathering was, even before the mead went round, it left ample room for pity. Rich ornaments were among them, for gold and jewels lose nothing by time; but in apparel there was much of savage makeshift, much also of spectral gentility. Sanawg's own robe would have been tattered but for careful mending, which yet showed over plainly, and seemed the more faded in seeming for the brightness of the brooches that fastened it over her shoulders. The men had fared even worse, as her father's expedient indicated. The commoner sort went mainly in sheepskin, as did also a few of better quality, whose words, nevertheless, were well chosen, and their bearing courteous exceedingly. Others, martial figures, wore Saxon garments, no doubt the spoil of some dead raider.
That was an evening which bade fair to have no end. When the table was cleared, and the mountain mead circulated no longer, or only in distant corner eddies, the yet more grateful quaffing of tidings from
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the outer world went on increasingly. For now nearly all could come thronging about the narrators; and their aged leader, chuckling and brightening, was less than ever extreme to mark what might go amiss.
Then were the campaigns of the great Arthur fought over again, and the reviving glories of the South grew visible to their eyes,--Caerleon, Caer Badus, Caer Gloi, and more, bourgeoning about their white Roman marbles with the fresh current of life that had been turned from the Thames to the Severn; Camelot, queen of the hills and the border, wherein old Rome had little part or none, but all was the fantastic thought of Merlin, or the high hope of Arthur, or the fresh splendor of the young island empire, bodying itself in many diverse forms on high; and beyond all, that gathering of princely men about the Emperor,--the men of glittering joust and wild-wandering emprise, of mystic aspiration and daring beyond all their race, the fame whereof had penetrated already into distant nooks.
Old Edyrn thrilled under it. "I had heard--I had heard a little," said he. "Even in my time, taking some hint from Rome, the great Ambrosius had begun,--even in my time, while I yet held some fragments of the great wall for him. There were games of strength among us then, and tilting, and sallies to find what we might set aright in the de-
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batable land next the heathen,--all which has since grown into more, and holds the seeds of such promise for a race like ours. Praised be God that these old eyes have been held open until the true break of day." Then Gwydion and all the people responded, "Praised be God!"
Sanawg, only, said not a word where she had sat, bending, all her life in her eyes, while first one guest spoke, and then another. Presently she rose, and stepped away. Coming back with a harp before her, she laid it in Llywarch's hands, saying gently, "We have heard still more of what the princes of Camelot and of Argoed can do, or we know it without hearing." As if his fame for minstrelsy were already abroad among them, voices clamored on every side for his battle-songs, his wild war-music; and Dynan, mischief in his eye, urged them on, suggesting new incentives and more apposite praises.
So Llywarch took the harp, laughing but proud, and played and sang as never before. The eyes of Sanawg had been in his at the giving, and something passed between that lifted him with a great exultation and bore him on. A world of subtle power possessed him. The old intoxication of battle revived with transcending stir and swell in the thought that for her, and beings rare as her, the great fight above all was raging. He sang of Vortimer, son of Vortigern, and how amid the running of the foam-beads and the curv-
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ing crash of the breakers, that hero smote the heathen, boats and men together, by the great rock on the shore of the Gallic sea. He sang of Arthur the Emperor, child of mystery and of terror, star of the southwestern ocean haze that rose beside Tintagil, and now, in victory after victory, a portent and a promise, astounding the nations of the heathen, uplifting all his land toward what she yet should be. He closed with a great burst of appeal to every living Christian soul in that last clashing of Armageddon which was now upon them; and it left all trembling.
Then Sanawg, as if moved by some power beyond herself, came forward and laid her hand on his arm. "After that, no more!" said she, in her tone a solemn, half-defiant pride, as of one under glad enchantment.
Gwydion said gravely, "Do not interrupt our guest, my daughter." He smiled, and added, "We have all been beyond ourselves, under a greater magic than silly folk ever ascribed to me."
Llywarch shook his head, murmuring, "Gwydion, lord of the toiling spirits, by enchantment created a woman from blossoms."
Sanawg flushed a little, and smiled a little, feeling many eyes on her, but answered with an awakening look, "I am not dreaming, my father, nor in the shadows of faery. Surely I am thankful to Prince Llywarch for thinking so kindly of me. We will de-
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lightedly listen again to the harp of Argoed." For she thought there might be shelter therein. And she drew away a little.
But he answered, The sweeter music ends the ruder;" and they who loved her, having the melody of her voice yet in their ears, were well pleased with his words.
Then Dynan, aware of his friend's longing, took the task of the hour to himself, and told them vividly the strangest and the most stirring things, one after another; while Llywarch, with slight comment, more and more drew from the circle, as by drifting, until, even among so many, under the tossing and rolling of the torchlight and billowy shadow, he and the daughter of Gwydion were together again. The huddle of eager people was a screen of privacy to them, and so were the many voices.
She did not at all withdraw, but willingly made room for him, and speech with him, in very modest gladness, asking and telling of things less general than had been spread before all. He felt, surely, the underflow of personal concern run through it; so that, in bidding good-night, the parting of their eyes was like a lip-pressure. Llyvarch seemed aware of her presence yet with him when she was really there no more.
Then he went out through the thinning men-clusters of the great cavern, where some were casting
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themselves down to sleep, and took the way to his good horse, in frosty starlight, although he had little fear but that all was well. The stave of Dynan was in his ears at every step. "A woman from blossoms!" Ah, but not of this pale, cold, anxious northern land; flowers of the air they were, flame-golden, yet striking no root in polluted earth; night-bloom of Tyrian purple, distilling a sacred twilight dew. For Sanawg, the cavern maiden, was already a great inciter of hyperboles to the Prince of Argoed; and, in giving her life, Gwydion had wrought more enchantment than he knew.
The light hand of the fairy's child fell on the dreamer's shoulder. A low laugh came after it, as of one who knew. Llywarch, turning face to face in the faint light, laughed also.
"I have seen so many, many women," said he. "I have laughed and sang and feasted with so many. And now "--
"You are bewildered, as I see," answered Dynan, nodding. "But these are sudden times; and a soldier's love, like his fighting, must come quickly, or it will be little good,--in a world where nothing lasts long."
At the tone of those final words, Llywarch came out of his musing, to look on this true friend with some sense of trouble. Something--a very little--he had surmised between Dynan and Freur, but
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knew of no cause for disquiet in that, being very willing.
"You are a man of happy fate," quoth Dynan. "There is none to bar your way."
"And who on earth should bar yours?"
"None on earth assuredly;" said Dynan, and turned back, while Llywarch stared after him.
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THE RIDE TO ISURIUM AND A WILDER RIDE HOMEWARD.
Bright were the burgh dwellings,
Many its princely halls,
High its steepled splendor,
Many a mead-hall full of human joys;
They perished in wide slaughter,
Therefore these courts are dreary.
--THE RUIN, Codex Exoniensis.
NEITHER a jesting and subtly minded friend's enigma, nor even a sudden seizure of love, will avail very long to keep a man awake when outworn and weather buffeted. Llywarch, with all his people, slept well underground through the remnant of the night. Indeed, much later, for daylight meddled not in that place with either dead slumber or dreamland. No man nor woman molested them, for mercy abode there also.
But when their first awakening was heard a very mirthful echo came from the main cave-hall, where voices grew loud and plentiful, as after restraint withdrawn. Yet few men remained when these laggards entered from that side cavern which had been theirs for the night. There were only invalids, and
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the aged like Edyrn and Gwydion, with many children, and women of every degree. Sanawg came also, revealing more heart in her face than they all.
Very playfully she chided her warlike oversleepers, wondering aloud whether such were now the leisurely fashion in great Arthur's encampment, and whether Ossa Cyllalaur would be as tender of rousing them as were the wild cave-people. Outside, the sun-jewels were on the thin night-fallen snow.
This was the first of divers restful days; for these hidden people had much to solace their life in good fare and hunters' pleasure, also those gifts of the dairy which mountaineers chiefly love.
It so befell that each of the leaders among the guests found opportunity for some exploit which might be long remembered in tale-telling when they were gone. For Dynan, the swift of foot, in one of their hunting-parties, fairly overran a wild boar among the upland ravines, and cut him behind the ear with a slant deadly stroke before any dog came up, or the beast could turn at bay. And Llywarch, one black night when a bear came sniffing about the beehives,--their main hope for mead-honey and home-like merriment,--sallied out with a torch in one hand and a spear in the other, scattered the uproarious pack from before the niche of the rock where that great robber had sheltered himself, and spitted him fairly
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through the heart, in so narrow a pass that any slip or failure might have drawn death to him.
Sanawg did not often take part in such rough games, even as a witness. But for a good part of every day she was willingly with Llywarch, sometimes guiding him to wild and secret places, where rivulets came showering out of the cliff-front, making icicles among the lingering fronds of the fern; sometimes into soft, moist, branching valleys, where the cattle and horses found some little pasture even yet. Less often they ascended the cliff, and ranged the open hill-country for miles, watching warily for Saxon raiders or other unfriendly people. As the end of his stay drew near, they planned a wider flight, even to the wreck of Isurium.
All of the quaint cool colony wished them well, holding them near betrothal. But the thought of this journey made her father grave, since rumors were abroad that the Saxon host had begun drifting that way. But Edyrn took Sanawg's hand with a laugh, commending her daring, and the brave sons that should some day be born of her, until her cheek flamed, and she turned away. In mercy he turned his words also.
"Llywarch," said he, "it is like enough this ride will give you all that the Emperor will care to know. Somehow the Saxons find the dead city more to their taste than the city of the living. It will be a marvel
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if you do not see an army worth looking on when you get to the broad plains beyond the ruins."
"But then," said Llywarch thoughtfully, "I must own that our dear lady would be safer where she is."
"If safety were all," replied Sanawg, "we must admit that it would be safer never to have come into the world. Life is the most perilous of adventures."
"The wisdom of Gwydion! The sins of the fathers visited"--chuckled Edyrn.
"And it is so long since I have seen our old home!" urged Sanawg, not adding, what was in her thought--"I may soon be where I can never see it again."
But this, too, Gwydion understood. A moment he stood by her meditatively, stroking her hair. "Then go, my dear," he said gently; "but, I pray you, be careful."
So they set forth in the early dawn, riding leisurely, for they could not tell whether they should come homeward with hot pursuit behind them or no.
Their road lay at first over high moors, where little life was visible except the great stalking bustard or the sailing eagle. Then the ground began slanting downward, and grew more rugged and woody. At last they came out upon pleasantly rolling openland, with groves and streams that ran in quiet. About noon they drew rein where Isurium had been.
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No Saxons were to be seen there, nor any other people, but only a few homeless dogs, very forlorn, and the wild creatures of the wilderness. Nor did it seem that any one would willingly dwell there again, so complete was the desolation. But Llywarch, for greater certainty, had search made in the broken dwellings and all doubtful places near them, and sent forward scouts to find where the Saxons might be. Dynan followed.
Meanwhile they dismounted, to dine beside a brier-entangled spring which had once been a fountain of many jets in one side of the forum space. Not far away a few delicately wreathed columns were yet standing, though not all at the same angle nor to the same height. Others lay broken where great force had flung them.
All about were dwellings in every stage of dilapidation, from mere rooflessness to utterly formless heaping. Here the floor-mosaic showed, and that only; there the wall-frescoes were coming to light again by the peeling of the plaster which had long overlaid them. Fragments of cornice-work and statuary were built into house-walls; themselves, in their turn, abandoned now and ruinous. Confusion of the old and the new, overthrown together, reached its utmost in a barricade-like wall which encircled this more lately inhabited core of the town.
"Here," said Sanawg, "is all the Isurium I have
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ever known. But it was bright then, and alive with people. What with caravans and travellers and soldiery, many folk went and came."
He answered, "Yet it must always have been sad, with those outer ruins everywhere beyond your gates. Not like that great earlier Isurium which beat back the Saxon for a time, after even imperial Eboracum had fallen."
He was glad to tempt that sweet voice into telling the old tale again. And those eyes,--what centurion of Syria, holding the gate of that royal city, had found his bride there long, long ago, and left whatever was best of him among the people he guarded?
"There was a shadow," said Sanawg dreamily. "I knew it as a child, but I think it did not make me sad. Our people hoped then to roll back the tide,--ah, me, as we are always hoping! Sometimes I rambled through the gates, or was taken pleasuring among thickets and ruins, and wondered how long ago all that destruction befell, and why the heathen must come so far to do us such harm.
"Of course I know now that the former desolation was checked by the coming of aid from Caer Ligion before the rugged heart of the town could be stormed, where the desperate townsmen, heaping everything before them, had made their final stand. Later, Ambrosius guarded it until he weakened near his end. What could be picked and gathered from
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the outer town aided us, it being our quarry, so that we did not fare altogether the worse for past losses. A man might dwell half his days quietly in that Isurium, which was not the proud Isurium of Rome, nor yet this Isurium of the dead. It was mine: it is mine. And I--am just Sanawg of lost Isurium."
She spoke tenderly, half playfully, with one arm on the broken coping of the fountain. Llywarch found a subtle and touching fitness in this claim to a heritage of oblivion.
"I was very young," she resumed, "when I first heard of the cliffs by the Scaur, where at need we might find shelter. Once--we thought it a long journey--I was taken there to see. Wild and dangerous people held the cave then; and, although the valley was lovely in that summer-time, we were glad to get away.
"Afterward there came tidings that the southern Saxons were hard pressing the Emperor, and all strength was drawn to him from our border. Northward and eastward the enemy were gathering,--the Deirans of Caer Ebrauc, the Bernicians behind them, all Saxons together. Soon the storm burst on us, and on all the country as far as the great wall, where it was not wasted already. Then the hills were full of hiding and flying people, and distress and sorrow were abroad everywhere.
"In the midst of it Prince Edyrn came down to us
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from the wall-country, breaking his way like a maddened bull, more eager to do hurt than to win safety. For his great knowledge and skill in arms we made him chief captain; and with these, and the fighting men who thronged our town, the Saxons for that time were discomfited, leaving our little Isurium jubilant, though in a very dismal desert.
"But we well knew they would come again; and it was the judgment of cool counsel that we should make all ready to withdraw. So the cave was stocked and guarded; and when news reached us that the great Emperor Ambrose had fallen, we knew it was time to be gone. The enemy were not long behind us, but had little booty; for trade had long been dead, and what we could not take was scarce worth any one's taking. Yet I promise you a slip of a girl was delighted to get away from them, even into a cavern.
"There I have grown to womanhood, faintly conscious of the world outside, not unhappy, but forgotten and wondering; buried to all except our little cavern-tribe--just Sanawg of lost Isurium."
"But why? It was no place for you," he protested, every ruin around them seeming to grant her its echo.
"It is no place for any of us," she admitted quietly. "But Prince Edyrn would go no farther; and since he shielded us we would by no means leave him, nor could a priest forsake the people of his ministration. There are those of them who need it."
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She looked up brightly, or with a striving for brightness; but the glow of his face was too much for her again.
"It grieves me," said he. "And above all that you, Sanawg, in the very opening of your years"--
He hesitated, and she made answer. "Oh! I seem to abide it all very well."
"It is not in nature nor in duty," he urged. "What is there that others cannot do? Surely your parents will not wish you to linger among the rocks and caves--now that I am here."
"They have never told me; how can I know?" she answered, half smiling.
"But they know my meaning and the uncommon requirements of the case."
"Uncommon, surely. But a few days ago we were strangers; and now, if I hear you rightly, you are requiring me already."
She smiled without laughter, but he laughed freely. Then he ceased, all at once, and said, "Sanawg, it is this: I cannot go back without you."
"Shall we have another cave-dweller then?" said she, but presently gave her hand kindly. "Remember, it does not all rest with me. I am a good traveller, as you have seen. Also strange and stirring things allure rne. In proof, I am ready now for a look at that great horde of heathendom."
A call from their scouts, far up the road, had
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prompted this. He did not demur. When they had ridden well beyond the town, they learned that the Saxon encampment could be plainly seen from an eminence a mile or two farther on. With brisk hurrying they soon gained the spot, and mounted through the lower wooded part of the slope to the bare scalp of the hill.
Sanawg put her hands together, with a little sighing cry of admiration, for indeed it was a rare and gallant sight. The Saxon was no less fond of brightness and gay coloring than the Briton; and with him, being cruder, they made a more obvious show at a little distance. Moreover, what remained of wealth about that old Eboracum, where Roman emperors had set up their standards and gone forth to conquer, was all Saxon now. With few exceptions, the ramp was fresh and clean, as if just from some workshop--acres on acres of white tenting, a profusion of scarlet, crimson, and gold. Sparks flew from weapon-points everywhere; the sun glowed on mirror-like armor.
"A pity for so much neatness to be spoiled!" said Llywarch, rather in Cian's vein.
Dynan laughed. "Our own folk can be exquisite at the start, if that were all. But marshes and rocks and thickets are unmerciful."
But Llywarch had grown thoughtful. "They are more nearly ready than I thought," said he. "And there are even less horse than usual. They will try
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to break through Celidon, behind Legiolum, and that soon. I hope it may not be far enough west for them to be drawn to the sacking of Loidis."
"Amen!" answered Dynan fervently; then he added with conviction, "But they will take a shorter way to a greater quarry. They are many and very vengeful. Think of the glory in shattering Arthur and Legiolum! Think also of the wealth of Caer Lerion, which is yet Ratae the magnificent, and all the temptations of middle Britain."
"Yes," said Llywarch. "No doubt that would be their road. Especially," and he turned to Sanawg, "if I may judge by the dipping together of the hills yonder."
She answered, "I remember to have heard of a pass through the ridges of the great forest, where once, a long time ago, were some villages, and a track leading southward. I think it must be that. Yet in my time no one ventured into the haunted shadows of Celidon."
"And that," said Llywarch, "is another reason why they gather so vastly. The Saxon hates the wood-darkness and the spectres of his own making. I see Ossa Cyllalaur's great tent yonder, well encircled. He is the strongest and bravest of them, or he would never dare this venture. But if we might catch him half-way, his soldiers would be less before getting out again. Here they come, more and more!"
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His hand waved eastward, almost enthusiastically, where were advancing bodies of men and faint murmurs. Dynan pointed nearer.
"They come indeed," quoth he quickly.
Some outlying horsemen on the nearer side of the camp were unpicketing steeds, with glances toward the party on the hill.
"A woman's curiosity has its limits," replied Sanawg. "I am not curious to know what they will think of us on closer inspection."
She turned as she spoke, and rode downward, her friends about her. Many calls and cries, far behind, informed them that the pursuit had begun.
Llywarch chided himself, as they rode, for bringing that dear girl into such peril. Their horses already had come a long way, and surely some of the enemy must be able to overtake them. Reversing the usual counsel in a trial of speed, he took the utmost pace at the beginning; for it was life to them to get well beyond reach of that great concourse before any such hampering.
At the ruins of Isurium they paused a moment and looked backward. The foremost of the Saxons were just coming into view. A mile beyond they turned again, and saw the road well dotted, even to the dead city. Their own party was straggling now, and they checked a little to unite it. Then they went swiftly again, but with caution.
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After a time they had hostile attendants at the sides and in the rear; but these were few, keeping their places with effort, and lacking the desperation to fall on with thrust and blow. Jeers were called back and forth in languages ill understood; but the British leaders, riding, with Sanawg between them, at the head, gave neither word nor sign. These clinging enemies did not greatly increase until the edge of the rough country was reached.
Then Llywarch, placing a guard about Sanawg, turned suddenly with the remainder of his men, and drove back this living war-spray on the first Saxon wave behind. Striking this, as it gathered and made front, he drove it also.
For a time the Saxons held aloof, bringing all their force together, with snow beginning to fall and drive, and the wind in their ears. And Sanawg and her guardians were nimbly in flight again.
The weather alone was enough to urge them on, there being a sudden violence in the air, a spreading thickness overhead, and great access of cold. They did not feel this so painfully when in swift, rough motion, even Sanawg uttering no complaint at all; but the ground was already so chilled that snow would lie, threatening impediment. With every minute there was more of it in the air, and drifts were beginning. But for the sure guides with them they must have lost their way.
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Now and then Llywarch must pause a moment to wrap more and more covering about the lady by his side; and the kindness of her eye was reward enough for every endeavor. Her laugh was low; but unchilled, unfearing. "I began to feel disturbed by the Saxons," she said; "but I hope I am too true a daughter of the cliffs to mind the mere storms of nature. Heathen are not nature, but very unnatural, you know."
"It is all heathenish enough," retorted he. "If I get you to the cavern unfrozen, you must seek a milder abiding-place with me."
"A frozen bride would indeed be unusual," admitted Sanawg merrily, "and perhaps not cheering."
But for all her spirit, the biting and the numbness gained on her, so that there was little more speech between them, but only the set will to keep on. This grew the harder continually, there being many places where the tired horses could no more than flounder through; and but for a party from the cavern, who broke the funnel-like way down the cliff, they might never have reached their refuge. Yet it was not long after that they sat in ample warmth and ease, telling their story over good food to many listeners.
That night and the next day the storm kept on; but the air softened notwithstanding, and the snow melted as it blew along or fell. By noon there were
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only soiled heaps in places of shelter. Yellow brawling streams ran everywhere. Gwydion and Llywarch, standing by the cavern entrance, looked out on this together.
"It will be dry, or nearly so, in twenty-four hours," Llywarch began. "Enough at any rate for travel; and I fear the enemy will be astir."
Gwydion bowed gravely. "You mean that you must go."
"Yes, to warn the Emperor." Llywarch had been gathering confidence. He now spoke roundly and plainly.
"Reverend sir, I must not go alone. We have double need of your aid, as priest and father, to send forth Sanawg with me as my wife, beyond sight and hearing for a season. I know well that it is asking much."
At this admission, converging wrinkles gathered at Gwydion's eye-corners in a rueful half-smile.
"Ah?" said he; "there might indeed be extreme and unreasonable people who would say so, considering the state of the country and of the enemy and the heavens. But I greatly fear Sanawg is not one of them."
Llywarch brightened under the gentle irony. "In this and all else she is with me," said he, "saving only her duty to you."
Gwydion looked blankly out over the sodden land.
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Llywarch began again. "Surely you would not have her stay. What certainty have we that the Saxon host, in mere murderous caprice, or following those who affronted them, will not fall on this your refuge? Or, again, they may turn to it in reprisal, coming back worsted from the great wood. At the best, is it to be thought on that she should lose the bloom of her life in these hollows and deserts, with no light in the dismal darkness except what may flow from your ministry and from her own soul?"
Gwydion turned to him. "Believe me," said he, "I, too, have not failed to think thus, and her mother also. We have found it cause of grave concern and night-wakening. And I do not know that I need disguise from you the relief that came when we guessed your interest in one another. I have said to myself that it is best,--that it is of God. Yet behold, I was this very minute selfishly dreading what you should say, and wishing that, like the storm, it might somehow blow by, leaving my good daughter with me, whom I shall, most likely, not see again."
Then Llywareh was shaken in purpose, but for a moment only. "Do not say so," answered he. "If only you would all go with us!"
Gwydion shook his head with mournful certainty.
"But you are in the right as to Sanawg," said he. "We must part, and she must go. And what is to be done shall be done very quickly."
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So the next morning, with all due churchly ceremony, in mingled sorrow and rejoicing, they were wed, and forthwith set out on their journey toward Argoed, the whole fighting strength of her people riding with them until sundown.
This better guidance greatly shortened the way, although the heaviness under hoof counted against them. Yet again, beside the best counsel at parting, they had now a single certain aim, and the impulsion of great need and urgency. Thus a trivial fraction of the time spent in wandering forth brought them to Loidis again.
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FROM LOIDIS TO LEGIOLUM.
I was truly in the enchantment.
--TALIESSIN.
THERE was some knowledge of the Saxon invasion at Loidis before them, but nothing worse than they knew. This freed Llywarch of a dread which was troubling his new happiness. With fair speed he need no longer fear any evil thing as a result of his lingering by the Scaur.
Neither his mother nor his sister would have any truce with such self-punishment. Had he not told them, when first he came, that the Emperor was warned and watchful? Moreover, in fact, the Saxons had not yet moved their way, nor any way, so far as the wisest wood-rangers knew.
Sanawg found herself invested with the halo of many welcomes. People came wonderingly from far to look on the daughter of Gwydion, the one who had spoken face to face daily with Edyrn of the olden time, a hero long lost to men, the bride of the hollow cliffs, the bride of mystery, the bride of Argoed. They bore away the memory of a face, lovely indeed,
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but with a strange loveliness, not elsewhere known, yet marvellously contented already. Tales were told beside the fire-leaping in rough cabins on the woodland fringes, of just such gracious beings, who chose willingly for a time a mortal home, too often vanishing. Nevertheless, they had no fears of her, but loved her from the beginning; and the ladies who so long had ruled them loved her, after the first astonishment of her presence, best of all. To Llywarch's mother, who held her own memories of far years, and had known Isurium, she was as a messenger from an earlier and a brighter world.
Of Edyrn the good dame questioned often--young Edyrn, the hope of the North, most head-strong, most splendid, most indomitable of princes! Gwydion, too, she bore in mind, whose unpretending wisdom and sanctity might well have won the power to work miracles, as men still uncouthly made claim for him; and this was the very daughter of Gwydion! Was ever a dowager princess of the hills and memories blessed like her in a daughter-in-law? The news of a half-century came to her all at once by her only son's more than lovely bride.
Sanawg was most willing to tell, and tell again, whatsoever she knew, if only the time left to her and to Llywarch before their parting were not so very meagre.
For, little as he dared delay, he dared still less take
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her with him across the path of the raging heathen. From Argoed, should they turn that way, there was always retreat open down the stream to the river Dee and its goodly Roman-walled city.
Dynan, unlike himself, had made a plea for lingering. Surely, said he, it would be wise to send forth scouts who should ascertain the enemy's purpose, distance, and true course through the wood. Then there would be surer news to carry. Llywarch scarcely made answer, being perturbed and ready for anger with every such echo of his own inner tempting voices; and it was so very evident that haste was the supreme need! But the fact lingered in his mind, as having to do with Dynan's words in the starlight before the cavern, and with a coldness toward Freur at which Sanawg had hinted.
For already the cave-queen had read her sister of the open air,--the pleased expectancy in that pensive face when the fairy's son drew near, the hurt disappointment which followed, the observant, staidly smiling kindness to herself, as from one under government of will and pride, seeking other companionship than that withheld, and doing the offices of friendship justly and fondly, yet troubled, uncomprehending. Nor did any of them comprehend him then; but later came to know him for a truly loving man, strained against his love and against his will, daring not (in mercy) to seek her further favor, yet
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hardly able to leave her so, and with the shadow of an unknown terror awaiting him.
As the two men rode away together, Llywarch puzzled over him displeasedly. But the stir of motion made his own heart more lenient and hopeful. It was hardly in nature for a genial, comrade-loving man, crowned so supremely with what is best in life, to continue thinking ill of a tried friend whose mirth was failing sadly. Moreover, those remembered words had a spectral sound in after musing; and surely that face beside him was haunted. What could it mean, save matter to be dealt with by masters of mystery? If only he had thought of Gwydion! But there was Cian yet, and at the worst there was Merlin. Yet his pulse thrilled as he espied those eyes again with friendly furtiveness, wondering what they might have seen.
It was at their first night halt, well over the eastern rim of Argoed. Dynan had been jesting excitedly, though pitifully enough to one who thought he knew; then broke off in sullen failure. Llywarch found him alone, out under the racing clouds, in the chill, staring toward a woodland wall whence came unearthly murmurings. His face had something of expectation, desperately defiant. He turned, at the touch of Llywarch's hand on his shoulder, with a wild anger in his eye.
"Not me!" Llywarch protested gently. "For-
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give me if I have let evil come to you unaided. Tell me about it, Dynan."
Then the slight figure turned again from him, shook, and broke, sobbing, with bowed head. Llywarch stood silent awhile, pitying; then urged again kindly, "Tell me, dear friend."
So Dynan gathered himself, and said, "What more shall I tell? And what must you think of me? Is it not all like--lunacy?"
"Most things in this life seem so at one time or another," answered Llywarch. "I have had little experience in things out of it. But what is there, Dynan, that a man cannot face?"
The fairy's son smiled ruefully. "How should I know?" said he. "But I have `faced,' as you call it, far more than I had any longing to. Oh, I thought I could bear all--till I came again to Argoed. And you, too, so happy! Ah, Llywarch, you haven't seen!"
"Let me see, then."
"How can you? Can the mountain bird see the forms that come about the dweller in the depths?"
"Am I a vulture, then? And are you a whale?"
Dynan was tempted into smiling, but his face grew sombre gain. "You cannot," he repeated slowly. "I have seen when you were by."
Then Llywarch shuddered; and the thought came to him dismally that eternal parting were most mer-
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ciful for Freur, at any cost of heartbreak. A bridegroom with the gift of seeing too many about the altar! Scoffers visible to him, guessed by her, mowing and menacing in the bridal chamber. That were a ghastly wedding surely! Even in fancy he found it all too grisly, and would eagerly be back at the camp-fire. But his first thought was for his friend.
"So," said he, "you gave up my sister? Showed her chill indifference, too, rather than horror. Thank you, Dynan."
The sufferer's face warmed at the tone.
"You understand me!" he cried. "Then we are so far of one race still. I will try to tell you. Yet with what hope? You, so human! there is no mist in your kindly blood: I, an echo out of some past that men have willingly let go by, a link to forms of gleam and shadow, coming out of deep places, watchful, sinister, lurking, hovering!"
"Yet," said Llywarch sturdily, "I had thought your token might command them;" and he pointed to the horn by Dynan's side.
"I also trusted it," answered the child of faery. "Until lately I have felt toward the unseen as a most mighty friend. But now--I cannot say. It would be a summoning, a signal,--but for what to follow? Be sure I shall not blow my horn, except in extreme need to more than me.'
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"If indeed I can comprehend, or you can bear to tell, no more," said Llywarch; "let us return."
But Dynan hesitated. "Wait," he said; "it began like this." Then, with many breaks and much doleful grimacing, as of one halfminded to jeer or pretend to jeer at himself, he told a story of strange and growing visitation, indescribable for lack of clear outline and certain utterance, shifting from form to form, from tone to tone, but ever threatful or insistent, ever taunting, darkening, and behind all unfailingly the phantom green of the lady of the hollow hill.
His friend listened solemnly. "It passes my skill," he said. "We will try wiser folk when we may. Let us hope that, in the mean time, the Saxons and your thronging tormentors may have a set-to at each other, and make havoc of both."
"I had thought of that. They shall have a fair field right willingly--to make final havoc of me."
He spoke no more of ghostly beleaguering, and went back to the light with readiness. Not long after he fell quietly asleep.
By night of the next day they were with Arthur.
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ARTHUR IN COUNCIL.
BEFORE Llywarch had spoken long, the Emperor checked him by a sign, and turned to right and left with a quick succession of commands. A light force of horsemen were to thread the more open parts of the great wood toward the enemy, and send back tidings thereof when found. Vortimer, with the London men, was to guard the southern exit, shielding the heart of the country. Lancelot was to be summoned to his aid, or that of Arthur, as needed. The main army was to prepare forthwith for a march into the forest.
Vortimer heard sullenly. Ever since the first untoward news from the south he had been more than restless. "In all this ado of wildernesses and border towns I find nothing for London," said he. "Is her danger worth no thought at all?"
There was a murmur of strong disapproval. Arthur looked into the speaker's eyes keenly and gravely; but Constantine spoke first.
"I deplore the tone of my fellow-townsman, but is there not some wisdom in his thought? We are
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assailed in two remote quarters at once. Here it may be long before anything great is in danger; there the enemy confronts and perhaps encompasses our most renowned city. Beside, we can surely crush Eschwine and his confederates; but we are not so certain of Ossa Cyllalaur. Moreover, these northern Saxons are at their strongest now, and will weaken as they go southward."
Arthur listened to him considerately, remembering the stress and motive.
"What say you, Llywarch?" he asked. "Argoed has her share in this, if Loidis is not quite London."
"Because Argoed is so at stake," answered Llywarch, "I do not wholly trust my counsel in what concerns the empire. But it is fair to say that a Saxon defeat in the wilderness might drive fragments of them toward us very hot and vengeful. On the other hand, if they ravage all the lowlands, we shall be given over to that same death in life and blackness of darkness wherein I found Edyrn, the pride of the north, and from which I rescued Sanawg, the daughter of Gwydion."
"Edyrn! Gwydion! have you news of them?" cried Arthur, while all around stared and exclaimed.
Thereupon Llywarch told of the cliff-dwelling colony, isled as he had seen them, but loving still that Britain which left them in oblivion; of their long clinging, quite alone, to a civilization whose outer
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signs were slipping from them; of the altar which they had set up in their last refuge, the cavern-depths, and kept alive with the tapers of their most holy faith; of the lady love whom he had found there and brought forth as a bride to his home, where light could yet pierce amid the woods and rugged lands. The thrill of all that had befallen him was in his tone, so that men not only heard, but felt and saw.
Then Arthur, the Emperor, smote himself over the heart, and stood quivering. "Llywarch, you shame me," cried he. "This Gwydion, or old Edyrn, should be Emperor, not I." Then, turning to Constaptine and Vortimer, "Behold how God bath saved alive all these years the feeble folk of the rock, whom we had forsaken. Will you not trust the great walls of London to Him a while, O ye of little faith?"
Constantine answered, with a sigh, "You are right, my Emperor."
Vortimer had been touched in some degree by Llywarch's tale, but scarce at all by the appeal of Arthur.
"As many unearthly sureties for the walls as may be," said he. "There are others who find such in the White Hill of Cynvelyn. But neither Christ nor Vran seems to have power over the open country. The Saxons will burn and kill even to the woodlands where lies my home, unless there are more than promised miracles to stay them."
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"Cian and Osburn work miracles that should content you," suggested Llywarch. "And you cannot complain that either is fanatically Christian. Let only your people who arc otherwise fanatical but half do their duty, and I'll answer for my old comrade."
"Let them, indeed!" growled Caowl. "Mark you, Vortimer; I, too, am a man of Andred. My lands border yours. Your risk is mine. I say we came here to fight the northern Saxons, or I don't know what we did come for. In God's name let us do it, then. If we turn our backs on one army of the sea-folk, we shall get into that bad habit, and keep a-running. Fight here, fight in the wilderness, fight where pleases you; but let it be fighting, and not sneaking home to fight somebody else."
Arthur's face had darkened and tightened during Vortimer's words, and moved not quite approvingly even at Llywarch's, but now it beamed. "Good fruits from rough trees!" cried he, laying his hand on Caowl's shoulder. "I love a man who can speak one's thought for him--and save all trouble. What say you, Dynan?"
"Oh, if I may have my Emperor's other hand," answered Dynan merrily, "I would just say that Central Britain, whence I come, would prefer, so please you, not to be invaded. As for me, being naturally quick, the sooner I get at a Saxon the better. And
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have it all over," he added, with a sudden overshadowing.
Arthur's hand fell kindly on him, as coveted, while he spoke. "Beware foreboding," said he gently; "we cannot spare you, Dynan."
Folding his arms, the Emperor looked round the company with a bright, firm smile. "Chiefs and princes all," said he, "I have not hands enough to go round. Let my preference be held as for the better counsel, not the better friends. We stand here, inheritors of more than we can restore when ruined, guardians of what the whole world looks to us to preserve. Wherever the savage heathen have broken in, British home-life and Roman beauty and glory have gone down together. Not one rood more than they must shall they win or ravage through me. I grieve for London assailed, for dear friends endangered. But there shall be no more Edyrns cut off in the northern wild, no more Gwydions praying for us out of the darkness, no more ladies of the cavern forlorn and forsaken. Soldiers of Britain, we make our fight here--here at the north, where is most British land and British life to be shielded, where are most Saxons to be met and overthrown. Pray Heaven there be enough of them to give us peace for many years."
There was a hum and stir of applause. Vortimer did not join therein, but stood undecided. Arthur
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turned to him, saying, "You have your orders. I look that you should be moving within the hour. And now I will hear further from Llywarch and Dynan alone."
All withdrew except these, Caowl lingering last. "Pardon," he said, stepping near and speaking low, "but--you cannot trust Vortimer."
Arthur smiled gravely, but without surprise. "I am sorry; I should like to," said he. "But I know well whom I can trust," and his eyes gave the kindliest farewell.
Musing over it later, he sent with all speed a second message: to Lancelot, bidding him turn back or seize any one who might essay to pass London-ward without warrant--above all, Vortimer.
It was not too soon. Early abroad the next morning, Arthur found two horsemen awaiting him. One, from the scouting party of lances, bore the news that the Saxon van was already within the woodlands; the other, from Caowl, that Vortimer had indeed taken his appointed post, for a feint, but presently gone southward with a numerous but uncertain following. In the choice of evils, with no Saxons yet near, Caowl had taken his track, and the less resolute of the force ahead were already dropping off to him.
Arthur sent word that this was well and to so continue, aiding Lancelot in every way, and coming
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back to the neglected border with all strength and swiftness. He felt with disquiet this weakening of an army, not so strong at the best as the one which came against it; but he moved forward into the forest that day with every man that he had.
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IN THE FOREST OF CELIDON.
The wings of dawn were the flowing of his lances.
--TALIESSIN.
ARTHUR, the Emperor, after his custom, rode among the foremost, getting early news of what it concerned him to know. This was, that the hurrying Saxons had straggled out in a long line, the foremost, ill provided for the sake of lightness, being already in the heart of that unknown wilderness. He threw Caradoc across their way, lest they should reach the open land and do harm. But most of their stores and some fighting men were yet barely within the verge, or even out beyond. Against these he detached Llywarch and Dynan, with swift riders.
Meanwhile, on the slope of a ridge that made one side of the valley-pass they were following, he awaited the coming up of his cohorts and legions, and the time when best to cut the knotted string of Saxons near the middle.
Caradoc murmured at being enjoined to strengthen his weak numbers by felling trees before them. Stretching forth his huge arm,--
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"Is that the kind of engine to poke sticks at people from behind a log?" he inquired, with a good-humored grimace. "The saddle will ache for me, ache for me!"
Arthur smiled. "Oh! you may ride at their horse, if you will. But don't neglect the tree-felling. One footman thus covered will count for three. Remember, they will be coming at you more and more strongly. I can send you half a legion later. But there will be all you will want to do--even you!--to hold them until you have Lancelot at your back."
So Caradoc went, with no more words about it, but only half pleasure in the task, and chose strong ground for his barricade. Then he stood, awaiting all comers.
Llywarch's task suited him well; but there was more chance than skill in it, as happened. For the ground roughened and thickened continually beyond where he left Arthur, and there were no guides who perfectly knew the way, so that this was lost after a time, and he could do no more than blunder on vehemently, with one eye to the sun, and the other for the Saxons. Nevertheless, he came out luckily where he should be, and saw the pack-horses, and the provision wagons, and the groups of laden men coming over the open fields to the entrance of the wilderness.
They saw him likewise, and a shout of warning
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went up among them; while some drew backward, and took posture of defence together, and others hurried on to join the men and stores in the wood. These last he followed, reaching almost as soon as they a bit of sheltered glade where some before them had found pasture for their horses, and piled packs and bales on the sward. Around these they were most willing to fight, and grew in number every moment, as men, hearing the danger, came rearward. But the ground, being fairly unencumbered, was in favor of a mounted assault.
With a Celtic yell, the men of Llywarch and Dynan went at them, breaking through their loose ranks from side to side by sheer weight and rush, and spearing as they passed. But the Saxons thrust also, yielding little, and threw spears with better skill than the moving men; and sprang up on haunch and saddle, knife in hand, or rooted themselves against the tree-boles, fighting mightily with their battle-axes.
But Dynan, mindful of his luck before, charged the tethered beasts, with such diabolical brandishing and keenness of uproar, that they strained everywhere, and many broke away in great confusion; and for those remaining it needed but a few strokes at men and leather to make them wild runaways in the wilderness. Dynan, as in a whirlwind, vanished after them and with them. A few breaths, and he
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was there again, coming headlong, a flaming torch above his head, and many more such flares and blazes behind him, breaking through the still continuing medley, and lighting everything that would burn. Soon the Saxons were right glad to get out of the fire fury of their own food and bales; and finding little left to fight over, drew off from the glade, massing in the road with new re-enforcements.
Llywarch charged them repeatedly, and drove, with increasing labor, foot by foot, to a strong place, where, making feint of assault, he deemed it well to leave them. For there was better service to be done by falling on their ample, ill-defended supplies in the open country. These, in fact, he forthwith raided without mercy, rolling up one party on another, destroying many, and driving the remainder dismayed toward the gates of Caer Ebrauc--the York of our days.
Dynan, heading the other way through the wood as Llywarch left it, rode along the right flank of the Saxon army, looking for a chance to do it a mischief, and yet more that no harm should come to Argoed.
Meanwhile the Saxons of the van were plunging in successive irregular masses on Caradoc, the first easily broken and racing from him, whereby he had more the pleasure of a stag-hunt than of war, but each increasing in volume and tenacity, so that soon all the front of the barricade was thronged with their
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dogged infantry, thrusting and hewing; and mounted lancers curved round the ends assailing Caradoc's rear. Then up came the first succors promised by Arthur, and with a heave and push the whole weight of the enemy was carried far back again.
Once more in greater numbers they rushed on, and clung so that they could barely be thrust off and held away; each army thereafter glaring at the other, worn and desperate, with deadly intent, across a bare lane of interval, until darkness fell.
In that respite the barricade was made double, with a space between, closed at each end, forming a long, narrow parallelogram across the Saxon advance, wherein most of the surviving Britons awaited their fate. Caradoc, Prince of Devon, stood by the front wall of it, grimly watchful, thinking no more of especial methods and luxuries in fighting, his great right arm bare and reddened to the elbow. Off in the woods behind and on either side were wet, disorderly places, whence groans came more freely than speech. In front, the broken and tangled bodies of men and horses littered all the ground. Beyond these, were many murmuring voices, and moving figures dimly seen, where a multitude seemed massing with the fury of men who grew hungrier every moment. He could hardly hope to endure another charge.
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A PASSAGE AT ARMS BETWEEN LANCELOT AND VORTIMER.
I will not avenge myself on him who drives me.
--ANEURIN.
LANCELOT received Arthur's two messages together. For days he had been fevered and worried, anxious at heart to go where he should not be, alternately blessing and cursing the fate which kept him from temptation and Guinevere. The peace that he had made about him was irksome, even while new. At the call for action, he could have sprung from the ground and shouted, all the more since it was to punish treason in another. He sent out every way for all his men, and they came quickly.
Yet not until Vortimer had gone into disorderly encampment before him; and, on the hills beyond, Caowl's pursuing tribesmen were visible. Almost as these came in sight, a fragment broke away from Vortimer's army, amid great contention, and drifted back toward them. Indeed, it seemed that but a small nucleus, if any, could be counted on by that recalcitrant chieftain.
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Nevertheless, the first deliverance of Vortimer was proud and swelling. An officer of rank bore it, demanding why so many who should be comrades were drawn up, more like enemies, across his way.
Lancelot made polite obeisance. "This parade is by order of the Emperor," said he. "We are all going northward to fight Ossa Cyllalaur, myself in command. I am very glad of such redoubtable re-enforcements."
The officer smiled understandingly. "We would rather go with you where the fighting now is--about London," said he, being, in peace, a lesser magnate of that city.
Lancelot replied, "It will comfort you and your friends to know that late advices indicate no immediate danger there. Prince Cian has even won some successes. Assaults will not soon be repeated. I am persuaded that the surest way to raise the leaguer of London will be to rout first the Saxons now pouring down from the north. Otherwise they may follow, and be on our backs like wild cats, while we are busy with Eschwine and the rest of them in front. I am further persuaded that we have one paramount duty if we are to hold Britain together, and that is to obey Britain's head."
Lancelot had spoken with such upright emphasis that the thought of inconsistency did not then occur to him. The officer bowed and withdrew, not smil-
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ing again, but with a suggestive face. Lancelot forthwith extended his lines to join Caowl, in effect enclosing the doubtful runaways, who had their choice between a very unpromising reach of uplands, barren and rugged, and a semicircular array of the spears of their own people. Moreover, they were melting momently about the edges, and their opponents grew in number accordingly.
The report of their envoy made this all the greater. Vortimer was nearly alone in urging violence. The mass about him showed in loud complaints or derisive sullenness that they felt they had been brought far on a fool's errand, and disgraced everyway for nothing.
Vortimer's love of popularity could not long withstand it. Instinct and habit made him swerve with the tide. He was already half-way advanced in an eloquent address, having that turn in view, when Lancelot, with no more than half a dozen attendants, galloped up before the speaker. This Lancelot was at his lordliest, both in temper and apparel. He had plainly no inkling of Vortimer's change of purpose, which came too late.
"This will not answer," he announced with deliberation.
The orator towered a moment, darkling, then essayed to ignore and continue; but, seeing the wavering of his people, turned imperiously. "Know you,"
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he demanded, "that these would tear you in pieces at a word from me? Back with you to your own!"
The Welsh prince looked with a proud smile over the countenances around.
"They do not seem quite like that," he observed. "I shall return, Vortimer of London, but you will go with me."
As he spoke, his companions moved suddenly around the object of their inroad.
Vortimer swelled and thrilled with the impulse to throw himself on this affronter. There was everything to make the hour bitter. Beside the potent contrast of success and failure, the comparison of person went against him. He was the greater, to some degree, in size, and his ruddy, broad, manlike beauty was plain to see; but about Lancelot there dwelt an air of something finer, subtler, and higher, less needing insistence, an inner assurance of superiority which all around them shared. His celebrity in arms, also, very different from the merely local championship of Vortimer, had a glamour of its own.
The London chieftain looked him over as he sat easily, a smile that was not loving on the dark, handsome face, and stern purpose behind it. It was not fear,--though who but Arthur or Cian could match Lancelot in weapon-skill?--but Vortimer knew what surrounded him, and felt his strength bleeding all away. He swept an eye of reproach and involun-
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tary appeal around the circle. Those nearest were his own especial following in town or field, the core of the revolt from the beginning, even yet not lacking a certain stubbornness.
"We await your orders," responded one gray centurion grimly, "and will not hold back for fine feathers, be certain."
"We will not desert you in your trouble," added resolutely, though without much alacrity, the officer who had borne the message.
These words had their weight with Lancelot. It was his part to save men for Arthur and the coming battle. Evidently this great-limbed Saxon-Briton was more beloved than he had fancied.
"No one doubts the prowess of the champion of Andred, nor of his followers," he said, looking around upon them. "With such aid he might no doubt overcome me and these few. I should not grudge him the victory, nor mind the trial. But in striking me you strike Britain; and that is a poor thing for any son of hers to do. This once, you have been unwise, and unwisdom should submit manfully to its forfeit. Moreover, your enterprise is hopeless. Even if you could overcome my army, what welcome would Prince Cian, always faithful, give to mutineers before the walls?"
"There are more to be thought of in London than Prince Cian and his assumed ingratitude," broke in
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Vortimer, with his deepest voice and most swelling port of oratory. "After what I have seen of that in higher place, it would not, indeed, astound me. But since you and he and one higher have become--Britain--I will not contend with Britain, but will be well content to face this overgrown Arthur, my chief accuser."
For even while Lancelot spoke the outcome had grown very plain and inevitable in the sight of Vortimer; and he desired at least the semblance of holding first place in act, speech, and will, as to his own procedure. But he felt below it the scorch of defeat, and saw the derisive curl of Lancelot's lip at his boasting. It drove him on to say more. Quoth he,--
"Also there is more to tell him concerning unfaithfulness--a worse treason, Sir Lancelot, than that of breaking bounds to aid a beleaguered city. Nor should you twist and tangle your face-lines in that fashion; for truly it might be no more than kindness to bring the wrath of the Emperor on your head, if in so doing I might leave free to you" he paused--"a cast-off Guinevere."
The writhing of countenance that he mocked at had been real; and Vortimer, following with bitter delight the passion of shame and pain which caused it, grew more deadly hateful with every word. The two great men fronted each other, feeding their fury in eye flashes given and taken, until at that fatal
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name they clashed wildly together, blade on shield, and blow for blow; all thoughts of policy, of clemency, of submission were quite blown away; each made for the other's life, with little heed to his own. Forthwith all their followers near joined the combat, eddying round them as they fought.
The odds were heavy against Lancelot's party, yet not so crushing as might seem, for these were picked of the pick of their kind, better swordsmen nowhere, and they knew the overwhelming aid that was coming; whereas only a very few of Vortimer's men were death-blind in his behalf, and they had nothing else to be their stay. Notwithstanding, every man of the former felt cut and thrust, not once only, through his mail; and their helms were ringing, and their forms reeling about the two infuriated champions, before relief came.
Yet this was speedy. The sight of that straining tangle and vehemence of men and arms, the sound of that smithy-like hammering, were in eyes and ears not over pleased with the venture of their chief; and at once, with a great cry, the whole curve of men swept inward, closing the circle, and crushing into submission that human chaos. The uplifted voice of Lancelot alone saved from trampling even him, their leader. When the storm cleared they found him afoot, between his dead horse and Vortimer, both equally bloody and unlifelike. His
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own person showed gashes in trunk and limb, and his garments were no longer things of beauty; but he had regained his old jauntily defiant, gracefully complacent air.
"The end would have come sooner," said he, "but that I let the clumsy fellow make me clumsier still with wrath at his nonsense, till I got my skill of hand again, and laid open his crown. Look to him, some of you, and to the rest."
But his eye had in it no great anxiety for Vortimer's revival; and as he glanced around him he was asking inwardly how many who had heard the first offence were beyond all telling, or certain to forget. Yet at least the combined forces were his own now, a goodly array to bring back northward; and that it might grow rather than lessen, he sent out after all scatterers, even before having his wounds dressed.
While undergoing this he had news of Vortimer, which did not wholly please him. "Mending, is he?" quoth the dark and wilful prince. "It may not mend his comfort or his chances greatly. Bring him in."
When Vortimer entered, Lancelot was smiling; but the contrast between the men and between their conditions made that smile satanic. Vortimer felt it so, scarce able as he was to hold himself erect for weakness, roughly bandaged on head and arm and thigh, blood-dabbled and mire-stained everywhere, tattered as any hedge-side beggar; while before him
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sat at ease this greater sinner, already seemingly restored in every way, the wine creaming to his hand, a picture of embodied luxury and insolent leisure.
Lancelot nodded indifferently, and waved his attendants from the room. Then his eyes fastened on his huge prey.
"Our little set-to had its inconveniences," he said. "But there were counterbalancing benefits. Of all who heard a lady's name handled indiscreetly,--a very throat-cutting thing,--only two or three are alive, beside you and me. I will answer for the others, and I think we are not likely to speak."
There was an emphasis on the "we," which checked Vortimer's denial. The orator, for once, and very uneasily, hearkened only.
Lancelot went on: "Such speech, but once again, may bring to you the blade that burns. You are going where declamation will not avail; but, even there, let that name pass your lips, and I shall know, and you shall feel. If you say that you have seen too much, you shall see nothing more."
Vortimer had listened helplessly, with growing vehemence of desire to offer some defiance, some reply. At the last he straightened himself, but wilted to the ground before a word was spoken, like some tall reed cut at the root, softening under the hot sun.
At Lancelot's call, men came and bore him away.
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When first able to travel, he went westward, where a Welsh castle received him. For long he was not seen. Such report was sent to Arthur as made this unavoidable. Nor, in his life-and-death struggle with the Saxon, could he scan it over closely. But Vortimer was yet dear to many in London. Condoning his faults, they remembered his voice, his bearing, his championship.
Lancelot hardly fared the better. A stir of shame awakened at the sudden weakness of a strong enemy, and at himself, who had not long before been unevenly generous,--a half-startled recognition of some new growth within, for he had never yet been cruel. At times, for a moment, he seemed to look down a distorted vista, futile in its flashes of good, hateful, more and more, in its perverse darkening of evil. In one burst of desperate thought, he dreamed of renouncing all for the cowl and cell. And again, the wish burst from him that the thrust of Vortimer had been more straight and strong. Even the hope of seeing Guinevere was poisoned for him, though he longed feverishly. Only in the thought of combat was there any respite. Therefore he took no heed to his wounds nor any counsel concerning them, but hurried on.
All his men were now with him in heart and will, those foremost in revolt being over eager to atone, lest harm should come of it.
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Passing the walls of Legiolum, for there was no time now to tarry, Lancelot had one fair sight of Guinevere, leaning forth sunlike in the sunset. She waved her scarf abroad for a token, and he tossed hand and helmet-plume, riding swiftly on.
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THE NIGHT BATTLE OF THE GREAT WOOD.
A gloomy disaster befell their army.
Thou slayest them with blades without much noise.
Thou powerful pillar of living light causest stillness
--ANEURIN.
ARTHUR in his day had dealt with more formidable enemies; but Ossa Cyllalaur foiled his stroke, so far that it brought no instant ruin. Awakening to the danger of his long thin line, the Saxon king hurried all whom he could to the front, which was then fighting Caradoc.
The night closed on them, growing in mass, a multitude of hardy footmen, as they picked up one body after another by the way. No stragglers, for such could find no safety. The first of the breathless mass were clasping hands with those who confronted the Prince of Devon, when the British Emperor came down on them from the height near their rear, striking crosswise, but with a great body of enemies before him, where he had looked to find them yet loosely strung.
Ossa Cyllalaur was there, too, guessing the danger place, and with him the best of the Saxon spears,
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quickly bristling before the rush of the British horse, like an ill-formed bayonet square of later days. In splintering charge after charge, Arthur broke into them, once cutting through from side to side, and back again. Thus all their moving line was assailed with brief pauses; and Arthur's infantry, coming up, joined likewise. Therefore there were many kinds of desperate fighting, over much space, through many impediments, in such darkness that a man might hardly know friend from enemy.
Still the Saxon army grew mainly toward the head; and there the worst rush of all came on Caradoc, swarming up against and around his breastwork, and over it in places for all that he could do. The utmost aid that Arthur could send was too little, making only for a time an islet of fighting-men among numerous and desperate assailants.
Then a great and welcome shout was heard in the night beyond, and when it rose a second time every hard-pressed Briton well knew it for the mountain cry of Lancelot. The sound of battle had reached his men, awakening their eager gladness. The Saxons heard that shout also, and paused for one heartbeat; then fell to more savagely, as knowing their time was brief. Even the champion of the brawny arm was driven hither and thither, reeling while he smote,--his men meanwhile dropping continually all around,--before the onfall of Caowl from one side
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and Lancelot from the other broke through to him with salvation.
Then the fight here went on confusedly for a time; but the sudden strengthening of the Britons prevailed, and the current turned, setting slantwise; for the Saxons were driven, resisting doggedly, through the westward opening, where was now only Dynan, with a small force, to stay them. These gave way, and the Saxons all drew together on high ground in a strong place; where they fought so sturdily that Arthur, having torn what he could from them as they went, found it wise to form a circle round them, and await the day.
This showed the great havoc of that night, and that it had visited most heavily the Saxons. Caradoc, strongly posted, had given good account of them, even while brought near to destruction; and their flank and rear had been handled mercilessly. Therefore many corpses were in all the undergrowth.
Nevertheless, a great body of Saxons remained, holding well together on a table of open land above the meeting of two streams. Rocks were plentiful here; and many stones had been heaped between them in a rude encircling wall that still grew, the banner of Ossa Cyllalaur being in the centre. There seemed a spring near it, and a few pack animals were standing around. Also there were fires, and
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men breakfasting, and glittering arms in great plenty.
"A good fort," said Lancelot. "But I do not see that they are making headway into Britain. They are less now than we. And I should suppose, in time, they would grow hungry."
He sat, mounted, with the Emperor and other chiefs, on a second eminence. Looking abroad over their own cordon, Arthur smiled.
"They are indeed delivered over to us," he said. "This time let us make sure work. Cut down trees everywhere, that the wall of oak may surround the wall of stone, Famine will drive them to us."
It was done very swiftly, for battle-axes and other fit tools were abundant. On every side the strokes and heavy crashing echoed through the wilderness.
Hearing such ominous uproar, the busy Saxons were seen to pause with an air of uncertain menace. But their night-slaughter was too recent for any venture. So they turned to their labor again with a cry of derision, and those who had been eating joined them; whereby their wall grew apace, taking the light sparklingly on many crystalline facets. Thus until noon continued the two armies of wall-builders. Then, with shifting of workmen, the Britons kept on still; but the Saxons flauntingly sat down to food
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and mead,--all they had,--devouring and quaffing, so that this their last meal on earth was in truth a lavish banquet.
Arthur, on the neighboring hill, faring less sumptuously, watched them in silence, his chiefs around him. Their blood, like his own, had cooled in the hours of rest and toil. Looking from eye to eye, he found them faintly astir with fellow-feeling for these roisterers, who showed a temper so like their own. At that he smiled.
"Let us give them another chance," he said; then called for a tablet, and wrote a courteous summons to surrender: "For where you could not pass in the night when all was open," he said, "you surely cannot pass over walls in the day. Nor would it be easier to return, unless by giving us ample pledges and hostages; whereon you may go and welcome. It were best for all if there might henceforth be amity between us."
He sent this by the chief man among the wounded prisoners; and ten more of those who could walk went with this messenger. No Saxon, unhurt, had been taken arms in hand; but Arthur had caused search to be made for all who lay around, and gentlest care to be given them. This also the men who bore his letter could tell Ossa Cyllalaur, and those who stood with him, for the easing of any doubts and fears.
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Both armies watched the little procession pass haltingly from wall to wall, across the belt of open land. Ossa welcomed them, and took their missive, calling one who had the skill to read it. Then there was a stir and hum of admiration, followed by some debate. In the end one of the prisoners came back with the word. "Ossa Cyllalaur, King of Bernicia, Overlord of Deira, bids me say for him that he accepts nothing from an enemy; that a mishap in the dark may be repaired when men can see; that Saxons have little need of food of their own when there are so many Britons with food around them. With thanks to Arthur, who is a wise, brave, and great-hearted soldier, expect Ossa very speedily; for the wolf grows weary of his den."
For now one of Constantine's pack-trains came into plainer sight between the bare trees; and almost before that answer was rendered, the Saxon fighting-men were swarming over their wall on every side at once. Everywhere, too, it was in such fierce fashion that feint could not at first be told from onslaught by any one. But opposite the train a great body, converging in a wedge, made a desperate and long-continued endeavor, wherein most of the others joined them; the foremost hacking at the sharpened branches, or even wrenching their way upward far enough to be speared or cloven, for there was not one who got quite over the wall. Arrows,
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darts, and stones came grievously among them; and though they did not give way after a single trial and failure, they could render slight return, and in the end went back again very loweringly. There was quick pursuit, and fighting the open ground on even terms; but this venture ended without the Saxons having won anything. Again their loss in men was the heavier.
At sunset, after one or two passing alarums, there was a great irruption of them toward the point made by the meeting of the waters, suddenly swollen by rain in the upper hills or by melting snow. Here the tree-barrier had made a dam, leaving waterway under it for no more than the common flow. With the sudden rise, the pressure on it grew; and though more trees were felled and braces set, the flood and the enemy came tugging at it together. Presently Ossa Cyllalaur was through, between tumbling and swimming, with two hundred and more of his men. Their blades made havoc for a moment, then sought the depths of the wood, while no others followed. Caradoc, posted near, had hurried, with the men of Devon, crosswise to shield the gap; and though the emptying water still rushed plentifully by, these took care that there should not be any Saxons in it. As the Britons gathered momently, the mass of assailants, leaderless and undecided, went slowly back to their rock-wall again. Meantime Llywarch and a
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party of horse, overrunning and passing those who had escaped, made search for them in the forest twilight, which was nearly night already, at random, but heading mainly toward Argoed.
Thus the second day of fighting ended.
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THE BLOWING OF THE ELFIN HORN.
The Elfin knight sits on the hill,
Ba, ba, ba, lilli, ba.
He blows his horn both loud and shrill--
The wind has blown my plaid awa.
-- Old Ballad.
THUS far Dynan's task had been light, though his heart grew hourly heavier. As yet no great effort of the enemy had been directed his way,--the western side. But he had no hope that he should escape what was coming.
At midnight a tongue of fire leaped up tree-top high on the line between him and Argoed. The Saxons of the rock-fort saw it, and cried, "The Torch of Cyllalaur," as they burst out in full strength after this far-summoning leader. Llywarch, remote in the wilderness, also took it for his guide. But no other was stirred to such swiftness as Dynan. Calling his nearest men, he sprang on the horse ready-saddled beside him, and rode madly for the enemy who thus held the path to the lady of his hopeless love. Away behind he heard the sounds of onset, but not now could he turn to them.
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Before very long the burning tree died down, but there were sparks and flickers enough to show him the way; and soon the moon came out, spreading a good light in many places before him. Even under the trees he could see dimly. In that half-light of haze and shadow he came suddenly on a massing and stir of figures about the border of a glade, and saw the breath of the wind awaken the last beacon-embers above them. He skirted these men hastily, and kept on.
There was a hubbub of indecision, and one or two spears were thrown; but the way lay open before him, with all his enemies behind. When very sure of this, he drew rein, and his horse nearly sank under him.
It was a barren pass where he halted, with an upward slant between two hills, the one of rounding contour, in a billowy garment of low shrubbery; the other an abrupt, all but overhanging, rocky mass, with distorted, out-thrusting boughs and uncanny roots, twisted and down-reaching. A little above him, where the way widened, a low yew-tree divided it, over-shading the leaden glint of a spring, with yet more uncertain outlines behind. It needed only a breath of air or a shifting of moonbeams to set all astir.
To Dynan's fancy, life was everywhere about him now, though whether friendly or hateful he could not say. There could be no question as to the hurried
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voices and clanking which he heard far down the glen. They would be too many for him he doubted; and what aid but from one--who would surely come at the magic summons, with her own price for salvation,--the price of the downward way. Over his soul crept the sense of a chill, unhuman tricksomeness and terror--all the uncertain attributes haunting the shadow of a hapless and vanished race.
"Not yet!" he cried aloud. "Not with the sun of Argoed in my veins and the life of the race of man! Not for any need or torment of my own. But Freur!--to save Freur!--if all else fails; it is the path to Freur I am guarding."
Now the sounds were near, and others, greater, arose far behind. He judged that a few of the fleetest were sent after him, while Ossa fell on the rear of the oaken wall where the first Saxons were cutting through it. There his post had been, deserted now, as never before since he first learned duty. He set his face bitterly at the thought.
The moon tipped something that moved a little below him, and he wheeled back under the tree. There were calls, as though he had been seen or heard, and then a quick scrambling up the slope. He could see them now, a panting horse, the rider, and two footmen, well blown, dragging by the thighs of him.
At once he darted on them out of the gloom,
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spearing the horse in the nostrils, so that he reared and reeled over, dashing two of the party headlong, while the lance-point, deftly shifting, caught the other runner quite full in front, piercing to the spine. It was plucked out again, but not soon enough to reach the other two, who were tumbling back to their comrades, very much shaken. The horse was there before them. The fairy's son vanished under the yew. The slain Saxon lay all alone in the road.
Dynan heard the muttering of consultation below; and they mounted again, in greater number this time, on foot, two by two. As the foremost pair reached the corpse, the taller of them cursed audibly, but broke his curse midway at sight of the ambushed figure. "A demon!" he cried; and with the word the darted weapon took him, and horse and man leaped out after it together as he fell. The man beside him wounded Dynan's horse, but went down under a sword-cut; and the cry of the dead man, "A demon, a demon!" echoing from lip to lip, far more bore back those who followed than did his charge. Presently they were fleeing down the road, with Dynan right upon them, so that he would have slain another or more than one but that his horse fell. Therefore he went back regretfully and listened.
He could hear now the sound, not far away, of metal stricken together, and angry cries, which in that age alone gave notice of combat. He knew that the Sax-
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ons must have at last cut an outlet, and that a good part, at least, of Arthur's army, beyond question, had swept round on one or both sides to assail them. Yet in, spite of all, they were coming his way, the way to Argoed.
In no long time the first of this fugitive army overtook those who had attacked him, and halted in perturbation, wild to go on, since Arthur, with Lancelot and Caradoc, were behind them, yet by no means in love with any wood demon either. By the growing sound of their voices he could tell how they gathered, until at last, when some of tougher fibre came up, there was a strong movement toward him. They came rapidly, if not with perfect steadiness, filling the whole pass; a great clamor of fighting, not far behind, urging them on. Then he held the horn very tightly in his left hand, ready for instant use, and with the other flashed out his sword, leaping before them with a keen, quavering cry, like no human fighting sound that ever was heard. It made them swerve and eddy a little; and before they could settle again, the fairy's son was flitting miraculously before, about, and among them, leaving one blinded by the gash along his brow, another sinking on his knee with severed tendons,--a lithe little fury of attack, exceeding even himself in his own bewildering strategy. Three men had fallen, and more were bleeding, and the line had been kept
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stationary a minute or more, in spite of the upward crowding, before the Saxons were well aware that the wild cat who thus clawed the front of their array was quite alone and human after all. Then a roar went up of mingled amusement, admiration, anger, and mutual derision; and they closed upon him in a semicircle, wild with the great need to clear the way.
Feeling his doom very near, Dynan sprang about and darted back in a frenzy, keeping his enemies as nearly as he might before him, dodging and dealing blows, and sometimes taking them, until the blood spurted, a human fox in the very jaws of the hounds. He felt, rather than saw, the yew-tree over him. He felt his foot plash and slip in the runnel from the spring. He saw a medley of weapons and faces thronging up almost against his own on every side. With one swing of his blade to keep them off a second, he clapped the elfin horn to his mouth, and blew. So strange was the sound, so ear-splitting and jangling, so cavernous in the echo, that the assailants drew breath and shrank, looking about them. He staggered back against the trunk, murmured weakly, "For Freur!" and blew again.
Then, whether it were echo, or wound-disordered fancy, or the call of human allies thronging to him in his need, or something verily more dread to all, there did certainly seem to come from cliff and hill
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and hollow fountain-depth and the waste of pallid, moonlit air a multitudinous answer. All nature was full of it and of stormy figures hurrying to the onset. His eyes closed weakly, but he seemed to hear the crash of unearthly havoc and yells of Saxon dismay. As he lifted his eyelids again, he saw, or thought he saw, a figure, as of the haze, waving the assailants on. She turned her face toward him, and he passed into the swoon of one drained of blood. Then, in trance, he felt uplifted bodily, and borne far away. Hope, choice, even wish, had wholly left him. Yet he seemed to know that he was journeying to the hollow land of his forsaken and haunting race. The arms of the dread lady of his dream were around him.
When Llywarch and his belated horsemen broke in through the upper end of the pass, they saw wild figures in tumultuous movement, and heard the sounds of fight and flight before them, which they could not by any diligence overtake. In after fancy, they seemed to have ridden behind a whirlwind of spectral violence.
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THE DEATH OF AN ARMY.
WHEN Arthur and his men saw that revulsion of panic take their enemies at the blowing of the elfin horn, they too were aware--or later so deemed themselves--of something appalling and unearthly. But they made no stint of fighting, indeed, fought all the harder, for some had raised the cry, "The hosts of heaven are coming to our aid!" Even the Emperor echoed it, this interpretation being most in agreement with his hopes and his will. It seemed that the Saxons were to be reaped from the earth all at once where they hovered, weakened and shaken.
But in a moment there came on them that strength of paroxysm which drives men against anything, with the sense of horrors behind. Against that even the victorious Britons could not stand. They slew many, took and wounded many; but at two points the Saxons broke through them. Ossa Cyllalaur, with a desperate few who clung to him, cut a passage northward, and, in the end, after many hardships and losses, gained his capital. The greater number went
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back, by the way they lately had taken, through the breach in the British wall. Behind their own rugged stone shelter they turned again, savage in despair. After one unsuccessful assault, their enemies withdrew, and waited. Now and then the environing soldiery jeered, and sent arrow-flights, but nothing more.
As for the Saxons, they mostly kept silence, looking at each other with deep eyes; and many lay down, leaden in their weariness, until slumber took them. Yet keen hunger awoke with them at the dawn.
Whatever in any way might be made to pass for food was eagerly hunted for. Yet there was little to choose between those who ate nothing, and those who wearied their jaws on foul leather, or devoured scraps. The strain of fighting had brought this need swiftly and direly on them. Beside, not a few had lost blood, and needed replenishing. Sore and grim, they looked over the wall, exposing themselves indifferently, or doubled themselves behind it in the temper and aspect of wild beasts. Only here and there one preserved the nobler air of a brave man under the great shadow.
Of these, a harper, after a time, picked up his instrument where he had thrown it in that last night-sally, and drew his hand, through habit, idly over the strings. Chance, or some soul-movement, wakened hopeful notes, and a faint light came into the dull
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eyes about him. So--hearers, minstrel, and harp all inciting one another--the sounds grew into a continued strain, which leaped out inspiringly.
"Why have done with hope?" he sang. "Hope hath but fled with Ossa, hath wed Ossa Cyllalaur; and full surely and swiftly will they come again to us together. Why, O men of the North and of the sea, why, O men of the fight and of the storm-wind, have ye grown all at once so child-weak in patience, so unenduring? Was it not said of old that the one food needed by the Saxon is the sight of his enemy's destruction? Is it much to wait a day longer with such a banquet in store? For I tell you that their mighty walls shall be broken, and the weapons of them shall be whirled away like dead leaves through the forest. Then what can save from you their goodly cities, fairer than any dream. Wherefore patience a little while; yet patience."
Listening, they believed with fevered exaltation; a deadly faith for them, since at that moment came one more message of pity and peace, a Briton bearing it. Him these frenzied men seized with mocking answers, and one, wild with famine and many hurts, cut him down. A great cry went up from the British circle, then ceased again as suddenly. There was no further sound, nor any motion. The Saxons looked around, and knew what they had done; and the world drew blank to them.
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Their minds went over the long distance between them and York, the city drained of her strength, dead or dying there. Over empty lands it went, from which no new forces might quickly spring, and back into that tangled wilderness where their chief, if yet alive, was doubtless then striving to force his way. Very desolately it was borne in on them that he would never come.
By noon they were most hopeless, famine-stricken wretches. Through hour after hour following, they said to each other by word and eye, "This must have an end." Toward sundown one cried, "Better now, while we have yet strength to cut our mark on them." At once three or four thousand of the strongest climbed the wall on the northward side, making for their enemy in a leaderless, ravening mass. That charge held, though many fell by the way with arrows in them, and there was hard fighting over the British barricade. But the besiegers were too plentiful, and gathered more and more at the threatened point from every quarter, pushing them farther from the wall in throbs and throes of combat, step by step, quite to their own enclosure. And now all were closely pent there except the dead, while their enemies were up against it on every side.
Seeing their desperate plight, Arthur called aloud one more offer of mercy, to all except him who had
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slain the message-bearer. But they were beside themselves, and answered only with a jeer.
"End it, then," he commanded; "end it, since they will have no less."
But this was not easily done, even yet. They were still many and well-weaponed, and every way formidable in their famished hate. For a time, fast as men mounted the wall they were hurled back again, or dragged inward, or speared, or cut; or rolled, grappling, with some stabbing enemy. Yet the assault was nearly continuous everywhere, Saxons and Britons being well packed together, with only the slippery and crumbling mass of stones between. Lancelot and Caradoc were the first over it who made good their footing within. Slowly a few more joined them; but they scarce gained ground at all, and had to fight for life as well as victory. Half an hour later a mighty swell of attack lifted Arthur, with Llywarch and Caowl and some hundreds more, a little farther inward from the opposite point of the circle. There was desperate effort to dislodge these; and when it failed, the Saxons threw up some sort of crude barrier before them with whatever came in their way, and fought over it. Before the sun left the tree-boughs, the doomed men were panting within less than one-fourth of their stone-encircled camp. The glinting yellow rays between the trunks lighted the last knot of haggard, angry faces and
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whirling arms, driven literally to the wall and to death.
After that there were great shoutings of triumph; but the victors, with their dead and wounded, drew away to a less ghastly place. Then silence and the night fell together; the one suddenly, but not unbroken, the other by slow degrees. And men hushed their breath for ages afterward at thought of the slain Saxon army in that haunted forest of Celidon.
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THE TOKEN OF OISIN AND THE MARCH TO LONDON.
Arthur bore the image of the holy Virgin, Mother of God.
--NENNIUS.
ARTHUR, mindful of London's danger, and its people's aid in that great wood-fight, left himself no rest in hastening thither. Guinevere had but one loving hour with him at Legiolum, although using her most enthralling wiles, in jealous fear of that stately queen for whom such prowess was to be expended. She could not even take heart at the thought of Lancelot coming; for he too, though yet sore with wounds, held southward, seeking new battles. Caradoc, who had fared very ill in that slaughter, was to rest there, and to rule. But a halting and growling uncle, though soon to mend, was not the guardian most eagerly to be chosen by the luxuriant Guinevere. She pitied herself many times before it was held quite safe for her to take the southward way.
Arthur's great army was gazed on breathlessly, as it went, for such awful destruction had not been heard of in living memory. The loss was plain, many ranks being thinned wofully, and the marks of bat-
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tle showed everywhere; but all looked on them as men predestined to conquer. They followed their rapid leader as with wings, Constantine, anxious for Aurelia, doing his best thrice over in smoothing all difficulties away.
London-town still held out, but nearly all other news was ill. Scarcely anything stirred Arthur so bitterly as the storming of the lake-village, the death of Osburn in a futile effort to save it, and the total vanishing of its enthusiastic pastor. Yet none gave him up for lost altogether; for a man with good marsh guidance might lie hidden a long time thereabout, beyond all finding by Saxons.
So in truth it proved; for news of the Emperor's march in some way brought him forth, carried by four men on a litter, with the stain and rankness of the swamp still on him. Thinner and more bird-like he was than ever, with fingers withered and shrunken to mere talons, fever-flushed in the face and fever-shaken, his breath coming at first in gasps of thankfulness for free air, his eyes deepening intensely.
He bade the bearers put him down at the place of first meeting an officer of that army. "It is for Arthur Mabuter to come hither," said he. "A greater Monarch, by me, his voice among the men of Britain, soon returning to that heavenly sender, summons him, awaits him." His voice was preternaturally calm, and his eyes gazed into the
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blue above him as if for vision of his home soon to be.
The victor of Celidon heard, and came still more rapidly. This triumph had bred in him an exaltation in unison with that of this martyred enthusiast. Formerly Oisin had seemed to him a pathetic figure, admirable in some ways, yet extravagant, ungovernable, dangerous. Now he was prepared to humble himself, and take the dying man's words as indeed a message from on high. The measured utterance of the sufferer affected him like a shock.
"We are bidden to number our days," began Oisin. "Minutes are days for me now, and I have numbered them; also my words, fitting each to each. Be silent all; there is not one to spare.
"Arthur, Emperor of Britain, this is my burden to you from the Most High: 'Tear thou the head of Vran from the White Hill of his enchantment.'
"And this is the reason thereof: he hath put palsy into British veins. He hath poisoned the cause of Christ with his necromancy. He hath given over London-town to the curse of selfishness, while the ravagers were all abroad in the outer lands.
"They came against us once, twice, three times, and yet a fourth; and while we fought, we called on God and man for aid. At first Cian came against them, and then Osburn, and then both together; but each time those were fewer who would follow;
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and at the fourth, Osburn went down under many Saxons. Then, for all that we could do, the people of God were slain, old and young together, in their homes and about their altar, unmercifully; so that only a few escaped with me into the outer noisomeness, where we have dwelt until now like foul spirits of the waste. Yet even there have we heard the cry go up to Vran and the gods of Vran, from the White Hill of Cynvelyn, exulting.
"I adjure you, Arthur Mabuter, as you value salvation, make no compact, no truce, with the works of darkness. For the Christian soldier there is only the cross of his suffering Redeemer and the holy countenance of the Mother of God, not the buried and evil-luminous head of old wickedness."
Arthur bowed his head profoundly, saying, "Even so, Oisin." There was great pity in his eyes, but something hotter and darker behind it.
Oisin lay back easy of mind. He said no more, only once to ask for water; and once he made motion toward his breast. There, moving the mantle, was found a cameo of clear creamy stone, hanging locket-wise, the pure face of Mary, Christ's mother. When Arthur took this reverently, the dying man smiled, and pointed to the shield he bore. Arthur gave promise by word and sign that it should be set there, guarding and guarded. The dying man was still again until the last spasm took him. Thus
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passed Oisin the evangelist into the light or the shadow.
The token was indeed a marvellous thing, nor could any one tell the land or time wherein it was made. Arthur, all the more for this mystery, held it high above aught else that God or man had given him. So the best of his armorers and cunning workers in precious things were called, and given charge to set it in the central boss of the shield, with a bright encircling wreath, jewelled and golden. Swiftly they wrought, with his more than human eagerness ever beside them, waiting while some part of the army went by. At the last sunset of their march, Arthur the Emperor, with glad, solemn eyes, held it tilted into the wonder and richness of that glory, and said, "It is well."
After all had supped and rested a while, he sent his word abroad and took the lead; and the whole army, wakening limb by limb from its ease, came after him, at first sluggishly, then vehemently, with a great hum, passing quickly into silence. A long night-speeding it was; the footmen striding after the horses, and well nigh keeping pace mile for mile, a dim, multitudinous tossing of spears and javelins and armor-gleams, with a world of doubtful features and forms under the half-clouded starlight.
Silently as they went, some whisper, like the leaves in the night-wind, kept on before, so that all the
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phantom-like enemies between them and the north wall of the city drew away. When Eschwine, from the banks of the Lea near its mouth, looked northward toward the Hampstead hills, it was not the presence of armed enemies that widened his eyes, but rather their multitude, which was like a miracle, to have appeared so soon. Among them he could see well the spoil of the Cyllalaur and his Saxons,--mail and standards and weapons of cunning ornament. Well before the array, from among the ruins of the villa of Constantine, floated the dragon banner of the great Arthur, imperial token of supremacy throughout Britain.
Then he smiled very grimly, hiding discomfiture, and bade his men to the river and beyond, where were the Kent-folk armaments on the Southwark marshes and fields. There being boats in plenty, all were over before harm came of their severance. Truly when the Saxons were thus together the host of them at second view was not less but even greater (being infantry standing close) than that of their enemy. Notwithstanding, they had no longer any hope of London for a prey.
Some quaint humor moved Eschwine to send that morning an embassy to Arthur, in solemn form, with many titles and compliments, desiring that he would withdraw his goodly display of riders from that useful battlefield between the armies of Kent and Essex
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and London, it being a contention which in no way concerned the other island peoples.
Arthur heard as one who hears not; then made answer, "Tell your king, Eschwine, and his confederates, that I will have no treaty with them nor any manner of parley. Tell him that he is forsworn; that he has forfeited both life and soul. Tell him I would I could smite the one, as I verily, and that soon, shall smite out of existence the other."
He bade them be entertained and restored to their own people. His army spread itself over all the land as far as the riverside, while he rode in through the Ermine gate, with his imperial guard of thrice three hundred champions, the best legion of infantry following spear in hand.
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BROUGHT TO THE LIGHT.
Arthur discovered the head, for it was a frivolous thing with him to defend the kingdom by any other power than his own.
--NOTE TO GUNN's Nennius .
THE siege of London, though not very long, had tried the defenders sorely. Even before the storming of the lake village, most of the open country had been swept. Yet there could be no general destruction of life. The invaders trampled empty fields and fired empty houses. But by day the huddled watchers within the walls watched the smoke roll up where their homes had been, and the lights were lighted very distressfully.
Again and again Cian had striven to put heart into his people, and lead them in some effort to stay this ravage. But except the several efforts in behalf of the lake village, and one long sally of foresters to a stronghold up the river, whence they were glad enough to get back again, scarce a man could be brought beyond the limit set by Vran. When the villa of Constantine was fired, Aurelia herself royally forbade the dashing forth of any mere handful,
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such as Cian could have taken, to fight for her home.
Twice near the wall he made some play with his chariots; but much of that ground was always marshy, and the rains and thaws and sharp frosts were all equally bad for them. On the roads and some smooth places he could indeed yet do service; but these were easily obstructed, and nothing great came of it. All in all, this plain truth remained on the side of Vran, that the walls held, throwing off every assault; and whatever was done without the walls came to no very good ending.
Yet once, at least, there was exceeding danger. While Cian's attention was taken by a determined threatening along the northern wall, a strong party of the enemy swarmed over an ill-watched point near the eastern abutment on the Thames, and others followed, so that a good many Saxons were fairly within the city. But it so chanced that a great concourse of Druidic devotees had just betaken themselves to the White Hill, and at the first alarm descended right eagerly, their priests now clad in full pagan attire, and wild chants of adoration on every lip. Nothing could withstand them now, for in the very depth of their hearts they deemed they knew. The first Saxon success was a real Saxon undoing. Imbedded in a hostile city, assailed in this preterhuman spirit of shrill hate, not one of them ever left the
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houses and streets alive. Cian's legions, hurrying across from the northern boundary, found the work already done to their hand.
It was hard for any one not to have some faith in the power that won for them. Aurelia felt it; so, still more, did Cian, growing day by day. In his case were there not also lifelong habit and brooding, the fame that pledged him, the mystery that lured--more than all, the memory of his fight for the golden vest in the luminous hidden crypt, and the living fire that had so lately burned on him, accompanied by that awful voice out of the hollow hill? Thus the defenders were exceedingly ready for that especial work; and when, three days later, a wave-head of Saxons came fairly over the western wall, the intruders were crushed between two masses, each a thousand mailed men closing like jaws, and died there speedily. No other entrances were made, though there were many partial onsets. Even the great battering-ram failed, for slings and arrows and javelins made havoc among those who swung it; and the gate against which it had been trained flew open unexpectedly to let out a throng of destroyers. Therefore it was not used again.
There were many lesser endeavors and stratagems of the enemy, compelling very close watchfulness, but without other result in any case. Toward the last it seemed that they might soon look for an onfall of
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the whole Saxon host, and how this might have fared none could know. But the people for the most part were high-hearted in their dread reliance; and Arthur found this feeling at the full, confronting his own abhorrence. Nevertheless, they gladly welcomed the bright show he made, and the strength he brought. They were not famished as yet, but only straitened enough to do double honor to the feast set forth by the imperial largess and the providence of Constantine.
Even at this banquet there was some frowning over the downfall of Vortimer, and other tales that were told. It seemed hard that such ruin should have fallen on mere generous disorder. But they gloried abundantly in the astounding achievement of Celidon. Aloud they cried, "Like death was his spear, killing his enemy." Nevertheless, the sight of the Emperor's shield, and the known charge laid on him by Oisin before death, stirred in them alarm, even the menacing of horror.
Arthur himself was not wholly unchanged. His demeanor, though gracious ever since his entry, held something in reserve. His appalling success in the wilderness battle--so like the descending hand of death, and following many victories--had made his natural self-confidence grow toward a sense of supreme power and undoubted right. A perilous arrogance lurked in this, which yet was not know-
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ingly self-seeking. All protest of inner sympathy had been barred by the superhuman cogency of the injunction laid on him and the hard uplifting of his mission.
He heard that evening from the queen and Cian the full narrative of the siege, glooming over every allusion to Vran, but saying nothing until all else had been uttered. Then to Aurelia,--
"I have somewhat to tell your people," he said, "which concerns them all. If it please you, let the notables, at least, meet us in council two hours hence. Till then I will rest."
When he had left them, Cian looked at Aurelia, saying, "Our Emperor is the greatest man alive; but I would that Vran had put himself on the side of more generous fighting, or that Arthur were not so stern and fervent in his faith."
Aurelia returned his look, smiling gravely.
"True," she answered, "yet other zeal may not be more wise. I would that faiths might not clash; but let each freely have his own, or so many as may please him."
Cian shook his head. "That will not suffice for Arthur."--
"Let us hope better," replied she, but uncertainly.
Arthur's words to the council were few.
"Men of London," he began. "You have done well in defending your walls. You would have
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done better but that there was a traitor among you."
One looked at another, distressed and doubtful. Cian, seeing his drift, spoke out,--
"Would it be just, my Emperor, to expect us alone to rout such a host?"
He waved his hand toward the southern windows, where, in detached pictures, were seen, beyond the river, the vast and firmly planted armies of Saxondom.
Arthur gazed on that sight, then turned quietly to Cian. "Will you say that no more could have been done if all had been eager? With the enemy ravaging in scattered parties, what hand was interposed? With the enemy fleeing, who followed beyond the wall, and slew? What ill friend of our race had power to draw a magic circle, and wilt the manhood of British men beyond it to the weakness of a dreaming girl? One--if old tales be true--hidden in some caverned place of the White Hill of Cynvelyn. Whether heathen imposture, I know not; or some evil being justly wiped from the race of men, or existing since the beginning, for man's undoing and destruction. But this I know very surely, that not again from his nether hold shall Vran work treason against Britain. He shall see the daylight, for all the little love he hath of it."
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At once there were cries, aghast. Aurelia, their queen, arising with modest dignity, spoke for all.
"Beware, great Emperor, not of Vran, nor of any who is or hath been mortal. But beware of affronting that good God who hath set deep feelings in men. These also have made our walls many times the stronger. To disturb the relics of Vran in their burial-place will be a horror in all eyes."
"My Emperor, my loved general!" exclaimed Cian, with shaken voice, "a thing so wrong would surely weaken the homage of every upright follower, and forfeit, soon or late, your dominion, which was founded in righteousness, and rests on righteousness only."
Arthur looked gravely, first at the one speaker, then at the other--sadly, almost fondly, at the woman whom he had made queen, but whose queenliness was beyond his making, that woman who even now made the luxuriant Guinevere seem less to him; then not so sadly, but with a spice of anger, at the trained soldier of his battles.
"I had foreseen all this," he said. "I am sad to grieve you, lady; menaces move me not, Prince Cian. Those who have all wisdom, and who love me not, beyond doubt will leave me. To-morrow we fight the Saxons, when men will be tested. I deal to-night with an enemy long covered, nearer home."
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He walked sedately from the hall of audience. At once arose the trample and clang of troops held ready, now steadily moving. It went with him; and all knew that he was for the tomb in the White Hill.
Cian, with face of outrage, cried out, "It is beyond enduring. It shall not be. There are men in London"--
But Aurelia demanded, "Am I queen?"
"Assuredly," he replied.
"Then no hand of London shall be raised against the Emperor."
Cian looked at her with bewilderment, then suspicion. He had seen the softening of memory in Arthur's face. Might not she also remember and hope, towering, as she did, above Guinevere--and Guinevere so far away! The fancy went forth with him resentfully.
His feet bore him to the haunted White Hill. Arthur and his men were there already. The digging had begun.
"It is a work that you will repent," said Cian curtly, halting, as in doubt whether he should say or do more.
Arthur viewed him in displeasure, and half turned, as if about to give some order, then waved his hand in dismissal without speaking; and the work went on.
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Cian walked away with hot darkness in his heart, feeling himself wholly right and wholly wronged. Forming no definite plan, he yet drew together his chariots and such of his men as were most devoted to him, in the northern part of the city; and when Aurelia sent to know his meaning, he returned a doubtful and sullen answer. But distress and perplexity were so in the air every way that she could not determine to do anything.
A shaking palsy had fallen on the city. For a moment some talked of resistance, and some of fleeing, as not sure what bolt of destruction might fall. But they waited in mere fascination and terror. Only the priests, with a few hundred of the bravest behind them, went in procession before the Emperor, to beseech and warn--if yet by any means they might prevent the dreadful thing. But Arthur merely heard them, and bade them stand by to see that it was done well.
Below the sod and the clay the diggers came to a rough casing of loosely cemented, irregular stones, and within this an apartment, or crypt, very neatly walled with translucent blocks unlike any material near. Therein, on a polished altar, symbolically engraven, rested Vran's hairless and terror-working skull. Yet it wrought no terror now. Arthur inspected it curiously, and averred that he found it too like any other human head to be treated with despite,
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but would send it honorably away from London for reburial.
Then the great hole was refilled; and all disquieted London was free to go to its repose, with a sense of relief, since no cataclysm had befallen, that was a very odd blankness and disappointment also.
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HOW ARTHUR AND CIAN RAISED THE SIEGE.
For the terror of death from the base men of Lloegyn
I will not tarnish my honor.
--ANEURIN.
BUT Cian took no rest. Through the night he paced uneasily among his men, or tossed himself down, to rise again, or sat bitterly.
Aurelia's waking moments were also of disquiet and foreboding, so that she half wished the city of London left with the foe still about it, and no rescue. For what had come to pass was portentous, with great upheaval in it of men's faith and human ties. Not the most philosophic mind could face it unshaken.
In the new daylight her mind was clearer. The act of the Emperor was done beyond all undoing. She had no better liking for it than at first; yet destruction had not fallen, and there was no course but to go forward. Toward Cian she was in displeasure, trusting that he would yet do his part, and striving to weigh duly in his behalf the affront which had so stirred him.
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Word was brought her of a very great muster by Arthur eastward of the town, presaging some enterprise against the enemy. It slighted her that she should in no way have been called on. After breakfasting, she rode forth duly attended. Arthur was already far beyond the Wallbrook, where the troops of the north and west were gathering to him. But as she went she saw many of her own fighting-men yet at their posts, with eyes that held more than her own unrest. But when Arthur, the Emperor, had sight of her, he rode very decorously thither.
She watched his coming with curious interest. Reliance grew within her on this power among men, who feared not anything, even the most sacred. She found in his poise and air something of the warrior archangel. At least there was exaltation in his eye. Yet surely even a champion of heaven, while abiding among men, should not ride rough-shod over their hope and adoration.
"I had not thought the Queen of London would be abroad so early," he said. "May we look also for some of her people?"
"Our Emperor knows they are all his to command," replied she.
Arthur reined his steed around beside her, and they rode on together.
"Your Emperor," he responded gravely, "has never acted from his own will only, without regard-
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ing those between, unless on the highest compulsion, or in the greatest need."
She held an obedient face, bowing gently. He resumed:--
"This time there was no such urgence: My old friend Cian kept aloof. I could not know how you might feel. We had no need of the unwilling, with so many of us already, and this ." He bent his brow toward the shield.
"Yet the Saxons are many," she said gravely.
It was indeed a spectacle. Their host, great already, had swollen immensely during the night by the increment of many small parties hurriedly called in. By far the greater number were afoot. They did not cover the ground evenly, but in neighboring bodies, larger or smaller--with every chieftain the men who had followed him to the war. A continual hum came from them, as of readiness for the wrestling of spears. .
"There will be less of them when all is over," answered the Emperor; and his men who heard, for they were near now, cried out eagerly, after the manner of the day. That sound of grim rejoicing went along the lines and throughout the great mass of soldiery--greater still in seeming for the number of those who were mounted. Only London levies who had been with Vortimer at first kept an over-shadowed air; but, as their queen openly smiled on
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them from beside the Emperor, these responded with a very especial acclaim. It cheered and fortified her. She gazed at Arthur with a certain deep wistfulness, hardly daring. "Does it not show the better way to their zeal and aid?" she said at last.
Arthur bowed courteously, but as yielding nothing.
"Prince Cian is deeply grieved," she added gently.
Now, indeed, there came a touch of resentment in Arthur's pure, strong face.
"Cian defended you well," he said, "and for that and old service much may be passed by. Yet he carries it far. One might fancy him an enemy. Let him stay. The cause of God needs no reluctant aid."
She bowed in deference rather than conviction.
"But at least my father shall lead some of my people to the fight, if you will spare him," she said. "We grudge nothing, if we do not approve all things--even in the highest."
The Emperor knew it was her last rebuke. He bowed low to her womanliness, but offered no defence. When he made answer, it was to her earlier words only.
"They will be welcome. They shall be first over the bridge."
As they rode back before the army, Aurelia could not fail to notice how--for all his rapt loftiness--he bore the new splendor of his shield ever in the sun. Moreover, the gathering, and the movement,
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and the going and coming again by one road, all seemed part of the vaunting pictorial fancy of his race.
Constantine being already in the forum, and assault resolved on forthwith, a galloping messenger was despatched him, with word to set men at breaking down the barricades that had long blocked the bridge. Almost, before Aurelia entered the town, a great crashing and splintering had begun.
She had looked for interference from the Saxon outposts by the riverside; but, after one undecided movement, these gave no sign. They even drew off a little, so as to leave open space for some part of Arthur's army, but thickened continually behind the curved front thus acquired. Within the city she discerned a shifting of men, and judged that Arthur was putting forward those who were best able to give and take in hard hand-play against odds, until re-enforcements should reach them. But some of her own were still in the van.
She looked from time to time toward the guardtower of the northern gate, where stood a group watching, with the chariots ranged below. All ready, but for what? The question made her blush in anger and in shame. Should she send again to entreat--another slight? Or command--with possible conflict of wills, and contingencies not to be thought on? Hemmed about and strained, she waited, think-
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ing, "Surely now he will come, or now, or now." At last, while looking riverward, an exclamation beside her recalled her eyes; and she clasped her hands, with a low, pleased cry, as she saw that the tower-roof was vacant.
At the same time a stir ran through the waiting troops of every arm near that tower. Then the light left her face, and a low moan escaped her. For they were not coming, but going out through the gateway, Cian and the chariots foremost. The bright face of her hope seemed smitten with enduring blackness.
On a tablet she hastily wrote for Arthur: "Prince Clan has fled. His chariots and men are lost to you."
She heard sounds of surprise from both armies; of jeering also from the one, of angered mortification from the other. With set teeth and lips, she watched, now the bridge, gradually clearing of obstruction, now the causeway through the northern marshes, along which the glittering thread of spears and wheels and men in armor crawled steadily. Surely, she thought, now he will turn, or now; then she chided her silliness, for undoubtedly, if he had meant at all to fight about the bridge, he would have taken the direct course thereto. The last hope left her, as she saw them keep straight on, unwavering, across the marsh and the open land, into the woods. Ah,
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Cian had robbed her of the best of London, and made it a by-word for all time! She was half in mind to hurry after, with unmistakable commands, and the will, at any cost, to be obeyed.
On the brink of this came Arthur's answer: "Whatever Cian may purpose, be sure it is not to play the coward. This from his Emperor and old-time comrade, who little loves his later moods and ways."
She grew genial under that, with sudden self-blame and thankfulness to the Emperor. How could she have been the first to give way in trust, and to need assurance from another? How far, too, had she failed in comprehending "the magnanimous Arthur!"
Here were two men, the foremost of their time, who had so ordered some part of their conduct that a very friendly woman, meaning to be just and generous, had half despised them. Certainly the Emperor was not at his noblest as a desecrator of the grave. Certainly Prince Cian could not yearn to be depicted as withdrawing through the farthest gate while his comrades marched into danger. For the moment she felt like giving up all comprehension of the sex, but rested in the consoling sense that somehow all was well, though details might be bettered.
But now her father, well pleased at this break in his commonplace duties, and looking all that he ever had thought of himself, rode over the opened bridge
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at the head of his men. No chance for indecision here, nor conflicting wills, but only those of the enemy, whom he had no thought to shun. His fellow-townsmen, even those who had hated him and contended with him, were all proud of their chief Roman now.
He went slowly, his horsemen spreading like a fan over the low open ground beyond the river, to cover the exit from the bridge. Llywarch followed with chosen men of the north, a goodly company, turning up the river, where Constantine made room for him. Next Lancelot in like manner, fronted down-stream, with the men of the west. Then Arthur himself, with a greater body, drawn from all quarters, pushed these three forward nearly to the Saxon front, and formed a denser demi-belt behind them. It left indeed but room for one legion of foot, who came swiftly across to guard the bridge-head, making living buttresses on either side, with a narrow lane between for re-enforcements.
The Saxons were swaying now, with the word of onset almost at tongue and ear. It was not Arthur's will that this word should be given. He rose full height in the stirrups, holding his consecrated shield with both hands above his head, and flashed it for a signal to Llywarch, to Constantine, to Lancelot. As it swept round the curve, the Saxons received its scintillation in their dazzled eyes, with some wild ex-
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pectancy of magic. Before they had quite regained themselves, the outer line of Britons, with loud cries, had spurred in among them everywhere, spearing and slashing. A few moments later Arthur and his main body of horsemen charged, with greater impetus, in the wake of Constantine.
He well knew that the chief endeavor of the enemy would be to cut him off by striking in crosswise near the bridge. But he meant they should gain nothing by this; and before him he saw the father of Aurelia--whom but for Guinevere he might have sought as his bride--in great urgency of peril.
For in this supreme moment Constantine was rushing onward among the enemy as man never went. All disparagement of the past, all baffled self-esteem, rose before him; the inspiration of blood, of lineage, the memory of the white death-charge of Aurelius Ambrosius, hurled him on. At last he was to justify all that he had held himself to be, or die, as Ambrose died, amid the lasting plaudits of the world. So he rode down and smote down, breaking through dense masses on his powerful stallion, taking spear-point after spear-point harmlessly on shield and mail, keeping right on, though slanting leftward unwittingly, with no eye for anything but the swift work he had to do.
His men, plying desperately to keep the pace, were still left stringing behind one by one, or in little
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fighting knots among their enemies. They joined Arthur as he swept on, keeping his own ranks well together, and scattering the hostile froth before him. But Constantine was beyond their aid.
Four times Arthur saw the Roman spear-stricken and all but hurled from the saddle; then, since the end was near, he, shouting with might and main, the jewelled Queen of Heaven burning on his arm, and a hundred devoted fighting men hammering close behind, came side by side with the dying Constantine, and the struggle around them was deadly. Packed in the press of friends and enemies, Constantine rode upright in armor manfully out of life. When the inburst of British men scattered the mass, and freed them, it was but a corpse in armor that Arthur caught a moment by the shoulder, as it fell crashing. In his own peril he had no choice but to let it be.
He was now, though with many wounded men, in a great expanse of hostile infantry. But the slanting chase had led him toward the side of Lancelot, though much farther afield; and by the shouting he judged this prince, with his mountain men, to be retarded by great odds, but working in resolutely. Arthur turned thither with weight and fury, his men all striving as if on the one road to life. A tongue of the Saxon army, caught thus between hammer and anvil, was sorely worsted and broken.
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Lancelot had been strengthened already by a part of the footmen from the bridge, or he would have been driven back before this in spite of all. Arthur and he together strenuously cleared away their closest assailants at the sides and rear; then swept over the ground which Constantine had held, to the relief of Llywarch.
They did not find him so hard pressed as they had feared. For some reason the weight of Saxondom in front of him had been less than elsewhere; and Caowl, with a mixed body of re-enforcements flowing thinly over the bridge, had given him nearly all their aid. In his cheery, indomitable way, the Prince of Argoed, as always, had made a fine fight of it, penetrating far, and at the last falling back slowly with no ruinous loss of men. Everywhere around the space left for the Britons, the Saxon attack had been forestalled, the Saxon front badly broken.
Lancelot returned to his place again, Arthur to that of Constantine. All busied themselves in quick dashes to keep a wider space open, that there might be room for new men as they came. On their steady coming success depended; for the Saxons were not really shattered, except the mere face of them, and must press overpoweringly.
Eschwine saw this also. Hitherto he had held slightly aloof, hoping little from the first clashes, and watchful to deal some telling blow. He now
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pushed his archers along the river's edge from above, toward the bridge, under cover of a moving spearhedge, while simultaneously he made a distracting onset elsewhere.
Only a few minutes earlier some of Aurelia's people had found three chariots left behind by Cian as not perfect and strong. Externally they had the formidable look of their tribe, bright bronzework, seemly woodwork, scythe-like blades of long reach--great rushing engines of war every way to be desired. The queen joined in the welcome which greeted them, and hurried them forward. So, with untrained horses, and hiding fatal weakness under a show of bravery, they rattled and rumbled forward into the line of fire.
So fair a target was not easily to be missed. At the middle of the bridge a flight of flaming arrows took them. Streaks of flaring, smoke-billowing tow struck across the horses' nostrils; keen things, they knew not what, burnt their hides or pierced them. They reared and twisted this way and that; and the faulty vehicles were broken and splintered and locked together, barricading the way with a jagged, hopeless entanglement. The impatient horsemen following, themselves galled and disordered by missiles, pressed vehemently up, with the sound of fighting for a lure, and the impetus of the long column behind to bear them on. Presently there was but a writhing and
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dangerous mass, overflowing with great splashes into the water on either side, until the bridge groaned under it; and still the barrier grew.
Arthur saw the peril at hand. From the first he had known this risk, if any risk there could be to one who bore the sure guaranty of Heaven. His open war on Vran had left him no choice but to cross and right himself in all eyes by victory. He saw the whole field now with clear vision and constant mind,--Aurelia hastening down the White Hill toward the bridge; Llywarch and his cohorts dashing at the spearsmen and archers; Eschwine coming straight at himself with a front of horsemen and a great leaping crew of long-haired Saxon foot. Sending word that the men on the bridge and at its nearer end should follow Llywarch, he also charged forward, with all about him.
Midway, as he most desired, Arthur met Eschwine; met him without a word, but a swift-swaying quiver of his long spear that smote aside the lance of the Saxon, caught him at the shoulder, between the plates of bronze, and twisted him backward. One second Eschwine clung, with a face of fury and torment, then fell. Arthur went on vehemently, and many more rode likewise over the fallen man. After the battle Eschwine's body was dragged from a little runnel into which he had crawled for shelter, the dints of shod hoofs in spine
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and skull showing how he had met with an inglorious end.
His fall and the continued rush of the Britons did not at once turn the Saxon tide. For a time there were two counter torrents of men--one driving on with the plunging of mailed horses, with spears down-thrust and forward, with the smiting of sword-blades and axes; the other bounding like acrobats, upstriking and indriving, thrusting reckless hands throat-ward to drag their enemies down, or, even when wounded and brought to pause, dealing their blows every way until overridden and laid in the dust.
Even Arthur felt the jar of more blades than one behind the sacred shield. His spear was dragged from him by a sea-rover whom it had transfixed. Nearly following it out of the saddle, he was glad enough to let it go, and snatch his sword for defence against other assailants then around him.
A little way farther, and he found that the movement was British alone. A long wedge of them spread back from him, keeping on and holding together far better than their opponents. Quickening pace with a shout, he found the resistance giving way, and presently the Saxons were fleeing before him, except a few knots of men, who fought on very determinedly, and were shattered or left behind as might happen. At last he drove a reluctant, half-hesitating crew before him into open ground.
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Halting here, while his men poured through after him and fell into better trim for charging again, he saw that only a lesser part of the Saxons, after all, had been routed. The great body behind him had nearly closed again, facing about with a good will toward further encounter. Far to the right Lancelot was cutting his way slowly into a forest of opponents; while on the left, as slowly, Llywarch fell back before overpowering forces. He turned anxiously to the bridge, and there was indeed some sign of opening; but would even the first beginning of aid come in time? Up the river there was a stir of dust and moving forms, not yet visible to the Saxons, who, besides, were busy. It made him think of Cian longingly, but that was too good to be true.
He charged back to the bridge-head, fighting hard with greater loss than before in less time. As he faced about again, the Saxons were there still, all together, and beginning to come on with firm feet and faces. Lancelot and Llywarch joined him soon, the enemy pressing close on them from every side.
Then, over a hill beyond them rose a hurrying chariot, then another; and presently a whole line of such were in view. The sun burned on the well-remembered golden vest. "Cian, Cian!" cried the Britons all together, from riverside and bridge and all the roofs of the city. The Saxons gave a cry of
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consternation, ending in defiance, and a part of them turned about toward the new assailants.
About the same time the tangle of woodwork and ironwork was hurled from the bridge, and men began to come over.
Where Cian struck, the mass of the Saxons was densest, facing both ways formidably, for all their surprise. A few archers, whom Llywarch had driven to the rear, let fly with effect at their new kind of assailants. Cian himself was an especial mark, his charioteer receiving an arrow through the arm, while he heard another vehicle crashing over behind him. But his own kept on, though waveringly, and nearly all that followed struck and cut into the great mass of men before them. The chariot, as an unreasonable means of destruction, was the one thing that shook the Saxon before it touched him. To this bounding, swerving, onward hurling contrivance of steeds and wheels and fighting-men and body-severing blades he could by no means become reconciled. Even before Cian reached his enemies, he had known by their eyes that they would not long bear the onset. And now, as he felt them yielding every way, he heard the cheery cry of Llywarch vehemently coming toward him; while a wider, wilder swell of voices, prolonged over the now thronging bridge to the London shore, told of a great onrush of Arthur and his shield divine.
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Yet some of the enemy were packed between these opposite charges, holding the ground perforce, and lessening their momentum. So it was not without hard fighting that the old friends, Cian and Llywarch, met. Even afterward the Saxon infantry, cut off on the side toward the river shore, made terrible efforts to break through, and join their main body. Over, under, and between the chariots, a part of them succeeded. Turning on this great remainder, the comrade princes tore into it with momently increasing numbers, until they had it bodily in motion. But ever the great Emperor, shield on arm, kept his place far before them, with a comet-like trail of mailed riders.
Once he was cut off, and near destruction. A great throng, reeling from the assault of Llywarch farther to the right, broke across behind him, and hardened into a living wall at sight of their great opportunity; then it came furiously upon the few cohorts thus cut off, knowing they had but little time. Again the chariots came in play, though not too soon, and corners were lapped from the wall, and lanes cut in, until at last Llywarch's horsemen could carve a way through. So Arthur speedily was free again, and hastening on, but with the best of his men in greater mass near him. Their spreading front bore back the Saxons over the open land.
Thus, in wave on wave of dashing onset, he drove
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them until nightfall; and ever they resisted, seizing new foothold and fighting well; but their resistance grew less. When darknesss fell Arthur turned about to ride through a country filled with scattered and hopeless enemies, knowing that there was, at most, only a small remnant of the once great Saxon army floating on before its vanguard toward the sea.
He had lost many men and some notable chieftains; among others, Caowl, who fell in charging a rough wedge of the West Kent men half-way to the Cray. On Arthur's own body, for all its constant exposure, there was no wound. Good armor might count for much in this; rapidity of motion, skill, and audacity, for more. But he looked on the holy face that brightened his shield, and gave all the glory there. It was Mary, Queen of Heaven, he averred, who had saved him, and won the victory.
Now, this was well-nigh insufferable to Cian; to Tigernach, openly and wholly so. Were there no living men who had come vehemently to his aid when his need was very sore? What would have befallen him, shield or no shield, but for that first rush of the chariots? It was too much that they should be called upon to join in the aggrandizement of a new faith, which frowned on their own.
Arthur had forgiven Cian his first irresolution, in view of the great amends made by later service; and Cian, having rendered this, could not withhold his
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good will also. But the wound in either nature was thinly healed. The pious vaunting of the Emperor soon made it sore again. Tigernach brought open dissension by some rash utterance that awoke Arthur's horror.
Laying hand to sword, he bade, "Cease blaspheming!"
Tigernach glanced back defiantly. "But for `blasphemers' yon woman-faced shield might have gone to work magic for the Cantwara. Thus much will I dare to say, though it cost me death from an ingrate." He cried it aloud, hotly and defiantly, and, turning aside, made off at good speed toward his native Andred.
Arthur half raised his hand to order pursuit, then lowered it, wrestling with his anger. "There is no need," said he. "Who can harm Our Lady? And I would not return evil for good."
"Somewhat of that," said Cian, "has been done already, when praise is given where it belongs not, and withheld where it is due; when old friends are driven to the hills, angered, with no need."
Arthur's face grew stormy. "Prince Cian is speaking more in wilfulness than in duty," said he. "Moreover, tales are abroad that link him all too nearly to the dealers in darkness."
Cian stiffened in the saddle,--for he had left his chariot broken,--with lowering brow. "I know of
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no darker dealing than the desecration of the tomb," said he.
The voice of Arthur seemed struggling in his throat for a moment; then abruptly he made a gesture of dismissal. Cian bade adieu gravely, and rode with furious heart toward the bridge. For once there should be no question as to full obedience. "Go"--ay, at a sweep, to his own far northern hills, and as fast as his good horse might carry him. Forthwith he sent a swift rider after Tigernach, who overtook him by dawn at Verulam.
But, as they rode, Cian thought painfully of the queen, Aurelia, and how he had left her in her sorrow without a word, and to whom the welcome task of consoling her would now fall.
Truly, in her bereavement, she had found it hard to miss that strength whereon she had learned to lean through the long leaguer of the city. With all her gratitude to Arthur, a vacant place remained unfilled. But Cian's prophetic power, whether fancied or real, could not show him this clearly for comfort.
Meanwhile the country of West Kent as far as the Medway had been swept of Saxons, even husbandmen. At first Arthur was minded to push yet farther, bearing the long-settled fighting-men of Kent quite to their ancient stronghold of Thanet. But this was not to be done without sieges and losses
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and much suffering to those who dwelt quietly. Moreover, the day had been set for his nuptials with Guinevere at Caerleon; and such undertaking might give them long delay.
But the savage Essex folk were driven wholly from the mainland, holding only some walled islets off that coast.
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THE MYSTERIES OF MONA.
I am a Druid.
--TALIESSIN.
THERE was another in Arthur's camp longing to go northward. The withdrawal of Cian awoke uneasiness in his friend of Argoed. A kindly face and voice by the way might avert some schism, or at least cold-heartedness, in the cause of the land. But more, vastly more, he felt Sanawg drawing him from afar, his cliff-bride, his marvel and his love.
With little difficulty he won leave from Arthur on the day after the battle; and by hard hurrying and the favor of accident overtook the two seceders near Caer Lerion. The three kept company thereafter as far as Argoed.
Llywarch found at his home a welcome both of joy and sorrow; for Freur was yet too near her loss, and too piercingly reminded of it by the sight of him, to conceal her grief otherwise than pitifully. The case was indeed far worse than such common assurance of death as would leave the poor body for burial. They could not, indeed, really hope to see Dynan
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again among the living; yet was there such a faint half-glimmer of hope, as kept searching parties abroad in the wood, and drove her to make unceasing inquiry of all who haunted such wild places, or had so much as seen the tokens of his last fight and taking away. Whatsoever they told her she garnered, if it were only wild-woven fiction, to please the sorrowing ear; yet, all in all, the tales chilled her uncannily. The green-clad phantom lady and her ghostly rout came murmured to her like sounds in sleep, by rumors that she scarce could trace or tell. What evil thing had befallen her lover? What fell enchantment held him beyond all mortal ken?
Thoughts like these had driven her forth to practise rites, piteous if unholy, by those terraced mounds that were held in memory as the homes of the elder people now gone. For she said to herself, "It may be that they are not demons, nor wholly given over to working the loss of salvation; and if I but beseech humbly the dread beings with ample offering, even yet they may relent, and set him free."
In this work of impiety Sanawg would not and could not aid her, but dissuaded with very strong conviction and great dread of what ill might yet lurk for her friend in the malign everlasting shadow. Her first meeting with Llywarch had in it the added happiness of relief in one to whom she could freely tell all that she feared.
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His own kind joy was not a little dashed and darkened by the thought of such fell anguish, so near him in every way. It stirred him, too, as it had stirred his bride, that his sister should be seeking converse in dismal scenes, with beings unholy. Madness might come of it, or some other ill unknown. He said no word to Freur in dissuasion, but offered soon to lead her with a party into that fatal wilderness. But behind her glad, patient eyes, he well knew the stilled suffering.
He sought Cian also, who yet lingered with them, and listened gravely, but as to something in which he might render aid. Very willingly Cian talked with Freur of all such mysteries, and what he had heard and known of wise dealings concerning them. She listened eagerly, well knowing his repute for such knowledge; well commended even by that great warlock, Merlin, who was now quite gone for a season. Then she asked more compelling invocations of him; and these were given her. Also he willingly made appointment to practise them, and all needful ceremonials, that night, in her behalf and presence. Thereon she brightened into more of hope than for many a day, and this pleased Llywarch very well; but Sanawg felt it bitter that what was done, however well meaning, could feed only the thirst for evil enchantment.
What the two wrestlers with the invisible won
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therefrom in storm and darkness, without star, was left untold to any other ear. But Freur's face for a time shone like that of one brought from the tomb into living hope and sunlight. Cian watched her, less assuredly, but would say nothing to darken it. After he left them for his own country, this light faded. There were days when expectancy tired her, days, too, when all hope seemed gone; yet again the hope often brightened, even though she herself had searched the place of evanishing; and years went slowly by before she could give Dynan over utterly.
Cian was wearied now, rather than actively wroth with his old leader, the Emperor. But Tigernach had no past that should hold him, and resentment combined with fervor of religion to threaten Arthur's rule. For Tigernach was planning and preparing a great revolt, with the Lord of the Chariots, unknowing, for the centre of his plot.
Cian did indeed suspect the sending of some covert hint or summons, as men of one thought only came gathering about him. But there was urgent need of tillers for the valley soil, and of armed Britons everywhere along that borderland. There was balm also for a heart baffled and misprized in the many faces turning to him for guidance, and the watchful hearkening which would not lose a word. They said little, but from them to him there was the thrill of men awaiting only a sign. Yet, since he
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need not give that sign, their expectation was harmless. Indeed, why should he not turn their power and faith in him to some end that all would applaud? There was a great reach of land, once British, to be regained, between him and Caer Ebrauc.
The thought, once admitted, grew until ambition was again mightily astir. His father had already withdrawn from leadership, leaving, with pride, all power in his hands. New stirs to the southward again parted Llywarch and his young wife; but Cian would not go thither, for the north held him. No longer passively accepting only such fighting-men as came, he sent messages of alluring hope through all the channels of mystic brotherhood, and to all the old comrades whom he could reach of every faith and degree. But not many Christians responded, even to war on the Saxons; for a doubt of him had already gone abroad. Nevertheless, his gathering soon had grown to a mighty size.
In spite of his plainest utterance, he found the thought well rooted among his soldiery that there was something greater to follow the conquest of Caer Ebrauc. Also, there came, not singly, but in eager troops, the devoted praying-men of Mona, dark of brow and bright of eye, their souls keenly fixed on some great upheaval to come, and the blessings of a new Druidic world. They bore tokens with them, and charms of mighty efficacy, and banners fit to
"They Bore Tokens with them, and Charms of Mighty Efficiency."
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wave forth against any in the world, for very strange and lovely in wildness was the blazoning thereon. These, more than any others, greeted Cian fondly, esteeming him the very right arm of their faith.
Yet they brought trouble. Not long afterward came a warning from the Emperor that there was grave talk abroad of Prince Cian's gathering. "For himself, he questioned nothing that some worthy enterprise against the heathen was truly in hand, as had been spread abroad. But Cerdic, the West Saxon, was gathering ships and men to descend, no one knew whither, so that already it had been deemed safer to provide for the imperial nuptials at a place more inland than Caerleon. Hence it would be wise to move southward, with so many brave men ready to give aid. Nor would anything so still evil whisperings as some insignia, borne before them, of the Christian faith." Thus wrote the Emperor.
In this there was no command, but only such urgent counselling as showed that command would follow. Cian brooded over it, then made answer that he was glad indeed his Emperor's trust would not be taken from him by frightened people and maligners; that his forces were not yet ready for movement either way; and, having raised them, he prayed leave rather to use them at the north, where was such opening to retrieve old losses; that the dragon standard of the Emperor should be borne
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before all others, but that he was loth to put constraint on the soul or conscience of any man.
Therefore he busied himself all the more, meaning to push out on his conquest before any message of forbidding could reach him. Thus he was already well toward Caer Ebrauc when an urgent summons to Caerleon reached his home from Arthur, himself hastening westward. This followed Cian, but could not overtake him until he was in close leaguer of the Saxon capital and stronghold--even on the verge of assault. It was scarce in human nature or in safety then to withdraw; but he hastened the hard work before him, and soon could send word that the ancient imperial Eboracum was British again.
With it came under hand much fertile country, where robbers and the sons of robbers had become husbandmen in long occupancy; also many lesser places, half ruin, half rude Saxon revival, after the fashion of the chief city. All these must be guarded, or what had been sharply won would soon be lost again. In this he had new aid, rough aid, from all along the forest verge and the ridges of Elmet, even also from Argoed. But many of these recruits were more intent on taking than saving, being violent destroyers by nature; so that it was hard to tell whether he had most help or hindrance from his allies. But the few whom old Edyrn could send him rendered good service; and that ancient cavern
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hero also came forth with the remnant of Isurium, taking very proudly his old post of garrison behind her strong walls again.
Here Cian halted with them, but not for long, since the delays had been many, and he was needed elsewhere; but it was a more than joyous meeting, above all for Gwydion and his aged wife, who bowed heads of thankfulness to hear again of their daughter, so far away.
The victor brought with him to his rugged home a fine array of men for the southward journey. But now news of victory came from Caerleon, and it left no cause to stir. Yet he kept the men in arms about him, being uncertain what call might follow.
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HOW ARTHUR DEALT WITH THE HEATHEN.
Ercwlf said
That he valued not death.
The columns of Ercwlf
Will not dare a threatening.
--TALIESSIN.
CERDIC, the West Saxon, greatest of the invading kings, kept good watch over all that came to pass in the British island from his city of Winchester, which he had held ever since he broke in on Ambrosius, and took the life of that Emperor at the great battle of Netley along the border of the Gwent. Yet it was not so long ago, nor had his losses been so light, that he should forget and assail again without good warrant. Therefore he had lain by, like an orderly neighbor, waiting for the wise time to come.
When the great army of Ossa Cyllalaur gathered above the forest of Celidon, and London was almost in the clutch of Eschwine, Cerdic had indeed very nearly given a bloody hand to their work. But the crash came suddenly, and made him wary, as one who must bear a dangerous burden quite alone. Still, his men remained ever ready, and the broken bands
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of Kent and Essex drifted to him. Their urgency for revenge upon Arthur was incessant and increasing. In later times there were men who deemed that he had also invitation from Lancelot in his urgency to keep Guinevere from the Emperor, but this need not be. Cerdic's many ships and his murmuring host, the wealth of Caerleon, and the still greater inflow to the wedding of Arthur, were surely argument enough. He put to sea, heading westward. Forthwith Guinevere and all rich things which had been gathered for the marriage were sent beyond sea-reach to Camelot. Her charm was so great, and so heightened by design, that Arthur, almost perforce, went also. But when she was once in safety, he broke suddenly away, and hurried back with all the men he could gather from his frontier fortresses, bearing more hatred than common in his heart for the interrupting Saxon.
Meanwhile Cerdic had appeared before the Legion city, and found it waiting. In all Britain there was no olden town more splendidly and daringly alive, more endowed with treasures, both inherited and won, with men stern to defend them. Year by year the tide of commerce had been turning westward; and Caerleon, from the pre-eminence given by Arthur's court, received more than an equal share. Under every later drift of population, it held also very plentifully the blood of those Roman legionaries
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who once made it their stronghold. Lancelot was there in command, with many sons of the hills. No choice now but to fight the Saxon,--vengefully, too, as against himself, in the memory of envious hours that half longed for his coming!
Cerdic's multitude made havoc of all the open land for leagues around, so that the people were driven headlong to places of refuge. Then the forayers gathered in, till every man was close about the walls, waiting the great assault of the morrow. At daybreak they rubbed astonished eyes; for there was a shimmering of armor everywhere on the eastward hills, the dragon standard of Arthur waving above all.
This, at first, they assailed with great fervor and uproar. Afterward, beaten back, they yet withstood, in dense blocks of men, the swift charges made on them. Yet, whether in assault or defence, they fought always under the weight of surprise and his many victories. Little by little the corners were ground surely from the living wedges and squares, and the very heart of them was dinted out under hoof and mail. By midday the very last of the Saxons, however dogged and laggardly, was under sail from that unkindly shore.
For a time they hovered about it with derision and menace, now altogether, now in fragmentary squadrons, doing notable damage here and there, so that the Emperor was kept vigilant in repelling them
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all up and down the great Severn estuary,--far from Camelot, far from Guinevere. Even when, at last, they were seemingly quite gone, he waited yet a while, uncertain, and had his reward in sure tidings of their passing northward beyond Wales, along the shore. Then he feared, with reason, for Caer Ligion, the Chester of modern days, and made haste thither, arriving once more in time.
Again the enemy were engaged under the city walls, and beaten off, stroke by stroke, but with heavier loss, having a long and anxious flight overland to their carven prows drawn ashore near the mouth of the Ribble. Now a fall of the tide left these more in sand than in water, and Arthur's foremost horsemen and runners came to them with the later mass of fugitives mingling and fighting confusedly, so that many great war-boats were axe-broken about the keel by chance or design before they could be floated; and, both in the deep mire and on firm ground, there was great slaughter of men who could not get away. Cerdic, with a remnant, was very glad to make all speed homeward, with abiding memories of that chaotic nightmare battle on the strand of Trath Tribuit.
In all this Llywarch did his part well, but Cian had no part at all. For, on the march, word had come to Arthur that Mona, though ill-defended, had been passed without harm by the sea-robbers, and
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that Cian, with many priests of that isle and a goodly army, was lingering in the hills not far away, purposing to join them as many feared. Thereon the Prince of Argoed had spoken openly and fervently for his friend; but the zealots of the camp and envious men were very eager, and the Emperor's own heart was fevered. Therefore he wrote that even good service, disobediently done, is of ill augury, and breeds little trust; and that the murderous ill-worshippers ought not to be met in battle by hearts or emblems after their own kind. Therefore, he said, Cian and his people should abandon all that savored of heathendom, or keep aloof from the holy fight, as best might please them.
Llywarch and many more shook their heads forebodingly over this; but Cian merely obeyed, remaining there, half-way toward the enemy whom he had meant to assail. But when all was over, and Arthur rested beside the Dee, he came again into the imperial presence, with a mien of amity and dignity, yet shadowed and sore at heart. As he stood before the Emperor, he heard the chanting of the monks in the great monastery of Bangor, hard by.
Arthur eyed him with stern, awaiting composure. "What may be the desire of Prince Cian?" said he.
Cian bowed lowly and gravely, and returned, "I am more than glad of your great victory, my Emperor, although not permitted to share in it."
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The hurt look and tone touched Arthur. Old battles, and the bearing of Cian therein, came up in memory.
"I named my conditions," he said.
"I could not become an apostate," replied the other sadly.
Arthur flushed and frowned. "That is no fit word to your Emperor, nor of his bidding."
"There are powers above emperors, and mandates from of old."
"There is none greater than the Lord of Life, who died to save us. There is none greater than the holy mother of God. The apostasy is to turn from these, from Christian Britain, to that evil altar-worship. And how know I what treason this may bring upon you? Beware, Prince Cian. Let what has been show you that the soldiers of Christ need no aid to conquer any enemy. On whomso that stone falls, it shall grind him to powder."
Cian listened; essayed to speak, with hasty and shaken voice; then checked himself, and said, with quiet repression,--
"It grinds already. Until yesterday there was a shrine by the Ribble-mouth, a home of song and prayer, offshoot of Mona. Holy men dwelt there, leading pure lives, breathing the higher mysteries, doing well by their kind. But their worship was of no new God, nor to the liking of our Emperor.
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Now the priests are gone, the walls have tumbled stone over stone, a black cross marks the spot; and monks howl there, not in adoration, but in derision."
Arthur looked him eye for eye as he spoke, intently, with deepening anger, though it was his wont to pardon frankness readily. He said nothing.
Cian resumed: "Is this like the Emperor whom I have loved beyond men, and followed gladly, and served eagerly in every way? Is it not rather like the dealing of Eschwine with the holy places by the Stour, or as Ossa Cyllalaur would do, if he could, by the shrine of St. Alban?"
Arthur half started up. "There are names which you must not name together, Prince Cian, if you value your life."
"I do not value my life. I value truth. I value justice. Our Emperor is giving us neither."
Arthur shook with passion, but the assured fortitude and quiet exaltation of the other compelled him to think as well as feel. Also, these words had ever been the strongest appeal, outside of religion, which any man could make to him; and the part of the persecutor was both ill-suited and new.
"Go, Cian," he said presently, forcing a smile. "Go, before worse comes of it. You are the bravest man in Britain. Yet we cannot both fight heathendom and endure it."
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THE FIERY TRIAL OF CIAN.
Arthur of anxious contention.
--TALIESSIN.
CIAN drew off with all his men to his own domain. He would willingly have dispersed them over his new northern conquest, for the lessening of suspicion, and to avoid the need of choosing in any dreadful strait. But this they withstood, feeling the drift of things as surely as he, and that their own best hope lay in keeping together, and in the tragedy of his soul.
For into tragedy it deepened continually, while both in numbers and in hostility his gathering grew. All men had learned, with rejoicing or consternation, that they now had verily an Emperor too militantly Christian for any truce with unbelievers. Altar after altar went down where the elder British faith had made its home. Priest after priest, and proselyte after proselyte, fleeing to their one vale of refuge, brought Cian the same distressful tale. Doubtless it grew in their telling; for Arthur was not wilfully cruel, only stern to tyranny in his new growth of enthu-
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siasm and sacred duty. The sense of invincibility, too, is an evil thing, even for the grand in soul.
The sufferers and also those who had been with Cian from the first began to hold him unduly supine, and wanting in spirit. Was it fear of the tyrant that withheld him? Or weakness of old comradeship unnerving a more holy fealty? And suddenly the murmurs rose all about him into a storm of denunciation, for the despoiling hand had swept over Mona. Not one priest, not one worshipper, remained there, unless hidden in some sea-cavern or woodland refuge.
The priesthood strode in, haggard of face and hot of soul, where Cian stood dismally; and one spoke bitter words to hear, of the sin and shame of it, but he answered nothing. Others would have him feel the great power within his grasp; the victory surely given by the gods that loved the soil, now wailing abroad like shades of the unburied; the endless glory awaiting the strong savior of his people. He uttered no word. Then the most incensed and vehement of them--he who had led the first troop from the sacred isle, and still bore ever the sword at his side--arose, and upbraided this recreant champion, with shaking forefinger, to his face. He upbraided him as flaunter and braggart, flourishing in the rifled glory of the dead, but daring no single effort in behalf of the living. "Off with the magic vestment,"
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he cried. "Let it pass to worthy hands from hands unworthy."
Then, while the others grew silent, and looked as men look when more has come about than they would plan or wish, Cian, very still of mien, beckoned a lad to lay off his mantle, and take the golden vestment from about his body, then yielded it as an offering before them, bowing lowly. Yet, as he rose erect, his breast heaved and heaved again, for he felt that he could not endure much more.
At last a priest arose who spoke gently,--not their eldest, but one whom all, with reason, revered.
"Prince Cian," said he, "it is a woful thing that I should live to know and feel the bitterness of our people, and that there is no help at all for them in any crying, even from a man like thee. It matters not greatly that I, old and poor, who had thought myself unharmful to any man, should be driven forth from the home where I have dwelt so long. But, Cian, I swear to you, and lie not, that a hand worse than the winged dragons of old is stretched above all Britain, and will spare no grief of heart hereafter unto any, nor leave man, woman, or child in faith and freedom; and that hand is Arthur's. There is one who sees wildly, and would have punishment follow all who have clearer eyes; and that one is Arthur. There is a man whom the gods have made strong, and the dark powers have made malign, and who
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uses his strength for the undoing of the feeble; and that man is Arthur. Also, there is a protector whom men look to, who might withstand and end all this, if but he would; and that protector is not Arthur."
Then Cian groaned aloud.
"Truly," said he, "I have no blame for any man thinking as ye think, and feeling as ye feel. But I hope yet. A cloud may be black as chaos, yet ever it passes quickly. Not otherwise I deem of the cloud on the soul of Arthur. I look to see him again the godlike hero, comrade of my earlier days, fervent in heart, yet compelling none, the bright imperial champion of our land. Not until in far greater extremity will I sin against that fealty."
They heard him gravely, watching with eyes accustomed to read men, though the inner fires were distracting. But they forebore troubling him further; and one whispered, as they went their way, "Yet a little, more beating of the waves, and the chain will part altogether."
Even the zealot who had demanded the golden corselet lifted it again, with his finger on the mistletoe spray. "We dare not leave the heart without that sacred enlightening," said he. "Take it again, Defender of the Mysteries, and may it so work on you that you may know which fealty is most binding and highest."
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None gainsaid the words or the gift. Cian took it again with calm obeisance.
But when they had gone, he was abashed in his own eyes, because this once he had let his words outrun his vision; for the assurance of better things indeed eluded him. He had none of that strange revealing which at times, like the bannered splendors of a winter night, gave illumination and high uplift of soul. His fond wish and the urgency of great need had spoken, but little more. A chill fell on him. He did not know; he could not say.
Then revolt rose against that soul of power which once had been his demigod; not for the wrongs to the weak ones, his brethren only, but his own bitterer wrong of the heart's devotion ill-requited. He clutched his sword-hilt, with a curse on the blind bigotry that could so deform the first of men, and most of all, on the poisonous instigator, Oisin. Then the dead evangelist rose in fancy before him, as on the lawn of Constantine's now ruined villa, or leaning from the gallery of the great council-hall, or springing kestrel-like at the great Eschwine on the platform of the lake-village palisade,--bitter, dark, narrow, ecstatic, but ever well-willing toward his kind, and faithful unto death. And shame swept him that one so blind should yet be such a brand for burning truth into men, while he, Cian, with all the illumination of an elder day, could only doubt
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and waver in a passion of torment. Yet thought with thought, and hope with dread, strove in him; and nothing was done.
While in such moods he had a letter from Llywarch, warning, yet reassuring for the time, and threaded with uneasy instinct of pleading for the great leader, as knowing him deeply in blame. Arthur, it said, had been minded to go with force against Cian; but better counsels had prevailed, all the more for the soft urgency of Guinevere, now awaiting her Emperor and the nuptial day at Camelot. Half angry with himself, half mirthful that one so eager could be justly chided for tarrying, the Emperor had flown southward, with all other wrath in abeyance. There could be no sort of danger until his return after a fitting season. Meanwhile, the writer adjured his friend to take peaceably and of free will such steps as would avoid all later harshness and clashing.
Now, this menace of attack had been floating, with no clear outline, in Cian's mind; but to hear it thus from another, although his best friend and in exceeding kindness, awoke him into sudden resentment. What, then! it was no more than a chance, the petulant message of a light-loving woman, that Arthur's blade had not busied itself with his household already. Even now, what safety?--with the sword held suspended until the marriage kiss were
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given, the cheek of Guinevere the only shield between his heart and his Emperor's deadly blow!
There should be no disbandment. He, Cian, was but in his right as a freeman of the hills; and among them he would make it good, with those who followed him. Facing the fighting life of the land, it might be that the all-conquering one would first learn a limit to his career. However that might be, those who looked to Cian for shelter must not be turned forth into the blast of tyranny while he could bar the door for them.
Therefore he went about with a settled and resolute face among his people, taking hands with firm clasp which had long been impotently clutching. Also he sent abroad for a yet greater muster and supplies of every kind from every city within call or bidding, and in the forging of arms all artisans were kept busy.
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AURELIA AT CAMELOT.
THE shadow of death lay on Aurelia, as on all when the dearly loved ones pass away, with gradual lightening. This did not seem so at first; but the pain recurred in waves or throbs, like all else of outer or inner world-life, each seeming not less than those before it, with blankness between. The work that she drove herself to, and held herself to, irked her greatly; but, excepting at the very first, she did not in any degree fail or shrink. She was aware of kind faces that felt for her, and the bright things in earth and air and heaven which had been her pleasure; but all such touched her now as on the surface only, not deeply stirring.
So, too, she thought not, in the very beginning, on Arthur or Cian, or any grievance or affection, beyond her first yearning to lean and be strengthened, when she knew that the Prince had passed on his northward way. Later, she heard the tale of their doings in broken fragments brought haphazard overland. What went most against her therein was the rumor that men spoke ill of Cian's good faith,
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holding his cloud of armed men to be a real menace on the northern border, and deeming that the Emperor must needs fall upon him to abate it; though mostly her London people were of more gentle judgment. For they had forgotten neither the stoutness of Cian's shield, nor the weight of Arthur's mailed hand. Aurelia listened to all, wearying her soul, doubting what to do; and in the midst of her doubt came the bidding to the imperial nuptials at Camelot. Eager to render all honor, and hoping also for her opportunity, she departed thither with a great train.
She found before her, and coming in daily, many more of high degree--lords of provinces, and city rulers, commanders of great fortresses like that on the height of Sorbiodunum, left over by Rome or the giants. Kings were some styled, others chiefs, or consuls, or princes, but it mattered little. All manner of wealth and sumptuousness came with them, and a prodigious throng of people, but not so very many fighting-men; for, after Cerdic's mishaps in the west, and the long peace on that southern border, there was no thought of molestation.
Yet, when Aurelia looked abroad in that marvellous and glowing town, an old memory came to her, a tale of the days of Hengist. Never since the great feast of the Long Knives had there been such a banquet-gathering of British leadership as here; and otherwise the lure was far more tempting than
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in that day of feast and slaughter. Then she blessed the two good legions which Arthur still held about him, and the sufficient store of arms in that hill city; and so took heart again. Yet she felt the burden of warning upon her.
It was not easy to find speech with the Emperor; but one bright noon on a tower of his palace castle, watching him come from Guinevere and seek the battlement, she drew near doubtfully, and uttered what was in mind. He woke from his meditation with gentle greeting, but at first gave seemingly no more heed nor weight than courtesy compelled. She paused a moment. He swept his glance over the pinnacled riot of strange beauty that filled the plateau, and went overflowing down the great cone of the hill beneath them on every side--rainbow walls, and scroll-work carven forms, and faceted jewelry of architecture sparkling in the sun. Standards flaunted here and there, marvellous in device and gorgeous in hue, the bright figures on them moving with the wind as if alive. Away below all wound the triple wall-girdle, earthen, broad and high, with solid front of masonry, sentinels walking their rounds on the level crest of every belt, and many armed men stretched at ease along the slopes and terraces between. All the streets were thrilling and humming with gay, multitudinous human life.
It was a scene such as no other ruler could have
"She Drew Near Doubtfully."
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looked down upon; such, indeed, as not Britain itself could furnish elsewhere. For here was naught of Rome and her white. ancient majesty, the life of a far time still slowly dreaming away. Its glory was of the young Celtic exuberance, warm, gay, and vital; of baffling conceptions, mystic yet impulsively human and not yet wholly at ease without or within. Power was there, and will and waywardness, earnest zeal and ecstatic daring; above all, a surpassing and exalted wizardry. For Camelot was the city of Arthur, and the city of Merlin.
"It may well tempt them," said he; "but if the kernel be rare, the shell will endure some hammering.
"The walls of Vortimer the Great," answered she, "are Saxon ground to-day."
He watched her face gravely. "It would be ill for any kind guest of ours to suffer disquiet. Is there new cause for it?
"No. Yet Cerdic has a great force, which may grow quickly. And it is near, while your armies are far away. Would it not be well to summon them? All of my kingdom, at least, are at command."
Arthur smiled. "They would scarce bar Cerdic; and London, too, must be guarded."
"Then--Lancelot?"
"Suppose that has been tried. Some things are hard to understand."
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"What!--then there have been warnings before?" He bowed.
"And Maelgwn--Lancelot--will not come?"
"He offers reasons. There may be more force in them than one can see."
"The warning has most force, my Emperor. I pray you send with all speed to the army near Caer Ligion."
"Unhappily, a great part must be left to watch Prince Cian, whom I trusted more than any other of old."
Her face flushed. "I am sure that is needless." Then a spirit, half saucy, half resentful, moved her to cry aloud. "How easily a great commander may be taken in a snare!"
He looked surprise, then laughed. "Your Emperor was not the commander this time," and she knew he meant the summoning letter of Guinevere.
"But," he added, "I will call Llywarch to me, with every man that he may safely bring. And to ease you, dear lady, all nearer forces of town and country shall be summoned. Meanwhile, we are not defenceless, and Cerdic has rarely prospered in his dealings with me. I shall hardly resign my bride, or vary either time or ceremonial for any uproar of heathendom."
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HOW SANAWG WAS THE SUMMONER OF CIAN.
Like the roaring of the wind against the ashen spears.
--TALIESSIN.
LLYWARCH of Argoed was idling in camp among the Saxon-demolished ruins of a fair town which once had been the capital of the Sistuntii, later to be known as Blackrode. One or two of the chief dwellings, in the Roman style, remained habitable; and the best had been restored and brightened for his use. All manner of pictured gayety was around him, glimpses of a sunny world came through every window; but the Prince of Argoed was dull enough, and more than dull, for Sanawg, his wife, had been left far away in Caerleon, Cian, his friend, was yet an outlaw of the mountains, and he could think of no good thing under heaven for an active, lonely man to do.
Musing thus, he saw two mounted figures come over the open land, very wearily, yet as though in urgent haste; and others behind them, as men will join in the wake of vital news heard by the way. As they stopped at the outer guard, there was a great
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stir and murmur throughout the whole spread of the camp; and by the same instinct Llywarch also knew at once that he was summoned to life and hardship again. At that his soul leaped up through its shadows; but he held himself with courteous gravity, to hear their say.
One was Arthur's messenger from Camelot. The other, from Caradoc's fortified sanctuary town of Amesbury, with more deadly urgency of need, had overtaken him as he rode and ran. For already the Saxon flood was between these neighboring holds; and out of it, like an island, rose the splendid hill-city of Arthur, which might not long abide that dashing. Yet no breach had been made as yet, nor any grievous loss undergone. The whole great cone of walls and houses bloomed out defiantly in many colored banners; wherefore, and remembering its other gorgeousness, men called this, long after, the battle of the painted hill.
But all knew that no one beside a few men from Silchester could have re-enforced Arthur's garrison; and there was great consternation everywhere for his sake, as well as that of the notable men and women who were with him, and the bright, entrapped lady Guinevere, chosen to empire, whom Cerdic, if he won the town, would certainly take for his own.
Llywarch put questions as to number and armament, then dismissed these messengers to their food
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and rest, and sent orders forth to make all ready for swift motion. Also he called a council to meet an hour later, and walked abroad, meditating.
Then, more than another time, he felt the need of Sanawg, smiling at himself therefor as a commander of men. Yet he is but poor of spirit who finds no peculiar wisdom in the one woman he has chosen; and here there were problems of the human soul, more than all else, to consider. Had he not Arthur's direct command to leave men enough behind him for guarding against Cian? Yet of what avail to Camelot would be a moiety of his army? If only Cian, instead, were assuredly with him as of old? Must there be, indeed, another and more dreadful Anderida? Then, like glint of hope, came the thought of Sanawg again; and, when he regained his room, another rider had come and gone, leaving a letter from her behind. There was much in it, much that was dear and thoughtful; but two words alone stood out insistently. They were,--"Trust Cian."
With the sense of prevision made good upon him cogently, he wrote and sent this messsage. "Cian, old comrade, your Emperor, Arthur, is surrounded at Camelot. Come with all your men. I take the road to-day with mine." And when the council gathered, although there were some that demurred, the most thought it more than well; for no strength might safely be foregone in that great wrestle, and
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it was better to risk all at once, with the chance of mending all, than to falter into sure destruction.
He found less pleasing matter in her words of Lancelot. "He looks reckless and fitful, the mien of one tormented until somewhat be ended and over. And, although he has a great array of men here, largely those who love him first of all, he meets every summoning of the Emperor with some slight plea, and stirs not a foot to his aid." Clearly, she too felt the danger, though she knew not the storm had broken.
Cian was waiting, longing, doubting, sadly foreseeing war with his best friends, and ruin from those who should chiefly prize him, when Llywarch's brief message came. It could not have been more deftly moulded. Its utter unreasoning trust awoke consoling music in his heart. "Come, Cian!" and forthwith Cian came.
His men were ready--for somewhat. Out among them went his word that all should take the road within the hour. In among the priests and leaders he went himself, with a rapt intensity of vehemence that hurried them all away. He made no secret of his aim; and those who had so lately been infuriated with Arthur willingly took it as their own. For they also had latent in them that wayward magnanimity, which is the best heritage of their race, and it awakened suddenly. Nor was there any love for the
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Saxon in their hearts. Moreover, the dourest of them was quick to see that Arthur saved by them must be Arthur their foe no longer.
All hastened, but away before the first whirled Cian and a hundred chariots; and, though Llywarch went fast also with less distance before him, they were together again amid the gay streets and glittering roofs of Wroxetor by the base of the Dinrle Wrecon. At Gloucester, that rich city of Vortigern, Sanawg met them, with radiance of the Orient, and bantering and kisses for her kindly obedient lord. In less time than ever host fled so far, they were, with more than half their men, about Caer Caradoc.
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THE LONG BATTLE OF CAMELOT.
A wide multitude of Lloegyr went to sleep with the light in their eyes.
--TALIESSIN.
THE sudden eclipse had come like a miracle of the Evil One upon Aurelia and all others in Camelot. Her anxious forecast had not fancied anything like environment without warning. Even her own hastily summoned Londoners had not been in time. On distant hill-tops she could discern uneasy clusters and masses of men whom those about her discerned for friends, willing, but too feeble. There were signal lights also in the darker hours, but not to rival the havoc fires raised by the Saxon wherever a home had been. Whether by night or day, all the nearer world was Cerdic's, who this once had out-Arthured Arthur in the celerity and amplitude of his onfall.
Rebelling against isolation, the hemmed-in city sent forth its messages to the eye in many ways. Aurelia added a fantasy of her own, working swiftly in bright large embroidery the silver mistletoe on a ground of gold--crude and large-wrought as meant
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for far seeing, but legible to all eyes that knew. This she held forth in sunshine, yet withal cautiously, not knowing how far the Emperor would pardon even new a bid for Cian's aid.
But it was not in her to keep quite still. When she looked below and around, at the great encompassing of armed strength and hate, when she heard their never-ending shouts of insult and triumph, and the recurring waves of furious uproar about the lower wall,--her heart turned faint; then, wakening, cried out keenly for that other heart which had been by her in beleaguerment before. Then she had not feared, nor shown, even to herself, any weakening. Had the charge and care been hers, she would have risen to the task again. But now she had leisure and freedom to feel all the peril of that one city, wrongfully left in it alone. It grew monstrous to her that any one should have doubt of Cian. She saw in him salvation.
One morning, at this her task, she filled in person, statuewise, a jutting bit of the castellated rampart, which made a coronal on Arthur's palace-roof. No sentry was there now, the men being all sorely needed. She could see very plainly from her niche what rough handling had been given the great lower earth-wall. More of bristling rubbish was there now--every sort thrown hurriedly in to fill the gaps--than sod or soil or masonry facing. Even dead
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Saxons, in their armor, hung over it, or dangled down the sides, limp and obstructive; amid the broken pottery and cart-wheels and stones. The night's bloody irruption and expulsion had left also another record in many dark, gleaming spots and streaks between wall and wall. That space glittered vigilantly with British steel; for, though there was brief quiet after such long and savage endeavor, the enemy already began to heave and thrill again, as if to throw a new wave of men on that persistent barrier.
Caradoc, in especial, was watching them, as ever since dawn, from beside what had been the northern gate, his massive arm thrown listlessly about a battered pillar, and obviously swollen yet more by recent effort. From its top, on a short staff, a banner blew abroad which he used on great occasions only,--a ground of imperial purple, the still conquering eagle of Rome, silver-white thereon, as became the scion of the last British-Roman Emperor and the great Aurelius Ambrosius. Body-weighted that heroic soul might be, yet was it almost more than humanly untiring. There was something tenderly admiring in Aurelia's sigh, as she thought, "Even Caradoc is aweary."
At a sound behind her, she turned, and met Arthur's inquiring eye, which had been on the banner of the mistletoe. For a moment the full glare of astonished suspicion was in it, but for one minute
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only. Then he smiled, and shook his head. "Well meant, undoubtedly," said he, adding, with relief, as he walked away, "I believe women are all alike in some things."
She stared over these last words, half guessing a partnership in fault with Guinevere. Long after, she learned that this was true; the golden-haired empress-to-be, in her terror over barbarian capture, having flaunted all manner of wild signalling toward the watchers of her Lancelot, knowing well by appointment where they should be. Arthur had come suddenly by chance on this discovery, worn with long night combat, and sore from wounds, which he had taken like any common fighter, likewise unnerved and shaken in the revulsion from exceeding effort. He could not read her signs, but he read the look of her face as of something that she would gladly cover; and his words had heat and sternness in them. But Guinevere, rallying, cried indignantly that she was but striving to save herself and everyone from that dreadful Saxon, who, for all Arthur had shown himself able to do, was likely to end Camelot and the marriage his own way. At that heart-thrust, the Emperor held his peace, and strode away, only to find the second woman of his thought doing likewise. And the very first ebb of feeling was toward gratitude that she had thereby answered his latent yearning for some extenuation or defence of Guinevere.
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Meanwhile, the sunny-haired goddess of Devon wept over him and her ruined plans and her approaching fate. However versatile and fertile in expedient, however ready to turn from man to man, she could not bear to be taken by a Saxon--the very were-wolf of the human race. For the moment she could wish her ambitions blown away like bubbles, and herself hidden safely in some mountain stronghold of Lancelot. But anger rose against him likewise, as she called to mind that he certainly would not come in time to save these nuptials, caring not at all to save her from Cerdic for Arthur; and, it might be, fancying a prospect of some compact with the former, whereby he might gain her yet. But as to this outcome Guinevere herself could have no hope, well knowing (and for the first time sadly) what power was in her beauty. Cerdic, once the winner, would no more part with her than with his heart-beats.
Arthur descended to join Caradoc on guard, reasoning that he could scarce fare worse at any male hands than he had, aloft, at fairer ones already. But, when he told his tribulations, the laughter of that large man was very restful. "Let them wave, let them signal," quoth he. "But these pirates of Wessex will give us more serious work before long. They stick to it, I'll say that; and there are enough of them. Great heaven, if only some one would
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come--Llywarch or Lancelot or Cian, St. Michael or the Devil!"
Plainly Caradoc, for all his reckless good humor, was growing thoughtful; an ill portent, as the Emperor felt and knew. He lay down under it, and slept, until the awakening onset called them to fierce toil again.
On that day and other days the two queenly women signalled, Aurelia openly now, and with clear mind, the other fitfully and half secretly, as if forgetting that all were aware. There was no answer to either; and most likely their flashes and tokens reached only half-armed ploughmen or other stolid hoverers, who lacked the wit to decipher the message, if not the will to speed it on its way.
Arthur saw little of them, though sometimes coming in some breathing-space of the fight, for a kiss from Guinevere. Aurelia now and then went to him below, or within sight and hail, rendering womanly aid to the wounded not far from the crossing of spears. There was a frank comradeship between them, in their slight and hurried intercourse, both having seemingly quite forgotten that there might possibly once have been more. It tantalized Guinevere even in danger, and so little before her wedding-day, so that she came distrustfully nearer the blood-spattering than she could otherwise have been drawn, and had even some share also in the blessings of the
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defenders. Other women of noble station, penned in that hill-city, where savage incessant battle made the chief bride-music, were also steadfastly ministering.
The circuit of defence was lessening; for, in one vast inrush, the Saxons had mastered the lowest wall, and held it long enough to tear the eastern half quite away. So, though at last they were driven off, the labor seemed too great; and it was thought wise to withdraw behind the second line, and throw up a new one close under the eaves of the town.
The wedding, as intended, was then two days away; and all agreed in clinging to the set scheme of things as though no enemy were near,--Aurelia, because there could be no better encouragement of the defenders; Guinevere, because it sealed her triumph if rescue should reach them, and to have been an empress, though but for an hour, could not make her lot the worse with Cerdic; Arthur, by reason of dominant will and real impatient love; Caradoc, to please them all, and show the dogged Saxon a something in British pride more dogged still.
Nevertheless, what had been the second ring of earthwork was torn from them the very night before the marriage-day; and all through the morning the struggle was desperate over the outer one of the two which remained, in the eagerness of the invader to break through before the ceremony, and seize the bride. But at noon it still held, and Caradoc said,--
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"Emperor or no, a bridegroom is a bridegroom. Don your fine feathers, my Emperor. I will stand them off yet a while, and let the priests and processionizers work their will on you."
"But we shall need you to give away the bride."
"Oh, anybody will fight for me those few moments. Hammered mail must be my wedding-garment. Hasten!"
Then Arthur, smiling as a commander who finds it arch to obey, went quickly up into the town. More stress and strain of care went with him than ever with a man before on what should be his happiest day.
Yet the whooping uproar for which he listened came not then, nor even later, when festal figures in diverse bravery wound through the streets, gorgeous even in distant view, and every bell in Camelot rang out defiantly the coming of the bride. There were those, women chiefly, who rejoiced aloud that the Saxons were too cowed to venture more that day. Arthur looked grave; then all foreboding was lost in the loveliness trembling beside him. But it was no maiden tremor of Guinevere, nor any doubt of her matronly future. Even as they passed up the great cathedral aisle, her terror broke in a cry, and she clung to him as with a spasm; for a more hideous din than ever before--shrill, outlandish, multitudinously jangled--had that moment broken forth also. It verily beat at wall and window and door,
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rising, as they stood before the prelate, with indescribable change and accession and keen metallic resonances.
The Emperor, clutching hard his sword-hilt, half turned from bride and altar, then held himself there perforce with a groan, bidding every man leave them with all speed. He bade also the service go on; for doubtless, when the proper time should come, there would be one to give away the bride. Also from minute to minute he listened, elate that the sound came no nearer, but seemed rather to stay and sway.
With the outpealing of the first chant a message came from Caradoc, by one no longer fit for any fighting, but who stumbled as he came, that the prince might not leave quite yet, but would surely be there soon, despite Saxon and Devil.
Aurelia, not far away, made one step toward the man as he fell; then, leaving that service to others, where women were so plentiful, swept down the aisle and through the door to somewhat that was less easy. Her eye, weapon-seeking, was on the ground, as she sped over the level crest and down the hill. Midway sprawled a dead soldier in a doorway, and, leaning on his great axe beside him, another, yet alive. "Let me lift you to a better prop, and yield me this," she said kindly with quick words. "I will strike good blows for you."
Feeling her health and strength, he said weakly,
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"I well believe it." Without more, she shifted him gently, and went on very fast, the great axe in her hand, the memory of her old wolf-combat bracing her,--a true battle-goddess.
Into the belt of combat she swept at the first opening. By chance it was the part where was the hottest fighting--and Prince Caradoc. Always furious at hand-to-hand, he was trebly so now, for that these assailants, numerous as swarming ants and far more full of venom, would by no means leave him one moment for kinder duties. That drove him quite beside himself. Yet still, unconsidering, an ever-renewed surge of spearmen and axemen and swordsmen was thrown up against the wall, to be beaten down again; or quite upon the summit, to be toppled back headlong; or even over it, into the bloody lane behind where he must smite and smite, before driving them to earth or their fellows.
But now there was a great, full, passionate call in a voice of music; and a form such as had never been seen in such a fray swept by him, carrying the breath of victory. All bright with gold and scarlet she was from crown to skirt-rim, glittering keenly with gems, and swaying with bare, perfect arms the gleaming weapon about her head. The men shouted at her coming as they shouted for the coming of Arthur; and their rush upon the Saxons was such as could come only from the strength of a stimulant new in
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kind. She glanced at Caradoc once only as she went by; and even he, though not apt at any reading, knew what was to be done.
"Who has your place?" demanded Arthur, as the panting giant stood before him.
"Either a she-archangel," gasped Caradoc, "or the London Queen Aurelia."
That passed for his brightest utterance, his only epigram, outwrung by very stress of wind and weather. More he said, also, in due form, as ritual demanded, then sped back to his post.
Later, when the wedded pair had left altar for palace, came word from him that all went well; that his angel of destruction had withdrawn a little, after the greatest beating back of men that ever was seen, without herself quite shedding the blood of any; and that matters would indeed have come to a sad pass if Caradoc, whom men had called good for something, could not secure a little peace and quiet for his niece and her husband on their wedding-day.
Then Arthur laughed openly at the great fighter's ideal of repose, with all that screaming and hooting of demons on every side. He had no mind to profit by the strong-hearted kindliness of his friend. But Guinevere clung to him, and besought him; not greatly in love,--though he thought so,--but chiefly in mere dread and tremor. Fear touched him, too, for her sake, left alone. Lingering, drawn
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and held, he passed up with her where they could view the lower scene.
There had been a lull; but now the tumult awoke again at its worst, and the setting sun struck across men and spears, swarming and counter-swarming. Red jewels were smitten out where they leaped together. On the house-tops, close to the last wall, women were bringing hastily every kind of missile, for use when that final need should come. All round the circle the battle stormed, but at the north it was still the fiercest; and here he came soon to know a new wave, and very great in the sea of onset, the royal banner of Cerdic tossing on before.
He saw that wave sweep up with a great heaving rush that lifted banner and king and many chosen champions, through friend and enemy, clean over the earthwork. He saw Caradoc rush to the spot, and struggle valiantly, with more thronging to aid him, yet in spite of all, yielding little by little. He saw Aurelia and the few fighting-men whom she had held in reserve hasten into the midst. He tore himself rudely from Guinevere, and dashed recklessly down the stairway, that he might bear his part. Bitter self-blame was in his soul for his dallying, but this had all come about nearly in the twinkling of an eye.
At the palace-door one greeted him to say that Caradoc was sorely wounded; that Aurelia bade him come forthwith, if he would ever be of use.
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Hardly a sound reached him from the eastern slope. Hurrying thither, he found that the assault had dwindled, being mainly withdrawn to aid Cerdic. He called back a part of his men to the inner wall, where they would count as more in number, being brought nearer together and re-enforced by missiles from above; then, with the remainder and all whom he could gather on the way, he sped around the curve to that ever-widening semicircle of combat about the inbulging mass of Saxons, and the tossing of the White Horse standard.
He passed Caradoc, helmetless, and bound with bloody white over the brow, yet unsteadily endeavoring to get forward and join the battle. He heard the glad welcoming call of Aurelia. Then way was made for him, and he came face to face with Cerdic.
A doughty man was the West Saxon king, as many a hot battle, whether lost or won, might tell--red of hair, red and pitted in the face, red in the gnarled long arms, left bare for greater freedom of stroke. No giant in size like Caradoc,--whom yet he had felled with one ringing blow a few minutes before,--but very strongly knitted and sinewy in lean ungainliness. Less than Arthur in mind, as far lower in soul, but formidable in every wise. Perverse, grim, cruel; a man to let nothing bar his way.
He greeted his enemy with a taunt thanking him for the bride that had been won, and thereupon sprang
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and smote with his great double-handed axe more like some hairy wild man of the woods than a fighting king. But, if his weapon were the heavier and his crude strength the greater, he had not Arthur's alert and surpassing skill; and fell as was his heart that moment, it yet lacked the other's white-hot fire. For a brief time there was a whirling medley of thrust and stroke, the other combatants tossing and jarring against them, destroying all sureness of aim. Then the point of Arthur's sword whipped into Cerdic's right arm below the shoulder; and, as the battle-axe dropped, a slash brought the Saxon to the ground. It was a swift, hard blow, though it could not have full swing in that press; and Cerdic lay on elbow, as, if dazed, with his helmet well dented in. The blood came streaming down into his eyes, and Arthur forbore.
Then the cry of that deed went every way through the mass; and many made desperate pressure to seize or save the fallen king, so that there was very savage fighting over him for a time. But Arthur called off whom he could, feeling well rid of Cerdic and his following, if only they were in mind to go. As to these, they cared for nothing but the saving of their leader. Thus ended that chiefest onslaught. The outer wall was manned again.
Arthur drew near in the early twilight to where Caradoc was reclining, Aurelia sitting by him. The
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mighty man, enfeebled now, arose, and took his hand.
"You see how it has fared with me," said Caradoc, "for fancying that the defence could endure, even an hour, without its soul and its captain."
"Its captain bids you go and be properly tended," answered Arthur pleasantly, "and that our strong angel of London supervise the tending."
Aurelia smiled and said, "All must obey our Emperor. But I am not greatly tired, nor hurt at all--they have taken such care of me. And there are so few of us now."
"True," answered he sadly. The dead and the dying were all about them, often richly apparelled as they had come from the bridal, with not a moment to spare. Noble, even royal, blood had been poured out like water in that last rally for the very life of the town, which so nearly failed. "We must withdraw to our last wall, here as elsewhere," he added. "When all else is done, you may come to me again."
Aurelia turned after Caradoc, but hesitated. "With the Empress?" she suggested.
"It will not affront her," answered he. "She is too tender for such as this. I ought never to have brought it about her."
Yet, as Aurelia went up the hill, she could but feel with pity how he thought not of turning to Guinevere his bride for any help in trouble.
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HOW CIAN SAVED ARTHUR FROM CERDIC.
With Arthur of anxious contention
With Arthur a splendid labor.
--TALIESSIN.
IT was black and late when Aurelia groped her way again to the Emperor. A stifling weight of cloud left no crevice for starlight. Even the lamps and tapers of the hill were unseen, being mainly in deep inner recesses, where the work of weapon-hunting or treasure-hiding still went on. The great Saxon encampment was also a wilful darkness. Away here and there, some hill-top, itself unseen, bore its one hazy glimmer, where camp-fire or burning home had died down. The universe had gone into mere blankness and mourning.
There was silence, too, save for sounds of mere menace and pain; sometimes a keen, irrepressible cry as of stabbing, or some tragic mystery; sometimes a brief mocking trill from a night-bird out and below, broken by a nearer groan. Also, with close listening, a blended under-murmur, which might have been of the feeble night-wind only.
Arthur was dozing, utterly outworn, with his back
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against the palace-wall of a lesser Cornish king, one of many who had built mansions about and below that of their great king of kings, in this new border capital. But he came to life at Aurelia's low call beside him, and answered cheerily. Also he heard by effort, with clear mind, all that she had to tell. She made inquiry in turn, and he answered,
"One whom I sent forth brings word that Cerdic is yet alive, and rallying in strength, and swearing to have his revenge before another day. If he cannot lead, the White Horse will come on with young Cenric. It may be we can snatch that banner--before quite losing life."
He spoke with the calmness that comes of exhaustion and dark, lonely musing.
She held her peace, casting about for words. He spoke again, with little more of thrill or color. "Who would say that I, who have foiled many, should at the last be thus trapped and taken? That I also, who have loved and lifted so many friends, should live to feel all melt from him save only one or two? Ah me! I fear that Arthur has not been the man of his belief and thought, nor so just as he once hoped to be, nor so diffident of his tread where every foot should be unclad."
Her heart stirred, not unhopefully, though with pity, at these words. She did not need the telling that, in spite of continued triumph and splendor, he
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had not lately been quite the great Arthur of earlier days. No one had first feared it, and then felt it, more strongly than she. And now the cup of calamity was brimming over in a flood. If only his blindness should not have been washed away too late!
She had no word of excuse to offer, nor any of condemnation.
"You are overworn, my Emperor," she said very gently. "Sleep, while I watch over you. I trust there may be new hope in the awakening."
Even yet, behind their last bulwark, on the very eve of ruin and slaughter, her faith clung fitfully to the coming of Cian.
"You are wonderful, Aurelia," answered the Emperor drowsily. "But this is not the place where you should be."
Her cheeks burned in the darkness. Was there ever so unheard-of a part to take as hers, the guardian companion of another woman's bridegroom on his wedding-night? Just how should it be expounded and exemplified to Prince Cian?
The stress of these thoughts both hardened and stung her. "Shall "I bring Guinevere--if she will come?"
Arthur half groaned, impatiently. "Let her remain in safety," said he.
"Caradoc, then?"
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"He has undergone enough and more, considering what may yet await him."
She spoke again, with a smile in her voice.
"Then surely it must be me. I shall mount the wall, and watch there, first making some of our good fellows clear a little space for me."
With a sleepy, "God bless you, Aurelia!" he lay back, and passed at once out of consciousness.
Later, men averred that this wedding-time of the great Arthur was such a thing as never had been, nor would ever be again in all the earth.
It seemed but a moment before he started up with the sense of being stirred and shaken. All was black still, though in truth they were near dawn. He could not discern any outline, but he knew Aurelia's voice.
"They are coming. They are near."
He was on his feet, hurrying to the wall, his men rousing on every side already.
"Caradoc?" he inquired.
"He was the first sent for." She whispered on as they peered and listened; "It was but just now. I had watched a long time. I was drowsy. Then something startled me; and I knew it was the noise of stumbling, well down the hill. At once I became sure of men at the other wall, where they may have thought some of ours to be. Hark!"
A forward stir, yet nearer, was distinguishable now. Doubtless there had been a pause of uncer-
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tainty, but they were coming on all together. With faint scraping, Arthur struck a light, holding it city-ward. At the signal, other lights awoke along the palace-front behind them, and a dozen fire-arrows leaped out from the windows over their heads into the open space between the walls, each with its train of burning tow.
One, chance-guided, lit, for a moment, the fringe of Cerdic's great banner, and stabbed in the face a pikeman who came close behind, bringing him to the ground, all aflame. The other arrows pinned the ground only, but lighted unevenly the whole scene for the archers and slingers. Fast and thick the missiles came. Man after man went down; first, as they shrank from this sudden illumining, then, as they cast all secrecy aside, and came leaping, pitching, butting forward, in every attitude, with every kind of yell. Spears darted from the wall, and some of the foremost fell forward; others caught at the flying missiles, or snatched them from the ground, and paused a moment to hurl them back. Yet the mass made no halt, until an indescribable great rain of all manner of things, weighty and hot and pointed,--even shattering jars of boiling oil, even vessels trailing out pennons of burning tar, viscid and clinging,--descended on them from the housetops.
Then, indeed, there was a little check. Twice the standard-bearer tumbled to earth, and another took
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his place. Once young Cenric was tripped, and thrown amid the press, barely escaping death from the feet of his own men. And as here, so it was quite round the circuit of Camelot, only in lesser degree. But soon there was spear-thrusting and sword-reaching across the barrier; and the throng momently grew denser against its outer face, being even shielded in a measure by nearness to those within. At intervals one, two, or a dozen would spring or clamber up, or seemingly be hurled from behind or below, and hold some part of the top for a moment.
"The same old game!" cried Caradoc, sweeping his battle-axe into the face of one of these, and guarding, with strokes and thrusts, the place where that enemy had been. The need of the hour had brought his strength back again for a time. "But I tire of it," he exclaimed pettishly. "Where, then, is Llywarch--or Lancelot, or Cian?"
The fire-arrows had burned out; but they were not fighting in darkness, for there was a faint glimmer through the cloud-curtains which held back the day. The wind blew higher and higher, and seemed to reach even those upper regions, for they thinned perceptibly. The wounded saw it where they lay, with upward-looking faces; and Aurelia saw it, as, withdrawn a little, she peered and strained in momently weakening hope, and rush of dread. But the men in combat could not see, until the curtain
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broke away suddenly, and the world was given to all eyes.
It was in the very midst of the most determined attack. Three score Saxons were on the wall in one place, holding together; half a score already inside, fighting forward. Every moment brought others leaping down, and yet others tumbling up into their places. Then came a glad outcry from the roofs and windows, "Look! Cian! Cian of the Chariots!" Aurelia, springing to a higher foothold, called aloud, "It is Cian indeed! Thank God!"
The Saxons on the wall saw too; while those within, who could not see, but caught their cries and glances, divined it all, and made frantic efforts to reach them. This, indeed, Cenric, with one more, really did, the rest falling by the way under the reinvigorated swords or spears that struck into them. All pitched out together, and went streaming down the hill, with the half-ordered rout of their comrades, to meet a more formidable onset. Arthur and Caradoc were over and after them, with many followers, unrelenting, shouting abroad in their glee.
For there could no longer be a moment's doubt of the issue. The Saxons, though so near winning the town, had suffered wofully in thus often assailing a brave enemy strongly posted. The new British force that now came sweeping on them in a crescent was really beyond their remaining strength, and seemed
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more overwhelming still. The cloud-prolonging of the night had brought Cian and Llywarch very near them unseen; and now that light was needed for a ruinous stroke, it came swiftly and amply. Llywarch led one wing, Cuneglasse, the stripling grandson of old Edyrn, the other; Cian filled the centre with his chariots, fighting-men in great numbers riding behind. All were below the nearer ridges, making great speed over the open land, for there was not one footman in the whole array. With little noise they came, except an occasional shout of delight as to some festivity; with no menace but the glad up-tossing of spears and javelins, yet in utmost earnestness.
A good part of Cerdic's army was yet on the far side of the hill, and hardly to be brought around in time. But he bestirred himself, with the aid of his best friend and his spear-butt, in driving his men into squares, wedges, and circles on the slope and the lower level ground, the better to resist their enemies of either side.
What a morn for Cian--Cian the deliverer! All through the night, as he swept on before his men, he had watched for the city's lights and feared the city's darkness; until the outsailing fire-arrows told their tale, and the flare and uproar far up the height warned him to make all speed. Now the parting of the curtain had shown him victory surely ahead; the
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Saxons, appalled, making what hasty shift they could to abide him; the belted cone-hill alive with down-hurrying Britons; the crowning wizardly beauty of palace and temple; and home--many-colored, wildly outlined, multitudinously aflutter, the great dragon-standard from the highest imperial tower surmounting all! Truly never again should man come in quite such fashion, at such an hour, to such a Camelot.
There was racing to see who should first be with the Saxons; but the crescent horns were too far ahead in position, for all that Cian could do. One ill-formed lump of men melted instantly under the charge of Llywarch; yet mainly the rooted spears held, and the horsemen were turned, eddying, until they sprang to earth and joined fight, evenly facing their foes. But before this second locking the plunging chariots had broken in on the whole front as through a shell, making lanes almost as far as Arthur and Caradoc. Some, indeed, were overthrown, where reckless men leaped at bit and shaft, or sent them, by main force of numbers, lurching over; and the riders or horses of some were speared as they came by. But the greater number kept with Cian, turning and turning again, with varying direction, until the whole resistance was bewildered, and the great Saxon army broken into three.
One part, the least, made in hurrying disorder for
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some rugged ground on the northeast; another, bearing Cerdic and Cenric in the midst, and holding together as men whose only hope of life lay therein, went doggedly back by the road of their coming; and all the way their teeth showed very plainly to Llywarch, who followed. The third, having less dread of anything human than of Cian's chariots, took the wild resolve to seek their enemy's stronghold, and made, by a dash at a weakly defended point, a part of the second line of earthwork their own.
They numbered a good many yet, very savage and desperate. The men above withstood them fiercely, but still gave way. Cian saw no leader of this minor defence but a woman's form, which made his heart leap with recognition, though he had not thought Aurelia was there.
With little thought, and that figure his only aim, he led the rush of wheels over the nearly obliterated lower wall; and then, on foot, by escalade, the many fighting-men who poured after him, vehemently against the second. There was hard work yet, though brief, on the crest of it and in the space behind; yet he cut through the Saxons wholly, and stood, after so long, again before his London queen.
"I astonish you," she said; "but you have astonished us with better reason. We had all but made
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up our minds to die. Come, take my place, Cian; I am weary of playing general."
"It reminds me of our first meeting," said he; for the wall gave her height as the pedestal had given, and weapon and garb were nearly the same. A line of dead Saxons below, fallen under the blades of her defenders, proved that wildness and fury had been there, as before, but again without avail. His men were finishing that work, the few hostile survivors dashing off blindly as they could. The defence and rescue of Camelot were quite ended.
As he stood beside her, Caradoc and Arthur came, the former with a half-defiant promise to be his friend for life, though all the world should deny. But the Emperor denied nothing, his face being solemn and shamed in its gladness. "What more could man do for man than you have done for me, Cian?" he said; and his voice was broken.
"Old times are a strong magnet," answered Cian; "and the need of our friends and our sovereign is a stronger. Even my men of Mona would have been here sooner could we have foreseen. But prophecy failed us."
Arthur winced at the word thrown out to try him. "If it could have forecast something better than--Mona," he suggested. "But--was not the Samaritan some kind of pagan?"
Aurelia and Cian touched eyes and hands, rejoi-
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cing silently together. It needed no words to assure them that danger had gone by, that good-will would reign again, with no compulsion of faith.
But now a gathering of figures on the far eastern hill-tops drew their notice; and the Saxons, who had taken refuge there, were seen drifting uncertainly back toward Camelot. Presently, as if fearing to be cut off altogether, these broke across the more open country to the southward, and pursuit came instantly hard upon them. Faint cries of fear and exultation reached the watchers on the hill of Camelot. Even the flash of armor and the tossing of scarfs and banners might presently be seen. Arthur uttered a low exclamation, half amused, half scornful--"Lancelot!"
"I think it is he," said Cian. "At least we shall not have to fight him."
"Was there any thought of that?" asked Aurelia.
Then Cian told her the little that was known, and the much by way of surmise, Arthur listening very gravely. When the tale was ended, the Emperor fixed on this old friend regained a look most kindly, and walked away, pondering. His gaze was on the chase and running fight, now of so little moment to any except the fugitives. But his thought could scarcely be there.
Aurelia followed him with her eyes, then turned in compassion to the distant flying men, overtaken
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one by one. Mayhap, though, it was in some measure the less for having seen their faces ravening so near, and heard their brutal outcries.
But here was Cian beside her to draw her mind away, and soon also came tidings from her own city. For one outcome of the Saxon rout was to let in the life of the outer world again; and all that it brought was called for greedily, though not all, when heard, was welcome. The Kent-folk, one rumor said, were threatening; and the riotous Celtic party within the town were again shamefully making head against her and the Emperor. For they had thought the calamity beyond repair. And there had been many cries of "Vortimer."
Aurelia's brow knitted, and her soul stung her. She heard Cian's indignant appeal, "Cast them off, and come to me," with answering hand-pressure; but a moment afterward her own words were, "Not yet."
Later she mused aloud, "Vortimer! Then they shall have Vortimer."
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ALL WELL ENDED.
To bless Arthur
Arthur the blessed.
--TALIESSIN.
AT the opening of that night, Arthur held high state in the great palace-hall of Camelot, the new-made empress by his side. Guinevere was reassured now, and lovelier than ever in their triumph; proud also with the assurance that, through every chance and turmoil, still in her own especial endeavor she had completely won.
Aurelia, too, was there, most like some gracious Olympian figure of Grecian fancy, but with more of human warmth and purity in her gray eyes than ever any goddess owned. Near her, Sanawg, tall in her swaying velvet twilight beauty, overrun with hidden fire, an ambassadress from the Orient and the elder time. Also Cian and Llywarch together, equally merry, for there rested now no cloud at all on the spirit of the poet-seer. Caradoc likewise, that battle-knight of the brawny arm, wound-hampered now, yet towering in his corner. Noble dames, too, in numbers, city rulers and mountain chiefs, lowland kings
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and notable priestly warriors of the Druid isle, each in his own especial bravery.
Into this presence entered Lancelot, attired even beyond what was usual with him, beautiful immortally--but it was a sinister beauty. At the door, doubt showed itself wistfully in his face. A step farther he felt the chill, and hardened. Yet, as he told his tale before the Emperor, his composure was nearly shaken, and his eyes drifted, with appeal, toward the most contemning ones of Guinevere, who would in no way forgive him that he had not come when called. It was a goodly story, well-sounding to those who did not know. He had been delayed, he had used great effort, and not wholly without avail. The hostile dead lay on the field where he had left them. He had lost hardly one man.
Arthur heard him through, and made answer,--
"Lancelot, a late gift is better than none, and a little bread than famine. For doing no worse, all thank you. But do not look for grateful ecstasy. Let the future better the past. Return home. Free Vortimer. One wishes it who is brave and fair, and of a house that was his enemy. Moreover, I see no fitness in such custody."
The Prince of Gwynedd flushed and scowled, then looked again toward the throned lady, less in hope than with that soul-compulsion which answers to the magnetic needle's aim. But her eye showed only
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enjoyment of his distress, recalling how she had signalled and signalled him, with no reply. He faced her; then he faced the Emperor, at full height, under strain. For the moment he dared not trust his voice. All could see what passions tore him,--outraged love, real to infatuation, though selfish and lawless; the helpless writhing under ridicule which no other man could feel so keenly; the strong, upsurging, hateful desire to utterly humiliate and shame those who had brought him low--even her. This passed; but in after years, when the great evil was coming on the land, his soul went back to it in some sort working out the bitterness.
At last he made a mocking obeisance, and said, "It shall be done;" then passed forth with such lack of courtesy that some counselled seizing him before he should do harm. But at that Arthur shook his head.
"No need," said he. "Lancelot is not the dullard that will risk all for nothing, nor Cerdic that sort of Saxon to make compact with one who has failed him, if there were aught between them, that is, concerning which I have no wish to hear further. We shall yet have, as of old, good service from Lancelot."
Another power than prudence was working in the baffled Prince toward the same end. Exiled from the court imperial, how could he hope to see Guine-
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vere? And what exile more complete than that of hostility? The binding of her fortune with Arthur's was beyond any undoing now; but equally so was the bond of his own infatuation, when resentment against her paled with time. Yet this did not wholly pass away, but survived, rather, in a deadening of scruple as to what must lessen her gravely in men's eyes.
It was long before any incitement from her had part therein, for the crisis of her danger and bridal came with too hard and close a strain. During all this season of estrangement he was diligent in service to the Emperor, being held in power, and prized there, over all North Wales. Watching this, or seeing it with no watching, it is little wonder if every shadow of distrust left the mind of Arthur. Yet a treachery was latent, biding its opportunity, which had in it, as the world knows, the ruin of them all.
Apart from this soul-warping, Lancelot of Gwynedd had noble graces other than those of form. Hence, loosening his captive, he did not fail to enlarge on Aurelia's share in that boon, and brighten her image and claims with every pleasing color. At first Vortimer, bleached and haggard from confinement, was in disquiet over this unlooked-for blossoming. But, as he found that no harm came, he reconciled himself thereto, and at last went toward Silchester (where she awaited him) with a gallant
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escort, quite easy in mind and body, and most ready for friendliness with his queen. The old prosperity of person had partly revived, but not the old turbulence as yet; for a subtle change had been wrought by unexpected and ruinous downfall. There could be no doubt of his present willingness to do her service and honor.
This was even as she had dared to hope; for, in truth, it was not only to please her people and restore him to daylight that her good word had been spoken. Cian's own realm was far from London, and that city could not be left uncared for in going to a new life, sorely as it had tried her by unreason and petulance, and by the meanness of wilful desertion in her great need. In the future, if a true viceroy, who had the hearts of London, could be found, it would be easier for her to forget such unloveliness while far away.
This duly came to pass; for already the major part of that city was in fear and adoration of her concerning whom it had reckoned so wrongly, and wild with eagerness to receive its own especial hero back again. Therefore their progress was a thing of flowers and beauty, and every house in every street blazed out with window-tapers at their entry. And their confidence and good-will toward effort were such in every way that it took little bargaining to close a peace with all the neighbor Saxons, which left her people more freedom of the Thames, and
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more security against inroad and foray than ever before in the memory of men. So there was nothing left but what Vortimer could very well do for the queen, and in her stead. She gave the northern prince her hand, and they went their way.
Would you know more of Cian of the Chariots? In the far North, with the power of Arthur behind him, he held the land, even to the region of lakes far beyond the great wall, securely for Britain. And many poems he wrote and sang, of a strange and mystic beauty known in many countries for centuries, and the fame of which, though every book that held them is lost to men, lasted until our own day. Loving best the hills and woodlands wherein he had been born, he yet went southward at the Emperor's call to that great day of need which brought the great victory and long prosperous peace of Mount Baden; often, too, as a brief visitant of the court at Caerleon with scant approval for the new growth of luxury which foredoomed its own ruin; or to that London which now slumbered on unsafely in a partly reviving dream of greatness toward its final overthrow. Last of all was he drawn to the utter disaster of Camlan, his last days being divided between his battling princedom of the North and Brittany beyond the sea, where one or two of his songs yet linger on peasant tongues and in peasant memories.
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Cian . page 9. Pronounced Kyan.
Llywarch . page 11. Pronounced Lu-arch (nearly).
Constans . page 16. The son and lieutenant of Constantine, elected emperor by the Roman troops before their abandonment of Britain. Dr. Guest, Master of Balliol, supposed Aurelius Ambrosius to have been his son, and Caradoc Vreichoras his grandson. The Constantine of our story would then be cousin to "Caradoc of the brawny arm," battle-knight of Arthur.
Duglas and Glem . page 17. See Preface, also the list of Arthur's battles in Tennyson's "Elaine," borrowed from that of Nennius, who composed a history of Britain in perhaps the seventh or eighth century. Mr. Nicholson, Bodley's librarian at Oxford, England, supposes the first four conflicts to have been in Lindsey ("the region Linuis" of Nennius); but the names of the streams themselves, except the Glem, are found in or near the lake country of the northwest. Either supposition accords well with our story, which has nothing directly to do with any battle of Arthur before that in the forest of Celidon.
Caowl . page 18. In the long poem, sometimes called an epic, entitled the "Gododin," Aneurin gives a savage picture of Caowl, but says also "breathless in the presence of a maid would he distribute the mead," a tribute to woodland bashfulness!
Argoed . page 24. This has a general meaning of
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woodland. More particularly it seems to have been applied to the region which owned Llywarch as its lord. In his "Death-song of Cyndylan" he refers to "the men of Argoed" as his own especial following. There are passages in this poem of epic dignity, martial force, and poignant pathos.
Dynan . page 25. Pronounced between Doonan and Dunnan, say Doi-nan.
The White Town . page 26. This was the city Uriconium, the emporium of the Welsh mining-districts, near the eminence known as the Wrekon, and on the site occupied by the present Wroxeter. The circuit of its wall about equalled that of London. Its buildings were roofed with a stone which contained many particles of mica, giving a beautiful effect. It is identified by Dr. Guest with the "White Town, the town of flame" of Llywarch. It was taken by storm in the final conquest of the Severn valley, as its ruins yet show.
Calleva Atrebatum, which the Britons called Caer Segeint, is now represented by the small town of Silchester. Its forces marched under the eagle standard after the Romans had withdrawn. According to Geoffrey of Monmouth, Arthur was here elected and crowned by a great assembly of the nobility and clergy of the realm. It was, at all events, hardly inferior to London after the latter waned under the stifling effect of the Saxon blockade, and must always have been more beautiful.
Osburn . page 26. This Frank mercenary is a type of the Teuton free lances who were then serving Rome and Rome's enemies, and every semi-independent power. Naturally the city of London would have some of them in the guard of its wall and gates.
Caer Collin . page 33. Colchester. Present county seat of Essex. Ancient capital of "Old King Cole," according to ballad and legend; also of the historic Cunebelline, Shakespeare's Cymbeline, the "friend of Augustus." It was in Roman times one of the great cities of Britain, and the
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centre of many industries, but had no doubt long been dwindling before the period with which we deal, being often threatened and sometimes quite surrounded by the East Saxons and their allies.
Andred-wood . page 33. The greatest wilderness of Britain, which ran east and west parallel with a great part of the southern coast. There was a mining-population in it, besides foresters of every kind. The great fortress town of Anderida, called by the Saxons Andred Ceaster, derived its name from this wood, and was aided by that hardy population in its obstinate resistance to Elle, the conqueror of Sussex. Long after London fell, the forest of Andred offered an asylum to all sorts of fugitive Britons.
Guledig . page 39. Guledig, or Wledig, was the Celtic equivalent of Emperor. Thus the tale known as "The Dream of Maxim Wledig" has to do with the Emperor Maximus. Tigernach, being an extreme reactionary Briton and Celt, would use the native title instead of any foreign equivalent. The mistletoe, sacred to the Druids, had been chosen, we will suppose, as a token among their adherents, and was also the cognizance of Prince Cian.
Waters of the Sun . page 54. Aquæ Solis, the modern Bath. It was not destroyed until after Arthur's death. In the Saxon "Codex Exoniensis" appears a very impressive metrical meditation of one of the victors, attesting the extraordinary beauty, luxury, anal attractiveness of the place. "They perished in wide slaughter."
Cian's chariot . page 60. It has been thought that some relics indicate the use of chariots in battle as late as the ninth century. They were the distinctive war-engines of ancient Britain. In the Celtic revival from the sixth to the eighth centuries they would naturally reappear after their long disuse during Roman times. But in the earlier part of this period they must have been a rarity, so that Cian, the conservative in
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opinion though daring in action, would be nearly alone in his fancy.
The legend . page 65. It is a very old one, illustrated by some of Cunebelline's coinage.
Vran . page 70. This demigod, or half-deified magician, seems to have been a special champion of London at a very early date. The Welsh triads mention him.
Aesc of West Kent . page 70. In the confusion and overlapping of the waves of Saxon invaders, there were even for a time two kings within the limits of what is now one county. West Kent was not a kingdom of long duration, yet it existed.
The Song of Cian . page 74. Our hero is mentioned by Nennius as one of the four great poets of Arthur's time. So late as the French Revolution a manuscript book of his poems is said to have been extant in Brittany. They may yet possibly be recovered. A single song attributed to him, of a mystical and figurative character, has been taken down from the recitation of peasants in that province. I have endeavored to be faithful to its tone and quality, being without other guide.
Caerleon . page 76. Caerleon on Usk, having yet its living representative. This was the main seat of Arthur's court, preserving much of Roman splendor. It affords the scene and personages of the Mabinogion tales in the "Red Book of Hergest." It is "the city Leogis, called Cair Lion" of Nennius. Here also "the neighing of the wild White Horse set every gilded parapet shuddering."
Basilica . page 78. In Roman cities this was a combination of court-house, public hall, trade-guild, office-building, and merchants' exchange, but was usually of great beauty.
Eschwine . page 83. London was probably taken and destroyed or depopulated by Sleda, the son of Eschwine, soon after Arthur's death. The father, having recently given over sea piracy, and established himself on the land, was not
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likely to be more clement at the time of our tale. A chief of the Northern Saxons was known by the parallel title of "Flame Bearer."
Maelgwn . page 105. Monsieur de Villemarqué was, I believe, the first to identify this Prince of North Wales with the legendary Lancelot. Gildas berates him as a very guilty man, but gives him credit for strength, gallantry, and the possession of high qualities which might have been turned to better account. He appears as a paroxysmal, vain, self-seeking character, extravagant in sinning and repenting, yet foremost in ability after Arthur's fall. By some priestly subterfuge, known as "the affair of Corsfechno," he seems to have acquired supremacy. He was probably the Conmael who fell with two other great chiefs in defending the lower Severn valley and its cluster of commercial cities when the next wave of Saxon invasion rolled that way. Geraint, coupled with him, is mentioned by Aneurin, and made the hero of a vehement and splendid poem by Llywarch. There is no reason to doubt that Geraint was a real person, very possibly "a tributary prince of Devon, one of the great order of the Table Round," as Tennyson puts it in the "Idylls of the King."
Camelot . page 105. Camelot was probably a newly founded fortress city, which Arthur made his frontier capital, that he might the better watch his most dangerous enemy, Cerdic of Wessex, who had penetrated some distance into the land on this frontier. The site of Camelot was most likely Cadbury Hill, near Queen's Camel, in Somersetshire. Merlin is identified by legend with the building of the place, and dwellers thereabout are said to retain a certain wizardly repute even yet.
A stronghold built on piles . page 106. The lake or great marsh below London probably gave that city its name, "Lyn-dyn," the lake-fort. It must have afforded a refuge and fastness to the Britons, and maintained its race of marsh-
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men, as did the fens and watery wastes that lay farther to the north. The piles of buildings which were supported in this way above the water have been found within the limits of the metropolis. There is no unlikelihood in a complete lake-village of that time and place.
Arthur Mabuter . page 110. The word Mabuter has been generally translated "the son of Uther." One of the British poets refers to him as "the son of Uther before he was slain." But Dr. Guest insists that it should be rendered "the terrible boy," in allusion to his youth on first assuming command.
The Song of Llywarch . page 116. In these verses I have preserved the rhyme, arrangement, and metre of Llywarch's "warrior triplet," which may have indirectly suggested such modern poems as "Hohenlinden" and "Scots wha' hae wi' Wallace bled." The white-horse standard referred to was that of the Saxons under Cerdic. The charge in white armor is from Geoffrey of Monmouth, who puts the number who fell with Ambrosius at five thousand. The Saxon Chronicles mention the death of Natanleod, King of the Britons, at the same time and place. Dr. Guest considers it to be a title, meaning Prince of the Sanctuary, meaning the "holy house at Amesbury," which had been named after him, and was known as the great Choir of the Dominion. Later it was removed to Glastonbury, known as Avalon, where Arthur himself was laid quietly to rest at the end, being borne in a boat over the flooded land.
Guinevere . page 121. According to Geoffrey of Monmouth, her name was Guanhumara. The Scotch peasants make it Wander. Guinevere was a Normanized version. It is likely also that the Normans invented Lancelot as a substitute for Maelgwn.
The Queen of London . page 132. An old Welsh manuscript says, "Wherefore the kings of London were called the sons of Alis." Dr. Freeman says there are indica-
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tions that London, in its early Saxon history, maintained a kind of local supremacy, having under it the tributary territory of Middlesex.
Verulam . page 181. St. Alban's.
Caer Lerion . page 190. Ratæ of the Romans. Leicester.
Legiolum . page 191. Castleford.
Freur . page 201. Llywarch mentions his sister Freur in one of his poems.
A woman-like form . page 203. The people of the under-world and wonder-world are too important components of early British story to be neglected. We find the lady of the hollow hill in one of the Mabinogion stories; and the experiences of Kilmeny, Childe Roland, and Thomas of Ercildoun show what might befall. Curiously, some of the hills, on excavation, have been shown to be both hollow and once inhabited. There is some element of truth in most superstition. It has been suggested that a primitive aboriginal race, driven to underground shelter and the depths of forestry, and able to keep alive only by secrecy and subtlety, may have made reprisals, including abductions, in a terrifying way, so that the fear of them as mysterious, flitting, and superhuman, would linger on indefinitely.
The Scaur . page 208. The Victoria caverns of the King's Scaur were first adequately explored and described by Professor Boyd Dawkins, author of "Cave-Hunting." The relics in them show that refugees from ruined northern cities, like Isurium, atone time took refuge there; this occupancy lasting until civilization was in part worn away, or until they made room for more barbarous successors.
Caer Badus. Caer Gloui . page 218. Bath and Gloucester.
The wreck of Isurium . page 226. This city, according to Dr. Green, was hardly inferior to Eboracum (York),
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which exceeded London in importance. The destruction by the Saxons was complete.
Caer Ebrauc . page 230. This was now Eboracum, now York.
Prince Edyrn . Edyrn of the Scarlet Coat was a notable British champion of the preceding generation. "Sanawg, or stately maiden," is named in a poem of "The Graves of Britain," author not certain. Gwydion ap Don had a great celebrity for necromantic feats, including the very pretty one commemorated in the fragment of a chant which haunted Llywarch's fancy.
Loidis . page 249. Leeds.
Borne far away . page 285. If you ask who carried Dynan away, "I cannot tell so mote I thrive." His name is a very old one; he provides a part of the fanciful-mystical element of our romance. Thus in the "Lay of the Last Minstrel" we have a page of preterhuman qualities and abilities, although it is a true picture of its time.
In Lady Guest's Mabinogion, taken from the fourteenth century "Red Book of Hergest," you will find the story of Araun, the Lord of Announ, and Powyll, Prince of Dyfed, in which the mystic lady of the hollow hill appears as "Rhiannon of unspeakable beauty," riding out of the under-world on a white horse, with a garment of shining gold around her. Without effort she distanced all pursuers. Archæologists have found, curiously enough, that some of the mounds popularly called Pechts' houses in North Britain, and believed to be haunted by fairies, actually had within them chambers fitted up for human occupancy. Mr. MacRitchie argues ingeniously that there was a small aboriginal race which took refuge in them, issuing by night into the outer air, and occasionally abducting the women or children, or even the men, of the conquering race. Dr. Rhys attributes, conjecturally, the liveliness of the Irish, as compared with the Welsh, to the greater amount of fairy blood in them.
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The modern concept of the fairies is a very complex one, deriving something, no doubt from the light and shadow of inanimate nature and mere fantastic day-dreaming. Yet back of them troops a more impressive array, the dread lords and ladies of the lower realm, in some part the dethroned deities of divers heathen mythologies, but no doubt even more the memories of dispossessed human beings who lurked on in the shadow, perhaps long after they had ceased to be thought of as flesh and blood by people who were free to come and go as they would in the daylight. Our Dynan is not historic, he is typical, and by no means the only one for whom this dread parentage has been claimed. Let us not be over curious as to whether he were borne into a spectral under-world of magic and faery, or into some dusky refuge of a last lingering fragment of a most archaic but purely human race. In the thrill and twilight of mystery must Romance ever find her home.
White Hill of Cynvelyn . page 295. This seems to have been the hill of the Tower of London.
Caer Ligion . page 341. Now Chester. One of the last of the Romano-British cities to be taken by the Saxons. Two hundred years afterward it remained a ruin; but the great walls were used by the Northmen as a defence when hard pressed, as the ruins of Uxmal might be used by a Mexican or Central American expedition now.
Trath Tribuit . page 341. This battle of the strand, which has no very direct relation to the main current of our tale, is mentioned in Nennius, and in the poems of the "Black Book of Caermarthen," the oldest of the Welsh manuscripts, a few fragments only excepted. The spelling varies through several intermediate forms, from Trath Tribuit to Traeth Trywruid. It is located at many widely separated points by different investigators. The mouth of the Ribble is an old suggestion, which, on the whole, has the most to commend it. The word Trath, or Traeth, is translated the sandy
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shore of an estuary. The Ribble mouth answers to this; the name is more like Tribuit than that of any similar spot which the Saxons had any temptation to reach; and it is not easy to invent any other probable scheme of their semi-naval campaign.
Caer Caradoc . page 358. This was Amesbury, the town of Ambrosius, where the Holy House mentioned by Arthur in Tennyson's Guinevere was or had been located; a religious establishment very likely as great as that of Bangor, which is said to have sent a thousand unarmed priests to the final battle before the walls of Chester, where they were slain while praying. At the time of which I write, it is probable that the religious element had withdrawn to safer quarters in Avalon, and that the character of the town was chiefly military. Dr. Guest identifies Amesbury with the provincial capital of Caradoc Vriechvras, Prince of Devon and son of Aurelius Ambrosius.
City of Vortigern . page 361. Old legends make Gloucester the capital of Vortigern, or Vor Tighairn, the British king or emperor who invited Hengist and Horsa into Kent.
Battle of Camelot . page 362. This is the Cat Bregion, or battle of the Mount Breguoin of Nennius. The name has been explained by Dr. Skene as meaning the painted hill; and Cadbury, with triple walls of eartwork, and buildings painted after the Celtic fancy, gay-colored banners, and the many richly apparelled chiefs and followers, would answer to that name very well. First or last, the British frontier capital was sure to be assailed. But there can be no such certainty in the identification of the battle of Mount Breguoin as in the case of Mount Badon, which is put by the note of the monks of Glastonbury on their copy of Gildas at a point near Bath and the Avon River; or in the case of Cair Lion, which is still Caerleon on Usk.
Note to the text: In preparing this full text of Cian of the Chariots , we have included page numbers from the original edition but have not tried to reproduce the line divisions.
THE PROPHECY OF MERLIN
by
ANNE BANNERMAN
For three long nights had King Arthur watch'd,
The light from the turret shone!
For three long nights had King Arthur wak'd,
He pass'd them all alone!
On the fourth, at the first hour's summon bell,
As the warder walk'd his round,
A figure cross'd at the postern gate,
That enters underground;
All wrapt it was in a monkish cowl,
By the gate-lamp burning dim,
When a double shadow slid across,
And another stood by him!
In low and broken tones they spoke,
Till the fourth hour ceas'd to ring:
That monk had Merlin's giant form,
The other was the king.
The morning shone on Camlan hills,
And the summon horn was blown;
But not a knight would mount the tow'r
Where Arthur watch'd alone!
When noon was past, the king came down,
He bore his dragon shield;
And dark and dread was his clouded brow,
On the eve of Camlan field!
Slowly past that fateful eve,
And sad it wore away;
And sad and silent was the king
As he watch'd the break of day;
All down the slope of Camlan hill,
And along the river's side,
The rebel bands were posted round,
Since the fall of eventide:
From the signal posts the shout begins,
When the sky was bright and clear;
And the red sun shone on the steel dragon,
On King Arthur's standard-spear!
Above the rest was Britain's crest
In living flame enroll'd!
And the Virgin's form, in silver wrought,
With the brazon dragon bold! [1]
O! in the field of Camlan fight,
Ere the burning noon was o'er,
The red blood ran, like a river-wave,
On the dry and parched shore:
King Arthur spurr'd his foaming horse
Amid that living flood! [2]
And twice he wav'd his witched sword
Where the dauntless Modred stood!
But who could stand by Arthur's side,
When that steel of terror shone?
When the fire of wroth was in his eye,
And he rais'd his arm alone!
That sun that blaz'd in middle sky,
And flam'd on hill and dell;
Its westering light had sunk in night,
When the mighty Modred fell!
But the blood that flows is Arthur's blood, [3]
His fiery eye is dim!
And a dew like death is on his face,
And over every limb!
He lean'd him down on his dragon shield,
He clasp'd his beaver on!
And the gushing blood it ceas'd at once,
But they heard no dying groan.
O! how they strove till the night came on,
And all to raise that masque again!
And every arm by turns had tried,
But every arm was vain!
They held him in their arms, and wept
With tears of deep despair!
Till they fear'd to touch that plate armour,
For the sound was hollow there!
Then they drew that witched sword,
And they heard the armour ring!
They wav'd it twice in Merlin's name
Before they touch'd the king.
At once the cross-lace open'd wide,
They felt the rushing air!
But that mail was hollow as the grave,
Nor form, nor body there.
As wild they gaz'd, the iron rings
Were clasped as before!
But the tongue that call'd on Merlin's name
Was dumb for ever more!
Mean time, the king was borne away,
In deep and death-like sleep the while,
To the charmed sea, by magic spell,
By the Queen of the Yellow Isle!
And when his tranced soul was rous'd,
He thought, and thought how this might be,
For there was nought but sea and sky
As far as he could see.
King Arthur gaz'd on the calmed surge,
So clear beyond compare!
But neither the form of living man,
Nor the sound of life was there:
The ship it mov'd on the sleeping wave
Like a bird upon the air;
He knew it gained on the deep,
But he felt no motion there!
O, then! he had no trace of time
How long he was on that pathless sea!
But he could have rested there for aye,
So sweet it seem'd to be!
How many times he watch'd the sun,
And saw it sink, he never knew;
For it ne'er was more than faint twilight
In that sky of stainless blue!
Ah! then he thought, within that ship
He ever more was doom'd to be!
And he had not once bethought him yet
Of Merlin's prophecy!
Those sleepless nights he watch'd alone,
When the damps of midnight fell!
That voice, of more than human tone,
He heard in Merlin's cell; [4]
That night, the eve of Camlan fight,
When he felt his courage fail;
When the chill of death was on his brow,
Like a bloodless vision pale;
That night, his knocking knees refus'd
To bear him from the cave;
When, press'd in his, the hand of blood
Its deadly pressure gave!
Clear was the sky, and O! with this
What summer could compare?
What woes could press on Arthur's heart,
When he breath'd that blessed air?
Clear was the sky! the ship drew near
Without the aid of wind or toil!
And, lighted by the morning sun,
He saw the charmed Isle!
The ship was steady on her keel,
Wash'd by that soft and lovely flood;
And, blushing, on the yellow beach,
The Queen of Beauty stood.
High in one hand, of snowy white,
A cup of sparkling pearl she bore;
And she reach'd it to the tranced king
As he knelt upon the shore:
All pallid now was Arthur's brow,
While he took the draught she gave;
For he thought on what the hand of blood
Had mingled in the cave:
He thought on what the fiend pronounc'd,
That Merlin's spirit brought;
And he fix'd his eyes on that ladie's face,
And trembled at the thought.
Ah! in these eyes, of softest blue,
What magic dwells, to lull the soul!
And Arthur saw their mild reproach,
And rais'd the fraughted bowl!
His lips have drain'd that sparkling cup,
And he turn'd on her his raptur'd eyes!
When something, like a demon-smile,
Betray'd the smooth disguise!
He started up! he call'd aloud!
And, wild, survey'd her as she stood:
When she rais'd aloof the other arm,
And he knew the hand of blood!
The voice, that answer'd to his call,
Was that he heard within the cave!
When the mighty form of Urien
Was roused from the grave! [5]
It told him, that the hour was come
He too must slumber in the cave;
When nought would reach his burial-place,
But the murmurs of the wave!
It told him of the years to pass
Before his kingdom he could see:
And Arthur knew he would return,
From Merlin's prophecy. [6]
King Arthur's body was not found,
Nor ever laid in holy grave:
And nought has reach'd his burial-place,
But the murmurs of the wave.
THE PROPHECY OF MERLIN: FOOTNOTES
1 Arthur's shield had on it the picture of our Lady, and his helm, an engraven dragon.
-----SELDEN'S Notes to the Poly. Olb. Song IV.
2 Pendragon's worthie sonne, who waded there in blood.
-----Poly. Olb. Song IV
3 King Arthur, according to our ancient historians, slew Modred with his own hand; but received his death-wound himself, and retired to Ynys Ofallon, or Glastenbury, where he soon afterwards died. His death was politically concelaed, lest it should dispirit the Britons. Hence arose so many fabulous stories about it.
-----EVANS'S Specimens of Welsh Poetry
4
There the wise Merlin, whilome he wont, (they say,)5 Urien Regen, king of Cambria and a great part of Scotland, as far as the river Clyde. His brave actions are celebrated by Taliessin.
To make his wonne, low underneathe the ground
In a deep delve, farre from the vew of day
That of no living wight he mote be found,
When so he counseld, with his sprights encompast round:
And if thou ever happen that same way
To traveill, go to see that dreadful place:
It is an hideous hollow cave, (they say,)
Under a rock
-----SPENSER'S Faery Queene. Book III. Can. III.
-----EVANS'S Specimens.
6 The bard-songs suppose, that, after the battle of Camlan in Cornwall, where Modred was slain and Arthur wounded, Morgan le Fay, an elfin lady, conveyed the body to Glastenbury, to cure it; which done, Arthur is to return to the rule of his country.
By prophecy Merlin set the date,It will not perhaps be very consonant to popular feeling, that legendary tradition has been violated in the fate and disposal of this great, national hero. But it is all fairy-ground, and a poetical community of right to its appropriation has never been disputed.
Among princes king incomparable,
His seat againe to Carlian to translate.
The Parchas sustren sponne so his fate,
His epitaph recordeth so certaine
Here lieth King Arthur that shall raigne againe.
-----DAN LIDGATE, See Notes to the Poly. Olb. Song III.
FROM THE DIARY OF ISEULT OF BRITTANY
by
MAURICE BARING
May 1. - Mamma sent me up a message early this morning to say that I was to put on my best white gown with my coral necklace, as guests were expected. She didn't say who. Nurse was in a fuss and pulled my hair when she did it, and made my face very sore by scrubbing it with pumice-stone. I can't think why, as there was no hurry. I came down punctually at noon. Mamma and papa were sitting in the hall, waiting. Fresh rushes were strewn on the floor. I was told to get out my harp, and to sit with my back to the light. I hadn't practised for weeks, and I can only play one song properly, "The Mallard," a Cornish song. When I told mamma that was the only song I knew, she said I was on no account to mention it, if I was asked to play; but I was only to play Breton songs. I said I didn't know any. She said that didn't matter; but that I could sing anything I knew and call it a Breton song. I said nothing, but I thought, and I still think, this was dishonest. Besides the only songs that I know are quite new. The stable people whistle them, and they come from Rome.
We waited for a long time. Papa and mamma were both very fidgety and mamma kept on pulling me about, and telling me that my hair was badly done and that she could see daylight between the pleats of my frock. I nearly cried and papa said: "Leave the dear child alone; she's very good." After we'd been waiting about twenty minutes, the trumpets sounded and Morgan, the seneschal, walked in very slowly, and announced: "Sir Tristram of Lyoness."
Rather an oldish man walked in, with a reddish beard, and many wrinkles. One of his front teeth was broken and the other was black. He was dressed in a coat of mail which was too tight for him. He had nice eyes and seemed rather embarrassed. Mamma and papa made a great fuss about him and brought me forward and said: "This is our daughter Iseult," and mamma whispered to me: "Show your hands." I didn't want to do this, as nurse had scrubbed them so hard that they were red.
Sir Tristram bowed deeply, and seemed more and more embarrassed. After a long pause he said: "It's a very fine day, isn't it?"
Before I had time to answer, mamma broke in by saying: "Iseult has been up since six with the falconers." This wasn't true and I was surprised that mamma should be so forgetful. I hadn't been out with the hawkers for weeks.
Then dinner was served. It lasted for hours I thought, and the conversation flagged terribly. Kurneval, Sir Tristram's Squire, had twice of everything and drank much more cider than was good for him. After dinner, mamma told me to fetch my harp and to sing a Breton song. I was just going to say I didn't know one, when she frowned at me so severely that I didn't dare. So I sang the Provençal orchard song about waking up too early that Kerodac the groom taught me. Sir Tristram said: "Charming, charming, that's German, isn't it; how well taught she is. I do like good singing." Then he yawned, although he tried not to, and papa said he was sure Sir Tristram was tired, and that he would take him to see the stables. Sir Tristram then became quite lively and said he would be delighted.
When they'd gone, mamma scolded me, and said that I had behaved like a ninny and that she didn't know what our guests would think of me. It seemd to me we only had one guest; but I didn't say so. Then she told me to go and rest so as to be ready for dinner.
I forgot to say that just as Sir Tristram was going out of the room he said to papa: "Your daughter's name is -- er?" and papa said, "Yes, Iseult, after her aunt." And Sir Tristram said: "Oh! what a pretty name!"
May 6. -- They've been here a week now and I haven't seen much of them; because Sir Tristram has been riding with papa nearly all day, and every day. But every day after dinner mamma makes me sing the Provençal song, and every time I sing it, Sir Tristram says: "Charming, charming, that's German, isn't it?" although I've already told him twice now that it isn't. I like Sir Tristram, only he's very silent, and after dinner he becomes sleepy directly, just like papa.
May 7. -- I've had a most exciting day. Papa and mamma sent for me and when I came into the room they were both very solemn and said they had something particular to say to me. Then mamma cried and papa tried to soothe her and said: "It's all right, it's all right," and then he blurted out that I was to marry Sir Tristram next Wednesday. I cried, and papa cried, and mamma cried, and then they said I was a lucky girl, and mamma said that I must see about my clothes at once.
May 8. -- Nurse is in a fearful temper. She says we shall never be ready by Wednesday and that it's more than flesh and blood can stand to worrit folks like this. But mamma is in the best of tempers. Sir Tristram has gone away -- to stay with some friends -- he is coming back on Tuesday night. My wedding gown is to be made of silver with daisies worked on it. The weavers are working day and night, but most of the stuff is old . It belonged to mamma. I do think they might have given me a new gown. Blanche had a new one when she was married.
May 12. -- The wedding went off very well. I had four maidens and four pages. After Mass, we had a long feast. Papa made a speech and broke down, and Tristram made a speech and got into a muddle about my name, and everybody was silent. Then he said I had beautiful hands and everybody cheered. After supper we were looking out on the sea, and just as Tristram was becoming talkative I noticed that he wore another ring besides his wedding ring, a green one, made of jasper. I said, "What a pretty ring! Who gave it you?" He said, "Oh, a friend," and changed the subject. Then he said he was very tired and went away.
May 13. -- It's the 13th and that's an unlucky number. Nurse said that no child of hers should marry in May, so I suppose that's what brought it about. In any case Tristram, who has been very gloomy ever since he's been here, has got to go and fight in a tournament. He says he won't be away long and that there's no danger; not any more than crossing the sea in an open boat, which I do think is dangerous. He starts tomorrow at dawn.
May 14. -- Nothing particular.
May 15. -- No news.
May 16. -- Kurneval arrived this evening. He says that Tristram was slightly wounded; but would be all right in a day or two. I am very anxious.
May 17. -- Tristram was brought back on a litter in the middle of the night. He has been wounded in the arm. The doctors here say he was bandaged wrong by the local doctor. They say he is suffereing from slight local pain. Kurneval says the horrid henchman hit his arm as hard as he could with a broad sword. Papa and mamma arrive to-morrow with the doctor. Tristram insists on sleeping out of doors on the beach. The doctor says this is a patient's whim and must be humoured. I'm sure it's bad for him, as the nights are very cold.
July 1. -- I've been too busy to write my diary for weeks. Tristram is still just the same. The doctors say there is no fear of immediate change.
August 10. -- Mamma says the Queen of Cornwall (whose name is Iseult the same as mine) is coming for a few days, with her husband and some friends. I do think it's very inconsiderate, considering how full the house is already; and what with Tristram being so ill -- and insisting on sleeping on the beach -- it makes it very difficult for every one.
September 1. -- Papa went out to shoot birds with his new cross-bow; but he came back in a bad temper as he'd only shot one, and a hen. Tristram is no better. He keeps on talking about a ship with a black sail.
September 19. -- To-day I was on the beach with Tristram and he asked me if I saw a ship. I said I did. He asked me if the sail was black, and as the doctor had told me to humour him, I said it was. Upon which he got much worse, and I had to call the doctors. They said he was suffering from hypertrophy of the sensory nerves.
September 20. -- Tristram unconscious. The Queen of Cornwall just arrived. Too busy to write.
Legends/Sagas
BALLADE OF TRISTRAM'S LAST HARPING
by
GERTRUDE BARTLETT
The end that Love doth seek, what bard can say,
In that fair season when the tender green
Of opening leaves doth roof the woods of May,
And sweet wild buds from out their places lean
To touch the dainty feet that heedless stray
Among them, with a youth in knight's attire?
His lady's will capricious to obey,
This is the end of dawning Love's desire.
And when amid the summer's bright array
Of blossoms, are the crimson roses seen,
And one young maid, fairer than any spray
In perfect bloom, wanders their lines between,
What blessëd solace can the lover pray
Of her compassion, for his heart of fire?
With kisses on her mouth all words to stay--
This is the end of eager Love's desire.
With driven clouds the hovering sky is grey;
The winds above the frozen hills are keen,
And all fair buds have fallen in decay;
What joy hath now the true knight of his Queen?
No rapture less exultant can allay
His need, than softly craves this faulty lyre:
To answer all his pleading with sweet 'Yea'--
This is the end of yearning Love's desire.
Envoy
Beloved, now is done our life's brief day;
Not with the day howe'er doth Love expire.
Within thine arms the night to dream away--
This is the end of Love's supreme desire.
"MERLIN'S YOUTH"
by
GEORGE BIDDER
The name Yberha is pronounced nearly to
rhyme with the Italian word guerra .
G. P. B.
FIRST PART
1
A lad I was, dark-haired and dark of eye,
Ever the first to court a danger shown,
Ever the last to lay my courage down
In face of man or sprite. Strife then ran high
Betwixt us and the strangers; and the land
Stirred with a thrill it could not understand.
For 'twas the tie that bound mother and child,
And strangers would possess her bosom bare,
And strangers batten on our woodland air,
And strangers trample on our mountains wild;
And so the earth stirred in stern motherhood,
And all her children knew in their blood.
Slight-limbed was I, nor challenged feats of strength:
My great-thewed cousins hurled the massy rock,
And flung the fir-tree that ten winters' shock
Had left unharmed. Thick shoulders, thighs of length,
Flat hips, stout buttocks; -- they could throw a steer,
Or drink their shallow wits away the livelong year.
2
Yberha was her name. Across the flood,
Where then a mounded tower in stoutness stood,
There lived her father; -- silent, moody man,
Caring not who was kind nor who was proud,
Nor what more than aught else men cried aloud,
Nor where his neighbour's power stretched its span.
One moonlight night I swam the tide across,
Met the great wave in the middle, saw it toss,
Tossed a long bowshot in its boiling surge,
Fought till the flood could know its master there,
Swam, bold, to the further bank, for earth and air,
And saw her standing silent on the verge.
The moon played on her head, and yellow hair
Flowed to her waist with never let or care;
White dress, white arms, shone in the mystic light,
Pale cheeks, and lips compressed, were desolate:
She seemed a spirit wandered forth by fate,
To give a pallid soul to the dead night.
3
She looked toward the moon; and, stooping down,
Reached backward without gazing, from the sward
Plucking three strange leaves, and with a careful ward
Knotted them fast enfolded in her gown;
Nor ever looked but straitly at the moon,
And murmured weary words to strange sad tune: --
"Listen maid, listen man,
Catch bubble who catch can,
Surge tide, river glide;
Merge bush, shiver rush:
Watch, fair lady of the skies!
Look me, look me in the eyes;
You shall not see me pick your prize."
I knew not if she were of fairy birth,
But knew that she was fair, as never yet
Has man known and been able to forget.
I knew not were she slight or honest worth;
But knew that how so e'er I lived on earth,
For how so many years, without her it was dearth.
And stepping forth beside her on the dew,
I said, "The night is lonely in this place,
The moon is poor protection for your grace;
The wolves are fierce, and those that dare them few:
Till you find safer guardian I will stand
Beside you; strong or weak, to your command."
4
And so I turned, proud of my youth and might,
Of skill and courage -- for, whate'er the fight,
The swift eye and the swiftly-reasoning brain,
Knowing when best to give, and when to take,
And vantage out of direst chance to make,
Laughs at the strength that rives an oak in twain; --
Proud of my power, shamed of my nakedness;
Nor caring what this maid with golden tress
Thought of my sudden speech. For she was mine,
I cared not how so great her pride or power,
Nor did her lips smile or her forehead lower,
Or tears or fire beneath her eyelids shine.
Proud of my power, I knew her ever mine,
Willing or unwilling; so the sun should shine
The morrow, or the winter bring us snow.
Strength must bow down to greater strength; and none,
My proud youth told me, breathed our Western sun
Woman or man, my subtle force could know.
5
Turned she, a-rustle in the dewy grass: --
"Strange things, methinks, are come abroad to-night,
When a poor stripling deems my heart in fright
For wolves, that every woodland hind would pass
And send them snarling back. Yet wolves, fair boy,
Perchance the more than you such meeting would enjoy!"
With that she raised her white arms in the wind,
And waving cried aloud. By lonely mere,
When the night sleep is deep, somewhiles a sound,
Unearthly and unheavenly, fills the round
Of the starred sky, and earth is filled with fear:
Such sounds she sent through moonlight and through shade,
Waving her white arms toward the forest glade;
And my heart beat beside her, fragrant-skinned.
Three times she called, once to the moony South,
Once to the mountain woods; and once she turned,
And where the North Star by his chariot burned,
Once more that strange wail came from that curved mouth:
And my arms ached her filmy weight to bear,
And in my blood was tangling all her golden hair.
6
But from the South there came an answering cry
I knew ere yet it ceased. For that reply
I heard when with my cousins we had found
A she-wolf in her lair, and on a fire
Had tied the dam to burn out her desire
For human flesh, and on the gory ground
Had killed her cubs before her. Then that sound
Had answered the last cry of that sad mother bound;
And cousins stout cared not to stay and see
What cheer her spouse should give them; so they ran
To where were fire and walls and home of man --
I last -- and to my home his foot-tracks followed me.
And from the West there came the fearful wail,
That ever made men's faces change and pale,
Of the old were-wolf of the woods; that through the dark
Howled when a man should die. And North again
A she-wolf screamed like a dead soul in pain: --
They cried there was a man soon to lie stiff and stark.
7
Once, twice, and thrice they cried; and every cry
Nearer and nearer; and with moonlit eye
She smiled upon me, mocking. I knew well
That all in arms I could not fight these foes;
High to the danger still my courage rose,
Nor, naked, owned their cries my funeral knell.
I seized her swiftly up from where she stood,
To bear her with me to the angry flood,
There swim for life or death; face to my face,
Heart to my heart, breath panting with my breath;
To live if I could live, die with my death,
And rot with me in one last long embrace.
"Boy," she laughed, "art afraid of these my friends?
The river but some cowardly mankin sends,
Who dares not face the forest! Stand your ground:
I promise you shall have no cause for fear!
These are my friends whom I have summoned here,
To do my pleasure fond, to do my bidding bound."
8
"Seal thou thy promise with a kiss!" I cried.
She kissed; -- and in my ears murmured the tide,
And in her eyes the moon and stars were pent,
And in her lips were past and future bliss,
All life, all thought, sunk in one burning kiss:
Stars, earth and heaven, in her eyes were blent --
And round the wolves were seated. Panting tongue,
Sharp teeth in cruel jaw, that hungry hung
Under the gleaming eyes; and all the air
Was noisome with their scent. The three that cried
Were foremost; and sat watching, side by side,
Where first from my young limbs the flesh to tear.
Dark shadows stretched behind them with strange stars
That came and went, as o'er the harbour bars
The shipman sees the lantern on the shore.
Dark shadows clustered round upon the grass,
And backward, forward, would a shadow pass;
And ever drew they nearer, ever more.
9
We stood, and I stood foremost; till the breath
Of him from the South whose vixen I had slain,
Fanned warm on my cold limbs, and a thick rain
Slavered from both those jaws of fearsome death;
And his coat bristled o'er in lustful hate,
Big with revenge, and hunger, and my fate.
Yet she behind me gave a silvery laugh,
Like streamlet on the mountain, rippling clear,
When first it strikes the tired hunter's ear,
Who turns from summer's hear its rill to quaff.
Low answered from the pack in fear and dread
A whine of horror; and uneasy stirred each shadowy head.
She struck her little hand across his ears --
"Down, rascal! hast no manners for my friend?
Kiss, dog, where I have kissed." -- I saw him bend,
I felt his mouth drip hot and hungry tears
Over my feet; and then from foot to head
He slavered me -- whose cubs I had laid dead --
With teeth, and shining eyes, and hair bristling in hate and dread.
10
Ever there rang the silvery laugh behind,
And the eyes of the shadows moved; a single mind
Seemed to grow into the twining shapeless crowd,
As they closed together, and closer; poised on their feet,
As those who wait to know the moment is meet --
On a sudden the were-wolf rose and howled aloud --
And away to the South were a cloud of galloping backs,
Old dog, were-wolf, and the vixen leading the packs;
And up the stars rose laughter, awful and shrill:
She and I were alone. Her parted mouth
Shrilled, mocking, to the skies; and away to the South
I saw a rushlight burn in the village under the hill.
O then I turned to her, and I held my eyes
Proud, gazing where I saw her eyelids rise:
"Now, know you; wolves or fiends, I fear them nought;
But I will take what heart is in your breast,
And I will make you follow my behest,
Natheless for all the spells that e'er were wrought!"
11
Her white hands touched my face. "Poor, gentle boy,
And have you not enough of Yberha's grace?
Were you not sated with the wolf's embrace,
That you would know my lips as little coy?
Would you court a bride who can cast a shade on the sun,
And will watch the soul in its flight when the rushlight yonder is done?
"I love not ever my father; who reads strange scrolls
Of how the world shall be happy, and men be kind,
And great ones from their slaves their chains unbind,
And lowly men be great. I take his rolls
And read on the other side, of power and pride;
Who weds must win them for me, whatsoe'er betide.
"Swim home and dream in peace. Not yours to turn
The forces of the stars out from the sky,
And wield them; while the men fall down and die
Where'er your finger points, and the worlds burn,
And horror fills your soul with horror's depth and height,
And round about you press the forces of the night.
12
"Boy, dare you hold unceasing, endless pain
Thralled in your hand? when a shiver or a stain
Of fear across your mind would loose it there,
And in one flood would roll over your brain
One blank of that unceasing endless pain,
And agony relentless, and unperishing despair.
"Dare you walk forth on lone eternal hills,
And know beside you lone eternal wills,
Bend them, unwilling, to tear up the earth,
To whirl the heavens backward, heap the sea,
Cast night on noonday, set the Zodiac free.
And curse a newborn life before its birth?
"Swim home and dream in peace: and woo some girl
Whose charms are blush of cheek, and waft of curl;
And give her then this kiss." I clasped her form,
White-robed and slim: "I woo no other maid;
I fear not death or pain, nor the cold shade
Of loneliness. Rage all your fiery storm.
13
"Thus I will hold you! And in death or pain,
Victor or vanquished, till your bosom's snow
Melt in my heart, I will not let you go:
I will not live away from you again;
I am more strong than you with all your might,
And all your beauty is my proper right!"
Still there she stood, clasped closely, dreamingly,
With moonlit eyes and dewy marble cheek,
Lips moving not to kiss me or to speak;
Still there she stood, clasped closely, dreamingly.
Her eyes shone in the darkness, as the light
That leads forth wanderers, far, far into the night.
Rested her white hand on my hungry arm:
"And I have been alone; alone," she said;
"I thought to go alone among the dead,
And lonely guide them with an awful charm.
I thought alone to turn the weak world's length;
I knew not that a man had such a strength.
14
"Fold round your arms more closely. How your lip
Is cold, and night-dews from your eyelids drip!
Fold closely. Now I know that life can give
Something more sweet than power, yet more sweet
Than cruelty. Do our hearts together beat?
To be in lonely strength is not to live.
"Kiss not so close, for I would speak awhile:
Know, love, that I must wander many a mile
'Twixt now and day. Know, I can never wed,
Save with death to my lover, but a man
Who knows my every spell to bless or ban;
Unless I lay all down beside my marriage bed.
"Which will you: wed me as a powerless maid,
Of night, and wolves, and warlock word afraid;
Or wait till my high art yourself have learned?"
I cried -- "I wed no weakling for my bride!
Ride we this rotten world, whate'er betide:
I kiss you on it." -- And her lips like fire burned.
SECOND PART
15
S o three long years I toiled by night and day
To learn her spells. The meteors at play
Cried round us as we sat upon the hills,
The lightning flowed in lucid gentle rills
To bathe her feet; and strange tongues spake anon
Thundering, and red streamers through the welkin shone.
Sometime we pored o'er mystic written signs
Tangled with pictured horrors, wrapt designs
That first were stains of blood upon the page,
And then were men, writhing in pain and rage,
And then shone forth a face in hate and fear,
And grew, until the eyeballs stared as near
As beat her heart to mine. And as we gazed
Sense became dim, and sight and thought amazed:
The walls fell back from out that narrow room,
The world lay wide before us in its gloom,
Strange swift things sped on wings of livid light,
And round about us closed the forces of the night.
16
Sometime from out the shadows of the grave
We called the old Fenickian; who, when wave
Curled o'er his ship to sink it in the deep,
Bade there its mountainous waters hang, asleep
(And still men show it, from the quiet sea
A long white rock, o'erhanging treacherously):
And he would teach us how in Orient land
Great toiling sprites weave cables from the sand;
And he that holds them may chain back the hours
Till his proud life, in ever-waxing powers,
Stretch on a thousand years, and time is tired,
And all lies in his hand that ever he desired:
And how within the bowels of the earth
A fiery race awaits its coming birth,
And they that master mighty spells have care
To say nought that shall break their fetters there;
Else all our world should vanish in a breath,
One fierce and fearsome flame, and long eternal death.
17
And sometime we would pass into the skies
Till the near stars gleamed hotly in her eyes;
And we would look behind the Milky Veil
Where watch the drowsy fates, weary and pale,
Till planets cease to rule. And we would fall
Downward to the abyss from whence the thunders call;
And there were monstrous, mountainous, cloudy forms,
Whose eyes were lightnings, and whose breaths were storms;
Writhing and twisting through the unbounded deep,
Now strove they at their chains, and now would sleep:
When they be loosed the mountains pass to air,
And all the solid earth to windy, dark despair.
And sometime would we sit beneath the trees;
And I would kiss the blushes to her face,
And wind her hair in many a wandering grace,
And set it flowing to the evening breeze;
And bury her with flowers, scenting of spring,
And hear the white-barred winter-finch his love-bell ring.
THIRD PART
18
A nd so there went three years: and I was grown
Stronger than she, more daring in my spells,
Calling the spirits of the rugged fells
As shepherd calls his dogs. Our troth was known;
Merlin would wed Yberha of the Mount,
Child of the silent man men held of small account.
Yet never had he yielded to our troth,
Nor ever took her dower at my hand;
But called me wastrel of an ill-lived land,
Profitless in labour, diligent in sloth,
No husband for his daughter; but a curse
To make good bad in her, and make bad worse.
That time the foe came on us. Fiery light
Shone forth from every hill-top, and all day
Men drove their women and their herds away,
And digged to wall about them all the night.
About Yberha's tower they digged the wall;
Yon moody man was leader of them all.
19
And from the sacred places came a chant
From daybreak to nightfall; and fierce-eyed priests
Tore from the rout the best of all the beasts,
Made ox and sheep up the long stoneway pant,
Till all the altars, set in crimson mire,
Clouded the sky with smoke and marred the night with fire.
THE PRAYER OF THE PRIESTS
Great mountains, hear us!
Hear us, who deck in flowers your granite brows
And fill your cups with blood.
Great river, hear us!
Hear us, who pour our offerings on the wave,
Whose fairest in thy bosom have their grave.
Sun, hear us!
We give the best our bitter life allows
To thee, giver of good.
Gods of the forest, hear us!
Red drip the branches of your sacred trees:
What other gods there be, O hear us!
And scent our offerings on the evening breeze.
Round, round
We march in mystic rite;
Sound, sound
The trumpets to the Night:
She is coming from the east,
And the sacrifice, O priest,
Is alight.
Priest of the dawn,
Is there help?
Priest of the rocks,
Is there help?
Priest of the flood,
Priest of the wood,
Is there help?
Round, round
We march in mystic rite;
Sound, sound
The trumpets to the Night:
Take our foes, dying deep;
But we worship thee --
Let us sleep.
Priest of the Night,
Is there help?
Yet nearer closed the foe: the holy seers
Had fled to the holy woods, to pray anew
In secret caverns where they held the clew;
Our tower rang with lowings, moans, and cheers;
The strangers were encamped against the wall;
That, and the moody man, became the hope of all.
Three days they sieged about us; till at length
We penned the cattle and women in the tower,
Massed to their weaker wing in all our power,
And rushed to measure with the foe our strength:
Foremost of all Yberha's father there;
An axe made like a cross he brandished in the air.
20
Bloodily waged the battle. I was light
Of spear and swift of foot, and through the fight
Passed like a wandering death. With heavy blows
Of axe on target, edgéd stone on hide,
My cousins fought in phalanx, side by side;
And over all the voice of Yberha's father rose:
"Strike for your children! Strike for love and wife!
Strike for the kindly land that gave you life!
-- O Thou that rulest lives and ways of men,
Save this poor ignorant people to new days
That thus a thankful land thy grace repays."
And he struck with the two-edged axe, and cried, "Amen."
But we were few, and I saw Yberha's head at the tower,
And I drew forth, to weave a spell of power
With her for conquest. Waving hand with hand,
She on the tower, I back from out the fight,
We read a twisted spell of potent might
Pointing to where the crossed axe made a stand; --
21
When all of a sudden the cross flew back as he smote,
Slipping his grasp, and struck me down in the moat,
I rose with courage strangely faint, a cry
Rang from the foe; my cousins side by side
Took blows of axe and spear on the stout bull-hide:
Yberha's father was down, and our men began to fly.
From out the tower whispered a light footfall,
Where shone my beauty, cold, and white, and tall;
I leapt quick-hearted o'er our fenceless bank,
Crying, "Come, sweetheart! speed we to the wood;
Thy sire is dead: none other ever stood
To foil our marriage; foiléd spells we well may thank!"
Cold stood she, white and tall. From out the fight
Our men were rallying back upon the right.
She spake: "Take up thy spear and lead the men,
Nor think of spells or love. Sweep back yon foe,
Or never word thine ear from me shall know:
When they are conquered, ask me further then."
22
Dizzy I turned me, and with waving spear
Called on my men and fell into the press;
Naught knew I but to long for her caress,
And for her safety to be sick with fear:
Still with skilled arm I thrust, and thrust again,
And into the hot foe we fought out way amain.
And as the sun was setting, down the hill
We pressed them; and my wing the more and more
Forced them, retreating, to the river shore,
Until they turned to flee, and we to kill:
But where my cousins stood, stubborn and loud,
The battle waged like thunder in a thundercloud.
At length there too the foe broke; turned and fled,
Scattering toward the river, and we ran
To slay; but my huge cousin, once began
The cloud to break, turned back among the dead,
And I cried wrathful words; but there they stood,
While half stricken foe escaped into the flood.
23
We slew till all were fled, or bound, or slain,
Then turned triumphing to the tower again.
The women busily sped to and fro
Helping the wounded; or with bitter wail
Pressed lip to cheek that sundown-light left pale;
Or vainly, sadly, searched their dead to know.
I was unwounded. Youth, and skill of fence,
And fearless coolness, and a delicate sense
Of where a man was weakest, kept my head;
And so, afront of all my lagging men,
I mounted lightly from the bloody glen,
And walked to meet my love among the dead.
A dark group stood within our earthen mound;
A body, and my cousins pressing round;
And she, white-robed, the nearest. Lightly treading,
As one that walks from waiting unto wedding,
I came behind her; and, ere I could speak,
Had touched her glossy hair, and kissed her cheek.
24
Like adder coiled about her threatened young,
With head thrown back, and swift death-dealing tongue,
Turning, she spake: -- "Smooth coward! whole of skin,
You have come well forth from all this bitter strife,
And saved, at least, one traitorous, worthless life --
Maid's body, with a weasel's heart within!
"There lies my father, stricken by your guile.
You faced him not to kill him; but, with wile
Evil and secret, struck him out of sight,
Spelling I know not what of fatal ban.
You could lay low a fearless, trustful man,
Foremost and strongest in his people's fight
"I wed you? Wed me rather to the raven,
Gorged with yon bravest blood, than to a craven."
With that she faced the rest, and, bowing head --
"I have been wild and foolish as a maid,
And tried to learn strange arts, proud not to be afraid:
For ever now I lay them by," she said.
25
"Worthless they were, worthless I know are those
Who seek out all the thorns whereon the rose
Of our fair life, by sun and showers fed,
Blossoms in love and truth. Crook'd thorns there be;
And strange imaginings those that seek them see:
Methinks the most of them are false," she said.
"An honest man, with strong and brave right arm
To keep a loving woman from all harm,
Seeing at night a glowing ingle-bed
With laughing, dark-haired children, clear of eye,
Fearlessly helpless, smiling trustfully; --
Stronger are these than charms or spells," she said.
"Friends, I was wrong; this day I have seen clear
That such things are but vain; be witness here;
I tell, who know. My days that be unsped
Henceforth I strive -- and what I strive I can --
To live a woman, as my sire a man,
Worthy of love from man and child," she said.
26
"This thing that fed my follies, in my blindness
I thought to marry; but my father wise,
Seeing my madness with a father's eyes,
Dissuaded, vainly, gently, with a father's kindness.
-- Foolish or false, my strange arts this man shared:
Traitor in them, his black heart he has bared;
"I leave him, and for ever." Such mad words --
More mad, more fierce than memory affords
To utter rightly, -- with proud head back thrown,
She uttered; in some glamour, as I thought,
That made her to the bold day I had fought
Blind, and forgetful of our magic throne;
I deemed that it would pass. And cousin stout
Stood forth and said, "Fair lady, in yon rout
Young Merlin led the van, no traitor he.
Of star-work tricks I know not; but you twain
Foolish and young, grow not so young again:
Marry him, maid! he made our foes to flee."
27
So his two brothers dropped axe-handle down
Upon the ground; and, nodding with wise frown,
Said, "Aye, the chief is right; he led the van:
Marry him, lady, 'tis a fightsome lad!"
And one said, "Lady, be not all so sad;
Your father breathes, perchance not sped his span."
But she looked on the corse despairingly:
And one said to me, "Lad, 'twere better see
This is no time for wooing. On the morrow
She will forget these strange things she has said
Of all your love-games. Leave her with her dead;
You must not woo a maiden in her sorrow."
Then looked she on my cousin. Big and tired
He stood, his eye no more with battle fired,
His face astreak with blood. One ugly gash
Left half his forehead hanging; his right hand
Swung powerless, broke at the elbow. Brown and tanned,
You saw him pale in the lips, and all his eyes with blood asplash.
28
"Friend, you bestrode, untrod, my father's corse
From afternoon till evening. Brave in fight
I knew you; true to what you know is right
I find you: strong and true. For better or worse
I here do vow me yours. So you me wed
I will be faithful wife, or know no marriage-bed."
Silence held us, all still. She knelt aground,
And took his miry, bloodstained hand, and raised
That ox-hoof to her honeyed lips. Amazed,
I poised my spear; but the brothers held me round.
Stupid, but not unkindly louts, they bore
Me, mad with rage, to a coracle on the shore.
And one came with me, sculling where we knew
Safe cave of refuge. There he stayed with me,
Lying to watch the water from the sea
Behind the islet where the willow grew;
And there we stayed a week beside the shore,
And to this day I never saw her more.
29
For he sailed me down the river, and set me forth
With the fisher-folk that knew us not of the North;
And I flung a stone on his boat as he sailed away
That sank him there, and the tide swept into the bay;
And none knew ever a man had come with me,
Nor boat, nor whence I came, of earth or sky or sea.
I chose me a cave where a wolf had made his den,
And drave them forth with a stick: the people feared me then.
I lived as the wise men live in Orient lands;
I made strange spells in the night, and spell on spell
I learned, till all the world obeyed me well;
And one, with weaving paces and with waving hands,
You wot of, I made then; and spelled those twain,
Her and her sotted lover, that again
They ne'er should love, but see me ever there --
But see me ever betwixt closéd walls,
Whether, without, sun rises or dew falls,
Ever in hate, and ever in despair.
30
And I live on in power, power of men,
To wield their kings and councils, and to wield
Their herd-like armies on the battle field,
And power o'er all that is beyond their ken.
And yet, sometimes, when I see the moon in the south,
Methinks I feel warm lips upon my mouth.
PRINCE ARTHUR. AN HEROICK POEM IN TEN BOOKS
by
SIR RICHARD BLACKMORE
To what ill purposes soever Poetry has been abus'd, its true and genuine End is by universal Confession, the Instruction of our Minds, and Regulation of our Manners; for which 'tis furnish'd with so many excellent Advantages. The Delicacy of its Strains, the Sweetness and Harmony of its Numbers, the lively and admirable manner of its Painting or Representation, and the wonderful Force of its Eloquence, cannot but open the Passages to our Breasts, triumph over our Passions, and leave behind them very deep Impressions. 'Tis in the power of Poetry to insinuate into the inmost Recesses of the Mind, to touch any Spring that moves the Heart, to agitate the Soul with any sort of Affection, and transform it into any Shape or Posture it thinks fit. 'Tis therefore no wonder that so wise a State, as that of Athens , should retain the Poets on the side of Religion and the Government . The Stage there was set up to teach the People the Scheme of their Religion , and those Modes of Worship the Government thought fit to encourage, to convey to them such Ideas of their Deities, and Divine Providence, as might engage their Minds to a Reverence of superiour, invisible Beings, and to observe and admire their Administration of humane Affairs. The Poets were look'd on as Divine, not only upon the account of that extraordinary Fury and Heat of Imagination, wherewith they were thought to be inspir'd, but likewise upon the account of their Profession and Imployment, their Business being to represent Vice as the most odious, and Virtue as the most desirable thing in the World.
Tragedy was at its first Institution a part of the Ancient Pagans Divine Service, when the Chorus which originally was so great a part, contain'd many excellent Lessons of Piety and Morality , and was wholly imploy'd in rectifying their mistakes about the Gods , and their Government of the World, in moderating their Passions, and purging their Minds from Vice and Corruption. This was the noble Design of the Chorus . And the Representation of great and illustrious Characters, gradually afterwards introduc'd, their Impious, or their Generous Actions, and the different Event that attended them, was to deter Men from Vice and Impiety, and encourage them to be Generous and Virtuous, be shewing them the Vengeance that at last overtook the one, and the Rewards and Praises that crown'd the other. The End of Comedy was the same, but pursu'd in another way. The business of Comedy being to render Vice ridiculous, to expose it to publick Derision and Contempt, and to make Men asham'd of Vile and Sordid Actions.
Tragedy design'd to Scare Men, Comedy to Laugh them out of their Vices. And 'tis very plain, that Satyr is intended for the same End, the Promotion of Virtue, and exposing of Vice; which it pursues by sharp Reproaches, vehement and bitter Invectives, or by a Courtly, but not less cutting Raillery. The Odes of the Lyric Poet were chiefly design'd for the Praises of their Gods, their Heroes and extraordianry Persons, to draw Men to an Admiration and Imitation of them.
But above all other kinds, Epick Poetry , as it is first in Dignity, so it mostly conduces to this End. In an Epick Poem, where Characters of the first Rank and Dignity, Illustrious for their Birth or high Employment are introduc'd, the Fable, the Action, the particular Episodes are so contriv'd and conducted, or at least ought to be, that either Fortitude, Wisdom, Piety, Moderation, Generosity, some or other Nobel and Princely Virtues shall be recommended with the highest Advantage, and their contrary Vices made as odious. To give Men right and just Conceptions of Religion and Virtue , to aid their Reason in restraining their Exorbitant Appetites and Impetuous Passions, and to bring their Lives under the Rules and Guidance of true Wisdom, and thereby to promote the publick Good of Mankind, is undoubtedly the End of all Poetry.
'Tis true indeed, that one End of Poetry is to give Men Pleasure and Delight; but this is but a subordinate, subaltern End, which is it self a Means to the greater , and ultimate one before mention'd. A Poet should imploy all his Judgment and Wit, exhaust all the Riches of his Fancy, and abound in Beautiful and Noble Expression, to divert and entertain others; but then it must be with this Prospect, that he may hereby engage their Attention, insinuate more easily into their Minds, and more effectually convey to them wise Instructions. 'Tis below the Dignity of a true Poet to take his Aim at any inferiour End. They are Men of little Genius, of mean and poor Design, that imploy their Wit for no higher Purpose, than to please the Imagination of vain and wanton People.
I think these Poets, if they must be called so, whose Wit as they manage it, is altogether unuseful are justly reproach'd; but I am sure those others are highly to be condemned, who use all their Wit in Opposition to Religion, and to the Destruction of Virtue and good Manners in the World. There have been in all Ages such ill Men that have perverted the right Use of Poetry, but never so many, or so bold or mischievous as in ours. Our Poets seem engag'd in a general Confederacy to ruin the End of their own Art, to expose Religion and Virtue , and bring Vice and Corruption of Manners into Esteem and Reputation. The Poets that write for the Stage (at least a great part of 'em) seem deeply concern'd in this Conspiracy . These are the Champions that charge Religion with such desperate Resolution, and have given it so many deep and ghastly Wounds. The Stage was an Outwork or Fort rais'd for the Protection and Security of the Temple, but the Poets that kept it, have revolted, and basely betray'd it, and what is worse, have turn'd all their Force and discharg'd all their Artillery against the Place their Duty was to defend. If any Man thinks this an unjust Charge, I desire him to read any of our modern Comedies, and I believe he will soon be convinc'd of the Truth of what I have said.
The Man of Sense and the Fine Gentleman in the Comedy , who as the chiefest Person propos'd to the Esteem and Imitation of the Audience, is enrich'd with all the Sense and Wit the Poet can bestow; this Extraordinary Person you will find to be a Derider of Religion, a great Admirer of Lucretius , not so much for his Learning , as his Irreligion , a Person wholly Idle , dissolv'd in Luxury, abandon'd to his Pleasures, a great Debaucher of Women, profuse and extravagant in his Expences, and in short, this Finish'd Gentleman will appear a Finish'd Libertine .
The Young Lady that must support the Character of a Vertuous , Well-manner'd Sensible Woman, the most perfect Creature that can be, and the very Flower of her Sex, this Accomplish'd Person entertains the Audience with confident Discourses, immodest Repartees, and prophane Raillery. She is throughly instructed in Intreagues and Assignations , a great Scoffer at the prudent Reservedness and Modesty of the best of her Sex, She despises the wise Instructions of her Parents or Guardians, is disobedient to their Authority, and at last, without their Knowledge or Consent , marries her self to the Fine Gentleman above mentioned. And can any one imagine, but that our Young Ladies and Gentlemen are admirably instructed by such Patterns of Sense and Virtue ? If a Clergy-man be introduc'd, as he often is, 'tis seldome for any other purpose, but to abuse him, to expose his very Character and Profession : He must be a Pimp , a Blockhead , a Hypocrite ; some wretched Figure he must make, and almost ever be so manag'd, as to bring his very Order into Contempt . This indeed is a very common, but yet so gross an Abuse of Wit , as was never endur'd on a Pagan Theater, at least in the ancient, primitive Times of Poetry , before its Purity and Simplicity became corrupted with the Inventions of after Ages. Poets then taught Men to reverence their Gods , and those who serv'd them. None had so little Regard for his Religion , as to expose it publickly, or if any had, their Govenments were too wise to suffer the Worship of their Gods to be treated on the Stage with Contempt .
In our Comedies the Wives of Citizens are highly encourag'd to despise their Husbands, and to make great Friendship with some such Vertuous Gentleman and Man of Sense as is above describ'd. This is their Way of recommending Chastity and Fidelity . And that Diligence and Frugality may be sufficiently expos'd, tho' the two Virtues that chiefly support the Being of any State, to deter Men from being Industrious and Wealthy , the Diligent , Thriving Citizen is made of the most Wretched, Contemptible Thing in the World: and as the Alderman that makes the best Figure in the City , makes the worst on the Stage , so under the Character of a Justice of Peace , you have all the Prudence and Virtues of the Country , most unmercifully insulted over.
And as these Characters are set up on purpose to ruin all Opinion and Esteem of Virtue, so the Conduct throughout, the Language, the Fable , and Contrivance seem evidently design'd for the same Noble End. There are few Fine Conceipts, few Strains of Wit or extraordinary Pieces of Raillery, but are either immodest or irreligious, and very few Scenes but have some spiteful and envious Stroke at Sobriety and Good Manners, whence the Youth of the Nation have apparently receiv'd very bad Impressions. The universal Corruption of Manners and irreligious Disposition of Mind that infects the Kingdom, seems to have been in a great Measure deriv'd from the Stage, or has at least been highly promoted by it. And 'tis great Pitty that those in whose Power it is, have not yet restrain'd the Licentiousness of it, and oblig'd the Writers to observe more Decorum . It were to be wish'd that Poets, as Preachers are in some Countries, were paid and licens'd by the State, and that none were suffer'd to write in Prejudice of Religion and the Government , but that all such Offenders, as publick Enemies of Mankind should be silenc'd and duly punish'd. Sure some Effectual Care should be taken that these Men might not be suffr'd by Debauching our Youth, to help on the Destruction of a brave Nation.
Some of these Poets , to excuse their Guilt, alledge for themselves, that the Degeneracy of the Age makes their leud way of Writing necessary; they pretend the Auditors will not be pleas'd, unless they are thus entertain'd from the Stage; and to please they say is the chief business of the Poet. But this is by no means a just Apology; 'tis not true, as was said before, that the Poet's chief business is to please. His chief business is to instruct, to make Mankind Wiser and Better; and in order to this, his Care should be to please and entertain the Audience with all the Wit and Art , he is Master of. Aristotle and Horace , and all their Criticks and Commentators , all Men of Wit and Sense agree, that this is the End of Poetry. But they say 'tis their Profession to Write for the Stage ; and that Poets must Starve if they will not in this way humour the Audience . The Theater will be as unfrequented , as the Churches , and the Poet and the Parson equally neglected. Let the Poet then abandon his Profession, and take up some honest, lawful Calling, where joyning Industry to his great Wit, he may soon get above the Complaints of Poverty , so common among these ingenious Men, and lye under no necessity of prostituting his Wit to any such vile Purposes as are here censur'd. This will be a course of Life more Profitable and Honourable to himself, and more useful to others. And there are among these Writers some, who think they might have risen to the highest Dignities in other Professions, had they imploy'd their Wit in those Ways. 'Tis a mighty Dishonour and Reproach to any Man, that is capable of being useful to the World in any Liberal and Virtuous Profession, to lavish out his Life and Wit in propagating Vice and Corruption of Manners , and in battering from the Stage the strongest Entrenchments and best Works of Religion and Virtue . Whoever makes this his Choice, when the other was in his Power, may he go off the Stage unpity'd, complaining of Neglect and Poverty , the just Punishments of his Irreligion and Folly.
'Tis no dishonour to be a true Poet, if indeed a Man be one; that is, a noble Genius well cultivated, and employ'd in Writing in such a way, as reaches the End of his Art, and by discouraging Vice, promotes the Good of Mankind. But 'tis a mighty Dishonour and Shame, to employ excellent Faculties and abundance of Wit, to humour and please Men in their Vices and Follies. Such a one is more hateful, as an ill Man , than valuable, as a good Poet . The great Enemy of Mankind, notwithstanding his Wit and Angelick Faculties, is the most odious Being of the whole Creation.
Nor is this Abuse confin'd to the Stage, the same Strain runs thro' the other kinds of Poetry. What monstrous leud and irreligious Books of Poems, as they are call'd, have been of late days publish'd, and what is the greater wonder, receiv'd in a Civiliz'd and Christian Kingdom, with Applause and Reputation ? The sweetness of the Wit, makes the Poison go down with Pleasure, and the Contagion spreads without Opposition. Young Gentlemen and Ladies are generally pleas'd and diverted with Poetry, more than by any other way of Writing; but there are few Poems they can fix on, but they are like to pay too dear for their Entertainment. Their Fancies are like to be fill'd with impure Ideas and their Minds engag'd in hurtful Passions, which are the more lasting, by being convey'd in lively Expressions, and all the Address of an artful Poet.
For this End among others, I undertook the writing of this Poem, hoping I might be able to please and entertain, not only wthout hurting the Reader, but to his advantage. I was willing to make one Effort towards the rescuing the Muses out of the hands of these Ravishers , to restore them to their sweet and chast Mansions, and to engage them in an Employment suitable to their Dignity. If I succeed not my self in this good Design, I hope at least I shall awaken the Courage and Compassion of some other brave Adventurers; that may more happily attempt this honorable Work.
To write an Epick Poem is a work of that Difficulty, that no one for near seventeen hundred years past has succeeded in it; and only those two great Wits Homer and Virgil before. That the modern Poets have been so unsuccessful, has not, I imagin, proceeded so much from want of Genius, as from their Ignorance of the Rules of writing such a Poem; or at least, from their want of attending to them. Tho' Aristotle 's excellent Rules of Poetry were early publish'd by Victorius at Florence , and soon after farther illustrated by the Comments of several Italian Criticks , yet we do not find that Ariosto or Tasso either, were very careful to observe them. And indeed our modern Writers neither seem to have attended to those incomparable Rules, nor carefully to have consider'd the great Models that Homer and Virgil had left them. Some Readers that are not vers'd in this matter, imagin every thing written in Heroick Verse , is an Heroick Poem ; but these have not consider'd the Nature of such a Work, nor look'd into the Criticks , who have written on this Subject. I shall therefore give the Definition of an Epick or Heroick Poem, that those that have it not already, may now have a true Idea of its Nature.
An Epick Poem is a feign'd or devis'd Story of an Illustrious Action, related in Verse, in an Allegorical, Probable, Delightful and Admirable manner, to cultivate the Mind with Instructions of Virtue. 'Tis a feign'd or devis'd Discourse; that is, a Fable ; and so it agrees with Tragedy and Comedy . The word Fable at first signified indifferently a true or false Story, therefore Cicero for distinction, uses Fictas Fabulas in his Book de Finibus . But afterwards Custom obtain'd to use the word always for a feign'd Discourse. And in the first Ages, especially in the Eastern World, great use was made by Learned and Wise Men of these feign'd Discourses, Fables, or Apologues , to teach the ruder and more unpolish'd Part of Mankind. Theologians, Philosophers, and great Law-givers , every where fell into this way of instructing and cultivating the People in the Knowledge of Religion, Natural Philosophy, and Moral and Political Virtues. So Thales, Orpheus, Solon, Homer, and the rest of the great Men in those Ages have done, and the famous Philosopher Socrates is by some affirm'd to be the Author of many of the Fables that pass under Æsop' s name. Most of them made their Fables in Verse, that by the addition of Harmony and Numbers they might the better attain their End. Strabo and Plutarch greatly commend this way of teaching the People; and these Reasons may be given for the usefulness of it. Naked Philosophical Precepts and Doctrines are of themselves harsh and dry , hardly attended to, and ungratefully entertain'd. If the Hearers are rude and course , or very vicious , there is no hope of gaining them by a grave and solemn Discourse of Virtue, and even the better and more civiliz'd Auditors are hardly kept attentive to it. Man is naturally a lover of Pleasure , and if you would do him Good, it must be, by pleasing him; you must give him Delight , and keep his Mind in a constant agreeable Agitation, else he will not attend to the most useful Counsel and Instruction . He is pleas'd already with the Notions and Habitudes , howsoever false or vicious , that have the present Possession of him, and you must give him a great deal of Pleasure and Entertainment to engage him to hear you, when you would perswade him to the trouble, of becoming Wiser and Better. Now the first Wise Men that undertook to civilize and polish the barbarous World, found this way of Fables especially in Verse, to be mighty Acceptable to the People: The Contrivance gave them Delight , and the Novelty rais'd their Admiration . They could learn them perfectly, and repeat them often, by which means the Instructions of Virtue covertly contain'd in them, were inculcated on their Minds .
And we find, that many Ages after Orpheus, Solon, Homer, &c. the Divine Law-giver of the Christians thought fit to teach the People by Apologues, Parables or Fables, under which he cover'd and disguis'd his Heavenly Instructions.
The Action must be Illustrious and Important ; Illustrious in respect of the Person, who is the Author of it, who is always some Valiant , or Wise , or Pious Prince or great Commander: But let his Character be what it will in other respects (for there is no Necessity the Hero should be a good or a wise Person) 'tis always necessary he should have Courage ; which single Quality is sufficient to make the Hero. And the Action must be important , both in respect of its Object and its End. 'Tis the Action of some great Person, about some noble and weighty Affair . 'Tis true, there are many other Persons concern'd, but tis the Action of the chief Person that gives the Being and Denomination to the Poem. This Action must be but one; when it ceases, the Poem is ended; and if it be reviv'd, and taken up again, 'tis a new Poem begins. Action is Motion; and if it ceases cannot be reviv'd, so as to be numerically the same. There are indeed many other Actions besides the Principal one, but they all depend on, and have relation to that which is Principal, with the Unity of which, the Unity of the Poem stands or falls. If this principal Action be broken , the Poem is broken too, if there be any other Action coordinate and independent on this, the Poem is monstrous, and has as many Heads, as there are found independent Actions. The Narration therefore of many Actions successively of one great Person, or the History of his Life related in Verse, is by no means an Heroick Poem , any one great action being sufficient for that. That which makes the Unity of the Action, is the regular Succession of one Part or Episode to another, not only as Antecedents and Consequents , but as it were Causes and Effects , wherein the Reader may discern that the former Episode makes the following necessary, and the Connection between them is such, that they assist and support each other, as the Members of the Body do, no Episode being out of its place, of a disproportion'd size to the Rest, or that could be spar'd from its place, without maiming, or at least deforming the Whole. If this order of the Episodes be preserv'd, and there appears none but what naturally and probably results from the principal Action, then the Action may be look'd on as one.
The Action must be related in an Allegorical manner; and this Rule is best observ'd, when as Divines speak; there is both a Literal Sense obvious to every Reader, and that gives him satisfaction enough if he sees no farther; and besides another Mystical or Typical Sense, not hard to be discover'd by those Readers that penetrate the matter deeper. Virgil seems most happy in this Conduct, whose Poem all along contains this double Sense, Homer has often only an Allegorical Sense without the Literal , and therefore is not so well accommodated to this Age, as he was not to that of Augustus . But Ariosto and Spencer , however great Wits , not observing this judicious Conduct of Virgil , nor attending to any sober Rules, are hurried on with a boundless, impetuous Fancy over Hill and Dale, till they are both lost in a Wood of Allegories. Allegories so wild, unnatural, and extravagant , as greatly displease the Reader. This way of writing mightily offends in this Age; and 'tis a wonder how it came to please in any. There is indeed a way of writing purely Allegorical, as when Vices and Virtues are introduc'd as Persons, the first as Furies , the other as Divine Persons or Goddesses, which still obtains, and is well enough accommodated to the present Age. For the Allegory is presently discern'd, and the Reader is by no means impos'd on, but sees it immediately to be an Allegory , and is both delighted and instructed with it. The devis'd Story must be related in a probable manner; without this all things will be harsh, unnatural, and monstrous ; and consequently most odious and offensive to the Judicious. Probability must be in the Action, the Conduct , the Manners ; and where humane means cannot, Machines are introduc'd to support it. Nothing is more necessary then Probability ; no Rule more chastly to be observ'd.
An Epick Poem must likewise be delightful and admirable ; and to make it so, must concur sublime Thoughts, clear and noble Expression, Purity of Language, a just and due Proportion, Relation, and Dependance between the Parts, and a beautiful and regular Structure and Connection discernable in the Whole . Without these it will not be capable of giving Delight , or raising Admiration . Admiration is the Formal Object of an Epick Poem, nothing is to be admitted there, but as it is admirable; and by this it is discriminated from all other sorts of Poetry . Every kind endeavours to please and delight , but this only attempts to please by astonishing and amazing the Reader . In an Epick Poem every thing should appear great and wonderful , the Thoughts cannot be too much Elevated , the Episodes too Noble , the Expression too Magnificent , nor the Action too Wonderful and Surprising , if Probability be preserv'd. No Riches of Fancy , no Pomp of Eloquence can be laid out too much on such a Work where the Design is throughout to raise our Admiration . To render the Action the more Admirable, Homer and Virgil have introduc'd the Gods , and engag'd them every where as Parties ; and tho' I cannot say this is Essential and Necessary to an Epick Poem, yet 'tis evident, that interesting Heaven and Hell in the matter, does mightily raise the Subject, and makes the Action appear more wonderful. The Pagan Poets had in this a great advantage, their Theology was such, as would easily mix it self with their Poems, from whence they receiv'd their greatest Beauties. Homer indeed to raise his Subject by his frequent Machines , seems to have debas'd his Religion . Virgil 's Conduct, in my Opinion, is more careful and chast. But some of our modern Criticks have believ'd 'tis scarce possible for a Christian Poet to make use of this advantage, of introducing Superiour, Indivisible Powers into the Action, and therefore seem to despair of seeing an Heroick Poem written now, that shall reach to the Dignity of those of the Pagans. They think the Christian Religion is not so well accommodated to this matter, as the Pagan was; and that if any Attempt be made this way, Religion is not so well accommodated to this matter, as the Pagan was; and that if any Attempt be made this way, Religion will suffer more, than the Poem will gain by it. My Opinion has always differ'd from these Gentlemen's, I believe a Christian Poet has as great advantages as the Pagan had; and that our Theology may enter into an Epick Poem, and raise the Subject without being it self debas'd. And this indeed was a second Reason why I undertook this Work, so full of Difficulty and Hazard. I was willing to give an Instance wherein it might appear, that the Assertion I have advanc'd, is actually true.
In the Definition which I have given of an Heroick Poem, according to the Sense and Judgment of the best Criticks, I have said, its End is to convey some Instruction of Virtue. But of this, I have discours'd at large at the beginning of this Preface , and there is no need of repeating it.
'Tis not for me to proceed to Censure other Mens Performances of this Kind; whoever will be at the Pains to read the Commentators on Aristotle , and Horace's Rules of Poetry; or that will but carefully consider Rapin, Dacier, and Bossu, those great Masters among the French , and the Judicious Remarks of our own excellent Critick Mr. Rymer , who seems to have better consider'd these matters, and to have seen farther into them, than any of the English Nation; will be soon able to see wherein the Heroick Poems that have been publish'd since Virgil by the Italian, French, and English Wits have been defective, by comparing them with the Rules of Writing set down by those great Masters. Whether I have succeeded better, must be left to the determination of the Judicious Reader.
In this Work I have endeavour'd mostly to form my self on Virgil's Model , which I look on, as the most just and perfect , and which is most easily accommodated to the present Age, supposing the Christian Religion in the place of the Pagan . I do not make any Apology for my Imitation of Virgil in so many places of this Poem; for the same great Master has imitated Homer as frequently and closely; and I do not find that any of his Criticks have condemn'd him for his doing so. Nor is it at all improbable , but that the Greek Poet himself imitated his Predecessors of the same Nation, tho' no doubt he wonderfully improv'd their Model. Homer was not the first Writer of an Epick Poem. We find Aristotle in his Book of the Art of Poetry, makes mention of several before him: He tells us of an Epick Poem, intituled, The Little Ilias, and another the Cyprica ; and censures them both, as containing many perfect, distinct, and independent Actions. The last of these Poems is likewise mention'd by Herodotus in Euterpe , by Athenæus and Pausanias. And 'tis likely many more such Poems were written before Homer 's time, who might be well suppos'd to have imitated them in what they had done well, as well as to have improv'd them in avoiding many of their Errors.
What Homer and Virgil have perform'd with Honour and universal Applause, I have attempted: What they have been able , I have been willing to do. If I have not succeeded, my disappointment will be the less, in that Poetry has been so far from being my Business and Profession , that it has imploy'd but a small part of my Time; and then, but as my Recreation, and the Entertainment of my idle hours. If this Attempt succeeds so far, as to excite some other Person that has a noble Genius, Leisure, and Application , to Honour his Country with a just Epick Poem, I shall think the Vacancies and Intervals that for about two years past, I have had from the Business of my Profession ; which notwithstanding was then greater then at any time before, have been very well imploy'd.
PRINCE ARTHUR
BOOK I
I sing the Briton , and his Righteous Arms,
Who bred to Suff'rings, and the rude Alarms
Of bloody War, forsook his Native Soil,
And long sustain'd a vast Heroick Toil,
Till kinder Fate invited his Return,
To bless the Isle, that did his Absence mourn:
To re-enthrone fair Liberty, and break
The Saxon Yoke, that gall'd Britannia 's Neck.
Tell, Sacred Muse, what made th' Infernal King
Use all his Arts, and all his Forces bring
The Generous Briton 's Triumphs to oppose,
Afflict his Friends, and aid his cruel Foes.
Tell, why the angry Pow'rs below, combine
T'oppress a Valiant Prince, and thwart his brave Design.
Ambitious Lucifer , depos'd of late
From Bliss Divine, and high Angelick State,
Sinks to the dark, unbottom'd Deep of Hell,
Where Sin, and Death, and endless Sorrow dwell:
Here plung'd in Flame, and tortur'd with Despair
He plots Revenge, and meditates new War.
His Thoughts on deep Designs th' Apostate spent,
When this Conjuncture favour'd his Intent.
A spacious, dusky Plain lay wast and void,
Where yet Creating Power was ne'er employ'd
To fashion Elements, or strike out Light;
The silent, lonesome Walks of ancient Night.
In th' Archives kept in Heav'n's bright Towers, was found,
A sacred old Decree, wherein the Ground
Was set distinctly out, from Ages past,
For a new World, on this unbounded Wast.
Here did th' Artificer Divine of late,
The World so long before markt out, create.
And gave it to the Man he newly made,
Where all things him, as he did Heav'n, obey'd.
In Eden 's Walks he made his blest Abode,
All full of Joy, of Glory, full of God .
Nature with vast Profusion on him pours,
Unmeasur'd Bliss, from unexhausted Stores.
Th' Apostate raging at his own Defeat
And envying this new Prince his happy Seat;
Labours to win him to his Side, to bear
Arms against Heav'n, and wage Confed'rate War.
Nor did his Arts in vain weak Man assail,
His false Seraphick Tongue, and Charms prevail.
Deluded Man from his high Station fell
Deserting Heav'n, to serve the Cause of Hell.
This fatal Conquest o'er fall'n Adam gain'd,
A mighty Empire Lucifer maintain'd;
Till the blest Prince of Peace, Heav'n's Lord and Heir,
By Pity's Tears, and charming Mercy's Prayer
Drawn down from Heav'n, freed lost Mankind, and broke
The Pow'r of Hell, and Sin's Tyrannick Yoke.
He makes Proud Lucifer his Host disband,
And wrests the Scepter from th' Usurper's Hand.
The Prince of Darkness owns the Conquerour,
And yields his Empire to a mightier Pow'r.
From Idols and their Priests the Nations freed,
Celestial Light, and Truth Divine succeed.
Religion large Dominions soon obtain'd,
And daily Conquests, and fresh Laurels gain'd.
To Albion 's Shore the early pass'd the Main,
And brought along her bright Etherial Train.
From thence she chas'd Infernal Shades away,
And o'er the Isle, diffus'd a Heav'nly Day.
The Prince of Hell at her Appearance flies,
Spoil'd of his Altars, and his Votaries.
Confin'd to Barb'rous Northern Lands he staid,
Till the fierce Saxon, Albion did invade.
Victorious Octa who his Shrines ador'd,
Rebuilt his Altars, and his Groves restor'd.
Long abdicated Gods make Albion mourn,
At theirs, and their devouring Priests Return.
Th' Arch-Traytor's Rage hence against Arthur rose,
And all th' Infernal Pow'rs his Arms oppose;
Conscious should he his glorious End acquire,
And force th' intruding Pagan to retire,
Theirs, with the Saxon Empire must expire.
They must again forsake fair Albion 's Land,
And leave Divine Religion to Command.
Scarce had they left the happy Neustrian Coast,
Born with a Prosperous Gale, scarce had they lost
The Tops of Spires, and rising Points of Land,
When Lucifer , that did observing stand
On the high Southern Promontory's Head,
Of Vecta 's Isle, the Seas beneath him spread
With sharp Angelick Ken, views far and wide,
And soon Prince Arthur 's hateful Fleet descry'd.
The Heav'ns serenely smil'd, and every Sail
Fill'd its wide Bosom, with th' indulgent Gale.
Mercy, Deliverance, Pity, Hope displaid
Their Silver Wings, and glad Attendance paid,
Sung on the Shrowds, or with the Streamers plaid.
Rage flash'd, like Lightning, from th' Apostate's Eyes,
And Envy swell'd him to the vastest Size.
Then thus he to himself.
Was not to me in the fam'd Wars of Heav'n,
The chief Command of all the Forces giv'n,
Sent by Confederate Potentates to wage
Unheard of War, and all Heav'n's Pow'r engage?
When I, to end with Honour the Campaign,
Drew my bright Troops out, on th' Etherial Plain;
And push'd on that great, last decisive Day,
With God-like Vigour, for th' Imperial Sway.
In Lustre chief, in Danger and Command,
Did I proud Michael 's Veteran Troops withstand.
Michael , than whom a Braver Combatant,
For Skill and Strength, the Foe could never vaunt.
'Gainst fresh Battalions still pour'd on I stood,
Smeer'd with Celestial Dust, and Seraphs Blood.
Had not our Mould been Æther , Pure and Fine,
Labour'd with Care, anneel'd with Skill Divine;
The Blows of mighty Cherubs Death had cloy'd,
Unpeopled Heav'n, and the Bright Race destroy'd.
With Michael pain'd with ghastly Wounds, at length
I clos'd, and grasp'd him with Immortal Strength;
And down Heav'n's Precipice, had headlong hurl'd
The great Arch-Angel, to th' Infernal World,
Had not swift Uriel trembling at the Sight,
That fill'd all Heav'n, with Horrour and dire Fright,
Rush'd in, to save him from unequal Fight.
Their stagg'ring Army shrunk, and we had won
The Throne we fought for, But th' Almighty's Son
Brought strong Recruits, to reinforce their Host,
And win back what their General Michael lost.
'Tho' overmatcht, did I not firmly stand,
The chiefest Mark of his Revenging Hand?
Did I from Posts of greatest Danger run,
Or once his bright Triumphal Chariot shun?
Did I once shrink, when Showers of poyson'd Darts
Dipt in Eternal Wrath, shot thro' our Hearts?
When massy Rocks of Heav'nly Chrystal flew,
Which the strong Arms of mighty Seraphs threw?
Did I not run and timely Help afford,
Where Storms of Fire, and loudest Thunder roar'd?
'Tis true, o'er-born with Force, at last I fell,
But got Immortal Fame, tho' with it Hell.
Scarce was I vanquish'd and o'erthrown but late
By Power Almighty, and Eternal Fate.
Since that chief Lord, and Prince of Hell I've reign'd,
And from the Foe, his new-made World have gain'd.
And long maintain'd the Conquests I had won;
Now much lost back to his Almighty Son.
But faithful Octa has once more restor'd
This happy Isle to me its ancient Lord.
Have I been thus for great Atchievements fam'd,
My Deeds throughout all Heav'n and Hell proclaim'd;
And shall this British, despicable Wight,
Me and my Priests, force to a second Flight?
Rifle my Temples, and in Triumph bear,
Thro' shouting Throngs, the Spoils high in the Air?
Who then to me will Hymns of Praise return,
Who on my Altars Odorous Incense burn?
If I chastise not this vain Briton 's Pride,
That does insulting on the Ocean ride.
If I secure not my new conquer'd Seat,
And all his wild, ambitious Arms defeat.
This having said, to Heav'n he mounts upright,
And to the Northern Pole directs his Flight.
All fir'd with Rage, and full of anxious Care,
With his swift Wings, he cuts the yielding Air.
As when the Sun pours from his Orb of Light,
A glorious Deluge, on the Face of Night.
His Golden Rays shot from the Rosy East,
Reach in a Moment, the remotest West,
And smiling on the Mountains Heads are seen,
Th' immense Expansion past, that lies between.
The Prince of Darkness now, once Prince of Light,
With equal Swiftness takes his Airy Flight,
And the vast Interval of Seas, and Isles,
Wild Desarts, spacious Forrests, snowy Hills,
Past in a Moment, does on Fioel Light;
Of Lapland Alpes , chief for amazing Height.
Where Thor resides, who heretofore by Lot
The Sovereign Rule o'er Winds and Tempests got.
Here in strong Prisons bound with heavy Chains,
His howling, savage Subjects he restrains,
And in Eternal Din, and Uproar reigns.
In close Apartments, round his desart Court,
Fierce Pris'ners are confin'd of different Sort.
Here Boundless Stores, and Treasures Infinite
Of Vapours, Steams, and Exhalations, fit
T'engender Winds, or Snow, or Hail, or Rain,
In Subterranean Magazins remain.
Here new fledg'd Winds, young yelping Monsters try
Their Wings, and sporting round their Prisons fly.
Here whistling East-winds prove their shriller Notes:
Here the hoarse South-winds, strain their hollow Throats.
Boreas the fiercest and most turbulent,
Of the mad Race, raves in his Dungeon pent.
At th' Adamantine Door vast Hills are thrown,
And abrupt Rocks of Ice, pil'd sevenfold on.
Capricious Whirlwinds, of more Force than Sound,
In everlasting Eddys turning round,
Grow Giddy, Furious and Extravagant,
And strive to break from their close Den's restraint.
When Thor unlocks their Prisons, out they fly,
A lawless Rout, and with their Hellish Cry
Out-howl the hideous Monsters of the Seas,
Or savage Roarings of the Wilderness.
Some range the Flats, and Scour the Champain Land,
Or roll in tott'ring heaps the Desart Sand.
Some to the lofty Woods direct their Course,
And with an uncontroul'd, impetuous Force
O'erturn opposing Structures in their hast,
Tear up tall Pines, and lay the Forest wast.
Some to the Ocean with like Speed resort,
And in loud Tempests on the Billows sport.
Embroil the Coasts, and in wild Outrages
Turn up to Heav'n, the Bottom of the Seas.
But husht at Thor 's Command they all obey,
And to their ancient Prisons haste away.
To him, thus Lucifer , great Prince on thee
Fate has bestow'd the Empire of the Sea,
All there concern'd, invoke thy Deity.
The Merchants pray to thee to fill their Sails,
Enrich thy Priests, and purchase Prosperous Gales.
I too thy Suppliant, ask thy Powerful Aid,
A Haughty Prince, designing to invade
My faithful Subject Octa , and beguile
Me of my Hopes of fair Britannia 's Isle;
Sails with a numerous Fleet, with Men and Arms,
And Octa trembles at his Proud Alarms.
Let him in Furious Hurricanes be tost,
Be sunk, or wreckt, or on the Ocean lost,
Beat him at least, from his intended Coast.
Make him thy Vengeance feel, thy Power regard,
And be what e'er thou askest, thy Reward.
Great Prince, then Thor reply'd,
Who rul'st the Realms of Hell with Soveraign Sway,
Whom all th' Infernal Thrones, and Pow'rs obey,
I own Obedience to thy high Command,
Who putt'st this Scepter first into my Hand.
Thou led'st in Heav'n our bright Battalions on,
And bravely didst attempt th' Almighty 's Throne;
I saw thy mighty Deeds, and kept my Post
Close by thee, till that Glorious Day was lost.
Thy faded Splendor, and illustrious Scars,
From Ghastly Wounds, receiv'd in those just Wars,
I view with Reverence, 'tis true subdu'd
Headlong we fell from Heav'n's high Tow'r's, pursu'd
With Whirlwinds, and loud Thunder, down to Hell,
And Storms of Fire beat on us as we fell.
Yet after that, thou led'st us to invade
This Globous World, which we our Conquest made.
And my Election Patroniz'd by thee,
This great Command and Province fell to me.
That said, by him their heavy Gates unbar'd,
That loud on mighty Iron Hinges jarr'd,
Out ratling Eurus , and loud Boreas fly,
And with Outrageous Tempests fill the Sky.
They bend their Course strait to the British Coast,
And on those Seas lay out their Anger most.
Their furious Wings the swelling Surges beat,
And rouse Old Ocean from his Peaceful Seat.
The raging Seas in high ridg'd Mountains rise,
And cast their angry Foam against the Skies.
Then gape so deep, that Day Light Hell invades,
And shoots grey Dawning thro' th' affrighted Shades.
Low bellying Clouds soon intercept the Light,
And o'er the Briton s spread a Nood Day Night.
Exploded Thunder tears th' Embowel'd Sky,
And Sulphurous Flames a dismal Day supply.
The Dire Convulsions, for a certain Space
Distorted Nature , wresting from its Place
This Globe , set to the Sun's more oblique View,
And wrench'd the Poles some Leagues yet more askew.
Horrour, Confusion, Uproar, Strife and Fear
In all their wild amazing Shapes appear.
Mean time old Chaos joyful at the Sight,
Look'd and smil'd horrible on older Night ,
Hoping that Nature , their grand Foe would crack
With universal Ruin, and her Wreck
Would give them all their lost Dominions back.
The Sailor's Clamour, and enormous Cries,
The Crack of Masts, mix'd with th' outrageous Noise
Of Storms and Thunder, rending all the Air,
Form the last Scene of Horror and Dispair.
When the Just Arthur fill'd with Grief and Dread,
And Pale Confusion, deeply sigh'd, and said,
O righteous Heaven, why hast thou rang'd this Day
Against me all thy Terrors in Array!
Arm'd in thy Cause, thy Temples to restore,
And give that Aid thy sacred Priests implore.
If thou such fierce Destruction dost dispence,
To punish some unpardon'd old Offence,
On me let all thy Fiery Darts be spent,
Let not my Crime involve the innocent.
Whelm o'er my guilty Head these raging Seas,
And let this Sacrifice thy Wrath appease,
But let the British Youth return in Peace.
That said, his Ship unmasted, without Guide,
Driv'n by the Winds and Seas impetuous Tyde,
The Sight of all the scatter'd Navy lost,
Strikes on the Quicksand of an unknown Coast.
Mean time bright Uriel , Heav'n's high Favourite,
Left the Celestial Palaces of Light,
Sent by supream Command, and down he flies,
Let by a Golden Sun-beam thro' the Skies.
Meekness divine, serene and Heav'nly Grace,
And fresh immortal Youth shone on his Face.
Godlike his Form, his Looks so charming mild
That where he came all ravish'd Nature smil'd.
He strait alights on lofty Gobeum 's Head,
That wonder'd at the Heav'n about it shed,
From the bright Cherubim , who touch'd his Lyre,
Fam'd for its Sweetness in the Heav'nly Quire:
Th' enchanted Winds straightway their Fury laid,
Grew wondrous still, and strict Attention paid.
Aerial Demons that by Twilight stray,
Sport in loud Thunder, and in Tempests play,
Spread their brown Wings, and fly in Clouds away.
The Day returns, the Heav'ns no longer scowl,
And fierce Sea-Monsters charm'd forget to howl.
The Winds retreat, and leave the peaceful Waves,
To rest their Wings, and sleep in Lapland Caves.
Soft Zephirs only stay to fan the Woods,
And play in gentle Gales along the Floods.
The Ocean smiles to see the Tempest fled,
New lays his Waves, and smooths his ruffl'd Bed.
All things thus husht, great Arthur gave Command
To quit their Ship, stuck in the barren Sand,
And in their Boats to make the Neighb'ring Land.
They spy a Creek not far a peaceful Seat
Where flying Waves by furious Tempests beat,
Find from the fierce Pursuit a safe Retreat.
Free from th' outrageous Clamours of the Deep,
They rest secure, and unmolested sleep.
Stretcht smooth beneath the shady Trees and Rocks,
That guard them from the Winds impetuous Shocks.
Here smaller Vessels may securely ride
And all th' Assaults of angry Sorms deride.
Here they arriv'd, and Heav'n they first ador'd,
That gave the Aid, their earnest Cries implor'd.
That sav'd them from the Winds, Waves, Rocks, and Storms,
Deaths of so many, and such hideous Forms.
Then for their parted Friends, with humble Prayer,
They ask Heav'n's Pity, and indulgent Care.
Now Arthur from the Rock, views far and wide
The Seas beneath, if thence might be descry'd
The Friends he lately lost, but views in vain,
No Friend appears on all the Desart Main.
Return'd he thus began:
Too dark th' Eternal's ways are, too profound,
For the most sharp created Wit to sound.
Clouds black, as those that rise the sacred Fence
Of his high Throne, surround his Providence.
Whose walks are trackless, and on every hand
About her paths, shades and thick Darkness stand.
Her ways are so perplext, so wide her steps,
Such turns and windings, and such frightful leaps;
Such Gulphs, and interposing Rocks appear,
There such Ascents, such dreadful Downfalls here,
That Reason strait affrighted stops her pace,
Is soon thrown off, and quits th' unequal Chase.
Th' Almighty 's Councils are so high and steep,
Immense, unbounded, without bottom deep;
Angels amaz'd from their high Thrones of Bliss,
Trembling look down on this profound Abyss.
Sometimes he seems to thwart his own intent,
Stop and defeat his long design'd event;
Yet which way e're he steers, his end's attain'd,
By uncouth means, with greater wonder gain'd.
Sometimes his high permission, leaves opprest
The Men most like him, and that serve him best:
But still their Sufferings and severer Fate
Prepare them for some glorious future state.
Invited by sad Britain 's Prayers, and Tears,
To save her State; and ease her deadly Fears,
We arm'd, depos'd Religion to enthrone,
T'enlarge the Christian Empire, not our own.
We arm'd thus, to restore in Hell's despight,
To Heav'n its Worship, and to Men their Right.
Resume your Courage then, it can't be true,
That Heav'n's Revenge should Heav'n's own Cause pursue.
These Evils are not in displeasure meant,
Heav'n is too Just, and you too Innocent.
Success and Triumph will our Arms attend,
And these rough ways lead to a glorious End.
With Pleasure we hereafter shall relate
These sufferings, that will greater Joys create.
He said, and all his anxious Cares supprest,
And kept conceal'd his trouble in his Breast.
With looks compos'd, 'twixt pleasure and despair,
Grave but serene, he bids them all repair
Their strength, exhausted with much toil and care.
Of Meats and Fruits part of their Naval Store,
That with them from their Ship they brought ashore:
Their weary Limbs repos'd, beneath the shade
Of well spread Trees, a grateful Meal they made.
Rich Wine of Burgundy , and choice Champaigne,
Relieve the toil they suffer'd on the Main.
But what more chear'd them than their Meats and Wine,
Was wise Instruction, and Discourse Divine,
From God-like Arthur 's Mouth, by Heav'n inspir'd;
That all their Breasts with sacred Passions fir'd.
Great were his Thoughts, strong and sublime his Sense
Of Heav'n's Decrees, Foreknowledge, Providence.
He reason'd deep of Heav'n's mysterious Ends,
And made stern Justice, and fair Mercy Friends.
How high he soar'd, how Noble was his flight,
Speaking of Truth divine, and Wisdom infinite!
He opens all the Magazins above,
Of boundless Goodness and Eternal Love.
From these rich Stores of Heav'n, these sacred Springs
Of everlasting Joy and Peace, he brings
Ambrosial Food, and rich Nectarean Wine,
That chear pure Souls, and nourish Life Divine.
He then compar'd this transient mortal state,
To the fierce Tempest they escap'd so late,
That here is every great and good Mans Fate.
If God-like Men for Heav'n embark, and stand
Their Course direct, to make the blissful Land;
Strait Hell the bloody signal gives to Arm,
Cain 's cruel offspring takes the dire alarm;
And potent Fiends by Sea their Forces joyn,
T'obstruct their way, and break their brave design.
All with consummate Malice, furious Rage,
Against th' adventurous Voyagers engage.
Through all the Sky they raise outrageous Storms,
And Death stands threat'ning in a thousand Forms.
Clouds charg'd with loud Destruction drown the day,
And airy Dæmons in wild Whirlwinds play.
Thick Thunderclaps, and Lightning's livid glare
Disturb the Sky, and trouble all the Air.
Outrage, Distraction, Clamour, Tumult Reign,
Through the Dominion of the unquiet Main.
The labouring Bark with Heav'nly Treasure fraught,
Now almost sunk, now up in Tempests caught.
Near Sands and Rocks, rides on the dark Abyss,
Long beaten off from the bright Coasts of Bliss.
At last calm Day succeeds this stormy Night,
And the glad Voyagers find in their sight,
The Realms of Peace, and the blest Shores of Light.
Here they arrive, and find a safe Retreat,
And all their pain and labours past forget.
There was a Cave hard by, that Nature made
In the hard Rock, and cover'd with the shade,
Of spreading Trees, that Day could not invade.
Hither the Pious British Prince retires,
To offer Praises up and pure desires.
Here rapt'rous Converse he with Heav'n maintains,
And aided by Devotion's purest strains,
Combates Almighty Power, and Conquest gains.
Devotion, that oft binds th' Almighty's Arms,
And with her Prayers and Tears, her powerful charms,
Of all its Thunder, his right hand disarms.
She passes quick Heav'n's lofty Crystal Walls,
And the high Gates fly open, when she calls.
The charming Goddess of Divine Address,
Has to th' Almighty's Presence free Access.
Her Power can sentenc'd Criminals Reprieve,
Judgment Arrest, and bid the Rebel live.
Her Charms did once the Sun's swift Chariot stay,
And on the Verge of Heav'n, held back the falling Day.
She makes contentious Winds forget their Strife,
And calls back to the Dead, departed Life.
Charm'd by her Voice, Rivers have stop'd their Course,
And the chill'd Fire laid down its burning Force.
Such is Devotion's Power, which Arthur knew,
And when distress'd still to this Refuge flew.
Much to his Conduct he, much to his Arms,
But more he trusted to Devotion's Charms.
Of Triumph and Success he rarely fail'd,
For those on Earth, and these in Heav'n prevail'd.
Now in the silent, shady Cave retir'd,
He with her sacred Fury lay inspir'd.
The Prince being thus entranc'd, a Heav'nly Light
Shoots smiling through the Wood with silent flight:
The Trees admire the Glory on them shed,
And seem'd to start, and humbly bow their Head;
When fresh arriv'd on Earth, with Heav'n's Commands,
Great Raphael 's glorious Form by Arthur stands.
Celestial Sweetness, Mild and God-like Grace
Ineffable, sat on his blooming Face.
His Cheeks such Beauty shew'd, such Light and Joy his Eyes,
As from full Bliss, fresh Youth, and Strength immortal rise.
The purest piece of Heav'n's Etherial Blue,
In a rich Mantle, from his Shoulders flew.
Celestial Linnen, finely Spun and Wove
On Looms Divine, by all the Skill above,
Bleach'd on th' Empyreal Plains till White as Snow,
Made the long Robe that to his Feet did flow.
Immortal Gold, Illustrious as the Morn,
And dazling Gemms by high Arch Angels worn,
With pond'rous Pearl from Heav'n's bright Eastern Shore,
Adorn the shining Garments that he wore.
A Purple Girdle, from the Morning Sky
New rent, does round his Starry Vesture tye.
Thus he appear'd, and with the Light he gave,
And unknown Fragrancy, fill'd all the Cave.
Then thus he spake, Hail mine and Heav'n's kind Care,
Hither I come, drawn by thy powerful Prayer.
Know Righteous Prince, th' Almighty does approve,
Your firm Adhesion, and unshaken Love.
Ends Great and Wise lodg'd in his secret Breast,
Obstruct your Wishes, and your Course molest.
Yet still pursue your great and just Intent,
No Force or Arts shall your Design prevent,
Propitious Heav'n Decrees your wish'd Event.
You on these Coasts for happy Ends are thrown,
And after this, expect the British Crown.
Your Friends and Navy on the Ocean lost,
Are all arriv'd safe on th' Armorie Coast:
By the impetuous Tempest beaten back,
But Men and Ships sav'd from the threatn'd Wreck.
You're cast on Hoel 's Land, amidst your Foes,
That hate your Cause, and your just Arms Oppose.
But fear not Hoel 's Power, though now your Foe,
By Hell incens'd, he will not long be so.
Go then directly to his Court, for there,
A Glorious Work demands your Pious Care.
That said, with outstrecht Wings he soars upright,
And through the Winds vast Empire takes his flight.
He cuts the Clouds, and by the Planets flies
Up the steep Crystal Mountains of the Skies.
And swiftly passing through the Starry Sphears,
Before the Throne he in his place appears,
The Cherub's gone, and with him Arthur 's fears.
Who to his Lords returns, and to their Heart
Courage and Joy, his Words and Looks impart.
His God-like Language does their Fears abate,
And with fresh hopes their troubl'd Breasts dilate.
Mean time th' Infernal Thrones and Powers resort,
At their great Monarch's Summons to his Court.
Where they in Council meet, and there debate
Important matters, high Designs of State.
Their Prince with Pride extended, mounts his Throne,
Of polish'd Gold, whence horrid splendor shone:
And mingl'd with the Shades tremendous Light,
More dreadful thus, as Fires, that Flame by Night.
In sad Magnificence, and dismal State,
He sits, and round th' Infernal Orders sate.
Then Lucifer began:
Immortal Potentates, Illustrious Lords,
The British Youth's ambitious aim affords,
A weighty subject for your high debate;
Who seeks the ruin of your Pow'r and State.
You all have heard, how with a mighty Force
Embark'd, he straight for Albion steer'd his Course,
King Octa to attack, our Votary,
And make our Priests from our new Altars fly.
I watch'd, and aided by the Power of Thor ,
I shew'd the Miscreant another Shore.
His Fleet beat back, and haughty purpose crost,
He wanders, Shipwreckt on th' Armoric Coast.
Where faithful Hoel does the Specter hold,
Mighty in Arms, and in our Service bold.
Spirits Divine, high Peers of Hell, suggest,
By what sure Plagues he may be more distrest,
His Ruin finish'd, and his Sect opprest.
That said, a Fury crawls from out her Cell,
The bloodiest Minister of Death and Hell.
A mostrous Shape, a foul and hideous sight,
That did all Hell with her dire looks affright.
Huge, full gorg'd Snakes on her lean Shoulders hung,
And Death's dark Courts with their loud hissing rung.
Her Teeth and Claws were Iron, and her Breath,
Like Subterranean Damps, gave present Death.
Flames worse than Hells, shot from her bloody Eyes,
And Fire and Sword Eternally she Cries.
No certain Shape, no Feature regular,
No Limbs distinct in th' odious Fiend appear.
Her squallid, bloated Belly did arise,
Swoln with black Gore, to a prodigious Size.
Distended vastly, by a mighty Flood
Of slaughter'd Saints, and constant Martyrs Blood.
Part stood out prominent, but part fell down,
And in a swagging heap, lay wallowing on the ground.
A Monster so deform'd, so fierce as this,
It self a Hell, ne'er saw the dark Abyss.
Horrour till now the ugliest Shape esteem'd,
So much out-done, a harmless Figure seem'd.
Envy and Hate, and Malice blush'd to see
Themselves Eclips'd by such Deformity.
Her Feaverish Thirst drinks down a Sea of Blood,
Not of the Impious, but the Just and Good.
'Gainst whom she burns with unextinguish'd Rage,
Nor can th' exhausted World her Wrath asswage.
Then thus the Fury Persecution spake:
I mighty Prince of Hell, will undertake
This glorious Work, I quickly will inspire
Hoel , with my ungovernable Fire.
Without remorse he shall my Will Obey,
And crush this Briton , now his easie Prey.
Nero by me rais'd his Illustrious Name,
And Dioclesian got Immortal Fame.
I their rude, inbred Cruelty refin'd,
And stampt my perfect Image on their Mind.
My flames all Love's course mixture did destroy,
And purg'd off soft Compassion's base alloy;
I form'd and dissiplin'd their untaught Hate,
And rais'd their fierceness to a perfect State.
Where shame, and all reflecting Sense is lost,
And Hell can't purer strains of Malice boast.
Inexorable they all Cries withstood,
Ravish'd with Slaughter, and regal'd with Blood.
Hard marble Rocks might with more ease relent,
And Fire and Plague, learn sooner to repent.
Then Christian Kings my Fury entertain'd,
And taught by me, in Blood and Slaughter reign'd.
With pious Rage and fierce destructive Zeal,
I first inspir'd their Minds, and did reveal
The mystery, how deep Revenge to take,
And slay the Servants for the Master's sake.
How bloody Wrath might with Devotion joyn,
And sacred Zeal with Cruelty combine.
By me the unknown way they understood,
T'attone the Christians God, with Christian Blood.
By me they shook off Fear's and Love's Restraints;
And on God's Altars burnt his slaughter'd Saints.
I made them call, that all remorse might cease,
Murder Compassion, Desolation Peace.
Whilst my Infernal Heats their Breasts inspir'd,
To the vile Sect their own mad Zeal acquir'd,
Wider Destruction, and more fatal Harms,
Then all your Scythian , or your Gothick Arms.
And Rome , proud Rome herself, must owe to me
Her present State, and future Dignity.
The greatest Genius this, I e're could find,
And to receive my Image best inclin'd.
I will her Mind inspire, and to her Heart
Immortal hate, to Abel 's Race impart.
These Breasts she empties with her Infant Jaws,
I File her Teeth, and Shape her tender Claws.
I Nurse her on the horrid Alps high Tops,
And feed her hunger with Cerberean Sops
Dipt in Tartarean Gall, and Hemlock Juice,
That in her Veins will noble Blood produce.
Fierce Tygers, Dragons, Wolves about her stay,
They grin, and snap, and bite, and snarling play.
I to her Jaws, throw Infants newly Born;
She sucks their Blood, and by her Teeth are torn
Their tender Limbs, while I rejoyce to see
Such noble proofs of growing Cruelty.
To her wide Breast, and vast capacious Soul,
I often Torrents of black Poison rowl:
She drinks the livid Flood, and through her Veins
Mad Fury runs, and wild Distraction reigns.
I'll lead her from the Rocks, her strength full grown,
Fix her high Seat in the Imperial Town,
And give her Scarlet, and a threefold Crown.
No Blood will then her mighty Thirst asswage,
No Ravage cloy her Antichristian Rage.
Her Mitred Sons that never can relent,
From the great Cain , shall prove their high Descent.
Their Deeds of strange Infernal Cruelty,
Shall shew their Race worthy of Him and me.
Lay-Bigots, I with time and labour wrought,
Some inward Grudgings still against me fought:
'Twas hard to raise their hate to a degree,
From struggling Nature, and all Pity free.
But these Church-Zealots, of a truer breed,
Are form'd with Ease, and scarce my Labour need.
Their forward Genius without teaching grows,
And all my hopes, and ev'n my wish out-does.
How often shall thy glorious Sons, O Rome ,
With Martyrs Flames inlighten Christendom?
How often shall they, to deride their God,
Lift up in Prayer, their Hands all full of Blood?
The wasted World shall feel their loud Alarms,
Their blest Massacres, and their hallow'd Arms.
As if their high intent were to Efface,
All Footsteps left of Abel 's hateful Race.
Bloody Tribunals, Rapine, Fire and Sword,
And Desolation, dayly Sport afford.
Mankind they shall with such dire Plagues attack,
As will their Church a holy Desart make.
Such is my Zeal to serve th' infernal State,
And shall this British Prince escape my Hate?
Forbid it Hell, and here she made a pause;
The Lords in Council gave a loud applause.
The Prince of Darkness leaping from his place,
Did in his Arms, his darling Fiend Embrace.
Her Anger then rose higher, and all Hell
Uneasie seem'd, she grew so terrible.
She strait contracts her vast dilated Size,
And through Hell's dusky Void, she upward flies.
As when rich Towns great Cost and Art employ
In Fire-works, to express their publick Joy,
For some great Vict'ry won by Land, or Sea,
Or on some Prince's Coronation Day.
The flaming Rockets hizzing fly by Night,
And fill the Sky with unknown Noise and Light.
The Sphears amaz'd stand, or move slowly on,
And wonder how the Day returns so soon,
And what new Stars rise brighter than their own.
So does the Fiend, her Snakes all hissing rise,
Through the thick haggair'd Air, and as she flies
Leaves tracks of Light, cast from her fiery Eyes.
And now arriv'd on the grey Coasts of Day,
Direct to Hoel 's court she takes her way.
Where she alighted, when the Sun had hurl'd
His glorious Orb hence, to the other World.
'Twas then when all things look'd, as if old Night
Had Nature crush'd, and seiz'd her ancient Right,
Whilst Silence, Shades, and Lights around create,
Sad solemn Pomp, t'express her Death-like state.
Winds, and wild Beasts lye in their Dens at rest,
Nor these the Woods, nor those the Seas molest.
The sleeping Vultures drop their prey, the Dove
Ceases her Cooing, and forgets to love.
The Jocond Fairies Dance their silent round,
And with dark Circles mark the trampled ground.
Tartarean Forms Skim o're the Mountains Heads,
Or lightly sweep along the dewy Meads.
Ghosts leave their Tombs hid Murders to reveal,
Or Treasures which themselves did once conceal.
Visions thro' th' Air, and careless Phantoms stray,
Or round Mens troubled Heads while sleeping play.
The Fury Alman 's Reverend Shape assumes,
Odin 's High Priest, and so to Hoel comes.
For the Priest's Form, is fittest to engage
Princes in Blood, and move destructive Rage.
Thus chang'd the Fiend, such is her Craft, appears,
And thus began, just Hoel , all those years
I liv'd, I did with studious Care employ,
How best I might the Christian Crew destroy.
I thy great Soul in this blest Cause engag'd,
Inspir'd with Heats Divine, not yet asswag'd.
I quit Elysian Pleasures to impart,
What does with greater Joy extend my Heart;
And will do thine, Arthur , Curst be that Name,
Designing Empire, and Illustrious Fame
Embark'd with Arms, fair Albion to invade,
But by just Heav'n, is thy cheap Captive made.
Pursu'd with Thunder, and in Tempests tost,
At last he's Shipwreckt on this happy Coast.
With his sad Friends he wanders up and down,
Naked, perplext, deserted, and undone.
But yet just Heav'n Decrees him greater Harm,
But saves that Glory for your Zealous Arm.
To take his Life must be your Pious Care,
And with the Gods divided Honour share.
Thus you their En'my, and your own remove,
Secure your Peace, and please the Pow'rs above.
To Christians this can be no Injury,
That call for Torments, and are pleas'd to Dye.
They all seem fond to wear the Martyr's Crown,
And meet the Flames, with greater of their own.
No Rights, no Rules of Justice you invade,
For Ruin's their Profession, Death their Trade.
Go then, and grace the Briton , that comes on
To meet you, and receive the Martyr's Crown.
Remove this Pillar of their Church, and all
The unsupported Roof, will crack and fall.
Take this Defender of their Faith away,
The passive Rabble, tamely will Obey.
Their Lives in Sport you may at leisure take,
They quickly fall, that no Resistance make.
The Gods into your Hands have cast your Foe,
To take his Life will please Heav'n, him, and you.
That said, she breath'd her Soul into his Breast,
And her wild Fury all his Veins possest.
Infernal Flames Rage in his poison'd Blood,
And his swoln Heart Boils with th' impetuous Flood.
The Fiend her Shape of thicken'd Air dissovles,
And disappears, Hoel surpriz'd revolves
The welcome message in his Mind, and strait
Commands his Lords and Guards should on him wait,
On the first Shooting of the tender Day,
So eager did he seem to seize the Prey.
Now was the Eastern Sky-dy'd Purple spread,
For fair Aurora 's Radiant Feet to tread.
She mounts serene, and with mild dawning Light,
Smiles on the lowring, dusky Face of Night;
That to Victorious Day yields up her Seat,
Whilst her black Forces silently Retreat.
As when a Lyon at the dawn of Day,
Rous'd with fierce Hunger up to Hunt his Prey,
Stretches his Limbs out, Yawns, and tries his Paws,
And for sure Death prepares his cruel Jaws.
He stands, and rolls about his Angry Eyes,
Lashing his Sides to make his Fury rise.
Then Scowrs the Hills, Ranges the Forrests o'er,
And Thunders thro the Desart with his hideous Roar.
The Winds all husht sit trembling on the Trees,
And scarcely Whisper out a gentle Breeze.
Wolves dare not Howl, but grinning softly creep,
And Leopards strecht out, feign themselves asleep.
Th' affrighted Herds close in their Covert lye,
And to escape his Rage, with Terrour dye.
Thus Hoel , with infernal Rage possest,
With fierce desire speeds to the bloody Feast.
A deadly Storm does on his Forehead lowr,
Himself his Rage, Arthur his Hopes devour.
Breathing out Death he march'd, but at mid-day,
He stands by Heav'n arrested in his way.
The Air serene a black thick Cloud appear'd,
And as it hover'd o'er their Heads, were heard
Celestial Flutes, and Harps divinely Strung,
With Hymns and Hallelujahs Set and Sung
By the best Masters of the Quire above,
With Bliss transported, and inspir'd with Love.
Whilst Hoel and his Friends pleas'd, and amaz'd,
Listen'd, and on the Scene descending gaz'd:
The broken Cloud, pours out pure Floods of Light,
Show'rs of Celestial Rays transcendent bright,
And Storms of Splendor, dazling Mortal Sight.
Th' illustrious Tempest does on Hoel beat,
Who falls astonish'd, headlong from his Seat.
Confounded with unsufferable Day,
Groveling in Glory on the shining Way,
And with bright Ruin overwhelm'd, he lay.
'Twas then, a soft, still Heav'nly Voice, that broke
From out the Cloud, to trembling Hoel spoke.
'Gainst me, what Fury did thy Arms Engage?
What mov'd thee with inexorable Rage
Vain Man, to persecute my Saints and Me?
In vain thou seek'st to baffle Heav'n's Decree.
Vain is thy Force, and impotent thy Hate,
Too weak thy Arms, to stem the Tyde of Fate.
The Torrent bears thy faint Resistance down,
Retire, or in Eternal Ruin Drown.
Then Hoel thus, O tell me, who thou art,
Great Spirit, and thy Will to me impart.
Tell me if Errour has my Feet misled,
What safer Paths I may hereafter tread.
The Voice reply'd:
I am the Christians God , whom you pursue.
Go meet my Servant Arthur , he shall shew
At large, what thou hast to believe, what do.
The Scene here disappear'd, his Lords come round,
And rais'd reviving Hoel from the Ground.
Who marches on, the British Prince to find,
And Act not what himself, but Heav'n design'd.
With anxious Thoughts the Vision he revolves,
And to Obey Heav'n's high Command resolves.
Whilst to his Lords the Vision he relates,
They find themselves advanc'd to Conda 's Gates.
Arthur mean time, to whom great Raphael 's word,
Unshaken Hopes, and Courage did afford;
Proceeded on his Way, but sent before
Embassadors to Hoel , to explore
His temper, and the Genius of his Court,
That he just steps might take by their Report.
He chose out to discharge this weighty Trust,
Valiant Pollador , Roderick the Just;
And Faithful Galbut , Friends that in distress,
(A thing unknown to Courts) their Love express.
Soon after Hoel had his Entrance made,
At the same City they arriv'd, and staid
But little, for th' admission which they pray'd.
Then Hoel first the Briton s thus addrest,
Let no sad Thought your pious Prince molest.
A Message sent from Heav'n preventing yours,
To me great Joy, Safety to him procures.
Friendship and Love, fill my enlighten'd Mind,
From Hatred purg'd, from Treachery refin'd.
Return, and let your Valiant Leader know,
His God has to a Friend, transfrom'd his Foe.
Tell him he's safe from all intended Harms,
And that I hast, t' Embrace him in my Arms.
With Regal Bounty, he to all presents
Rich Swords, and various splendid Ornaments.
To Arthur sends a Chariot, dazling bright,
That to the Sun return'd redoubled Light.
And Horses of th' Iberian Noble Race,
That right Descent from the swift Eurus trace.
Bold, Gen'rous, Sprightly, as th' Illustrious Breed,
That in th' Etherial, blue Enclosures Feed.
That thro Heav'n's Wast, with the Sun's Chariot play,
And govern Time, by carrying round the Day.
Their Furniture of Gold, their Bridles Gold,
And golden Bits, their champing Mouths did hold.
They hast and all their Diligence employ,
To fill Just Arthur 's Mind, with Peace and Joy.
To him returning they impart at large,
The kind, endearing Things they had in Charge.
As when his Sons to Jacob did relate,
That Joseph , liv'd, and liv'd in Regal State;
Telling of all his Riches, Power, Renown,
Egypt 's Support, and Prop to Pharoah 's Crown.
Resistless Floods of sudden Pleasure Roll
Along his Veins, and break in on his Soul.
He sinks beneath the pressure of his Joy,
And Joseph 's Life, does almost his destroy.
Then Doubts and Fears, his Joys, high Tyde oppose,
From which Contention fiercer Tempests rose.
While his cross Passions fight with equal Power,
Each Triumphs in his turn, as Conquerour.
The Patriarch in this Distraction lost,
Is in each Storm with equal Danger tost.
But when the Chariots and rich Train he saw,
He did from thence fresh Life and Vigour draw.
His Breast from all contending Passions freed,
Calm Joy, and unmolested Peace succeed.
Enough the Patriarch was heard to Cry,
I'll hast to Joseph 's Arms, and in them Dye.
So when Just Arthur heard the Message first,
His wavering Mind with Fears and wise Distrust,
And rising Tydes of suddain Joy was tost,
Uncertain which strong Passion press'd him most.
But when he saw the Presents Hoel sent,
His Doubts suppress'd, he grew more Confident.
And his calm Mind eas'd of his anxious Cares,
T' embrace his new, and generous Friend prepares.
And now advancing Night the Sky invades,
While close pursu'd by the Victorious Shades.
The Rayes that faintly from the Ground recoil,
On the green Fields, let fall their pearly spoil.
When Arthur to his secret Joys retires,
Where his exhaling Soul to Heav'n aspires,
In sacred Anhelations, and inflam'd Desires.
Fixt Contemplation feeds his Hope and Love,
With rapt'rous Preludes to the Joys above.
His ravish'd Eyes view the unmeasur'd Bliss,
In the next Life enjoy'd, believ'd in this.
So David often pass'd the silent Night,
And in his Transports felt sublime Delight,
Surpassing all that mighty Monarchs have,
That his own Crown, and all his Triumphs gave.
While baser Birds the humble Valley love,
And sing contented with their little Grove;
The Eagle's generous Pride does noble rise
To Heav'n, and thence does this low World despise.
Scorning a Vulgar Bough, he thinks he sees
Woods in the Clouds, and hanging Groves of Trees.
Thither he hasts, and leaves th' ignoble Brood,
That aim no higher, to their Shrubs and Wood.
If to his Prey he stoops, ashamed he flies
Back to his airy Dwelling in the Skies.
Where in the Clouds he hides his Royal Head,
Safe from the Snares, that watchful Fowlers spread.
So Men of courser Mould, and baser Birth,
Pleas'd with the Dust lye grov'ling on the Earth.
For Food their Souls all foul and bloated, seek
The Damps and Steams, that from its Bowels reek.
While Men divinely Born, still upwards move,
And scorn this World, that courts in vain their Love.
In Flames of Zeal, and Pangs of pure Desire,
These to the Seats of Light and Peace aspire.
Where they converse with the blest Minds above,
And wonder what on Earth invites Mens Love.
This Molehill Earth has lost its former Charms,
Molehill for Bulk, and Stings wherewith it swarms.
With Wonder they observe how Mortals Pride,
Can into Kingdoms this small Heap divide.
How one t' enlarge the Empire he has got,
Invades the Borders of his Neighbour's spot.
How this proud Monarch of a Turf, is vext
With restless cares, to dispossess the next.
As Heav'ns vast Globes that fill the World with Light,
Seem little Balls to distant Mortals sight,
That in the most capacious Planets, we
No room for States, and large Dominions see.
So these more noble Minds advanc'd so high,
Believe the same of us, that from the Sky,
The low-hung Earth's contracted Body Spy.
They keep above free from the fatal Nets,
That for unwary Feet the Tempter sets.
Free from the Earth's dark smoke, and endless Noise,
They dwell in Peace, and feed on Heav'nly Joys.
Such Pleasures Arthur while retir'd, enjoy'd,
And wish'd he ever might be thus employ'd.
And now th' radiant Gates of th' Eastern Sky,
Unbar'd by bright Aurora , open fly.
Strait issues out the Sun with mighty Force,
As Gyants do, prepar'd to run his Course.
The joyful Briton s all things ready make,
And their new Friend to meet, their Journy take.
Scarce had the Sun his glitt'ring Chariot driv'n,
Up the steep Brow, and sharp Ascent of Heav'n,
When the glad Princes did each other meet,
And Hoel thus did first the Stranger greet.
As a faint Traveller in Arabian Sands,
Scorcht with the burning Sun-beams, panting stands,
Views the dry Desart with despairing Eyes,
And for the Springs, and distant Rivers Sighs.
As Sailers long for Land, Heav'n's Aid implore,
And with their greedy wishes grasp the Shore;
When beaten from the hospitable Coast,
And in loud Storms upon the Ocean tost;
Where Ruin in so many Shapes appears,
They scarcely can attend to all their Fears.
I've wish'd to see you with the like desire,
The Oracle of whom I must enquire,
The way to Peace, and Everlasting Bliss,
Which lost in Night, and unknown Paths, I miss.
When first I set out with an hostile Mind,
And Evils which I dread to name, design'd;
The Powers that guard your sacred Life alarm'd,
Soon interpos'd, and my wild Hand disarm'd.
Kind Heav'n that both our Safeties did design,
Turn'd from your Head the Blow, the Guilt from mine.
For on the way a Glory dreadful Bright
Around me shone, and with excessive Light,
As they do Stars, the weaker Sun-beams drown'd:
I as trantfixt, fell headlong to the Ground.
'Twas then a wondrous Heav'nly Voice I heard,
The words were these, but no blest Face appear'd.
'Gainst me what Fury does thy Arms engage?
What moves thee with inexorable Rage
Vain Man, to persecute my Saints and me?
In vain thou striv'st to baffle Heav'n's Decree.
Vain is thy Force, and Impotent thy Hate,
Too weak thy Arms to stem the Tide of Fate.
The Torrent bears thy faint Resistance down,
Retire, or in eternal Ruin drown.
I strait cry'd out, O tell me who thou art
Great Spirit, and thy Will to me impart.
Tell me if Error has my Feet misled,
What safer Paths I may hereafter tread.
The Voice reply'd:
I am the Christians God, whom you pursue,
Go find my Servant Arthur , he shall shew
At large, what thou hast to believe, what do.
Prince Arthur paus'd a while, then Silence broke,
And friendly thus th' Armoric King bespoke.
Th' Eternal's Providence I must adore,
That has compell'd me to th' Armoric Shore.
That I might here, serve such a glorious End,
And to the Christian Cause gain such a Friend.
Goodness Divine, King Hoel does invite
By Miracles, t' enjoy Celestial Light.
Cast on your Coasts, with Pleasure I will stay,
To aid and guide you in your Heav'nly way.
To whom th' Armoric Monarch thus Reply'd;
While we to Nannetum together ride,
Instruct, O Pious Prince, my willing Mind:
It is a task your God has you design'd.
Unfold his Heav'nly Will, and let me know,
What Worship to him, what Belief, I owe.
To whom the Prince, this favour must I ask,
Before I undertake the pious Task:
That you'll dispatch your Servants to the Coast,
To seek my Friends out, in the Tempest lost.
And if by chance cast on th' Armoric Shore,
They wander up and down, distress'd and poor,
Your angry Subjects, may not them annoy,
Nor with devouring Flames, their Ships destroy.
This Friendship shewn, I'll with a cheerful Mind,
Attempt the Task by you, and Heav'n enjoyn'd.
When the past Night did with her dusky Train
Advance, o'er shadowing all th' Aierial Plain;
A sudden Transport did my Soul engage,
And all my Limbs shook with the sacred Rage.
Straight caught up from the Body, through the Skies
To the third Heav'n, my ravish'd Soul did rise.
Where Things ineffable I saw, and heard
Divine Instruction, which my Mind prepar'd
To aid you in your Heav'nly Way, and shew
What Worship, to th' Eternal Mind is due.
Straight Hoel to the Shores his Servants sent,
Who might the Harms, that Arthur fear'd, prevent.
Who might the hapless Briton s kindly treat,
And safe conduct them to his Royal Seat.
Such Love the King to Arthur 's Friends exprest,
Who now prepar'd t'obey the King's Request.
BOOK II
Attentive Hoel 's Eyes on Arthur 's Face
Were fixt, who thus began with God-like grace.
Before th' unshaken Pillars of the Earth
Were Reer'd, before prolifick Nature 's Birth,
Before the Register of Time begun,
Or Heav'n's bright Forces throng'd about the Sun,
Was a wild Void , that no set Bounds restrain'd,
Where Silence, Night, and Desolation reign'd.
Where yet no glimmering track of Light appear'd,
No Discord yet, or Harmony was heard.
From Ages past lay in th' Eternal 's Mind,
A finish'd Model of a World , design'd
To be Erected by Almighty Hands,
Where now this Round, Capacious Fabrick stands.
The deep Foundations laid, in Heav'n they said
A strange new World was making, Fame soon spread
The tydings through the Palaces of Bliss,
To see a work so wonderful as this,
Millions of Angels to Heav'n's Turrets fly,
And on the Crystal Terras of the Sky,
Stood in bright Throngs, and on Creation , gaz'd,
And at the Sight were ravish'd, and amaz'd.
Almighty Vigour strove through all the Void,
And such prolifick Influence employ'd,
That ancient, barren Night did pregnant grow,
And quicken'd with the World in Embrio.
The struggling Seeds of unshap'd Matter ly,
Contending in her Womb for Victory.
No Order, Form, or Parts distinct and clear,
Did in the Crude Conception, yet appear.
Thick Darkness did the unripe Light Embrace,
That faintly glanc'd on Chaos shady Face.
The unfledg'd Fire has no bright Wings to rise,
But scarce distinguish'd, with the Water lies.
It's sprightly, ruddy Youth not yet attain'd,
The glitt'ring Seeds, Mother of Fire, remain'd
Like golden Sands, thick scatter'd on the Shore,
Of the wild Deep, and shone in burning Oar.
In glowing Heaps the Stars lay dusky bright,
Rude and unpolish'd Balls of unwrought Light.
The Sphears pil'd up about their Poles were Furl'd,
Design'd the Swadling Bands of th' Infant World.
The Sky dispers'd, lay in Etherial Oar,
And azure Veins, betray'd th' Empyreal Store.
The watry Treasures in th' unfashion'd Birth,
Lay in the rough Embraces of the Earth.
But at the great Command will Thaw, and throw
The Dross off, and like melted Metals flow.
Besides vast numbers of loose Atoms stray,
And in the restless Deep of Chaos play.
In dark Encounters they for Empire strive,
And gain what Chance, and wild Confusion give.
Which joyntly here possess the Sov'raign Sway,
Pleas'd with those Subjects most, that least Obey.
Order, a bansh'd Rebel, flies the Place,
And Strife and Uproar fill the noisy Space.
Tumult and Misrule please at Chaos Court,
And everlasting Wars his Throne Support.
Troops arm'd with Heat have here a Battel won,
But Moist and Cold the Victor soon dethrone.
Here heavier Seeds rush on in numerous Swarms,
And crush their Lighter Foes, with pond'rous Arms.
The lighter strait Command with equal Pride,
And on wild Whirlwinds in mad Triumph ride.
None long submits to a Superiour Power,
Each yields, and in his turn is Conquerour.
If some grown mild from fierce Contention cease,
And with calm Neighbours court a seperate Peace;
If Truce they make, and in kind Leagues combine,
Their short Embraces some rude Shocks disjoyn.
Th' Eternal 's Voice compos'd these Atoms jars,
And justling Elements intestine Wars.
He sets imprison'd Heat and Vigor free,
And suits and ranges Natures that agree.
He through the Mass a mighty Ferment spread,
And where it came mis-shap'd Confusion fled.
Dark Chaos now throws off his gloomy Face,
Puts on fresh Beauty, and a Heav'nly Grace.
Th' Almighty spake , and strait the Sprightly Light
With lovely Looks broke from th' Abyss of Night;
On Golden Wings it mounts, and in its way
Its Smiles diffuse new Morn, and unripe Day.
Aloft vast spreading Sheets of Ether rise,
Matter for Sphears, and pure transparent Skies.
The Sky that for its Compass scarce finds room,
Spun thin, and wove on Nature's finest Loom.
The new-born World in its soft Bosom wraps,
And all around its Starry Mantle laps.
The Sun's vast Globe that till the Birth of Day,
All Rough and Cloudy in wild Chaos lay;
Well wrought and polish'd, is advanc'd on high;
The vagrant Beams that stray'd about the Sky,
Now becken'd by Creating Power obey,
And the bright Forces hither hast away.
Then hov'ring on the Spungy Globe they wait,
And round their new appointed Mansion sate.
The thirsty Orb drinks in the liquid Beams,
And now but one vast Sea of Glory seems.
It self a Heav'n with dazling Lustre bright,
Pours out pure Floods of overflowing Light.
Here as in Furnaces of boiling Gold,
Stars dipt come back, full as their Orbs can hold
Of glitt'ring Light, here too the Moon all drown'd,
Does with the Golden Metal fill her Round.
Sometimes half dipt it but in part adorns
Her Face, and shines with Blunt, Refulgent Horns.
Th' Etherial Plain now cultivated bears,
A shining Harvest of Illustrious Stars.
That at a distance seem small Lights, but near
Capacious Realms, and gloroius Worlds appear.
The Sphears spread forth their Bosoms, now resin'd,
And Belly out, like Sails swoln big with Wind.
The Air beat out, and purify'd does lye,
A Crystal deep between the Earth and Sky.
Through this thin Void the Sun's indulgent Beams,
Flow gently on the Earth in Golden Streams.
That kindly steal away the Watry Store,
And rob the Earth, but to enrich it more.
The Earth with its own Burden tir'd, and prest
Down with its weight, lies in the midst at rest.
A Deep broke up, God calls Waters, they
Feel the Command, and with quick flight Obey.
In mighty Heaps the foaming Deluge flows,
High liquid Walls and curling Ridges shows.
Some Waters with a smooth and gentle Tyde,
On the Earth's plain and level Surface glide.
Others that meet a Steep abrupt Descent;
Roll down in Floods more loud and turbulent.
At last they fall from the high Precipice,
In noisy Floods into the dark Abyss.
Till the vast Deluge with its liquid Store,
Fills up the Deep, and Crowns the Ambient Shore.
Now their tall Heads the rising Mountains show,
And wide mouth'd Vallies sink themselves, as low.
The Earth as yet all bare and naked lay,
For Heav'n's Command th' imprison'd Spirits stay.
God spake , and straight a lovely Spring appears,
And every Field fresh, verdant Cloathing wears.
Green Herbs adorn the Hills aspiring Heads,
And smiling Flowers paint the Enamell'd Meads.
Trees starting up, lifted their Heads so high,
They met the Clouds descending from the Sky.
Some rang'd in beauteous Order, Stately stood,
Others press'd close, and throng'd into a Wood.
Some where the Sun gives more indulgent Heat,
Transparent Gums, and Od'rous Juices Sweat.
The fragrant Balsom-Tree distills around,
Her healing Riches on the neighbouring Ground.
The humble Jess'mine breaths Perfumes abroad,
And wanton Zephyrs bear the balmy Load.
Pure Crystal Rivers through the Meadows flow,
Their flowry Banks smile on them, as they go.
Their watry Train in Snaky Windings slides,
And in their Streams the scaly Nation glides.
Birds glad to try their Wings rise from the Earth,
And with their Songs they celebrate their Birth.
Beasts in their various Kinds all Mild, and Tame,
Stood gazing round, and wonder'd whence they came.
The Bleating Flocks wander on every Hill,
And lowing Herds the Ecchoing Vallies fill.
The sporting Lyon Paws the wanton Bear,
Wolves seek the Woods, the Lawns the timorous Deer.
The Crested Snake rolls on the flowry Plain,
The shining Volumes of his Spiral Train.
Leviathan in th' Ocean takes his place,
Prince of the Waters, and the Finny Race.
Rolling amidst the Waves, he takes his Sport,
As a great Sea-God in his watry Court.
Swimming to Land he drives high Seas before,
Like a great Island floating near the Shore.
In wanton pastime he sucks in with Ease,
Then spouts against the Skies th' exhausted Seas:
Like some prodigious Water-Engine made
To play on Heav'n, if Fires should Heav'n invade.
So fair, so rich a Paradise as this,
Almighty Power call'd from the dark Abys:
To keep the Birth-day of the World, the Spring
Does all her Joys and fragrant Riches bring.
Nature appearing in her brightest Dress,
Does all her Sweets and Heav'nly Charms express.
The Sphears in tuneful Measres Roll above,
And Heav'n's bright Orbs in beauteous Order move.
The smiling Earth discovers perfect Joy,
Where nothing noxious can its Peace annoy.
The Air's so soft, such balmy Odours fly,
So sweet the Fruits, so pure and mild the Sky,
The Blissful States, too great to be exprest,
By all the Pleasures of the wanton East,
By th' Arab 's Sweets from Zephirs , tender Wings
Gently shook off, or what the Merchant brings
Of Forreign Luxury with tedious Toil,
From Asia 's Coast, or soft Campania 's Soil.
Thus after five days Labour Nature stood,
God view'd his Creatures, and pronounc'd them Good.
But still there wanted one that might adore
Divine Perfections, and Heav'n's Gifts implore.
That might himself, and his great Author know,
Obey his God, and rule as God below.
Then Man was made, the Author fram'd and wrought
The purer Mould, with more Concern and Thought.
His Mind made up of pure Etherial Air,
Came from the Hands Divine all Bright and Fair.
And lodg'd in Clay did at its Entrance give
So quick a touch, as made that Clay to live.
And both united with such wondrous Art,
In part he's Angel, Animal in part.
In whom the Bounds of both the Worlds are seen,
Where Earth does terminate, and Heav'n begin.
One part, like sprightly Flames, will upward move,
Kin to the blest, unbody'd Minds above.
The other, only shap'd and quicken'd Earth,
From moulded Dust receives its humble Birth.
Yet Life divine, and high Perfection gains,
Ennobled by the Guest it entertains.
His Form erect, and Cherub-like his Face,
Where Sweetness temper'd Stern and Manly Grace.
Mil'd to be lov'd, and awful to be fear'd,
He, like some new discover'd God , appear'd.
Then did th' Almighty to his Bosom give,
To bless him perfectly, his Consort Eve .
Of a more soft and nicely temper'd Mould,
Her strokes were tender, his more strong and bold.
Sweetness that ravish'd, milder than the Morn,
And perfect Beauty did her Looks adorn.
She like a Goddess, with the Heav'nly Charms,
Of blushing Innocence, comes to his Arms.
What Joys Divine did on the Fav'rite wait,
These happy Hours that knew his Native State!
His Work thus finish'd, and Creation done,
Th' Almighty rests on his Eternal Throne.
Straight the loud Shouts and Acclamations giv'n,
Shook the high Towers and jarring Gates of Heav'n.
There stood an Alabaster Mount that shone,
In th' Air sublime, from the Imperial Throne
Remov'd at distance, and between them lay,
All pav'd with Stars, a broad, frequented way.
Hither for great Assemblies they repair,
From all the Regions of th' Etherial Air.
Here they in perfect Love and Peace debate,
Th' Affairs that most affect their sacred State.
Hither the Princes of the Heav'nly Court,
Follow'd with Throngs unnumber'd now resort.
There met, a solemn Jubilee they Vote,
In Honour of the Wonders lately wrought.
Straight a Procession publik was enjoyn'd,
And thus perform'd t'adore th' Eternal Mind.
Trumpets march'd first, and chiefly that whose Sound
Shall strike Convulsions thro' the trembling ground:
Break their dark Prisons down, and call away
Th' awaken'd Dead, on the great Judgment Day.
Next Heav'nly Viols, soft harmonious Flutes,
Resounding Dulcimers, and tuneful Lutes
And Harps, like that which hangs the glitt'ring Pride,
As Poets feign, of young Apollo 's side.
With perfect Skill here chosen Cherubs play,
And Celebrate th' Almighty's Resting Day.
Then the blest Voices came with Hymns of Praise,
Angelick Musick, sweet Melodious Lays,
Such as bright Spirits in high Raptures sing,
Around the Throne of their Eternal King.
Now the first Rank of Potentates and Peers,
Mighty Arch-Angels, and high Thrones appears.
Crowns of substantial, massy Glory made,
Adorn'd with Gems, and Flow'rs that never Fade,
And Greens of Heav'nly growth all wreath'd between,
Are on the Heads of this bright Order seen:
Fresh Greens and Flow'rs, such as their Gardens bring,
Blest with mild Rays, and Everlasting Spring.
Vials of Incense in their Hands they bare,
And the sweet Clouds in Wheels roll up the Air.
Odours not to be told, fann'd from them fly,
And wondrous Fragrancy Perfumes the Sky.
Each had his Lyre, that from his Shoulders hung,
With Golden Wire, like radiant Sun-beams, strung.
Such was their Splendour, with such Grace they trod,
In Looks and Motion each appear'd a God.
Hither thick Crowds of vulgar Angels made,
And to admire this glorious Order staid,
And, as they pass'd, humble Obeisance paid.
Then lower Ranks in long Procession pass'd,
With Crowns and Badges of Distinction grac'd.
And all so Splendid, all so Rich and Gay,
That Heav'n before, ne'er saw so bright a Day.
Unfading Roses of Heav'nly Red,
On the bright Pavement were profusely spread.
Elysian Jess'mine, and blest Am'rant lay,
In od'rous heaps along the Milky way.
The Fountains all such Cost was then bestow'd,
With unexhausted Springs of Nectar flow'd.
And now advanc'd before th' Imperial Throne,
That lofty with excessive Brightness shone,
They from th' uneasie Lustre of the Light,
Protected with spread Wings their dazled sight.
In prostrate Adoration down they fell,
Opprest with Glory unsupportable.
Entranc'd, Transported, Ravish'd, there they ly,
And with blest Hallelujahs fill the Sky.
In Songs Sublime they praise th' Eternal Mind,
His Works from all the Ages past design'd,
His Greatness, Wisdom, Empire unconfin'd.
His Justice, that no Force or Prayer can move:
His spotless Truth, and Everlasting Love.
They Sing th' Eternal Son's Immortal Praise,
And to an equal height the sacred Spirit raise.
Then all arising from the sacred Quire,
O'erflowing with unbounded Joys, retire
To the blest Shades of the Celestial Bowers,
Where oft they choose to pass their happy Hours.
Their Hunger here delicious Banquets met,
With vast Profusion on rich Tables set,
Banquets Divine, not such as Mortals Eat.
High Dishes in long Pomp and Order stood,
Fill'd with choice Fruits, rare Meats, all Angels Food.
Ambrosial Juices, sweet Nectarean Wine,
Ravish'd their Tast, and made their Faces Shine.
The Sons of God thus chear'd, dissolve in Joy,
Whilst his high Praises their blest Tongues employ.
In Joys and Triumphs so the Day they spend,
Such Mirth and Show the Festival attend;
Then when the Ev'ning came, or what instead
Of Evening there, does in its turn succeed.
Glorious Illuminations made on high,
By all the Constellations of the Sky,
In bright Degrees, and shining Orders plac'd,
Spectators charm'd, and the blest Dwellings grac'd.
Through all th' inlight'n'd Air rare Fireworks flew,
Which the Celestial Youth with Shouting threw.
Comets fly up with their red sweeping Train,
Then fall in Starry Showers, and glitt'ring Rain.
In th' Air ten Thousand Meteors blazing hung,
That from Heav'n's gilded Battlements were flung.
Here furious, flying Dragons hissing came,
Here harmless Fires play in lambent Flame.
Such Universal Joy in Heav'n they shew'd,
And in such hallow'd Mirth the day conclude.
In such Delights they pass their time above,
And so shall we, if like them, we Obey and Love.
In all the Joys that happy Minds attain,
Blest Adam first began to live and reign.
He to fair Eden 's Paradise resorts,
Where every Sense its proper Pleasure courts.
The joyful Spring by soft Favonius fan'd,
Diffus'd her Riches with a wanton Hand.
From new-blown Flowers luxurious Odours fly,
And Heav'nly Landskips meet his ravish'd Eye.
The twining Branches weave him shady Bowers,
And Hony-Dews fall in delicious Showers.
Birds with their Songs their Soveraign salute,
From Boughs that bend beneath their Golden Fruit.
Pure Streams to him their Crystal Waters bring,
And the glad Fish leap up, to see their King.
The harmless Beasts their humble Homage paid,
And the sole Monarch of the World obey'd.
Uninterrupted Peace his Mind possest,
And Joys unutterable fill'd his Breast.
He view'd his great Creator's glorious Face,
Clearly reflected from fair Nature's Glass.
On her bright Form he saw, th' Impressions shine,
Of Wisdom Infinite, and Pow 'r Divine,
Whence all things, as free Emanations flow,
As Streams their Being to their Fountain owe.
Which binds fast Nature's vast unshaken Frame,
Lest it dissolve to Nothing, whence it came.
Whilst in his Thoughts the pleasing Objects Roll,
Fresh Pleasures Feed his still transported Soul.
His Eyes thus fixt, the great Seducer's Skill,
Could not engage his Thoughts, or move his Will.
A Day Serene smil'd on his Heav'nly Mind,
Dark with no Cloud, and undisturb'd with Wind.
No Guilt, no Frown from Heav'n disturbs his Soul,
Calm as deep Rivers in still Evenings roll.
No Storms of Passion, such as us molest,
Annoys the Peaceful Region of his Breast.
No boiling Lust swell'd the o'erflowing Blood,
To bear down Reason with th' impetuous Flood.
His spotless Mind knew yet no other Fire,
Then those pure Flames, that Heav'nly Minds inspire.
O happy Man! above description blest,
Had he maintain'd the Station he possest.
Upon the Crystal River's flowry side,
That winding did in slow Meanders glide;
As loath to leave the Blissful Place, there stood
A Tree that rose above th' Hesperian Wood,
Its Fruit seem'd pleasant, but forbidden Food.
For he that with enormous Bounty pours
On Man, fresh Pleasures in incessant Showers;
That nothing can disturb his flowing Joys,
Unless Variety suspends his Choice.
Bids him not Eat the fatal Fruit, to prove
His due Obedience, and his constant Love.
The grand Apostate for high Crimes displac'd,
From Heav'n by fierce Almighty Vengeance chas'd,
Till down th' unfathom'd Precipice he fell
Confounded, to the fiery Gulph of Hell:
With Rage and Envy sees Man's happy State,
Whence he for ever lost had fall'n so late.
Himself undone urg'd with infernal Spight,
And dire Revenge, makes Ruin his delight.
That he from Heav'n might this fair Province gain,
That Sin and Death might wider Sway attain,
And he his baleful Empire might extend,
Conceal'd beneath the specious Air of Friend,
Does to Man's Choice the fatal Tree commend.
As such whose Worth transcends the greatest price,
The Flower and Beauty of his Paradise.
Pleasing to Tast, but much more to the Mind,
Which those that Eat, should boundless Knowledge find.
Then points up to the fair forbidden Meat,
Bids him be Wise, and boldly take, and Eat.
He tempts him with the flatt'ring Hopes of Bliss,
Great as his God's, and lasting too, as his.
This gaudy Scene of Glory charm'd his Eye,
And his proud thoughts at God-like Greatness fly.
The bright Illusion turn'd his giddy Head,
And with vast Hopes his vain Ambition fed.
Thus gazing at the Glory of a God,
The Precipice was hid on which he trod.
The splendid Phantome now advances nigh,
And in his reach appears Divinity.
Which straight he grasps at, and to hold the more,
Empties his Hand of what it held before.
But sooner might he grasp unbody'd Minds,
And with clos'd Arms clasp in the raging Winds.
The glorious Shadow from his Hands does slide,
Mocks his Embraces, and defeats his Pride.
He Eat, but did no other Pleasures find,
Than the sad Terrors of a guilty Mind.
His cheated Hopes can no new Knowledge boast,
But of the Ill he feels, and Good he lost.
Thus fell lost Man, straight troubled Nature moan'd,
And shaking, with a strong Convulsion groan'd.
Ev'n Paradise look'd Sad, the Herds repin'd,
And lofty Cedars shook without a Wind.
The Roses fade, the Golden Apples turn'd
Pallid, and all the Sick Creation mourn'd.
To the thick Trees in vain fall'n Adam made,
To hide his blacker Guilt beneath their Shade.
Close Trees may so their well mixt Branches spread,
That Sun-beams cannot pierce their shady Head.
But God's clear Eye needs not so gross a Ray,
His Glory sheds a more Illustrious Day.
But had he been from his bright Eye conceal'd,
The crying Guilt had to his Ear reveal'd
Apostate Man, that Voice to Heav'n does rise
Loud, as the Thunder-claps, for which it cries.
What a black Train of Woes and hideous Fears,
Headed by one bold Crime, to Man appears.
The Serpent's Venom spreads through all his Veins,
And Sin's Contagion unresisted Reigns.
A Death-like Damp shoots through from his poisn'd Blood,
And fear's cold Chains Arrest the beating Flood.
A dreadful Face of Things confounds his Eye,
He cannot stay secure, nor can he fly.
Black Thoughts of Vengeance seize his guilty Heart,
And Conscience wounds him, with her poison'd Dart.
Amidst the Trees he starts at every Noise,
Grows Pale, and thinks he hears th' Almighty's Voice.
The trembling Branches make him tremble more,
Now feebler, than the Fig-leaves, which he wore.
Man's Soul, by this rude Shock from's Center driv'n,
Stands so a-skaunt, and so remote from Heav'n,
Tis scarcely warm'd by its weak, Oblique Ray,
And has at best but a cold, darksome Day.
Fall'n from its bright Etherial Seat on high,
Down to the lowest Regions of the Sky,
It feels th' attractive Earth's Magnetick Force,
And round this low-hung Ball directs its Course.
As when a Planet, once all fair and bright,
Sickens, and shines with pale and faded Light;
By some fierce Storm bred in its Bowels rent,
As Clouds are by the Thunder in 'em pent.
The mighty Orb disjoynted cracks, and all
The broken Parts in Noisy Ruin fall.
The hideous, burning Hull does floating lie,
And with the wondrous Wreck affrights the Sky.
Sometimes it blazes with a dismal Light,
And then grown dim, seems lost and drown'd in Night.
Then sinking does the Starry Sky forsake,
Contented some inferior Seat to take.
Where Heav'n new moulds the Heap, and from th' Abyss,
Calls forth perhaps a Moon, or Earth, like this.
So Man seduc'd by the Impostor fell,
From Heav'n's bright Coasts, to the black Verge of Hell.
There he his Lustre lost, and God-like Grace,
Shews the sad Ruins of a Heav'nly Face.
Where Peace dwelt undisturb'd, and smiling Light,
Confusion now, Chaos and horrid Night.
Black, frowning Clouds, and murmuring Thunder rose,
O'er the vext Region of his guilty Soul.
Fierce, driving Storms, and bleak Tempestuous Wind
Beat on the wasteful Desart of his Mind.
Revenge, Despair, Grief, Jealousie, and Fear,
Have in their Turns, supreme Dominion here.
Reason dethron'd must the Commands obey
Of this wild Rout, that holds the Sovereign Sway.
Mean Time, th' Almighty does his Summons send,
Thro' Heav'n for all his Angels to attend.
High in the Midst of the Etherial Skies,
A Mount of rocky Diamond did rise:
Insuperably steep, and too sublime
For the tir'd Wings of Cherubims to climb.
O'er-looking Heav'ns wide Vales and spacious Plains
It stands, and unmolested Peace maintains.
Here the Almighty's bright Tribunal stands,
Whence his Decrees are sent, and high Commands.
Hence he gives Laws to all the Worlds below,
And hence eternal Right and Justice flow.
Hence Punishments proceed, and just Rewards,
Hence Orders come to all th' Angelick Guards,
To keep the Peace of Heav'n, and next secure
On Earth th' afflicted, from th' Oppressor's Power.
And now the Thrones and Pow'rs the Vally fill,
And stand adoring round the sacred Hill.
Adam 's Rebellion they had newly heard,
And God's fierce Wrath in dreadful Signs appear'd.
Lightnings and Thunders isue from his Throne,
Lightnings scarce heard of, Thunder seldom known.
Tremendous Murmurs, and a mighty Sound
Of wondrous Ruine from the Hill rebound.
T'express incens'd Omnipotence conspire
Whirlwinds, thick Darkness and consuming Fire,
United Terrors, that with Fury broke
From the blest Mount, whence thus th' Almighty spoke.
The Man I made, and with my Image grac'd,
And next to your Angelick Order plac'd,
Revolting to th' Apostate Prince of Hell,
Against my Throne has yielded to Rebel.
The Death I threaten'd, now I must inflict,
So Justice bids, nor is its Rule too strict.
You're here from all the Regions of the Sky,
To hear the Rebel doom'd, and see him Dye.
He spake, and thro' all Heav'n a Terror strook,
The Sphears, and all the Frame of Nature shook.
The Moon grew Pale, the Sun all Dim appear'd,
And all the Sons of God stood Mute, and fear'd.
Th' Almighty his Vindictive Arm makes bare,
Stretch'd out his Hand, and did for Death prepare.
Mercy Shreek'd out, and trembling on her Face
Fell down, and did with Tears his Feet Embrace,
Offspring Divine, in Heav'n the most belov'd,
By whom ev'n Fate unchangeable is mov'd.
Her Looks so moving, such Celestial Grace,
So mild, and sweet an Air dwell on her Face,
So tender and engaging all her Charms,
That oft th' Almighty's Fury she disarms.
Her Language melts Omnipotence, arrests
His Hand, and thence his Vengeful Lightning wrests.
Then thus she spake:
Shall the successful, sly Impostor boast,
That by his Power the new Creation's lost?
Shall he thus Triumph in his impious Deed,
And all our Hopes defeat from Adam 's Seed?
Must this fair Race be lost, so lately made,
And Hell made Bold your Empire to invade?
Adam has sinn'd, and Heav'n's high Grace abus'd,
But sinn'd betray'd, and by Hell's Fraud seduc'd.
Can't Wisdom Infinite, Expedients find,
To punish Guilt, and yet preserve Mankind?
Compassion, with stern Justice mixt, will draw
Honour to Heav'n's just Government, and Awe
All from offending the Establish'd Law.
At this, the Eternal Son rose from his Place,
The bright Effulgence of his Father's Face,
His fair and express Image, full of Grace.
In whom Divine, Substantial Glory dwelt,
And who Almighty Life and Vigour felt.
Th' Essential Wisdom, th' Everlasting Word,
The Universal Heir, and Soveraign Lord.
And thus he Silence broke, mine be the Task
To do what Justice and Compassion ask.
To Rescue Man, my self will Man become,
Assuming Substance from a Virgin's Womb.
A willing Sacrifice, I'll Death Embrace,
Justice t'attone, and Ransom Adam 's Race.
The Father straight assented, Mercy simil'd,
To see the Serpent of his Prey beguil'd.
Justice well pleas'd, accpets the offer'd Price,
And Heav'n's aton'd by its own Sacrifice.
The Heav'ns with loud rebounding Shouts did ring,
And the glad Angels in new Anthems sing,
The Intercessor, and mysterious King.
The rolling Years their Circles fill apace,
And well-breath'd Time runs its appointed Race.
Till it brought on the Hour when all should see,
The Son make good to Man, his blest Decree.
That our expected Hope might be enjoy'd,
Divinity appears with Man alloy'd.
His native Glory darts destructive Light,
And bright Oppression pours on Mortal's Sight;
He therefore draws a humane Veil between,
That temper'd Lustre might not Kill, when seen.
Here two Extreams of distance infinite,
In one ineffable, mysterious Knot unite.
God lives conceal'd, within a Mould of Clay,
And does in Dust himself, and's Glory lay.
He that in all th' expanded Skies wants room,
Lies now encompass'd with a Virgins Womb.
Immensity is wrapt in Swadling Bands,
The Prince by whom the World's wide Fabrick stands,
Supported in his Mother's Arms we see;
And vast Eternity begins to be.
He leaves his Starry Seat, and glitt'ring Crown,
And lays his dazling Robes of Glory down.
Then in an humble travelling Dress is seen
Seeking, as unknown Strangers do, an Inn.
Lord of the World, to whom proud Monarchs owe
Their Crowns and Scepters, he that does bestow
Honours and Wealth profusely on the Great,
Can't for his own Repose, find out a Seat,
But must from Men, to kinder Beasts, Retreat.
No other Court receives the new-born King,
That to debase himself, did choose to bring
No other Pomp, but naked Innocence;
Nothing for Ornament, or for Defence.
He that the Wants of all the World supplies,
Himself oppress'd with Pain and Hunger, Cries.
He Man's Assistance asks in vain, to whom
For Aid and Comfort all th' aflicted come.
Angels that did the Royal Stranger know,
The greatest Signs of Joy and Triumph show.
The Out-guards of their Camp saw marching round
Celestial Splendor rising from the Ground.
And gave th' alarm, the shining Squadrons fly
To th' Out-lines, and the Frontiers of the Sky:
To see the wond'rous Mediator Born,
Whom they Adore, though stupid Hebrews Scorn.
Some with spread Wings shoot swiftly thro' the Air,
And to the Shepherds first the Tydings bear,
That a great Shepherd was at Beth'lem Born,
Whose Deeds and Triumphs should that Name Adorn.
Tho' Angels Sing, obdurate Men are mute,
Nor will their Saviour, and their King Salute.
Yet some few famous Sages come from far,
Conducted by a brigter Morning Star,
Left all the Wealth and Wonders of the East,
To see a greater Sun rise in the West.
To find the Prince to Herod they resort;
For where should Kings be found, but in a Court?
But the directing Star that led their Way,
Stands still, and points down with a streaming Ray,
To a mean Stable, where the Stranger lay.
Where they with humble Adoration View,
The Infant Intercessor, known to few.
Whom they present with Odoriferous Gums,
Choice Spices, and Arabia 's rich Perfumes.
The Sun of Righteousness begins to rise,
And Streaks with radiant Lines the Purple Skies.
Here did he from his healing Wings display,
The tender Dawn of Everlasting Day.
Pale Terror through the Courts of Darkness flew,
And Hell's sad Regions double Sorrow shew.
Th' Infernal Spirits wandring in the Air,
As Thunder-struck, in Anger and Despair,
With Shreeks and hideous Yellings fly the Sight,
And the keen Horrour of the Heav'nly Light.
Like obscene Birds of Night, they hast away
And shun in Clefts and Caves the Rising Day.
The Prince of Darkness now begins to fear,
The Dissolution of his Empire's near.
Th' ambiguous Oracles with Fear struck Dumb
Proclaim'd by Silence, the Messiah come.
Troubled and Sad th' Infernal Counsel sate,
Thoughtful how best t'avert th' impending Fate.
Various Projections, deep Designs were laid,
How best the dreaded Foe they might invade.
They first the Fury Jealousie dispatch,
To Herod 's Court that might Occasion watch,
To kindle strong Suspicions in his Breast,
That th' Infant from him should his Scepter wrest.
She did so well perform her Hellish Part,
Herod soon yielded to her subtle Art.
For while the Sages leave their Eastern home,
And to admire the wondrous Infant come.
Herod , afraid his ravish'd Crown to loose,
The Royal Infant's hated Life pursues.
What to pale Tyrants dreadful won't appear,
When Love and Innocence can move their Fear.
'Tis true,
A King he is, whose Empire's vast Extent,
Shall pass all Bounds, and last when Time is spent.
Submissive Monarchs shall their Scepters lay
Before his Feet, and his Just Laws Obey.
Kingdoms opprest shall his strong Aids invoke,
And thrust their Necks beneath his gentle Yoke.
The Roman Eagles shall the Conqueror own,
And Cæsar Court him to Ascend his Throne.
Admir'd by all, he shall in Triumph go
Where fruitful Nile , or fam'd Hydaspes flow,
Uncheckt by Africk Heats, or Scythian Snow.
Nations invited by his Fame, shall come,
More than e'er made their Court to Conquering Rome ,
In splendid Embassies to sue for Peace,
And Worlds unknown his Empire shall increase.
The Earth shall banish'd Justice now regain,
And Love and Truth attend the happy Reign.
Soft Peace and Joy the chearful Earth shall Crown,
And Savage Beasts shall lay their Fierceness down.
The Lyon, Wolf, and Lamb, no more their Prey,
And little Infants shall Promiscuous play.
The years in Golden Harness smiling pass,
And keeping beauteous Order run their Race.
Nor shall his Kingdom cease, or Subjects dye,
For when Time finds its empty Channel dry,
And all its disappearing Streams shall Sleep,
Lost and engulph'd in vast Duration's Deep.
Then shall this King his full Dominion gain,
And in Eternal Peace, and Triumph Reign.
But 'tis not Worldly Empire he design'd,
His Scepter is his Grace, his Throne the Mind.
Kings unmolested may their Scepters sway,
And Peaceful Subjects without Strife obey.
They may unrivall'd, and unenvy'd reign,
And all their Pomp, and Regal State maintain.
The great Redeemer has his Court unseen,
And reigns in Light, and Heavenly Love within.
But from the false Usurper's Cruelty
Officious Angels warn their Prince to fly.
He and his happy Parents leave their Home,
And all to Egypt 's safer Border's come.
Egypt tho' for its Monsters famous grown,
Is now by treach'rous Palestine out-done.
For here they find a more secure Abode,
Egypt , once Jacob sav'd, and now his God.
The wandring God returns, the Tyrant dead,
To rich Judæ's Soil from whence he fled.
Where he begins his Kingdom to assert,
And his mirac'lous Virtue to exert.
The Blind receiv'd their Sight, their Feet the Lame,
And the Dumb spake to celebrate his Fame.
Loud Storms and Winds were husht at his Command,
And fierce wild Beasts did tame and harmless stand.
The wondring Dead arise, and hasty come,
Obsequious to his Call, from out their Tomb.
With fresh-created Fish and Loaves he fed
Th' admiring Crowd, that lay around him spread.
To the Decrepit he knew Force appoints,
And with strong Nerves new-brac'd their wither'd Joynts.
His Breath oft cool'd fierce Feavers raging Flames,
And his sole Word the deadly Poyson tames.
Round him in Crowds the sick and feeble throng,
The sick grow easie, and the feeble strong.
Fresh healing Vertue he diffus'd around,
And dying Men rose leaping from the ground.
The Languishing reviv'd, th' Afflicted cheer'd,
Took healthful Looks, and smil'd when he appear'd.
Demons at his Command vext Men forsake,
And to th' Infernal Caves and burning Lake,
Their hasty Flight, with piercing Screeches take.
Such Miracles did his high Office prove,
And Universal Admiration move,
Of all the chiefest was his wondrous Love.
He whom rebellious Men might justly fear,
In all his chosen Terrors would appear,
With Military Pomp, and Trumpets Sound,
His shining Host of Cherubs pour'd around;
Arm'd with keen Lightning, and the sharpest Sword,
That all his Magazins of Wrath afford,
To lay all Wast before him, and Efface
All Footsteps of Apostate Adam 's Race,
He, unexampl'd Love! Attempts to win
Man from the Curse of Death, and Curse of Sin,
With Pity, more than that of Mothers Hearts,
With Mercy's Charms, and Love's preswasive Arts.
His high design was with his Heav'nly Light,
To chase away th' Impenetrable Night,
That cover'd this lost World, and re-inspire
Man's frozen Breast with fresh Celestial Fire.
Th' Almighty's faded Image to repair,
That its bright Lines might shine distinct and fair.
To raise laps'd Minds to that high State of Love,
Of Light and Bliss, the Blest enjoy above.
To pull all bold Usurping Passions down,
And settle Reason in its ancient Throne.
To break Sins heavy Chains, its Slaves release,
And fix 'twixt Earth and Heav'n a lasting Peace.
The Jews amus'd with Worldly Empire's Charms,
Hoping some Monarch with Victorious Arms,
With Roman pomp and Grandeur would arise,
The great Redeemer's humble State despise.
Inspir'd from Hell, his Message they refuse,
Deride his Person, and his Deeds accuse.
He that Supplies on all in want bestow'd,
Feasting with Miracles the hungry Crowd:
Finds from th' obdurate Hebrew no relief,
But with the Twelve Companions of his Grief,
He walk'd on his Eternal Purpose bent,
Scatt'ring his Heav'nly Gifts where'er he went.
Yet did unwelcom through their Regions stray,
From those ungrateful Cities thrust away,
Whence he had Devils and Diseases cast,
Him, and his proffer'd Heav'n, they from them chas'd.
At last his spotless Innocence traduc'd,
He stands before the Roman Throne accus'd;
On Cæsar's King Pilate in Judgment sits,
Condemns him, yet his Innocence acquits.
To please th' inexorable Jews he sheds
Blood, and Heav'n's dreadful Curses on their Heads.
That done, he wash'd his guilty Hands in vain,
The Blood he spilt, alone could Purge that Stain.
No Form of Cruelty his Foes omit,
They give sharp Stripes, and on his Face they Spit;
Which now adoring Angels blush to see,
Not for its Splendor, but Deformity.
To please united Cruelty and Scorn,
On's wounded Head they fix a Crown of Thorn.
They dress him in a Purple Robe, that gone,
His Blood with richer Purple dyes his own.
A Reed his Hand must for a Scepter sway,
Which with a Rod of Ir'n shall that Contempt repay.
They bow in Scorn before him, whilst he sate
A Pageant Prince, the mockery of State.
What various Shapes of Cruelty are shewn,
Under, and on his Cross he's made to groan.
And yet he bears a heavier Load within,
The pressure of the World's united Sin.
Stretcht on the cursed Tree his Body hangs,
Groaning its Life away in dying Pangs.
Forsaken both of Earth and Heav'n, his Breath
He wasted in the pains of lingring Death.
Whilst on his Soul the blackest Horrors dwell,
That feels the Pains, without the Guilt of Hell.
The Barb'rous Hebrews for whose sake he dy'd,
Stand by, and see their Sov'raign Crucify'd,
Without the slight Compassion of a Tear,
Scarce in the Crowd does one sad Face appear.
Their Insolence dares mock his dying Moans,
Sport with his Torments, and deride his Groans.
Though solid Rocks touch'd with Compassion rent,
The more obdurate Jew does not relent.
For Man he Dies, that Heav'n may be aton'd,
He dies, the Universe afflicted groan'd,
Heav'n's Everlasting Frame shook with the Fright,
And the scar'd Sun shrunk back, and hid his Light.
Thro' th' Earth's dark Vaults a shiv'ring Horror fled,
That whilst Convuls'd threw up th' awaken'd Dead.
Thin pallid Ghosts come sweeping o'er the Grass,
And howling Wolves Glare on them as they pass.
Hoarse Thunder Rolls in Subterranean Caves,
Chaos to hearken stills his Raging Waves.
Ev'n Hell gap'd horribly, such was the fright,
And thro' the Chasm let thro' prodigious Night.
Night that extinguish'd the Meridian Ray,
And with its gloomy Deluge choak'd the Day.
Sad Moans were heard, Shreeks, Howlings, Midnight Cries,
And Globes of Fire hung Blazing in the Skies.
A fierce Convulsion thro' the Temple went,
The Pillars trembled, and the Veil was Rent.
The Heav'n's and Earth both suffer'd when he dy'd,
As Nature's Self were with him Crucify'd.
Down by their Sides the silent Angels laid
Their Golden Harps, and neither Sung nor play'd;
Their drooping Wings, and Looks dejected show
Sadness, as much, as those blest Realms can know.
Thrice the swift Sun his radiant Chariot drove
O'er the blue Hills, and out-stretch'd Plains above,
As oft the Moon had shot her paler Light,
In silver Threads thro' the brown Vest of Night.
When the Reviving Saviour leave his Tomb,
And, as new-born, breaks from the Earth's dark Womb.
The Chains of Death shook off, he from the Ground,
Do's with new Force, Antæus like, rebound.
He comes in Triumph from the Conquer'd Grave,
And this blest proof of Resurrection gave.
Oft to his mournful Friends their Lord appear'd,
And their sad Minds with Heav'nly Pleasures cheer'd.
He then the Plan of his wise Kingdom laid,
Who should submit, and who should be obey'd.
To these he gave a Power to loose, and bind,
And with fix Bounds that Sacred Power confin'd.
He set the Rights his Subjects should enjoy,
Which Princes must Protect, but not Annoy.
And by wise Laws fixt all things that relate,
To the Support of his new founded State.
That done, pursu'd by their admiring Eyes,
Born on a shining Cloud he did arise,
In Heav'nly Pomp Triumphant thro the Skys.
The Clouds dividing in Obsequious Haste,
Smil'd, yielded by his Glory, as he pass'd.
Great Michael , Raphael , and the rest that boast,
The chief Commands in the Celestial Host,
Great Princes, Thrones, and high Seraphick States,
With splendid Equipage pour'd from the Gates;
Sublime in high Celestial Chariots rode,
Far out of Heav'n, to meet th' ascending God .
The Pow'rs and high Dominions with their Train,
Shone glorious bright on all th' Etherial Plain.
On a fair Hill that the wide Vale commands,
The numberless, angelick Army stands.
Drawn up in shining Lines, and Warlike Bands.
The Trumpets all salute him passing by,
And in the Air display'd the Banners fly.
And now arriv'd at Heav'n's Eternal Gate,
Attended with his long Triumphal State,
The blest Inhabitants due Honours give,
And all in Arms their conquering Prince receive.
Dispos'd in glorious Ranks each Order Shines,
And all the way the bright Militia Lines.
On's Chariot Wheels the thronging Cherubs hang,
With whose loud Shouts the Heav'n's high Arches rang.
Thus did he to th' Eternal's Palace ride
The Guards stood to their Arms on either Side:
Entring he took his Place, and Brightly shone
On the Right Hand, of his great Father's Throne.
Where he shall our great Intercessor stay,
Till the last Summons to the Judgment Day.
He ceas'd, and Hoel in his Arms embrac'd,
His God-like Friend, and cry'd, I'm highly grac'd
With this Divine Discourse, what Thanks to you,
Illustrious Prince, what Thanks to Heav'n are due?
Blest Peace came rolling on the raging Waves,
And your late Wreck, me and my Kingdom saves.
Kind Heav'n for me hath call'd forth Joy and Light,
From those fierce Storms, and that outrageous Night,
That forc'd your Vessels on th' Armoric Shore,
Your Loss I mourn, but Heav'n's Designs adore.
Long have I stray'd in gloomy Darkness lost,
Deep Gulphs, thick Woods, and trackless Mountains crost;
In endless Mazes, and in endless Night,
Without a Glimpse of Day, or Ray of Light.
The Gates of Light thrown open, you display
The first reviving Beams of Heav'nly Day.
Which darts across the Shades in shining Streaks,
And on my Mind in tender Dawning breaks.
How much I wish to see this Light Divine,
Rise to its Noon, and in full splendor shine?
You've open'd Heav'n's Eternal Springs, whence flow
Those sacred Rivulets, which you bestow
On the parch'd Region of this barren Breast,
Now with pure Streams of living Waters blest.
I drink them in with Joy, but thirst for more,
And for this thankful, still more Aid implore.
He ceas'd, the Prince who to oblige him strove,
Thus spake, all Seasons offer'd I'll with Joy improve,
To give more Light, and kindle greater Love.
My Toil and Sufferings when review'd, will please,
Caus'd by the stormy Winds and angry Seas,
If I can thus assist your Heav'nly Course,
Thro' gloomy Night, thick Mists, and Tempests force,
Thro' all the Snares of Hell, till you attain
Th' Eternal Haven, where blest Spirits Reign.
Now to the Foot of Heav'n's steep Precipice,
Ready to plunge into the deep Abyss,
The Red-fac'd Sun had roll'd the sinking Day,
Shooting along the Plains a level Ray.
The loving Turtle to his Airy Nest,
Flies with his moaning Mate, to Coe, and rest.
The timorous Hare steals from the Brakes to Feed,
And from the Yoke the lab'ring Ox is freed.
With strutting Teats the Herds come lowing home,
And Beasts of Prey o'er Hills and Forrests Roam.
And now the Princes, that had pass'd the Day
In various talk to Conda came, to stay
Till the appearance of the Morning Ray.
BOOK III
Now the Victorious Sun the Night invades,
Chasing from Hill to Hill, the flying Shades.
Up rose the Princes, and were soon prepar'd
To take their Way, attended with their Guard.
In the same Chariot friendly they abide,
And feeding grateful Conversation ride.
The British Captains, and th' Armorick Train,
On either Side their generous Coursers rein.
They past not far, when Hoel thus addrest,
With pleasing Looks, his Pious, British Guest.
Your lofty Subject now, brave Prince, resume,
How shall your Lord from Heav'n to Judgement come,
What follows, what precedes the general Doom?
The Briton then began.
Before the Son of God appears on high,
Prodigious Signs are seen thro' all the Sky.
New lighted Comets shake their Fiery Hair,
Or trail their flaming Trains along the Air.
Vast Circling Flakes of Fire the World amaze,
And intermixt, prodigious Meteors blaze.
The Sky shines terrible with Lightning's Flame.
And Thunder shakes the universal Frame
Th' impetuous roar, o'erturns Heav'n's lofty Towers
And starry Fragments fall in burning Showers,
Rent Clouds, pour Seas of raging Sulphur down,
Whose livid Flames th' extinguish'd Sun-beams drown.
Cross the red Air the flaming Torrents fly,
Gushing from all the fiery Springs on high.
The melting Orbs, and Firmaments conspire,
To make up one Tempestuous Sea of Fire.
The glowing Sphears dissolve with Heat and all
In mighty Floods of liquid Crystal fall.
The lofty Digues gape wide, that stood around,
And from the dark Abyss did Nature bound;
Chaos comes pouring thro' the hideous Crack,
And Nature's Ruins, and th' amazing Wreck
Of burning Worlds, by floating on his Waves:
Scarce its high Mounds th' Empyreal Region saves.
Heav'n's spacious Balls are on each other hurl'd,
Ruin with Ruin crush'd, and World o'erturn'd with World.
Confusion, Noise, and Horror fill the Air,
The Earth, loud Cries, Distraction, and Despair.
Fierce Storms of raging Vapours, that aspire,
Mixt with hot Steams, from subterranean Fire,
That Lakes of Sulphur burning all beneath,
That kindled Naphtha , and hot Metals Breath;
The Earth's grip'd Bowels with Convulsions rack,
And with loud Noise their trembling Prisons crack.
Imprison'd Thunder roars for wider room,
Proclaiming loud the World's approaching Doom.
The Globe distorted, burst, disjoynted, rent,
Gives to the burning Exhalations Vent.
Thro' gaping Clefts, the flaming Tempest flies,
And Hurricanes of Fire confound the Skies.
Great Cities, Mountains, Rocks, and shatter'd Hills,
Vast abrupt Tracks of Land, and sinking Isles,
Sap'd by the Flame, that underneath destroys;
Fall down with mighty Cracks, and dreadful Noise;
Prodigious Ruine filling all the Caves,
And dashing high the subterranean Waves.
Ætna , Vesuvius , and fiery kind,
Their Flames within blown up with stormy Wind;
With dire Concussions, and loud roar complain
Of deadly Gripes, and fierce consuming pain.
The lab'ring Mounts Belch drossy Vomit out,
And throw their melted Bowels round about.
Broad Sheets of Flame, Pillars of Pitchy Smoak,
And glowing Stones, the Airy Region choak.
Down their scorcht Sides metallick Torrents flow,
And form a dismal, flaming Sea below.
The fiery Deluge rolls along the Ground,
Dreadful for Colour, horrible for Sound.
Huge Stones, and vast unmelted Cakes of Oar,
The thick, unweildy Tyde encumber more.
Horrour in Triumph, smear'd with Smoak and Blood,
Rides cross the Ridge of the tremendous Flood.
It burns new Channels riding o'er the Plain,
And turns o'er Cities with its pond'rous Train.
Down to the Deep it rolls its massy Waves,
Outroars the Ocean, and its Waters braves.
Plung'd in the Seas it unextinguish'd lies,
And o'er the Waves the glowing Wedges rise.
Th' affrighted Seas the burning Horrour fly,
And the bare Shores beneath the Deluge Fry.
Into the Air th' exhaling Ocean goes,
Where Waters slept, a Lake of Sulphur glows.
All the hot Seeds, and hidden Stores of Fire,
From subterranean Prisons freed, conspire
With their bright Arms to lay all Nature wast,
And to the general Conflagration hast.
A fiery Chaos Reigns with lawless Power,
And unresisted Flames the World devour.
These Signs first giv'n, amidst the Starry Shears,
With all the Pomp of Heav'n the Judge appears.
Before his Chariot Wheels that roll on high,
Whirlwinds, and Clouds discharging Thunder fly,
And curling Lightnings run along the Sky.
Immortal Thrones, pour'd out from Heav'n's bright Gates,
Dominions, Powers, Seraphic Potentates,
Crown'd Saints, and Martyrs rang'd in glorious Rows,
Attend his Chariot, and his State compose.
The dazling Pomp stretches across the Sky,
From utmost East to West, and passing by
The Heav'nly Orbs, comes on descending slow,
Into the Airy Region here below.
O'er all the Sky, Heav'n's mighty Army shines,
And here it halts in deep embattel'd Lines.
In bright Celestial Armour Clad, they stand,
Their Swords of temper'd Flame drawn in their hand.
They mark a Camp of spacious Circuit out,
And cast up Crystal Ramparts round about.
On some fit Eminence, they raise on high
Their Lord's August Pavilion in the Sky.
His bright, sublime Tribunal here they place,
On which he sits, with awful, God-like Grace.
Such Flames of Fire, wheeling in Clouds of Smoak,
Issue from thence, as from Mount Sinai broke.
Array'd with Majesty, and cloath'd with Light,
He Glory darts too fierce for Angels Sight.
In Hallelujahs they his Greatness sing,
And the shook Sphears, with loud Hosannahs Ring.
Thus on the Throne, the Saviour sits prepar'd,
To Judge the World, to punish and reward.
And now th' unnumber'd Armies ready stand,
Grasping revenging Firebrands in their Hand,
And only wait their Leader's high Command.
The Signal giv'n, a general Shout, shall shake
The Heav'n's around, greater than Armies make
Rushing to Battel, or was heard in Rome ,
When conquering Cæsar came in Triumph home.
Their furious Arms devouring Tempests throw
On all the guilty, trembling World below.
They pour down mighty, fiery Cataracts,
Flaming Bitumen, and Sulphurous Lakes;
Red showers of fiery Arrows hissing fly,
And flashing Lightning flames around the Sky.
Fires from above, combin'd with Fires below,
O'er all the Earth in ruddy Torrents flow.
Vengeance Divine, wasts Nature's burning Store,
And drowns the Earth in Fire, all drown'd in Guilt before.
The Heat dissolves the Fabrick of the World,
The broken parts fall down, confusedly hurl'd:
Chaos restor'd does in wild Triumph reign,
And ruin'd Worlds his hideous Throne sustain.
Some great Archangel now springs forth on high,
And with the loudest Trumpet of the Sky,
Summons th' astonish'd, gazing World to come
To Judgment, and the Universal Doom.
The dreadful Noise shakes Heav'n's Etherial Mounds,
And in loud Ecchoes from the Sphears rebounds.
In Ecchoes terrible, and piercing Shrill,
That the low World with dire Amazement fill.
The guilty Fiends shreek out at these Alarms,
That in the Air fly thick in murmuring Swarms.
Their Prince himself trembles, and dares not stay,
But spreads his broad, dun Wings, and shoots away.
They sink confounded to th' Infernal Deep,
Or into Clefts, and hollow Mountains creep.
They find the fatal Hour's arriv'd at last,
That shall revenge their bold Rebellions past.
When to their Torments they shall be Restrain'd,
And lye beneath, on flaming Billows chain'd.
When Hell no more its Pris'ners shall release,
And Sin's black Empire must for ever cease.
No less the dreadful Sound, and awful Sight,
Confound proud Tyrants, and their Guards affright.
What Horrour now distracts each guilty Soul,
In their sad Breasts, what Storms of Vengeance roll.
How will they bear this dismal Scene of Wo,
Where will they stay secure, or whither go?
Terrour, Distraction, Anguish, fierce Despair
Drink up their Vitals, and their Heart-strings tear.
Ten Thousand poison'd Darts strike thro' their Reins,
And wound them with unsufferable Pains.
The Vulture bred within their Bowels gnaws,
And Conscience gripes them with her Harpys Claws.
Such Wounds, such Stings, such Pangs must now be born,
Of everlasting Death, the sad Forlorn.
What strange Confusion in their Looks appears,
What wild Amazement, Guilt and deadly Fears.
What howling Lamentation, what dire Cries,
What doleful Shreeks, and Yellings fill the Skies?
Besides, the Trumpet shakes the trembling ground,
The startled Dead awakwn at the Sound.
The Grave resigns its ancient Spoils, and all
Death's Adamantine Prisons burst, and fall.
The Souls that did their forc'd Departure mourn,
To the same Bodies with swift Flight return.
Whose scatter'd Parts God calls together, they
To their appointed Meeting hast away.
The crowding Atoms re-unite apace,
All without tumult, know, and take their place.
Th' assembled Bones leap quick into their Frame,
And the warm Blood renews a brighter Flame.
The quicken'd Dust feels fresh and youthful Heats,
While its old Task, the beating Heart repeats.
The Eyes enliven'd with new Vital Light,
Open, admiring whence they had their sight.
The Veins too, twine their bloddy Arms around
The Limbs, and with red, leaping Life abound.
Hard twisted Nerves new brace, and faster bind
The close knit Joynts, no more to be disjoyn'd.
Strong, new-spun Threds Immortal Muscles make,
That justly fixt, their ancient Figure take.
Brisk Spirits take their upper Seats, and dart
Thro' their known Channels thence, to every part.
The Men now draw their long forgotten Breath,
And striving break th' unweildy Chains of Death.
Victorious Life to every Grave resorts,
And rifles Death's unhospitable Courts.
Its Vigour thro' those dark Dominions spread,
From all their gloomy Mansions frees the Dead.
Now ripe Conceptions thro' the Earth abound,
And new sprung Men stand thick on all the ground.
The Sepulchres are quick, and every Tomb
Labours with Life, and grows a fruitful Womb.
But how the Dead are chang'd, their Bodies more
Unlike each other, than their Souls before!
How monstrous foul the guilty Dead arise,
Each struck with Horrour from his Neighbour flies!
How much deform'd they look, all stain'd with Sin,
Black and mis-shap'd without, but more within.
Ugly and Fiend-like, from their Graves they Crawl,
And on the ground, like bloated Vermin, sprawl.
And like them too, their Bodies have their Birth,
From putred Damps and Vapours in the Earth.
So Serpents that entangled lay asleep,
From out their Beds disturb'd, and waken'd creep.
They hiss, and cast their fiery Eyes around,
And with their loathsome Bellies mark the ground.
For flight their poisonous Volumes they display,
And urg'd with Fear and Anguish, hast away.
So this foul Brood are forc'd their Graves to leave,
And to the Ground their grov'ling Bellies cleave.
Earthy and Black, confin'd so long to Night,
They dread the Horrours of the chearful Light.
Amazing change! see, some of these were they,
Whose Heads were Crown'd, whose Hands did Scepters sway.
These did rich Purple, and fine Linnen wear,
And every Meal fed on delicious Fare.
That hideous Thing, that for a Covert seeks,
With hollow Eyes, fal'n Jaws, and ghastly Cheeks,
That monstrous Thing, was once, when kept with Care,
Proud of its Beauty, and look'd wondrous Fair.
Set off with all the Ornaments, that please
The Eye, and pamper'd with Luxurious Ease.
But how the guilty Crowd, wreckt with Despair,
With dismal Cries fill all the Ecchoing Air;
When they the Trumpet's dreadful Summons hear,
And find the Universal Judgment near!
Back to their Graves, the ugly Monsters fly,
And in those Coverts would for ever ly.
They call aloud for Death, and wish they might
Melt to thin Air, be drown'd, and lost in Night.
But when Blest Minds their Bodies meet, no Pair
Can look more Beautiful, and charming Fair.
The happy Souls shoot swiftly thro' the Sky,
And to the Graves and Sepulchers they fly.
Where they their long forsaken Bodies greet,
Which, like old Friends, they with fresh Pleasure meet.
Bodies, that seem, they are so Pure and Bright,
All thicken'd Glory, close compacted Light;
Purg'd and refin'd from all that's course and gross,
As melted Gold throws off the baser Dross.
Smiling they rise, such Charms, so sweet a Grace
They shew, as dwell not on a Mortal Face.
These rising Stars their Heav'nly Beams display,
Bright Harbingers of Everlasting Day.
Such Beauties, such mild Glories shall we see,
In the glad Spring of Immortality.
Yet these blest Sons of Light, that Angel-like,
Would mortal Eyes, with deadly Lustre strike,
Were those, that once their Excellence disguis'd,
Liv'd here oppress'd, and like their Lord, despis'd.
Welcom to them this long expected Hour,
Safe by their Judge's Favour, from his Power.
High Tides of Joy into their Bosoms run,
And Everlasting Life they feel begun.
This shall past Griefs in deep Oblivion drown,
Compleat their Triumphs, and their Virtues Crown.
These in the Spring, great Care and Toil bestow'd,
And water'd with their Tears, the Seed they sow'd.
The Harvest now their happy Hours employs,
In reaping Pleasures and Immortal Joys.
Bright Cherubims descending thro' the Air
To these blest Men with speedy Flight Repair,
Then to the gen'ral Doom aloft they fly,
And on their Wings convey them thro' the Sky.
In all the way encouraging their Charge,
Telling of all the Joys of Heav'n at large.
Plac'd in the Presence of their Lord they stand
In their appointed Seats, at his Right-hand.
Whilst other Angels from the Deep of Hell,
Drive up the Fiends that in those Regions dwell.
With Swords of keenest Flame compelling some,
And dragging others to the gen'ral Doom.
In Anguish and Despair, the yelling Fiends
Curse, Gnash, and Bite th' Eternal Chain that binds
So close, and strait, then turn their Heads away,
From the fierce Terrour of so bright a Day.
And impious Men in no less Horror fly
To all the Shades, and Coverts they descry.
Mountains and Rocks their fruitless Cries invite,
To fall, and hide them from the Judge's Sight,
For rise they must, and lose their vain Desire,
Caught up in Whirlwinds, and in Storms of Fire.
Before the Judge the Pris'ners stand in Sight,
And take the Left-hand, as the Just the Right.
Th' Eternal Books before the Judge are brought,
Where all Mens long-forgotten Deeds are wrote.
And first are read the Vertues of the Just,
Their Zeal for Heav'n, their Courage, Hope, and Trust.
The Prayers, the Tears, the Alms themselves conceal'd,
Before applauding Angels are reveal'd.
The righteous Judge thier Innocence declar'd,
Allots the glorious Kingdom, he prepar'd
For pure and holy Minds a blest Reward.
Their Guardian Angels at their Lord's Command,
Crown the glad Saints with an Officious Hand.
Who now in perfect Bliss, their time employ
Discoursing, to promote their mutual Joy,
How first they left the pleasurable way,
Where wanton Streams of soft Delights convey
Charm'd Souls, that with the treach'rous Tyde must go,
To the dead Lake of Pain and endless Wo.
How first they lik'd the dark and lonesome Road
That leads to Bliss, and the blest Minds Abode.
How when in Shades they mourn'd, a Heav'nly Ray
Darted a welcome, tho imperfect Day.
How Vertue's guidance they impolor'd and gain'd,
And what blest Converse with her they maintain'd.
How thro' dark Paths she did their Feet conduct,
Correct the wanderers, and the rest instruct.
How by her Aids they bore tempestuous Shocks,
Climb'd o'er opposing Hills, and hanging Rocks
Till they at length the Peaceful Realms did gain,
Where Joys Divine, and endless Transports Reign.
How sweet and fair Crown'd Innocence appears,
No more tost on the Waves of Hopes and Fears?
On mortal Face such Beauties never shone,
Like those of Virtue, seated on her Throne.
Next this, th' Apostate Angels are accus'd,
That open Force, or secret Arts they us'd
To set their Leader, on th' Eternal's Throne,
Subvert Christ's Empire and advance their own.
That Man by them seduc'd, did first Rebel,
Relinquish'd Heav'n, and to their Party fell.
That they the curst Defection did support,
And new Born Men, to new Rebellions Court.
That they, with indefatigable Care,
Fresh Heats fomented, and renew'd the War.
Whence Plagues and Desolation wide, and vast,
And uncontroll'd Destruction laid all waste
Hence Noah 's universal Deluge came,
And hence the World lies now o'erwhelm'd in Flame.
For these black Crimes they're sentenc'd to the pains,
Of fiercer Fire, and doom'd to heavier Chains.
Next Cain 's Rebellious Offspring are accus'd,
As Heav'n's inveterate Foes, who long abus'd
Goodness Divine, whom Everlasting Love
And Life Eternal, had no Charms to move.
They would no reconciling Terms embrace,
Alike by Threats unchang'd, or Acts of Grace.
They did with Wine and Noise the Method find,
To Calm a Conscious, self-revenging Mind.
To lay asleep th' uneasie Judge within,
Till they with Care and Pains, grew bold in Sin.
For when the sacred Spirit did convey
Into their Breasts, a secret Heav'nly Ray,
That did, where cherish'd, soon bring on the Day:
With hasty Care they choak'd the new-sprung Light,
Calling to Aid the Shades of Hell, and Night.
Divine Compassion's Force they never felt,
Nor would in Flames of Love Eternal melt.
Their Hearts untouch'd did all Heav'n's strokes repel,
Temper'd, and harden'd in the Forge of Hell.
No Overtures of Peace, no Offers made,
Tho' of an endless Kingdom, could perswade
The unrelenting Rebels, to lay down
Their impious Arms, to take a Heav'nly Crown.
They still asserted with their latest Breath,
Their fixt Confed'racy with Hell, and Death.
'Tis on them charg'd, that others too that fell,
Drawn by their Arts, embark'd for Death and Hell.
They led them to the flowry Banks, and show'd
The flatt'ring Tide, where smiling Pleasures flow'd.
Where the charm'd Voyagers did careless ride,
Bewitching Syren 's singing on their side.
Till the false Flood betray'd them thither, where
It falls into the Gulph of black Despair.
Here secret Crimes are publish'd, and his Name
Who lov'd the Sin, but fear'd th' attendant Shame.
The sly Adulterer, that till the late
Approach of Night, and silent Shades did wait,
For the Caresses of the Harlot's Fed,
And at the early dawn of Twilight fled;
Is here upbraided, for his careful flight
Of Mens, whilst he contemn'd th' Almighty's sight.
Th' audacious Wretch that did Heav'n's Laws deride,
And all its Thunder and dire Threats defy'd;
That did cloy'd Nature to fresh Guilt excite,
Beyond her own ev'n Vicious Appetite:
Anti-Platonic that could pleasure take
In naked Vice, and sinn'd for sinning's sake;
That could abstracted from Enjoyment, sport,
With Guilt, and Vice ev'n in Idea court.
That did himself, so much he lov'd the Fame,
The secret Triumphs of his Lusts proclaim,
Strives in the Crowd to hide his guilty Head,
Whilst his high Charge, and black Indictment's read.
Th' astonish'd Wretch Sinks, Trembles, Dies to see
Enrag'd Omnipotence, and frowning Majesty.
Such deadly Torments on his Bowels feed,
Such Agonies he feels, as far exceed
All Shapes of Horrour, Mortals ever saw,
Poets invent, or troubl'd Fancies draw.
That there's a God, he gives a full Assent,
On the most sure, but saddest Argument.
He can his Being, and his Power attest,
From the Almighty Vengeance in his Breast.
Thus he at last believes, and trembles too,
On the same grounds that tortur'd Spirits do.
The Droll'ry that derided Heav'n's just Cause,
He hears repeated, but without Applause.
His Jests and bold Discourses will not fit
This place, nor pass, ev'n with his Friends, for Wit.
Will he his feeble Arguments produce,
And make them here, renew their former Use?
Will he assert his Innocence, and plead
'Twas only harmless Nature he obey'd?
That he to Vice did not his Mind enslave,
But only pleas'd the Appetites Heav'n gave.
Will he inform the Judge, it cannot be
A Being Good, and Merciful, as He,
Can so much Rigour to his Errors show,
And make a Creature for Eternal Wo?
The Wretch's bold Objections will appear,
His wanton Fancy's wild Capriches here.
Able no more to stifle with their Night,
The Natural Dictates of his inbred Light.
They can't the deadly Stings within controul,
Nor ease the Horrors of his tortur'd Soul.
And now less hardy Pris'ners are Arraign'd,
That had not this obdurate temper gain'd.
Of such a Pendulous, Distracted Mind,
That oft to Heav'n, and oft to Hell inclin'd.
To make up Peace, they would with neither part,
But shar'd between them a divided Heart.
These travell'd on so long the happy Way,
That leads to Life, and pure Etherial Day:
Till they reach'd Heav'n's bright Confines, could descry
The Peaceful World of Immortality.
But then, discourag'd at the steep Ascent,
And the strait Gate, thro' which the Trav'llers went,
Gave back, and did of their past Toil repent.
But how they now abhor the Cowardize,
That made them almost Conquerors, miss the Prize:
Made them desert a prosperous Cause as lost,
That could so many Spoils, and Triumphs boast.
Curst Sloth, that could perswade them to forsake
Christ's Camp, when such a Kingdom was at Stake.
Each hears his aggravated Crimes at large,
Devils accuse, and Conscience backs the Charge.
They can't excuse, or hide their Crimes, nor fly,
Nor what's the Refuge of the wretched, dy.
Now let their past Enjoyments Succour give,
Let Wit, and Wine their deadly Fears relieve.
Let their dear Riches their Assistance lend,
Hounour and Pomp th' ambitious Man defend.
Let them solicite with their loudest Cries,
Those Gods, they serv'd, to save their Votaries.
Blest Heav'n, that Man with such a swift Career,
Pursues those Toys which are so useless here.
The Judge will all his Terrors now assume,
And thus pronounce the Pris'ners dreadful Doom.
For ever cursed Souls from me depart,
As you did oft my Cause, I you desert.
Go, burn in Everlasting Fire, prepar'd
For Devils, take that sad, but just Reward.
Sink to the Bottomless Abyss of Hell,
Where Agonies, and endless Sorrow dwell.
Go to those Mansions of Despair, and lie
In never ceasing Torments, go, and die.
The Rebels this expected Sentence past,
With Thunder and Tempestuous Fire are chas'd,
To Hell's black Gulph, thro' all th' Etherial Wast.
Where they shall see no chearful Ray of Light,
Doom'd to the Horrours of Eternal Night.
Th' Almighty's Arrows Fester in their Heart,
Drink up their Blood, and gall with deadly Smart.
His Wrath consumes the wretch, his Power sustains,
And like fierce Poison o'er their Vitals, Reigns.
They waste their Souls in Cries, and howling Moans,
And spend Eternity in fruitless Groans.
Now the abstrusest Paths of Providence,
That gave the wisest Men so great Offence,
Are so unriddl'd, and made easie here;
The Night dispell'd, they shine as Noon-day, clear.
Justice that did till now her Graces shrowd,
And walk'd on Earth, encircled with a Cloud;
That did such by, and uncouth Ways frequent,
Perplex'd with Windings, frightful for Ascent;
See this bright Goddess to her Throne restor'd,
Unveils her Majesty to be ador'd.
Her Cloud thrown off, her Form is all Divine,
No Lustre now, her Glory can out-shine.
Such are the Beauties of her Charming Face,
Fair Mercy's Self, looks not with sweeter Grace.
Rivals no longer, they are here combin'd,
And in so strict a Bond of Friendship joyn'd;
They seem distinguish'd only by their Name,
Their Charms alike, their Votaries the fame,
And both are Worship'd with an equal Flame.
Justice to all in such due measures shown,
The Judge returns to his Celestial Throne.
And as he goes, crown'd Saints, and Seraphs sing
Loud Songs of Praise to their Triumphant King.
He enters Heav'n attended with his Train,
Who in the new Jerusalem shall Reign.
The City stands on pure expanded Fields
Of rising Ether , that wide Prospect yields
O'er all the Gulph, and outstretcht Vales below,
O'er all th' Inferiour, spacious Orbs can show.
The Walls are Marble of the richest Vein,
And their high Towers o'er-look the Azure Plain.
Of polish'd Gold the glorious Structures rise,
With gilded Spires, and Turrets in the Skies.
From Heav'nly Quarries on their Front appear
Rich Stones, like Winter Stars, but far more clear.
Immortal Rubies, Diamonds, Saphirs meet,
In beauteous Mixture, and bright Orders set
Rare Works, where Cost immense, and Art combine,
Built and adorn'd by th' Architect Divine,
To be for Holy Minds a blest Abode,
Th' Imperial Seat, and Residence of God.
The Streets are all of fine, Etherial Glass,
Pure, like the spotless Minds, that thro' them pass.
Thro' these Eternal, living Rivers flow,
Trees on their Banks, in goodly Ranges grow,
That with their golden Fruit, immortal Health bestow.
Twelve Gates of Orient Pearl unshaken stand,
Shut, and unbarr'd by the Almighty's Hand.
A steepy Gulph is plac'd beneath the Walls,
And down as low as Hell's Abyss, it falls;
Lest Hostile Fiends should leave their burning Lake,
And bold Excursions to these Regions make.
The Air's Serene, and fit for happy Minds,
Secure from Thunder, and th' Assaults of Winds.
No Clouds, but those of curling Incense rise,
By playing Zephirs tost about the Skies;
That with their gentle Breath sweet Odours blow,
That from Blest Woods, and Heav'nly Gardens flow.
No noxious Damps, the Region's so sublime,
From Hell's Infernal Caves, can hither Climb.
No foul terrestrial Steams pollute the Air,
No Breaths ascend, but those of Praise, and Prayer.
Essential Glory from th' Almighty's Face,
With its resplendent Efflux, lights the Place.
All Heav'n's fair Orbs, thin'd and beat out in Light,
Would not spread out a Day, so pure and bright,
As that, the Saints Illustrious Order sheds,
From the encircling Glory round their Heads.
The vanquish'd Sun would there seem Dark, his Light
Whence our course Day proceeds, would there make Night.
So Glorious are the Dwellings of the Saints,
Outdone by nothing, but th' Inhabitants.
On lofty Thrones the Heav'nly Princes sit,
In Robes as white, as new-fall'n Snow, and writ
In Golden Characters, their Foreheads bear
Their Saviour'sName, their Breasts his Image wear.
Immortal Vigour shines on ev'ry Face,
They look with Mild, but with Majestick Grace.
Thick Beams of Light stream out from ev'ry Head,
Each Saint does his own Heav'n about him spread,
His radiant Feet on pointed Glory tread.
Safe on the Shore with Pleasure they behold,
How the thick Waves are on each other rowl'd.
What Dangers of a strange amazing Shape,
What fatal Rocks, they scarcely did escape.
They hear the Winds grow loud and turbulent,
See Clouds swoln big, with Thunder in 'em pent,
With which the lowring Sky is over-cast,
Hang down upon the Seas which they have past.
Viewing these Woes themselves did once endure,
They stand surpriz'd, as if not yet secure.
Amaz'd at all the Glory they possess,
Wonder almost suspends their Happiness.
They on so sweet, and rich a Climate thrown,
Forget their Dangers, now for ever gone.
Th' Almighty they enjoy, at whose Right Hand
Fulness of Joy, and Life Eternal stand.
Down from his Throne, as Light does from the Sun,
Rivers of fresh Delight for ever run.
With ravish'd Eyes they drink in Heav'nly Beams,
That from his Face flow down in Glorious Streams.
They gaze so on the Beatifick Sight,
Till they become all Intellectual Light.
So long they his substantial Brightness view,
Till they all grow Divine, and God -like too.
So quick they feel the mighty Influx come,
The most Capacious, thirsty Souls want room.
They widen and extend themselves, to hold
Those Floods of Joys, that to their Breasts are roll'd;
Till they a vast, unmeasur'd Bliss possess,
And strive beneath th' unweildy Happiness.
If but a Glimpse of Heav'n, whose Glory streams
Thro' the thick Clouds in weak, refracted Beams,
Can please so much, what Joys have those above,
Where perfect Knowledgekindles perfect Love?
Transports Ineffable their Minds employ
Delug'd in Glory, lost in Tides of Joy.
Here Innocence will all its Lustre show,
The mournful Looks thrown off, it wore below.
Sorrows for ever banish'd hence repair
To the low, Guilty Regions of the Air.
There no black Clouds of Discontent appear,
That spread themselves o'er these dark Vallies here.
No Groans are heard , no Tears fall down the Face,
To interrupt the Joy, of this blest Place.
No crossing Arms, or sad dejected Eyes,
Seek out the secret Corners of the Skies.
If Course, Terrestrial Pleasures, court the Sense
With such strong Charms, that few can make Defence,
When backward Nature's forc'd by Wit, and Art,
All her delicious Treasures to impart.
When the short Days in all Delights are spent,
That soft, Luxurious Asia can invent.
What are the Nobler Pleasures, that transport
The blest, that reign in this Celestial Court?
That no Decay, or Intermission know,
Debas'd, when liken'd to the best below.
The Clouds all broke, the Tempest chas'd away,
The Smiling Skies disclose a chearful Day.
They've changed the Desart's dry and barren Sand,
For all the Riches of a fruitful Land:
Where with Immortal Food they're ever fed,
And drink pure Pleasures at the Fountain's Head.
Hatred, Distress, and Grief, are banish'd hence,
The sad Companions once, of Innocence.
No dying Martyrs Flames, or private Cries
Of Innocents opprest, disturb the Skies.
Here our Delights are mixt with base Allay,
We have at best but a Tempestuous Day.
Our Sweets are still attended with a Sting,
And great Enjoyments, greater Sorrows brings.
Delights, those Beautiful Illustrious, play
Around us, and, when grasp'd, they glide away.
Here tempting Joys, our fond Embraces fly,
Choice, Forraign Flowers, they only Blow, and Die.
They shew themselves, but will not with us dwell,
But, like hot Gleams, approaching Storms foretel.
Pure unmixt Pleasures on us never flow'd,
But Stream, like watry Sun-beams, thro' a Cloud.
But those above, see no unlovely Day,
Their Joys no mixture know, nor fear Decay.
In those blest Realms they know no thoughtful Care,
Ever to Triumph is th' Employment there.
There's no Vicissitude of Day, and Night,
No Years, or Ages, measure Heav'n's Delight;
Time has quite finish'd, and gone thro' its Round,
It did their Grief, but can't their Pleasure Bound.
Its Streams here disembogued for ever ly
Lost in th' Abyss of Immortality.
They no sad fears of future Sorrows know,
Compleatly Happy, and for ever so.
For Ever!
We strive in vain to hold this Boundless Space;
Too wide and vast, for Mortals to Embrace.
Our Arms may clasp the Earth with greater Ease,
And spread themselves ashore round all the Seas.
When Ages have their widest Circle run,
Heav'n wears not, still its Joys are but begun.
The Heros here forget their toil and pain,
And in Eternal Peace, and Triumph reign.
No more the Scoffer mocks their pious Care,
As Native Dulness, and ungrounded Fear.
How different Fate he and the Impious Kind,
Chain'd in the dark Infernal Prisons, find?
Near the wild Deep where restless Atoms fight,
And th' unfrequented Coasts of ancient Night,
Where Nature ne'er on Pregnant Matter sate,
To hatch warm Life, and its straight Bounds dilate.
There stands the vast, unbottom'd Gulph of Hell,
Where Sin and Death, in all their Terrors dwell.
Beyond the Verge of Day, these Regions ly,
As low and black, as Heav'n is bright and high.
Horror, and Night hand dismal o'er the place,
And grizly Forms fill all the gloomy space.
Dead Seas of pond'rous Darkness lie around,
And the sad Realms, from Light's grey Frontiers bound.
Darkness that blunts the sharpest pointed Ray,
And unannoy'd, repels th' Invading Day.
The sluggish Air is choak'd with soultry Gleams,
With poisonous Damps, and suffocating Steams;
That from wide Lakes of boiling Sulphur rise,
Laden with Groans, and Everlasting Cries.
No such malignant Breaths, such deadly Reeks,
The delving Miner that hid Treasure seeks,
E'er let out from a Subterranean Cell,
As those which break from the black mouth of Hell.
A fiery Sea burns fiercely all beneath,
Blown up, and kindled by th' Almighty's Breath.
In flaming Heaps the livid Ocean rolls,
And scalding Waves involve despairing Souls.
The boiling Floods terrific Colours shew,
Some deeply Red, and others faintly Blue.
These with the Shades contend, but can't dispel
The Darkness that surrounds the burning Cell.
Or if they do, they dart pale, dismal Light,
Worse than the Horrors of the blackest Night.
The troubled Whirlpool belches Burnings out,
And throws red Seas of Sulphur round about.
Columns of Smoke, with spiral Flames of Fire
Inwreath'd, from wide-mouth'd Furnaces aspire.
Hence the black Region is annoy'd with Fumes,
Stench, Reeks, and Flame, that kills, but not consumes.
So when a Mount, hot with Metallic Seeds,
In its rich Sides a secret Burning feeds;
Soultring within, it casts up Pitchy Smoke,
And the dead Air ascending Vapours choak.
In mighty Floods, the wide Volcano's throw
Their melted Treasures out, and overflow
With glowing Torrents all the Neighbouring ground,
That lies beneath a burning Deluge drown'd.
Thro' all the Air the liquid Riches fly,
And Floods of Fire dash thick against the Sky.
All Hope for ever banish'd flies this place,
And fixt Despair sits Pale on every Face.
Grief, Anguish, Terrour, Shame, Confusion here,
In Forms more terrible than Death, appear.
Here hateful Sin throws off its flatt'ring Charms,
And shews a Monster in the Sinner's Arms.
It now no more can please awaken'd Eyes,
Stript of stoll'n Beauties, and the fair Disguise
Of promis'd Good, it does it's self disclose
Its hideous Shape, and ghastly Visage shows.
Th' affrighted sinner seeing, fain would fly
Th' Embraces of such foul Deformity
He would forget their past Endearments now,
And from the Monster strives in hast to go.
But 'twill not be; those Friends on Earth must dwell
For ever, sad Companions too, in Hell.
This fiery Gulph, was as their just reward,
For Lucifer , and his black Host prepar'd;
Where now the Fiends, once fairest Sons of Light,
Lye plung'd in Flame, chain'd in Eternal Night.
These wretched Minds, once pure and free from Stain,
In the brightest Palaces of Heav'n did Reign.
Array'd with dazling Brightness, there they dwelt,
Blest with their great Creator's sight, and felt
The beaming Influx breaking from his Face,
And shar'd the Pleasures of that Blissful Place.
Till with the task of blest Obedience tir'd,
They to th' Eternal's Sacred Throne aspir'd.
Incens'd with such Ambitious Aims, their Lord
Strikes thro' the Rebels with his flaming Sword.
Headlong he casts them from the Seats above,
No longer now, the Creatures of his Love.
Flaming, and Thunder-struck, the Traytors fell,
And sunk down to the fiery Jaws of Hell.
As when strong-rising Flames resistance find,
Beat downwards, by a fierce, impetuous Wind:
The liquid Pyramids, with labour bend
Their tops, and sink still struggling to ascend.
So did these Beings of a Heav'nly Race,
Fall from the Regions of their Native Place.
Still working up, they sunk in Pain and Toil,
For downwards thrown, their Natures still recoil.
So difficult's an Angel 's Fall, and thus
Sinking's to them, what rising is to us.
But who has Strength t'oppose th' Almighty 's Hand,
Who can against his deadly Terrours stand?
He with a single Word, an angry Frown,
Subdu'd this Host, and cast them headlong down.
Confounded, and amaz'd they sink, and all
Heav'n's Plagues, and Wrath, pursu'd them in their Fall.
Here they must lie far from the Coasts of Bliss,
Chain'd in the Dungeons of the dark Abyss:
Where now they feel what Guilt's Demerits are,
Weltring in Fire, and tortur'd with Despair.
How much they curse the sad Exchange, black Night ,
And endless Death , for Heav'nly Joy and Light.
Sunk deep in liquid Fire they lift their Eyes,
Red both with Heat and Anguish, to the Skies.
Then rave aloud, to think what Joys they've lost,
To think how dear their bold Rebellion cost.
Nor is the Change of these two Dwellings such,
So great, but they themselves, are chang'd as much.
See how deform'd they are, to what before,
Stript of the Glory that in Heav'n they wore.
How much they look too like their guilty State,
How foul, and how unlike themselves of late.
Such fatal Changes one bold Crime can make,
Heav'n's lost, nay more left for a burning Lake.
Man's Crime th' Infernal Gates did open lay,
And rais'd, and pav'd, a broad and easie Way;
Leading a-cross the Gulph from Earth to Hell,
Where now, lost Men , with impious Spirits dwell.
A Way that's throng'd with mighty Crowds of those,
That for Delight and Ease, this Passage chose.
In Sports and Mirth they journey on, and find
All the Delights that please a Vicious Mind.
The Way's so wondrous smooth, so prone and broad,
They rather fall, than travel down this Road.
But how surprizing is their Journey's End,
To what dire Seats does this smooth Passage tend?
Down to th' Infernal Gulph they sporting glide,
Born on enchanting Pleasures wanton Tyde.
A sad Exchange they meet, outrageous Seas
Of Sulphurous Fire, for Luxury and Ease.
In Darkness chain'd, on flaming Billows tost,
Too late they find themselves for ever lost;
Hopeless they rave, and curse the easie Way,
That did their Feet to these sad Realms betray.
Hither the damn'd , the final Sentence past,
With Cherubs bright, revenging Swords are chas'd.
Pursu'd with everlasting Wrath, they take
Their woful Refuge, in the burning Lake.
Transfixt on unextinguish'd Fire they ly,
Burn without Wast, without expiring dy.
Those Agonies, those Terrors here they know;
That from a self-revenging Conscience flow.
Grip'd with the sad Remembrance of their Sin,
They feel the Stygian Viper gnaw within.
With deadly Stings, th' Almighty wounds their Hearts,
And in their Breasts sticks deep his fiery Darts.
Along their Veins tempestuous Vengeance rolls,
Pouring Despair, and Horrour on their Souls.
Who can with everlasting Burnings dwell,
And bear the Guilt, and Punishment of Hell?
What Strength or Courage can support the Load
Of Wrath, inflicted by th' Almighty God?
Hear how the Damn'd devour'd with Plagues, begin
To Curse aloud their Judge, Themselves, their Sin.
Transported with their Anguish, Grief, and Shame,
They gnash their Teeth, and bite the raging Flame.
Then sunk in deep Despair, such Sighs they breath,
Such dismal Groans, which but to hear, is Death.
A secret Fire their Breasts, like Ætna , feed,
And like that too, do their own Thunder breed.
Their Hellish Nature its own punishment,
Is a worse Plague, than Furies can invent.
Their Lusts, like Vulture, tear their inward parts,
And never-ceasing Torments, rend their Hearts.
Their vicious Appetites, not yet destroy'd
Still crave the Pleasures, they on Earth enjoy'd:
Though those are gone, the fierce, untam'd Desire
Remains, and burns worse than their Lake of Fire.
But what's the most afflicting Plague of Hell,
With all these Woes, they must for ever dwell.
For Ever! fatal State, for Ever who
Can bear the Doom of Everlasting Wo?
What deadly Pangs, what fierce Convulsions rend
Their Breasts, who know their Pains shall never end.
How the despairing Damn'd cry out, is this
The Place we chose, instead of Heav'nly Bliss?
Is this black Prison, these tormenting Chains,
This Lake of Fire, these Eternal Pains,
The dismal Recompence our Crimes afford,
And must we thus curst, tortur'd, and abhor'd,
In these consuming Flames, these Torments ly,
To all the Ages of Eternity?
Curst be the fatal Crimes, that we obey'd,
That stole our Hearts, and have our Lives betray'd.
Curst be the transient false Delights that shew'd
The Charms, which we so greedily pursu'd;
Till down the steepy Precipice, we fell
Into this deep Abyss of Death, and Hell;
Curst be the treacherous Joys, that leave us now
Doom'd to Despair, lost in Eternal Wo.
He ended, Hoel highly pleas'd, exprest
The grateful Sense, which fill'd his joyful Breast.
Methinks he cry'd, I view th' Infernal Caves,
And see the damn'd float on the raging Waves
In the dire Lake, where flaming Brimstone rolls,
And hear the dismal Groans of tortur'd Souls.
Then looking up, I see the Blest above,
Dissolv'd in Raptures of Eternal Love.
I seem to view their bright, triumphant Throngs,
And hear their Harps, and sweet Harmonious Songs.
Then he the Briton various questions asks,
Who with great Joy performs the pious Tasks,
He teaches sacred Myst'ries yet behind,
And stamps the Christian Image on his Mind.
BOOK IV
In such divine Discourse, on things sublime,
The Royal Pair with Pleasure pass'd their Time.
Now the day wears, the Sun-beams faintly bound,
And taller Shadows stretch along the ground.
Advanc'd, the rising Eminence they gain,
That gave full prospect o'er the fertile Plain,
Where the Imperial Seat of Hoel stands,
And all the Soil and Towns around, commands.
Fair Liger the Armoric Region's Pride,
Does thro' the Vale in smooth Meanders glide,
And rolls his Silver Volumes by its side.
Here the Nannetian Heroes did of old,
For Arms and Wisdom fam'd, the Scepter hold.
Arthur the Strictures height, and Pomp admires,
The lofty Walls, strong Towers, and glitt'ring Spires.
He views the rich and fruitful Region round,
Where wanton Nature fate in pleasure crown'd,
Scattering with lavish Bounty on the Soil,
Riches and Joys, without the Owner's Toil.
To Martial Sports by thirst of Honour led,
The active Youth o'er all the Fields are spread.
Some of robuster Limbs advance their Name
In wrestling Rings, the fam'd Olympick Game.
Some rein their manag'd Steeds with manly grace,
Some swift in running strain to win the Race.
Some hurling pond'rous Balls their Fellows brave,
Some twang the Bow , and some the Colours wave.
But all desert their Games, and Warlike sport,
And round the Kings, run shouting to the Court.
Which was an ancient, stately Pile , that stood
On the sweet Banks of Liger 's peaceful Flood.
Alighted here, th' Armoric Prince exprest,
All signs of welcom to his Royal Guest.
He leads him to a fair and spacious Room,
Hung with rich Pieces, from the finest Loom.
Rare Workmanship, where fam'd Sydonian Art
Did all her Force, and happy Strokes impart.
Each piece fresh Pleasure, and new Wonder feeds,
Fill'd with th' Armoric Kings Heroick Deeds.
Their great Exploits in single Combate done;
The Towns they conquer'd, and the Fields they won.
Pleas'd with the Skill, and Story, Arthur stands,
And much of this, and much of that, demands.
Mean time, within a Supper they prepare,
With great Magnificence, and Regal Fare.
Strong, brawny Servants sweat, and panting strode,
O'erburden'd with the Meats unweildy Load.
The Iv'ry Tables groan beneath the weight
Of high pil'd Dishes , all of massy Plate,
In decent Order set, and Princely State.
All things appear, which curious search can find,
Or in the Finny , or the Feather'd Kind:
That Hills , or ransack'd Forests can impart,
Profusely heap'd, set off with costly Art.
Of Polish'd Gold capacious Goblets shine,
With sparkling Stones enrich'd, and sparkling Wine.
Delicious Fruit crown'd with fresh Laurel stood
In lofty Pyramids, a golden Wood.
Great Lights in silver Sconces plac'd on high,
Shine round the Room, and more than Day supply.
The Kings both sate, the Briton s take their place,
The other side th' Armoric Captains grace.
Chearful and highly pleas'd, they Sit, and Eat,
And now the Art they praise, and now the Meat.
Choice Instruments , some Strung, and some of Wind
Were heard, in sweet melodious Consort joyn'd,
The lively Hoboy , and the sweet-mouth'd Flute,
The sprightly Violin , and warbling Lute ;
With the sonorous Viol , mingling sound,
Soft Airs, and Heav'nly Harmony compound.
But that which Arthur with most pleasure heard,
Were noble Strains, by Mopas sung the Bard,
Who to his Harp in lofty Verse began;
And thro' the secret Maze of Nature ran.
He the great Spirit sung, that all things fill'd,
That the tumultuous Waves of Chaos still'd.
Whose Nod dispos'd the jarring Seeds to Peace,
And made the Wars of hostile Atomes cease.
All Beings we in fruitful Nature find,
Proceeded from the great Eternal Mind;
Streams of his unexhausted Spring of Power,
And cherish'd with his Influence, endure.
He spread the pure Cerulean Fields on high,
And Arch'd the Chambers of the Vaulted Sky.
Which he, to suit their Glory with their height,
Adorn'd with Globes , that reel, as drunk with Light.
His Hand directed all the rolling Sphears ,
He turn'd their Orbs , and polish'd all the Stars .
He fill'd the Sun 's vast Lamp with golden Light,
And bid the silver Moon adorn the Night.
He spread the Airy Ocean without Shores,
Where Birds are wasted with their feather'd Oars.
Thro' the transparent Deep light Vapours rise
From the warm Earth, and cloud the smiling Skies.
He sung how some, chill'd in their Airy flight,
Fall scatter'd down in pearly Dew by Night.
How some, rais'd higher, sit in secret Steams
On the reflected Points of bounding Beams;
Till chill'd with Cold, they shade th' Etherial Plain,
Then on the thirsty Earth descend in Rain .
How some, whose parts a slight Contexture show,
Sink hov'ring thro' the Air, in fleecy Snow .
How part is spun in silken Threads, and Clings
Entangled in the Grass in glewy Strings.
How others stampt to Stones , with rushing sound
Fall from their Crystal Quarries , to the ground.
How some are laid in Trains, that kindled fly
In harmless Fires by Night, about the Sky.
How some in Winds blow with impetuous Force,
And carry Ruin where they bend their Course:
While some conspire to form a gentle Breez,
To fan the Air, and play among the Trees.
How some enrag'd grow turbulent, and loud,
Pent in the Bowels of a frowning Cloud;
That cracks, as if the Axis of the World
Was broke, and Heav'n's bright Towers were downwards hurl'd.
He sung how Earth's wide Ball at Jove 's Command,
Did in the midst on Airy Columns stand.
And how the Soul of Plants , in Prison held,
And bound with sluggish Fetters lies conceal'd,
Till with the Spring's warm Beams, almost releast
From the dull weight, with which it lay opprest,
Its Vigour spreads, and makes the teeming Earth
Heave up, and labour with the sprouting Birth:
The active Spirit freesom seeks in vain,
It only works and twists a stronger Chain.
Urging its Prison's sides to break away,
It makes that wider, where 'tis forc'd to stay.
Till having form'd its living House, it rears
Its Head, and in a tender Plant appears.
Hence springs the Oak , the Beauty of the Grove,
Whose stately Trunk, fierce Storms can scarcely move.
Hence grows the Cedar , hence the swelling Vine
Does round the Elm its purple Clusters twine.
Hence painted Flowers the smiling Gardens bless,
Both with their fragrant Scent, and gawdy Dress.
Hence the white Lilly in full Beauty grows,
Hence the blue Violet , and blushing Rose .
He sung how Sun-beams brood upon the Earth,
And in the Glebe hatch such a numerous Birth.
Which way the genial warmth in Summer Storms
Turns putrid Vapours to a Bed of Worms .
How Rain transform'd by this prolifick Power,
Falls from the Clouds, an animated Shower.
He sung the Embryo 's growth within the Womb,
And how the Parts their various Shapes assume.
With what rare Art the wondrous Structure's wrought,
From one crude Mass to such Perfection brought,
That no part useless, none misplac'd we see,
None are forgot, and more would Monstrous be.
Such was the splendor of King Hoel 's Feast,
Which ended, Arthur straight retires to rest.
Hoel not so, but with the Briton s fate,
Asking of Albion 's past, and present State.
Much he inquires of their intestine Jars,
Much of the Picts , and the Saxon Wars.
At last, requested Lucius to relate,
Prince Arthur 's Story, and King Uter 's Fate.
Lucius began, the rest attentive wait.
How sad a task do your Commands impose,
That must renew unsufferable Woes?
That must our Grief with fresh Affliction feed,
And make your generous Heart with pity bleed.
Whilst I the dismal Scene of Ills disclose,
And bleeding Albion 's ghastly Wounds expose.
The cruel Foes in telling would relent,
And with their Tears, the Spoils they caus'd, lament.
Pity would Picts and Saxon Breasts invade,
And make them mourn, o'er the dire Wounds they made.
But since you're pleas'd to hear our Country's Fate,
I'll pay Obedience, and our Woes relate.
Great Empires, like their Founders, Mortal are,
And the sad marks of Age, and Sickness bear.
Their strong Foundations mouldring wear away,
And sap'd by Time's devouring Teeth, decay.
Triumphant Rome , with Pomp and Grandeur crown'd,
Proudly survey'd the Conquer'd World around.
The Cold and Burning Zone obey'd her Arms,
And either Pole trembled at her Alarms.
Where Storms can beat, or angry Billows foam,
Where Sails can fly, or savage Beasts can roam,
Proud Tyber 's swelling Tide no Banks withstood,
That o'er the Globe roll'd her Victorious Flood.
To so sublime a pitch of Power and Fame,
Rome 's wise and valiant Sons advanc'd her Name.
Sons, that she bore when vigorous Youth did crown
Her Limbs with Beauty, and with Strength full grown.
Enervated with Age and Vice at last,
She found her Strength, and Youthful Vigour wast.
Decrepit grown, a puny wither'd Race
Feeble of Head and Arms, her Womb disgrace.
Of all her Romans , Rome remains berest,
Old Names alone, with modern Vices left.
The Noble Scipios , and brave Cæsars gone,
A starv'ling Brood puts their great Titles on.
Her Legions now can no new Triumphs sing,
Her molting Eagles hang their sickly Wing.
To break her Yoke the Provinces rebel,
Those she invaded, now she can't repel.
Fierce Northern Storms chastise old Tyber 's Pride,
And to its Banks chase the retreating Tide;
Loud, foaming Torrents, from high Scythian Hills,
From bleaky Continents , and frozen Isles ,
In one vast Sea combin'd, come pouring down
And Rome 's fair Cities, and rich Valleys drown.
A barbarous Flood of Vandals , Goths , and Huns ,
Their Banks broke down, the Provinces o'er-runs.
As a tall Oak that Young and Verdant, stood
Above the Grove, it self a Nobler Wood.
His wide extended Limbs the Forest drown'd,
Shading its Trees, as much, as they, the Ground.
Young, murmuring Tempests in his Boughs are bred,
And gathering Clouds frown round his lofty Head.
Outrageous Thunder, stormy Winds, and Rain,
Discharge their Fury, on his Head, in vain.
Earthquakes below, and Light'ning from above
Rend not his Trunk, nor his fixt Root remove:
But then his Strength, worn by destructive Age,
He can no more his angry Foes engage.
He spreads to Heav'n his naked, wither'd Arms
As Aid imploring, from invading Harms.
From his dishonour'd Head the slightest Storm
Can tear its Beauties, and his Limbs deform.
He rocks with every Wind, while on the ground
Dry Leaves, and broken Arms lye scatter'd round.
So Rome decay'd
Britannia 's warlike Youth on this pretence,
Is call'd off from her own, to Rome 's defence.
Till the exhausted, weak, deserted Isle,
Tempted fierce Neighbours, to an easie Spoil.
Britannia of her Valiant Son's berest,
Expos'd to every Ravisher is left.
The savage Foes, that did her Anger dread,
And from her Arms, to Wilds and Mountains fled,
Now leave the Coverts, where they sculking staid,
And roaring out, th' unguarded Land invade.
A cruel Rout of Northern Scots , and Picts ,
The direful Marks of barb'rous Rage inflicts.
Their Arms from Blood and Ravage never cease,
Where once they basely crouch'd, and fawn'd for Peace.
Wide Ruin, Desolation, Rapine, Spoil
Rage in the Bowels of th' unhappy Isle.
So Wolves, the faithful Mastiffs gone, grow bold,
And fiercely leap into th' unguarded Fold.
The trembling Flock they seise with eager Claws,
And tear their mangled Limbs with ravening Jaws.
Till they stand panting with th' uneasie load,
O'ercloy'd with Carnage, and opprest with Blood.
Britannia thus dishonour'd, spoil'd, distrest,
And by her proud, insulting Foes opprest,
Is forc'd of stronger Neighbours to implore
That Aid and Help, she us'd to lend before.
Urg'd by her Fate, and hard Necessity,
She dreads th' Expedient, that she's forc'd to try.
Hard fate of Princes, that to prop their State
Opprest and sinking, heap on greater weight!
Fatal Distemper, where we seek for Ease
From Drugs, more dang'rous than the sharp Disease.
A Warlike Race in frozen Climates bred,
Leaving their Wilds , by Valiant Captains led,
A fertile Soil, and milder Regions sought,
And won the happy Seats for which they fought.
Bold by Success, which waited on their Arms,
They still advanc'd in thick, Victorious Swarms.
Till Seas as wild, oppos'd their Torrent's Force,
And watry Banks restrain'd their rapid Course.
They stretcht their Seats along the Belgian Coast,
No Soil, can more of Nature's Favour boast.
No Region's blest with more Indulgent Beams,
With fatter Glebe . with more, or sweeter Streams .
The warlike Saxons here their Empire reer'd,
With Plenty crown'd, and by their Neighbours fear'd.
King Vortigern unable to oppose
The barb'rous Picts , and fierce Albanian Foes,
With humble Language, and rich Presents pray'd
This mighty Nation, to afford him Aid.
The Saxon Princes with his prayer comply'd,
Britannia was too fair, to be deny'd.
As Friends they landed on our naked Coasts,
And still pour'd on their fresh, unnumber'd Hosts.
They chas'd indeed the barb'rous Picts away,
But seiz'd, themselves, the Kingdom as their Prey.
The Lyon 's Title to Crown they plead,
As Friends receiv'd, as Conquerors obey'd.
No more let States vext with Interstine Wars,
Call in great Princes to compose their Jars.
What Briton s by their sad Deliverance won,
Was by a stronger Foe, to be undone.
'Tis true, opprest, they did their Wrongs resent,
But 'twas too late, their Counsels to repent.
Britannia 's weak, precarious King obey
The proud Protector 's Arbitrary Sway.
Our Forts, and Navies, and the chief Commands,
Were, on Pretence of Caution , in their Hands.
Th' insatiate Leeches do for ever crave,
And for their Service, ask us, all we have.
Our Strength is spent, and barb'rous Avarice
Draws all our Wealth into her deep Abyss.
Rapine and Murder all our Cities fill,
Our haughty Friends take leave to Spoil and Kill.
These dire Protectors arm'd with Lawless Power,
The Plowman 's Hopes, and Merchant 's Gains devour.
What we prepare, the ravenous Harpys eat,
And from our frighted Children tear their Meat.
We starve and dye, while they possess our Food,
Grow Sleek with Ease, and Fat with Spoil and Blood.
Villains dishonour Virgins in our fight;
And bloody Ruffians break our Doors by Night.
To seek redress, and of our wrongs complain,
Was but to add Derision to our Pain.
How bitter then were sad Britannia 's Moans,
What deep-fetch'd Sighs were heard, what deadly Groans?
Betray'd and ruin'd by a treacherous Friend,
We saw the Error, that we could not mend.
We curst our Folly, but we curst too late,
And all that our mistake should imitate.
We wish'd ten Thousand Woes and Plagues might light
On their curst Heads, who should again invite
Victorious Kings, with Foreign Arms to bless
Their Native Country, and their Wrongs redress,
They'll readily assist your Cause, and fight
To do, to injur'd States , and Princes , right.
But still they keep, what, by their Arms, is won,
Great Monarchs conquer for themselves alone.
They want a fair Pretente to seize the Prey,
They come as Friends, but will as Masters stay.
Thus Albion far'd, may Heav'n her Sons restrain,
From splitting on this fatal Rock again.
In vain we strove to break the servile Yoke,
Our impotent Attempts new Wrongs provoke.
At last, no greater Evils left to fear,
We took fresh Hope , and Courage from Despair.
Fury from Ruin sprung rag'd in our Veins,
And Death 's seem'd lighter than the Saxon Chains.
Each free-born Briton thought the Choice more brave,
To die their Victim , than to live their Slave.
We that could ne'er the Tyrant 's Yoke endure,
Boyl with Revenge, now Slaves to Forreign Power.
Kings Uter 's Breast swells with distracting Rage;
Whose wounded Soul, no Language could asswage;
Asham'd his Country's Freedom to out-live,
He takes the Councils, Grief and Fury give.
His Knights together call'd attentive wait,
While Uter fits on his high Chair of State.
His troubled Looks reveal'd his inward Wound,
And Storms of Fury on his Forehead frown'd.
Who thus began; you see what Tides of wo,
What angry Seas o'er all your Country flow.
Th' insulting Saxon claims our Land, and draws
From greater power, the Justice of his Cause.
Thro' all our Towns our Foes triumphant ride,
Wearing their awful Title by their side.
They shed your Blood , and helpless Maids deflower,
Exhaust your Treasure , and your Land devour.
A faithless Nation, that no Rule of Right
Reveres as Sacred, but superiour Might.
We oft our Fate in bloody Fields have try'd,
But Heav'n has Vict'ry, to our Arms deny'd.
Egyptian Plagues lay wast our ruin'd Land,
No Moses here, holds his controlling Wand.
Humbly invok'd, Heav'n will perhaps relent,
And of its fierce, accustom'd wrath repent.
Perhaps the Saxons Crimes with louder Cries,
For greater Vengeance importune the Skies.
Let us howe'er make one strong Effort more,
Our Country's Peace, and Freedom to restore.
We'll take the Field, 'twill gain us greater Fame,
To perish there, then here, with Grief and Shame.
My British heart can't brook th' Inglorious Chain,
I'll fall with Honour , or with Honour reign.
Tumultuous Passions, Wrath , Revenge , and Shame
Invade our Breasts, and our gall'd Souls inflame.
Strait, with one Voice, we all for Arms declare,
And every Breast already feels the War.
Resolv'd to make the vanquish'd Saxons fly,
Or in the just and brave Attempt to dy.
With Fury urg'd, we part from Uter 's sight,
Resolv'd for Freedom, and our Native Right.
Thro' all our Towns we spread the loud Alarm,
And animated all our Men to Arm,
To vindicate their ravish'd Country's cause,
To banish Forraign God s, and Forraign Laws .
'Tis strange, how soon the Briton s Blood was fir'd,
What Life and Hope their drooping Hearts inspir'd.
They saw fair Liberty extended ly,
The Saxon Whips and Torments lying by.
They view her squallid Face, exhausted Veins,
And beauteous Limbs eat in with rusty Chains.
They heard her mournful Groans, and piercing Cries,
Her interrupted Sobs, and dying Sighs.
They saw from gaping Wounds, the gushing Blood
Enrich the Pavement, with a noble Flood.
While Pity, Mercy, Hope in Sorrow drown'd
To finish the sad Scene, stood weeping round.
The Briton s rave, resolving her defence,
And vow her Rescue at their Blood's expence.
In Albion this fair Emp'res still obey'd,
An uncontested Scepter ever sway'd.
As Universal Soul she Life diffus'd,
And Warmth to all the heaving Mass infus'd:
She ever gave to all true Briton s Hearts
More Vigour, than their own warm Blood imparts.
'Tis quick'ning Liberty , that gives us Breath,
Her Absence more, than that of Life , is Death .
Such love to Liberty the Briton s show,
Such were her Charms, and may they still be so.
May never Briton ceasing to be Brave,
Submit his Neck, content to be a Slave.
May those be doubly curst, that would betray
Their Country's Freedom, to a Forraign Sway.
Our Men enrag'd, in numerous Bodies meet,
Arm, Arm, was heard the Cry in every Street.
The Ploghman hastens to a nobler Toil,
Unyokes his Ox , and leaves untill'd the Soil.
Abandons all his Hopes, and rustick Care,
Lays down his Goad , and shakes the warlike Spear .
The Tradesman quits his Shop , and takes the Field ,
And makes his thirst of Gain , to thirft of Honour yeild.
Arm'd Tenants crowd about their Valiant Lords ,
And full of Courage, wave their threat'ning Swords.
Near Sorbiodunum 's stately Walls, a Town
For Strength and Beauty, of the first Renown,
Whose spacious Plains rich Seas of waving Corn ,
And lowing Herds , and woolly Flocks adorn;
Our Universal Rendezvous was set,
Where all our Squadrons, and Battalions met.
Mean time the Cautious Saxon was alarm'd,
And to dispel the gathering Tempest, arm'd.
Octa the famous Hengist 's Son, a bold
And warlike Prince, did then the Scepter hold.
Hengist that did the first our Land invade,
And brought to Albion his destructive Aid.
The Fifth from mighty Odin , whose great Name,
Had tir'd the flaggy Wings of weary Fame.
The Stock, from which a Race Illustrious springs
Of numerous Hero's, and Victorious Kings.
That founded Empires , and that living led
Their Conquering Armies , and their God , when dead.
They soon the Hills by their long Marches gain,
And with their Troops o'erspread the spacious Plain.
We with their hasty March alarm'd, prepare
To guard our Camp, and wait th' approaching War.
Our Parties now in rude Rencounters, try'd
Their Courage, still th' advantage on our side.
Th' advancing Host at last appear'd in sight,
But Toil and wearing Day, defer'd the Fight.
Now Night advancing, draws her Sable Train
Along the Air, and Shades th' Etherial Plain.
King Uter with his Lords in Council fate,
Things of th' important Juncture to debate.
Where Measures were concerted to oppose
With warlike Arts, and Force, th' impending Foes.
Their Provinces the great Commanders share,
And from the Council to their Posts repair.
Where they their Troops dispose, and Orders give,
How the Invading Saxon to receive.
Encampt we lay on advantageous Ground,
With strong Entrenchments, and high Works around.
Our chearful Troops great Joy and Courage show,
And from the Works defie the powerful Foe.
All things dispos'd with Military Care,
We wait in Arms, th' approach of Day and War.
Now did the Morn disclose her smiling Ray,
And from the East let forth th' important Day.
To bloody Labour all things did invite,
And sounding Trumpets Martial Heat excite.
Heav'n 's starry roof resounds with warlike Noise,
With Horses Thunder, and their Riders Voice.
The Saxons and the Briton s stand prepar'd,
Those, to Attack, and these, their Posts to Guard.
King Octa leads his numerous Army on,
And at their Head in dazling Armour shone.
Drawn on the Right our rang'd Battalions stood,
Our Left a River Guards, the Rear, a Wood.
Octa here makes his warlike columns halt,
Detaching Horsa to begin th' Assault.
Whose chosen Troops a furious Onset make,
With no less Brav'ry, ours sustain'd th' Attack.
They mount our Works, and our high Ramparts Scale,
And with projected Fires our Men Assail.
Our Troops unbroken stout Resistance make,
And always forc'd th' Invading Saxon back.
As when a Mold repels th' Invading Seas,
Protects the Ships, and gives the Harbour Peace.
The foaming Tempest on high Billows rides,
And Storms with watry Troops, it's lofty Sides.
Th' unshaken Structure all their Fury braves,
And stops the Current of th' Insulting Waves.
The angry Seas break on th' Opposing Shore,
And beaten back with Indignation roar.
No less unmov'd our Valiant Briton s stood,
Against the Insults of the Saxon Flood.
Fresh Bodies still pour'd on, their loss supply,
But still Repuls'd, they from our Trenches fly.
Enrag'd, about our Lines King Octa flew.
To find where best he might th' Assault renew:
To see what place lay most expos'd, and where
Our Troops did on the Works but thin appear.
As when a Wolf pinch'd by Nocturnal Cold,
And Hunger-starv'd, scours round the lofty Fold.
He licks his rabid Jaws, and seems possest
Already of his Prey, and bloody Feast.
He offers oft to enter, while the Lambs
Affrighted, tremble round their bleating Dams.
So Octa thirsts for Blood, and scouring round,
Surveys our Lines, and well observes the Ground.
Now with fresh Rage his Troops our Walls ascend,
Which we with Showers of Darts and Stones defend
What Shouts , what noise of Arms the Air confound?
What Ruin , what slain Heaps deform the ground?
The Earth grows slippery all distain'd with Blood,
Which fills the Ditches with a Crimson Flood.
The Dead make Bulwarks, which the living Climb,
That in the Air, rise like our Walls, sublime.
O'erpower'd and weaken'd by the Men they lost,
And faint with Toil, the Briton s quit their Post.
Thrice the invading Saxon forc'd our Lines,
And to their Arms, thrice Victory inclines.
The valiant Uter that had still withstood
Their fiercest Troops, all smear'd with Dust and Blood.
Who still to Posts of greatest danger flew,
And with unerring Arms their Squadrons slew.
Who spread fresh Life and Vigour where he came,
And in our Breasts renew'd the Martial Flame.
For where we saw his shining Arms appear,
Our Men reviv'd, and straight forgot to fear;
Observing his disorder'd Troops retir'd,
His boiling Soul distracting Passion fir'd.
He spurs his furious Steed, and Thundring thro'
The thickest Ranks of the Victorious Foe,
Stay, foolish Briton s, stay, he cries from far,
Save yet your Country , and renew the War.
Come follow me your King, I'll lead you on,
And chase the Saxons from the Posts they've won.
The Briton s Hearts were touch'd with generous shame,
Love to their Country , and to Martial Fame,
With noble Ardor does their Souls inflame.
Their Leaders Rally all their Troops that fled,
And Charge the Foe, King Uter at their Head.
With unresisted Fury they Attack
The Saxon Troops, resolv'd to force them back.
Now what Destruction , what wide Ruin reign,
What heaps of slaughter'd Saxons load the Plain?
Now arm'd with hissing Death thick Arrows flew,
And out-stretcht Arms as fatal Javelins threw.
Then what vast Havock did the Sword employ?
What Troops did Uter 's single Hand destroy?
What sever'd Limbs lay scatter'd on the ground,
What Streams of Blood gush from each ghastly wound,
What Shields and Spears in the red Deluge drown'd?
Here first brave Arthur did his Courage prove,
His Age then fitter for the Field of Love.
God-like his Face , and God-like was his Mind ,
To virtuous Deeds, and warlike Games inclin'd.
The Down of Manhood on his Face appears,
And blooming Beauty grac'd his youthful years.
Yet wise and manly, far beyond his Age,
His early Deeds the Hero did presage.
Till now the Woods and Forrests were his Joy,
Where he the Savage Kind strove to destroy,
That did the Herds, and bleating Flocks annoy.
He chas'd the Fox , the ravenous Wolf and Bear
His Country's Pest , dy'd by his fatal Spear .
The People blest him, as a Saviour sent,
And thought kind Heav'n , some great Deliv'rer meant.
He ne'er before had brac'd the Helmet on,
Nor in the Field in polish'd Armour shone.
His Sword had ne'er been stain'd with humane Gore,
Nor had he grip'd the Shield , or Gauntlet wore
His Country's Cause, and Military Fame,
Invite the Youth to chase a nobler Game.
No more his Thoughts his rural Sports pursue,
Tyrants and savage Men he'll now subdue.
For warlike Toil he leaves the gameful Wood,
And flesht his Courage first in Saxon Blood.
The greatest Captains the brave Youth esteem'd,
He fought like Mars , though Mercury he seem'd.
Like some fair Cherub , or the Beamy God,
He wav'd his flaming Sword, and thro' their Squadrons rode.
His youthful Veins Heroick Ardor fir'd,
And more than humane Force his Breast inspir'd,
For the great Deeds his fatal Arms atchiev'd,
Were by th' amaz'd Spectators scarce believ'd.
At last amidst the Foe advanc'd too far,
Alone he long sustain'd th' unequal War.
Surrounding Throngs the fainting Youth opprest,
And Showers of Death flew pointed at his Breast.
His weary Arm supports his Shield with Pain,
And his bruis'd Armour Streams of Blood distain.
Here the young Hero had been crush'd, and all
Our Hopes and Joy had perish'd in his Fall;
Had not brave Malgo a Dimetian Chief,
Forc'd the thick Foes, and flown to his Relief.
Then, when the warlike Youth was most distrest,
And Elfrick 's Sword was falling on his Crest
With dreadful Sway, Malgo its Fury broke,
And on his Shield receiv'd the mighty Stroke.
The Prince thus guarded from the fatal Blow,
Bold Malgo 's Spear transfixt th' audacious Foe.
Groveling in Death he murmur'd on the Ground,
And pour'd his Life out, from his gaping Wound.
Here Vortipor advancing did attack
Their plying Troops, and forc'd the Saxon back.
While Octa 's wavering Men began to yield,
And to pursuing Uter quit the Field.
As when a Lyon , that with Fury ran
To seize by Night, some weary Caravan,
That lay encampt on an Arabian wild,
Repuls'd by Fires, and of his Prey beguil'd,
With hideous Roar he raves at his Defeat,
Oft stands, looks back, and makes a sour Retreat.
King Octa 's Soul like Indignation fir'd,
That raving, with his vanquish'd Men retir'd.
But, oh, how soon was this serener Day
By Clouds, and rising Tempests chas'd away?
How short a space could we our Conquest boast,
How soon were all our Hopes of Freedom lost?
Won by the potent Charms of Saxon Gold,
Carvil his Prince, and Native Country fold.
He in Indulgent Uter 's bosom lay,
And did the Secrets of his Breast betray.
He on his Conduct, and his Faith rely'd,
In Peace and War alike his treach'rous Guide.
He held the most important Trusts of State,
Nor could his Treasons Uter 's Love abate.
Unhappy Prince, that still his Foes believ'd,
Only by Ruin to be undeceiv'd!
To Friends ingrate, his Foes he entertain'd,
Thus lost the one, but not the other gain'd.
Wisely undone, he knew his Friends too late,
By his own Prudence manag'd to his Fate.
Our Prayers and Warnings tir'd his Ears in vain,
Perfidious Councils only could obtain.
Rough Truth , and loyal Bluntness gall'd his Ear,
That only soft, melodious Sounds could bear.
His firm and loyal Friends, though hardly us'd,
Look'd on enrag'd, to see their Prince abus'd.
Thoough some grown cold, ceas'd to lament his Fate,
For Will and Choice, Compassion still abate.
Pity a Prince whose Virtues shone so bright,
Should let so dark a Cloud obscure their Light!
To him and us this Weakness fatal prov'd,
That Men suspected were imploy'd and lov'd.
So Carvil was.
Who labour'd after Octa 's late Retreat,
To more than balance his, with our Defeat.
The Traytor during all the bloody Day,
Found not the Means, our Army to betray.
But when the Sun drew off his radiant Train,
And left the Empress of the Night to reign.
Then Carvil open'd his black Scene of Guilt,
Wherein such Seas of British Blood were spilt.
He by confiding Hands to Octa sent,
To let the Saxon know his dire Intent
To give him Entrance to our Camp by Night,
Whither his Arms he did with speed invite.
Octa whose Arts purchas'd Treasons won,
More Towns and Battles, than his Sword had done.
So fair a Season offer'd, not delay'd,
But straightway march'd our Army to invade.
Carvil mean time his Creatures had prepar'd,
To yield the Posts, their Duty was to guard.
Revolving Cynthia with her doubtful Light,
Had now o'erpass'd the Noon of wearing Night.
When Octa 's chosen Troops approach'd the Gate,
Where to admit their Arms the Traytors wait.
The furious Saxon straight our Camp invades,
Beneath the Covert of the silent Shades.
Their unexpected Arms our Men assail,
Dissolv'd in Sleep, and wearied with their Toil.
What Carnage now the raging Saxons make,
Our Camp converted to a bloody Lake.
They first the brave Dunwallo resting found,
His Cuirass , Helm , and Javelin lying round,
And with their Spears transfixt him on the ground.
His generous Soul flew upwards with Disdain,
To be massacred, not in Battle slain.
Morisso next with clattering Swords alarm'd
Wak'd with the Noise, but naked and unarm'd
His Side pierc'd thro' by Horsa 's Javelin, fell
Enrag'd he should his Life, so cheaply sell.
Then Offa 's Spear peirc'd Capor 's Bosome through,
His Soul to Heav'n thro the wide Passage flew,
Leaving his Body drown'd in purple Gore,
None serv'd his Prince, or lov'd his Country more.
Edwal a Leader of unblemish'd Fame,
Who from the Banks of fair Sabrina came
Fell by Morino 's Spear, and by his Side
Brave Adomar , by Balda 's Javelin dy'd.
Then Meirick in his Breast a fatal Wound
Receiv'd, and lay extended on the Ground.
Next Catel who excell'd in youthful Charms,
Was slain by great Romondo's conquering Arms,
The glitt'ring Steel did thro' his Bowels pass,
The Youth expir'd, and with him Amel 's Race.
And now what Slaughter reign'd, what Heaps of dead,
What Ruin o'er the blood Camp was spread?
Thro' the brown Shades at last, they found the way
To the Pavilion , where King Uter lay.
Who soon, awaken'd with the Clamour, rose,
And form'd his Troops th' Invaders to oppose.
Long their unequal Force he did repel,
Till, pierc'd by Cerdick 's fatal Spear, he fell.
Urg'd to retire, Arthur our Prayer withstood,
Tho' faint with Labour, Wounds, and Loss of Blood.
We prest him our remaining Hopes to spare,
And not of Albion 's Fortune to despair.
He does at last to our entreaties yield,
And with Reluctant Steps forsakes the Field.
We thro' the Wood retreated, where the shade
With Cynthia 's Rays, uncertain Twilight made.
When the succeeding Day declin'd, we came
To Alda 's Gates, a Port of ancient Fame.
Where we the Night in various Sorrows spent,
Now Uter , now our Country we Lament.
Just Catel 's now, now great Dunwallo 's Fate,
And faithful Edwal 's fall, fresh Grief create.
While our sad Minds endur'd so rude a Storm,
Entring the Room, great Gabriel 's God-like Form,
Mild Glory, and Celestial day diffus'd,
Advanc'd, he these kind words to Arthur us'd.
Now Albion sinks beneath the Saxon weight,
So Heav'n Decrees, 'tis so ordain'd by Fate.
But after ten times the Revolving Sun,
His Crooked Race, has thro' the Zodiack run,
The Clouds dispell'd, propitious Heav'n shall smile,
On Uter 's House, and this reviving Isle.
Octa shall feel just Heav'n 's revenging Stroke,
And Albion 's Youth shall break the Saxon Yoke.
Mean time, brave Prince, whom universal Love
Attends beneath, and Grace Divine above.
To Neustrian Odar 's Court with speed repair,
Go, Albion 's Hopes, and my great Trust and Care.
Go, Albion 's Hopes with Triumph to return,
And Rescue those, which shall your absence mourn.
That said, his Heav'nly Glory he withdrew,
And to th' Immortal Seats, of Happy Spirits flew.
Now the fair Morn smiles with a Purple Ray,
Clearing before the Sun the Eastern Way.
Whose radiant Train pours from the Gates of Light,
And the new Day does to new Toil invite.
We the Celestial Message to obey,
On a stout Ship, that in the Haven lay
Ready to Sail, embark and hast away.
The Sky serene, a fresh and prosperous Gale,
Sprang from the Shore, and swell'd out ev'ry Sail.
Albion 's white Cliffs and Towers we quickly lost,
Standing our Course strait to the Neustrian 's Coast.
Where when the Sun twice starting from the East,
Had ran his Race, and reach'd the falling West,
We safe arriv'd at fair Cartinia 's Port,
And took our way from thence to Odar 's Court.
Odar , a Prince indulgent, valiant, good,
Ally'd to Uter by the Mother's Blood,
The barbarous Goths Incursions, then withstood.
His beauteous Queen, with Joy the Prince receiv'd,
Her Words our Grief, her Gifts our Wants reliev'd.
Here we to ease our troubled Minds remain'd,
Till Arthur perfect Strength and Vigour gain'd.
Then taking leave, we straight direct our way
Unto the Camp, where Odar's Forces lay.
And as we pass'd to mitigate our Grief,
And to our Woes to give Divine Relief.
From his blest Tongue such Heav'nly Language flows,
As did the greatness of his Mind disclose.
We thought some God-like Cherub to us spoke,
When from his Lips these high Expressions broke.
Heav'n 's Offspring with divine Contentment blest,
Enjoy the Empire of a guiltless Breast.
Tho' spoil'd by prosp'rous Robbers, still they find,
The large Possessions of a peaceful Mind.
Content alone can all their wrongs redress,
Content , that other name for Happiness .
Free from Desire, they are as free from want,
And from the Cares, that envied Greatness haunt.
'Tis equal, if our Fortunes should augment,
And stretch themselves to the same vast Extent
With our Desires, or those Desires abate,
Shrink, and Contract themselves, to fit our State.
Pois'd on their own unshaken Base they view,
All the Vicissitudes, that Time can shew.
They, like tall Mountains, are advanc'd so high,
That the low Clouds do all beneath them fly.
Hence while loud Storm's inferiour Seats molest,
They undisturb'd, enjoy soft Peace and Rest.
These Men that suit their Wishes to their State,
And, pleas'd still with themselves, enjoy their Fate:
Whose modest Passions Reason 's Nod obey,
Are greater Kings , than those who Scepters sway.
They can the Triumphs of a Court despise,
And the rich Toys, that charm deluded Eyes.
They rather choose to tame their Thirst, than have
All the Supplies their Feaverish Drought can crave.
Desires for Freedom first make humble Suit,
And modestly demand th' unlawful Fruit.
But when set loose, they know not where to stay,
But lawless thro' the World's Dominions stray.
So subterranean Vapours , that contain'd
In some close Cavern , are with Ease restrain'd,
When once releas'd, ungovernable grow,
And prove fierce Storms, which no Resistance know.
Th' unhappy Man, slave to his wild Desire,
By feeding it, foments the raging Fire.
His Gains augment his unextinguish'd Thirst,
With Plenty Poor , and with Abundance Curst .
But greater Minds, which can themselves subdue,
Preserve their Peace, and still their Joys renew.
They never by a Vile, or Impious Course,
Protect their Wealth from rising Tempests force.
They face the Storm, and stand its fiercest Shocks,
Bold as the Winds, unshaken as the Rocks.
No Tempest that invades th' ambitious Breast,
Can the calm Region of their Mind molest.
So Winds, that Rivulets disturb, will play
In harmless Breezes, on the wider Sea.
Sour Discontent that quarrels with our Fate,
May give fresh smart, but not the old abate.
Envenom'd with its Sting, each harmless loss,
Grows wondrous sharp, and proves a deadly cross.
Th' uneasie Passion 's disingenious Wit
The Ill reveals, but hides the Benefit .
It makes a Toy press with prodigious weight,
And swells a Molehill, to a Mountain's height.
So melancholy Men lie down, and groan,
Prest with the Burden of themselves alone.
Crusht with Phantastick Mountains, they despair,
Their Heads are grown vast Globes too big to bear.
A little Spark becomes a raging Flame,
And each weak Blast, a Storm too fierce to tame.
So peevish is the quarrelsome Disease,
No prosp'rous Fortune can procure it Ease.
Their Breasts are ne'er from inbred Tempests free,
Restless as Winds, and troubled as the Sea:
The Pleasure now they seek would bring Content;
But when enjoy'd, 'twas somewhat else, they meant.
Some absent Happiness they still pursue,
Dislike the present Good, and long for New.
The Man now thinks he sees his Bliss, and flies
With greedy Arms to grasp the gaudy Prize.
But then, enquiring what his Hopes have won,
Vain Man, he finds the cheating Shadow gone.
Oft does the fair Illusion by him stand,
But when pursu'd, gives back, and mocks his hand.
Sometimes he sees the beck'ning Phantome here,
That, when he follows, does elsewhere appear.
The Wretch, though Tantaliz'd, and always crost,
Yet still pursues, though still that Labour's lost.
The God-like Arthur with such pious words,
Divine Instruction, and Delight affords.
And while his Language, with a Heav'nly Flame
Thus warm'd our Breasts, to Odar 's Camp we came;
Where to the Neustrian King the Prince addrest,
Who all the highest Signs of Love exprest.
The Royal Exile he embrac'd with Tears,
And by these tender words himself endears.
King Uter 's Fall, your loss, and Albion 's Fate,
Wound me with Grief too mighty to relate.
Long to Misfortunes, and great Wrongs inur'd,
I pity those, that have like Ills endur'd.
You are a Stranger here, but not your Name,
Your early Worth is told aloud by Fame.
Arthur 's preserv'd to be the Saxons dread,
And Rear opprest Britannia 's drooping Head.
While you are safe, Britannia must revive,
And Uter still in Valiant Arthur live.
While you survive, King Octa 's Fears remain,
And Albion hopes to break her pond'rous Chain.
Heroes are for Heroick Deeds design'd,
And noble Work, attends a noble Mind.
Mean time, while here your Choice is to reside,
No Succours, no Supplies shall be deny'd.
And if your Briton s banish'd from their home,
Drawn by their Prince's Fame, shall hither come;
Briton and Neustrian shall like Treatment find,
I'll be to both, without Distinction, kind.
And when mild Days shall your Return invite,
My Arms shall Aid you, to assert your Right.
The Prince reply'd:
Divine Compassion melts your Royal Breast,
And makes your Bounty flow on all distrest.
Like Heav'n , you Succours to th' Afflicted grant,
Comfort their Sorrows, and supply their Want.
You Crush Oppressors, to th' Opprest are kind,
Such gen'rous Deeds reveal a God-like Mind.
O'er Uter 's House the Saxon Power prevails,
And sad Britannia her dire fate bewails.
The World's supream Director so ordains,
Hence in my Soul no murmuring Passion reigns.
Pleas'd or Contented still I meet my Fate,
Would not be Impious , though Unfortunate.
Your gen'rous Offer of Protection here,
With such engaging Language, such an Air,
As Love and Friendship seek out to Endear;
Perswade, that here my Refuge is design'd,
Till Albion grows more Just, and Heav'n more Kind.
Here your Example shall my Mind prepare,
For all the high Concerns of Peace and War .
Till Albion call us back, I'll here remain,
And in your Service shall grow fit to Reign:
Here in the Camp the pious Briton staid,
To whom the Neustrian chiefs great Honour paid.
For his high Merit could not be conceal'd
His Valiant Deeds the Hero soon reveal'd.
Loud Fame his God-like Virtues did proclaim,
And either Camp resounds with Arthur 's Name.
He still the Posts of highest Danger sought,
And Death and Vict'ry follow'd, where he fought.
When he advanc'd, the Goths unnumber'd Swarms
Fled from the Terrour of his fatal Arms.
Like Love and Wonder, Camp and Court express,
That did the Hero, this the Saint confess.
His Sword still won fresh Laurels in the Field,
And to his Virtues ev'n Court Vices yield.
And 'tis more easie to reduce a Fort,
Or win a Battel, than reform a Court.
He the fixt Mounds of trembling Europe stood,
And still repell'd the Goths impetuous Flood,
When he appear'd, their Men, tho' fierce and bold,
Grow chill with Fear, as when at home with Cold.
Thro' the admiring World his Fame was spread,
The Christian's Joy, and barb'rous Nations Dread.
Where gagg'd with Ice, the Waves no longer roar,
But with stiff Arms embrace the silent Shore.
Where naked Hills in frozen Armour stand,
Where raging Sirius Fries the thirsty Land,
And rich Pactolus rolls his golden Sand;
Thither his Triumphs and Illustrious Name,
His gen'rous Deeds, and loud Applauses came.
His wondrous Virtues, wondrous Love engage,
That reach'd Perfection, long before his Age.
Odar embrac'd him, as an Angel sent
To guard his Throne, and threaten'd Fall prevent.
He own'd his bright Example did support,
Th' esteem of Virtue in the Neustrian Court.
Their Peace at home proceeded from his Care,
And from his Courage their Success in War.
When we, our hopes of sinking Albion lost,
Made by Divine Command the Neustrian Coast,
The Gothick Arms that Kingom has o'errun,
Surpriz'd their Forts, and fairest Cities won.
All Banks born down, so high the Deluge rose,
Before King Odar could its Course oppose.
'Twas then the young Deliv'rer Arthur came,
To drive the Goths , and win Immortal Fame.
He soon reduc'd the Cities, and restor'd
A peaceful Country, to its peaceful Lord.
Mean time the British Knights opprest at home,
Drawn by his Fame, to find a Leader come.
So thick they Land, our Troops were numerous grown,
And Arthur led an Army of his own.
Ten times the Sun had pass'd his oblique way,
By turns contracting, and increasing Pay,
Darting to either Pole a warmer Ray:
And now the British Lords, who though opprest
The Western Region of their Isle possest.
Whither retreating, they remain'd secure,
And from their Hills defy'd the Saxon Power;
Encourag'd by his war-like Fame, invite
The Valiant Arthur to assert his Right.
To make a bold Descent upon their Coast,
And win the Regions back that Uter lost.
Ten chosen Orators were straight dispatcht,
The chief whose charming Tongue was never matcht,
Was the great Tylon , whose Immortal Worth,
Raises to Heav'n the Isle that gave him Birth.
A sacred Man, a venerable Priest,
Who never spake, and Admiration mist.
Of Good and Kind the just Standard seem'd,
Dear to the Best , and by the worst esteem'd.
A gen'rous Love diffus'd to Humane Kind,
Divine Compassion, Mercy unconfin'd,
Still reign'd Triumphant in his God-like Mind ?
Greatness and Modesty their Wars compose,
Between them here a perfect Friendship grows.
His Wit, his Judgment, Learning, equal rise,
Divinely Humble, yet Divinely Wise.
He seem'd Express on Heav'n's high Errand sent,
As Moses Meek, as Aaron Eloquent.
Nectar Divine flows from his Heav'nly Tongue,
And on his Lips charming Perswasion hung.
When he the sacred Oracles reveal'd,
Our ravish'd Souls in blest Enchantments held,
Seem'd lost in Transports of Immortal Bliss,
No simple Man could ever speak like this.
Arm'd with Celestial Fire his sacred Darts
Glide thro' our Breasts , and melt our yielding Hearts .
So Southern Breezes, and the Spring's mild Ray,
Unbind the Glebe , and thaw the Frozen Clay.
He triumph'd o'er our Souls , and at his Will
Bid this touch'd Passion rise, and that be still.
Wolves , Tygers , grisly Lyons did admire,
As Poets feign, Orpheus 's melodious Lyre.
Charm'd with sweet Tylon 's Voice, a Kind more wild,
More fierce and savage, grow divinely Mild.
Lord of our Passions he with wondrous Art,
Can strike the secret movements of our Heart ;
Release our Souls , and make them soar above,
Wing'd with Divine Desires , and Flames of Heav'nly Love .
He still convey'd sublime, seraphick Sense,
In unaffected Strains of Eloquence .
Easie and wonderful is all he says,
Does both Delight, and Admiration raise.
His pious Soul did in sad Accents mourn
Britannia 's Chains, and Pagan Gods return.
But hop'd, kind Heav'n would free, by Arthur 's hand
Of barb'rous Laws , and God s, th' afflicted Land.
With the great Tylon young Pollandor went,
Fam'd for his Valour, and of high Descent.
With these wise Galbut and Mordennan joyn,
Whose Virtues vye with their Illustrious Line.
Valiant Giralden worn with War and Age,
Does in th' Important Embassy engage.
Gisan was added, a Dobunian Knight,
Bold in the Senate , and as Brave in Fight.
Hobar , Mansellan , Cadel , Milo , Skill'd
In Arms and Eloquence , the number fill'd.
Such Orators they chose, fit to excite
The Pious Arthur , and his Arms invite.
Thus Tylon to the pious Prince addrest,
And found the Passage open to his Breast.
Britannia crush'd Saxon Yoke,
Does with her mournful Prayer your Arms invoke.
Enslav'd by Foreign Power, Distrest, Undone,
She sues for Aid to you, her Valiant Son,
And hopes for Succour from your Sword alone.
Octa all Right, and ancient Law subverts,
And uncontrol'd Tyrannick Power asserts.
His Lawless Will grasps Arbitrary Sway,
And British slaves without Reserve, Obey.
The sacred Bounds and Lines, which Right and Law
Round all those just and happy Kingdoms draw;
Which from the Wast of Tyranny they gain,
Where Uproar, Rage, and wild Confusion reign,
These broken down, Octa does open lay,
And throw the goodly Island up a Prey
To Furies, that in lawless Kingdoms stray.
Britannia by the Conquerour ravish'd first,
Then giv'n to Priests, and Soldiers raging Lust;
Wretched Britannia , sunk in deep Despair,
Beats her white Breasts, and tears her golden Hair.
Dying with Anger, Shame and Grief, she lies,
And Floods of Tears gush from her beauteous Eyes.
Which swell the silver Tide of mournful Thames ,
And grieve old Ocean with the troubled Streams.
Hear, pious Prince, how to the Neustrian Shore,
Complaining Waves roll the sad Treasure o'er.
How murmuring Winds waft o'er Britannia 's Sighs,
Can Arthur disregard his Countries Cries?
With words like these, and such a moving Art
As can't be told, he touch'd the Prince's Heart.
With so much Life, he spake sad Albion 's Moans,
We thought we felt her smart, and heard her Groans.
Nor did the pious Prince their Prayer oppose,
But soon resolv'd to ease Britannia 's Woes.
To Odar he reveal'd his high Intent,
Who Ships , and Men , and Arms rejoycing lent:
Supplying all things our Descent requir'd,
And heaping Gifts, more than our selves desir'd.
Our Ships prepared, with chearful Zeal and Care,
We went on Board, and soon embark'd the War.
Our Anchors weigh'd, and Topsails loos'd, a Gale
Sprang up, and swell'd the Womb of every Sail.
Old Ocean pleas'd our bounding Vessels laves,
that with sharp Keels cut thro' the foaming Waves.
Th' astonish'd Saxons see, and fear from far,
The long Succession of the Sailing War.
They spread thro' all the Isle the loud Alarm,
And trembling Octa hasts his Men to Arm.
We Sail'd not long before the Sea ran high,
And gathering Clouds deform'd the lowring Sky.
The fearful Storm arose, wherein we lost
Th' extinguish'd Day, and on the Billows tost,
We drove, till forc'd upon th' Armoric Coast.
He ceas'd, and now the Shades of wearing Night,
Did the pleas'd Audience to their Rest invite.
BOOK V
Lovely Aurora makes a mild Essay
With glimm'ring Dawn, to introduce the Day:
Her rosie Steps the Sun pursues, and Spreads
His smiling Glories on the Mountains Heads.
The Princes rose, and Hoel thus exprest
His friendly Passion, to his Royal Guest.
Your Virtues shew you are by Heav'n design'd
A great Deliv'rer of opprest Mankind.
You give to Realms with Wars molested, Peace,
And from their Chains tormented Slaves release.
Fair Liberty 's and blest Religion 's Cause
Reviving Hopes from your Protection draws.
Your prosp'rous Arms invading Plagues repel,
And monstrous God s, and monstrous Tyrants quell.
King Odar's Realm and mine you save, in his
You settle Peace, and Truth Divine in this.
And now compassion arms your valiant Hand
To free from barbarous Rage, your native Land.
To vanquish Pagan Darkness, and display
Immortal Light, and pure Etherial Day.
My self will here abide, and Succours lend
O'er all the Realm Christ 's Empire to extend.
Conan my Son shall on your Triumphs wait,
And when return'd, your glorious Deeds relate.
I'll now command that with incessant Care,
My Men assist, your Losses to repair.
Then I'll conduct you to the Druids Grove,
Which Men of heav'nly Contemplation love.
Where solemn Walks and awful shade invite
Compos'd Devotion, and Divine Delight,
Exclude the Sun's, to let in purer Light.
There with your pious Conversation blest,
New light will fill my Mind, new Joy my Breast.
The Orders giv'n the Navy 's Wants requir'd ,
The Princes to the Druids Grove retired.
Where Arthur 's Language did the King inspire,
With holy Transports, and Seraphick Fire.
Mean time th' Armoricans and Briton s meet,
All Zealous to Equip the shatter'd Fleet.
Part to the Groves and woody Hills repair,
And with loud Labour fill the ecchoing Air.
Axes high rais'd by brawny Arms descend
With mighty Sway, and make the Forrest bend.
The Mountains murmur, and the nodding Oakes ,
Groan with their Wounds, from thick redoubled Strokes.
The falling Trees desert the neighbouring Sky,
Where now the Clouds may unmolested fly.
A shady Harvest lies disperst around,
And lofty Ruine loads th' encumber'd Ground.
Part, the hewn Trees draw down with wondrous Toil,
T'enrich the Ocean with the Mountains Spoil.
So fast they came, and in such Order stood,
As Orpheus Lyre had call'd th' obsequious Wood
From their fixt Seats to dance upon the Flood.
Part raise the Masts , now to be shaken more
With furious Winds, then on their Hills before.
Part shape new Ribs, and with industrious Care,
Ships broken Backs, and ghastly Wounds repair.
Part their bruis'd Sides anoint with unctious Pitch,
Part the carv'd Sterns, with Paint and Gold enrich.
Part Cables twist, part smear'd with Smoak and Sweat,
With vast Cyclopian Strokes huge Anchors beat.
While thus the Briton s did their Ships repair,
Th' Infernal Prince enrag'd and wreckt with Care,
Swift, as exploded Lightning from the Skies,
A second time to Lapland Mountains flies.
Where the rough Monarch's noisy Palace stands,
Whose awful Nod, the raging Winds commands.
To him thus Lucifer , kind Prince, to you
A second time I for Assistance sue.
The cursed Prince that by your high Command,
Your furious Subjects drove on Hoel 's Land;
Aided by Hoel does his Fleet repair,
Ready to Albion to transport the War.
Let adverse Winds blow on the troubled Main,
Retard their Project, and their Ships detain.
Till Octa has prepar'd his warlike Fleet,
The proud Invader on the Seas to meet.
He ceas'd, the Emperor of the Winds replies,
When you shall ask what rebel Power denies.
Your Realms you rule with uncontested Sway,
Your Post is to command, mine to obey.
That said, he calls his wandring Subjects home,
Eurus and Notus straight obedient come.
Last sluggish Auster to his Den with wet
And flabby Wings, does heavily retreat,
To whom their Prince, let now your Labours cease,
Indulge your Wings, be reconcil'd to Peace.
Close in your Darksome Prisons sleeping lie,
To gain more Breath to blow, more Strength to fly.
Then down their howling Throats blacksops he threw,
Of Poppies and cold Nightshade made, that grew
On the dark Banks, where Lethe 's lazy Deep
Does its black Stores, and drousie Treasure keep,
Rolls its slow Flood, and rocks the nodding Waves asleep.
The strong Enchantments quick Admission find,
And the wild Rout benumming Fetters bind.
They murmur in their Sleep, and strive in vain
To spurn away th' unweildy leaden Chain.
Then calling Boreas , says , fly Boreas , fly,
Blow o'er the Lands and on the Billows lie.
Make hast, and to th' Armoric Coast repair,
Be thine the spacious Empire of the Air.
Unrivall'd, unmolested Reign alone,
Till all thy Force is spent, and all thy Breath is gone.
No Hostile, windy Powers contest thy Reign,
And uncontroll'd Dominion of the Main.
Scarce had he ended, when up Boreas springs,
And thro' the Air spreads out his furious Wings.
He o'er warm Climes diffuses Northern Spoils,
And the cold Treasures of the frozen Isles.
With blustring War he frights old Ocean's Court,
Buffets the Waves, and raises Storms in Sport.
In vain th' impatient Briton s spread their Sails,
Loud Boreas keeps them back with adverse Gales.
Proud Lucifer urg'd with his Rage and Spight,
Back to Britannia takes his airy Flight.
To find the Saxon Monarch, and inspire
His trembling Soul with fresh Infernal Fire.
And now the Night does her black Throne ascend,
And dusky Shades her silent State attend.
While pale-fac'd Cynthia with her starry Train,
Dart down their trembling Lustre on the Main.
The weary Lab'rers their stiff Limbs repose,
And Sleep's soft Hand their drowsie Eyelids close.
All Rest enjoy, but Octa anxious lay,
Wakeful, and longing for returning Day.
His dreadful Crimes affright his startled Soul,
And in his Breast black Tides of Horrour roll.
Dire Shapes, and staring Ghosts pass threatning by,
And Streaks of Fire across th' Apartment fly.
He hears the Shreaks of those his bloody Hand
Had murder'd, or that dy'd by his Command.
He hears the Widdows Sighs, and Orphans Moans,
Himself had made, and tortur'd Pris'ners Groans.
The Grounds of pale Despair he sometimes draws,
From Arthur 's Valour, and his Righteous Cause.
Sometimes he fears his injur'd Subjects Rage,
Their vengeful Arms against him will engage
Then starts, and thinks he hears Prince Arthur 's Fleet
Is on the Coast, proclaim'd in ev'ry Street.
Then Lucifer does Odin 's Shape assume,
And with Stern Grace enters King Octa 's Room.
His vig'rous Limbs had dazling Armour on,
And round his Head his polish'd Helmet shone.
His conquering Sword hung down with awful Grace,
And Scars of Honour seam'd his manly Face.
His warlike Hand grip'd his Vulcanian Shield,
With rare Devices pourtray'd on the Field.
With Martial State he strides along the Room,
And shakes at every Step his lofty Plume.
Advancing to the Bed where Octa lay,
He spake, Son Octa , from celestial Day,
From the blest Groves, and mild, Elysian Seats,
Thy Father Odin to thy Aid retreats.
To ease thy restless Mind of anxious Cares,
Support thy Hopes, and dissipate thy Fears.
Stand thou unmov'd at Arthur 's proud Alarms,
Conquest attends thine, and thy Saxons Arms.
He'll sink beneath the Sea's insulting Wave,
Or Landing, find on Shore a surer Grave.
Think on the Spoils and Trophies you have born,
And spreading Laurels on your Temples worn.
Let none that's sprung from my Victorious Race,
At Danger shrink, and my great Stock debase.
Go, hast thy Royal Navy to prepare,
Let Ships with Ships encounter, War with War .
On the wide Main th' Invader's Fleet oppose,
Better to meet, than here expect your Foes.
Go chase their scatter'd Navy o'er the Deep,
And thus in Peace, thy envy'd Empire keep.
He ceas'd, and with Majestick Pace retir'd,
And left King Octa with fresh Life inspir'd.
Who with the Sun arose, resolv'd to meet
With all his Naval Power, Prince Arthur 's Fleet.
He gave Command, the Captains straight resort
To their tall Ships, and leave the wanton Court.
A forward Zeal the busie Sailors shew,
Some mend old Ships, and some Equip the new.
With flaming Reeds some their pitch'd Bellies fry,
Some hoist the Yards, and Canvas Wings apply.
Some from its Cradle launch a rocking Hull,
Some at the Cables strain, and howling pull
Vast Anchors up, some Stores and Arms entomb,
And stow with hidden War the Ship's dark Womb.
The Shores around, and all the Oazy Soil
Resound with Clamour, and the Sailors Toil.
Well Rigg'd and Mann'd, the Ships from every Port
To their appointed Rendezvous resort.
The Rivers disembogue, besides their Flood,
Into the Seas a lofty, painted Wood.
And now the Moon had twice the silver Field
Of her fair Orb, with borrow'd Glory fill'd.
Since the uneasie Briton s had remain'd
By adverse Winds, within their Port detain'd.
Boreas that had his Blasts profusely blown,
His Storms all spent, and bleaky Treasures gone,
With tir'd and flaggy Pinions now retreats,
To fetch Recruits from wild Laplandian Seats.
Auster does next with milder Blasts prevail,
And for the Briton s blows a prosperous Gale.
Now each rough Hero of the Ocean stands
On the high Deck, giving Austere Commands.
Prince Arthur to Embark approach'd the Shore,
Where the reposing Seas no longer Roar.
But at his Feet obsequious Billows lay,
As Conscious of the Power they must Obey.
Then their broad Backs , subsiding they submit,
Proud to sustain their future Monarch's Fleet.
The lofty Ships on rolling Billows bound,
The Waves in soft Embraces clinging round.
As when the Trojans , in the Mantuan Song
From Africk Sands, to Latium sail'd along.
Old Ocean rose up from his rocky Throne,
A Crystal Scepter, and a reedy Crown
His Power confest, his dewy Head he reer'd
Above the Flood, and smiling on the Waves appear'd.
New gather'd Banks of Quicksands he remov'd,
And kindly thro' the Deep, the Navy shov'd.
So the calm Ocean seem'd with equal care,
On its pleas'd Waves, the British Fleet to bear.
Huge, rolling Porpoisses spout Seas away,
And friendly Dolphins round the Squandrons play.
The floating Castles dance upon the Tide,
And on its foaming Ridge Triumphant ride.
In glorious Lines the painted Squadrons move,
As if the Poets Gods laps'd from above,
In gilded Clouds, were dancing on the Seas
In Masquerade, with the green Deities.
Twice the great Ruler of the Day had hurl'd
His flaming Orb , around th' enlighten'd World.
When at the early Dawning of the Day,
The Navies in each other's Prospect lay.
The Saxon Squadrons cover all the Main,
And with their Prows divide the liquid Plain,
Plying to Windward, Arthur 's Men prepare
Their Navy, to receive th' advancing War.
Down on their Feet King Octa bravely bore,
Whose long-wing'd Navy stretcht, from Shore to Shore.
Both Fleets in Lines of War stood cross the Deep,
And ready to Engage, just Order keep.
They hoist their bloody Flags on either side,
And Death her Jaws does for her Feast provide.
Now the shrill Trumpets sprightly Voice, and all
The Harmony of War, to Combate call.
The Saxon Sailors with a hideous Cry,
Affright the Deep, and rend the Ecchoing Sky.
The barb'rous Yellings and outrageous Sound
From Rock to Rock, and Shore to Shore rebound.
A furious Fight between the Fleets began,
And bold Selingbert first Attacks their Van.
Now bearded Darts, and fatal Javelins fly,
And Balls of Fire hiss throgh th' inlightned Sky.
Each on his Foe missive Destruction pours,
And Death receives, and gives in feather'd Showers.
Thus milder Fate at distance sparing slew,
Till to a closer Fight Selingbert flew,
And on his Foe his massy Grapples threw.
Which clenching fast their pond'rous, griping Claws,
The rude Embrace, both Ships together draws.
The Saxons flew on Board with furious Arms,
And on the Decks appear in numerous swarms.
Vogan enrag'd, did fatal Wounds dispence,
With lavish Hand, and made a brave Defence.
With Battle-Axes, Swords, unweildy Crows,
They clear the Decks of the insulting Foes.
Beat down with ghastly Wounds, some gasping ly,
Others their Arms cast down, for Mercy cry.
Into the Waves some their pale Bodies throw,
And fly from Death above, to Death below.
Down the Ships sides Torrents of Saxon Blood,
With unknown Crimson Dye th' astonish'd Flood.
Upon the Decks, that slaughter'd Heaps deform,
Enrag'd Selingbert pours a second Storm,
Which like a Summers Shower soon disappear'd,
By Valiant Vogan and his Briton s clear'd.
Selingbert thus defeated, boils with Rage,
But forc'd at last, his Ship to disengage;
He bears away, and quits th' unequal Fight,
Providing for his safety, by his Flight.
Octa mean time his Men for Fight prepares,
And fiercely down, on Arthur 's Squadron bears.
The spacious sides of his high Ship consum'd
Whole Forrests, and whole Mountains Spoils entomb'd.
It self a Fleet across the Billows stood,
Engross'd the Winds, and press'd the labouring Flood.
The lofty, gilded Palace shone from far,
Presenting to the Foe a glorious War.
Bold Octa , and the Valiant Arthur meet,
Which strook a vast Concern thro' either Fleet.
On this important Action seem'd to wait
The British Hero's, and Britannia 's Fate.
Both sides with Shouts their fatal Weapons fling,
And wing'd with Death thick Showers of Arrows sing.
Unerring Darts in hissing Tempests fly,
And carry swift Destruction thro' the Sky.
Ships rush to Battle with enormous Shocks,
As Towers with Towers encounter'd, Rocks with Rocks,
So in the Northern Seas when Storms arise
High Rocks of Snow, and sailing Hills of Ice
Against each other with a mighty Crash,
Driv'n by the Winds, in rude Rencounter dash.
The Sea afflicted foams, the Waves on high,
Toss'd by the batt'ring Islands , lave the Sky.
The Crystal Towers break with a fearful Crack,
And on the Billows spread their foaming Wreck.
Vast Sheets of rocky Ice, and broken Isles,
Oppress the lab'ring Ocean with their Spoils.
On both sides now they call forth all their Rage,
Resolv'd in closer Combat to engage.
Then Death and Slaughter in sad Triumph reign'd,
And Seas of Blood the slipp'ry Decks distain'd.
Some the Pale Dead into the Ocean heave,
Some in the Ships low Caves the wounded leave.
Prodigious Numbers fell on either Side,
Thin on the Decks they look'd, but thick upon the Tide.
For neither Chief e'er met a greater Foe,
Both wondrous Skill, and wondrous Courage show.
While Vict'ry poising equal Hope and Fear,
With doubtful Wings hung hov'ring in the Air.
The wise Prince Arthur wislt on Shore equips,
Their use till then unknown, a sort of Ships,
That since the Deeds of that Important Day,
Among lost Arts in deep Oblivion lay.
Till Captains that in after Ages liv'd,
The long forgotten Stratagem reviv'd.
Bitumen, Sulphur, and Vulcanian Spoils.
From lab'ring Mountains, and from unctious Soils.
Naptha and Pitch with Skill and Labour wrought,
With hidden Stores of Flame the Vessel fraught.
Like rolling Clouds where Lightning's Seeds remain,
Their swelling Wounds a fiery Birth contain.
Arthur so strange a Ship to Octa sent,
With such Infernal Treasures in it pent.
Which with its grappling Engines fixt, and fir'd,
The bold Commander to his Friends retir'd.
The Fire with unexstinguish'd Rage, consumes,
The Subterranean Wealth the Ship intombs.
Vast sheets of Flame, and Pitchy Clouds arise,
And burning Vomit, spouts against the Skies.
Tempests of Fire th' astonish'd Heav'ns annoy,
Fierce, as those Storms, that from their Clouds destroy;
As Ætna from its glowing Roots was torn,
And by its own wild Hurricanes was born
From its old Seat, to float upon the Waves,
With Vulcan 's Magazins, and Cyclops 's smoaking Caves.
The burning Plague adher'd to Octa 's side,
And the scorcht Ribs the hot Contagion fry'd.
The spreading Mischief's growth no Force restrains,
The Plague resisted more severely Reigns.
To the tall Masts the raging Flame aspires,
And neighbour sits to Heav'n's contiguous Fires.
Octa at last his flaming Ship forsakes,
And in stout Horsa 's Vessel Refuge takes.
Here he once more his Royal Standard Rears,
Where on the Deck undaunted he appears,
With chearful Looks dissembling inward Fears.
He strives the Saxons Courage to exite,
To press the Foe, and still maintain the Fight.
But strives in vain, assisted by the Wind,
The spreading Burnings no Resistance find.
Resistless Flames advance with lawless Power
From Ship to Ship, and thro' the Fleet devour.
Naked, and half-burnt Hulls with hideous Wreck,
Affright the Skies, and fry the Ocean's back.
Scorcht Bodies, broken Masts, and smoaking Beams,
Promiscuous Ruin, float along the Streams.
Deform'd Destruction, and wild Horrour ride
In fearful Pomp, upon the Crimson Tyde.
At last King Octa , dreading longer stay,
Commanding all to follow, tows away;
The Saxon Captains chearfully obey.
But Lucifer enrag'd at this Defeat,
Plots to protect, and cover their Retreat.
Summon'd to his Pavilion , straight repair
The Dæmons , that infest th' Inferiour Air.
With bloated Fiends, that in dark Caves abide,
And o'er the Subterranean Damps preside.
Last the slow Powers come from their misty Dens,
That rule the Marshes, Lakes, and stagnant Fens.
To whom their Prince, see, how King Octa tows
His shatter'd Ships, prest by Victorious Foes.
Go, and protect him from the fierce Pursuit,
And give him time, his Navy to recruit.
Let all your Damps, and lazy Fogs arise,
And with your sluggish Treasures cloud the Skies.
Let your thick Mists repel th' unwelcome Light,
And o'er the Ocean spread a friendly Night.
The humble Powers their haughty Prince obey,
Some from dark Caverns far remote from Day,
From each embowell'd Mount, and hollow Vault,
Crude Exhalations, and raw Vapours brought.
Some from deep Quagmires, Ponds, and sedgy Moors,
Drive the dull Reeks, and shove the haizy Stores.
To their appointed Station all repair,
And with their heavy Wings encumber all the Air.
The ponderous Night's impenetrable Steems,
Exclude the Sun, and choak his brightest Beams.
The hov'ring Clouds the Saxon Fleet embrace,
And wondrous Darkness stops the Briton 's Chase.
Octa , Æneas like, a misty Night
Around him cast, escapes the Briton 's Sight.
Now had the Sun diffus'd the early Day,
From his bright Orb, and chas'd the Fogs away.
To their known Shore the Saxon Navy flies,
And in their Ports and Rivers safely lies.
Arthur , who while the Shades prevail'd, had lain
Under an easie Sail, upon the Main;
Discovering that the Saxon Fleet was lost,
Tack'd, and directly stood for Albion 's Coast.
He sail'd not long, before his Joyful Men
Could from the Masts, their native Countrey ken.
First the Bolerian Promontory rears
His Head, and as a lofty Wedge appears,
That down into the Deep, had from the Shore,
Run from Danmonian Mines and melted Oar.
Here when the Oazy Shore by ebbing Tides,
Is naked left, around its glitt'ring Sides,
Pale Tinny Oar, and Copper's brighter Vein,
Casts Glimmering Lustre o'er the liquid Plain.
Next they discover the aspiring Hills,
Whose Precious Sides Metallick Treasure fills.
In their dark Caves Cyclopian Lab'rers sweat,
And their vast Blows the ecchoing Hills repeat.
With ghastly Wounds they rend the groaning Earth,
And from its Bowels wrest the massy Birth.
By racking Engines, and redoubled Blows,
She's forc'd her hidden Riches to disclose.
Under wide Caldrons, some whole Forrests pile,
And melt in purging Flames the wealthy Spoil.
Some in their hot Ætnean Forges sweat,
And glowing Wedges on huge Anvils beat.
Their mighty strokes shake all the bellowing ground,
The neighb'ring Mountains, and the Vales around,
With subterranean Toil and Noise resound.
They pass the crooked Shore, which Fame of old
Enrich'd with pond'rous Pearl, and scatter'd Gold.
They view the Rocks with Gems and Treasure blest,
In verdant Samphire , and Eringo drest.
Danmonian Crows leaving the Neighb'ring Hills,
In numerous, noisy Flights, their Feet and Bills
With Native Crimson dy'd, o'erspread the Sky,
And o'er the Fleet in Ominous Circles fly.
Not far remov'd, it's sides a Mountain shows,
Where winding Shores a spacious Bay enclose.
His lofty Head, that flying Clouds invades,
From Shore to Shore the dusky Ocean shades.
Long this wild Seat, as ancient Fame obtain'd,
A fierce Gigantick Race of Men maintain'd;
Tall as the Hill, on which the Monsters dwelt,
Whose groaning sides their striding motion felt:
Torn from wild Beasts raw Skins, and grisly Hydes,
A horrid Dress, adorn'd their hideous sides.
Half roasted Swine their savage Jaws devour,
That stain their squallid Chins with flowing Gore.
In thorny Dens the outstretcht Monsters ly,
Half eaten Limbs, and mangled Bodies by.
With Rapes and Thefts, and endless Murders cloy'd,
A fearful Plague, the Region they destroy'd.
Weathering the Point with favourable Gales,
Along the Shore the Conquering Navy Sails
Into the rough Hibernian Seas they came,
That howling Monsters, and dire Gulphs defame.
Which to avoid, close to the Shore they keep,
Where fair Sabrina to her Parent Deep,
Drawing her silver Train along does glide,
Diluting with fresh Streams the Briny Tyde.
Lovely Sabrina that for refluent Tydes,
Fair Cities, verdant Meadows, flow'ry Sides,
For Finn'd Inhabitants, and pleasant Streams,
Yields only to her fairer Sister Thames .
Passing these Seas, they view the fertile Soil,
Till'd by Silurian Farmers skilful Toil:
Where the vext Sea fair Clamorgania laves,
And rolls along the Sand its foaming Waves.
Here Rhemnius gliding by Carphilli 's Walls,
Proud of its Roman strength, into the Ocean falls.
Then Ratostibium from the hilly Lands,
Rolls down its rapid Tyde, and troubled Sands.
Next they descry an Isle of wondrous Fame.
Which the succeeding Ages Barry name.
In its high sides that to the Sea appear,
Dreadful to tell, th' astonish'd Saylors hear
Ætnean Labour, where the bellowing Rocks
Shake with Gigantick Toil, and Thundering Strokes
Of groaning Smiths , sometimes a mighty sledge
On a vast Anvil, beats a flaming wedge.
Now Bellows form'd of vast, capacious Hydes,
All Boreas blow from their Æolian sides.
Now the resisting Flames and Fiery Store,
By Winds assaulted, in wide Forges roar,
And raging Seas flow down of melted Oar.
Sometimes they hear long Iron Bars remov'd,
And to the sides, huge heaps of Cynders shov'd.
As we advanc'd the Coast in Prospect lay,
Which the Dimetian Lords did then obey.
Here th' opening Land invites, with outstretcht Arms,
The troubled Seas, free from the loud Alarms
Of the rough, windy Powers, to take their Ease,
And on its Bosom lye diffus'd in Peace.
The flowing Waters smooth their furrow'd Face,
And gently roll into the Land's Embrace.
To secret Creeks the weary Billows creep,
And stretcht on Oazy Beds securely sleep.
No happy Land along th' European Coast,
Can such a fair and spacious Haven boast.
In this wide Station, the Dimetians pride,
The biggest Ships, and greatest Fleets may ride,
Safe from the Insults of the Winds and Tide.
Two lofty Castles with their gilded Towers,
Inlighten, and defend the subject Shores.
Here the Victorious Briton s safe arrive,
With all the Joy, long-wish'd for Harbours give.
In frequent Throngs the glad Dimetians stand
Upon the Coast, thick as th' unnumber'd Sand.
Their Acclamations and loud Shouts rebound,
From trembling Hills, and shake the Shores around.
The Ships lay rocking, and their Masts bend more
With Briton s Breath, than with the Winds before.
The joyful Briton s and their Friends debark,
And near the Shore a spacious Camp they mark.
The pious Prince at a fair Castle staid,
That Malgo the Dimetian Lords obey'd.
Now her brown Wings the silent Night displays
Light sprinkled o'er with Cynthia 's silver Rays.
Silence and Darkness all to Rest invite,
And sleep's soft Chains make fast the Gates of Light.
Prince Arthur sleeps, by Summons from on high,
From trembling Joynts his active Spirits fly
To the round Palace of th' Immortal Soul,
And thro' the Rooms and dark Apartments roll.
The busie Crowd fills all the labouring Brain,
Bright Fancy's Work-house, where close Cells contain
Of Forms and Images an endless Train,
Which thither thro' the waking Senses glide,
And in fair Mem'ry's Magazine abide.
Compos'd of these, light Scenes and Shows appear,
That still employ the restless Theater.
Divinely mov'd the Airy Figures take
Their several Ranks, and this bright Vision make.
Prince Arthur on a verdant Eminence
Conversing with King Uter stood, from whence
He views with wondring Eyes, great Lords and States,
Crown'd Heads, Victorious Princes, Potentates,
Heroes and Heroines, a glorious Train,
That in long Order fill'd the subject Plain.
Prince Arthur on the Royal Scene intent,
Demands what this August Assembly meant.
For what end thither come, and who they were
That at th' Illustrious Congress did appear.
King Uter then reply'd: Know pious Son,
That after various bloody Battels won,
You Beauteous Ethelina shall espouse,
The fairest Branch of all King Octa 's house.
A Christian Princess of a Pagan Line,
Whose Virtues equal with her Beauty shine.
You shall Triumphant mount the British Throne,
Which has not yet, so great a Monarch known.
Swell not with Pride, th' Imperial Seat you gain,
Brings envy'd Honour, but unenvy'd Pain.
Your People rule with equal Laws, and know
You're happy, when you make your Subjects so.
Let them a Good, Indulgent Father find,
Be mercifully Just, and severely Kind.
Let your bright Virtues Imitators draw,
Glorious Examples have more Force, then Law.
Seek not an uncontroll'd and lawless Sway,
Subjects from Love, but Slaves from Fear obey.
And whom the People fear, they quickly hate,
Which Passions in their Prince the like Create.
Hence mutual Jealousies, and deep Designs,
Hence strong Distrust the mould'ring State disjoyns.
Diffusing good on all Mankind, you'll show
You imitate Heav'n's Government below.
The Benefactor will most Honour bring,
And the Deliverer's greater than the King.
Believe no Foreign hostile Power can move
Your Throne, supported by your Subjects Love.
The bright Assembly that surrounds the Hill,
And with their Numbers all the Vally fill,
Are Albion 's Hero's, who in future days
Their own, and Albion 's Name, to Heav'n shall raise.
The Regal Orders that the rest outshine
With glittering Crowns, are the Imperial Line,
That after you, on Albion 's Throne shall fit,
Their Names in Fate's Eternal Volumes writ.
The Kings that in the foremost Rank appear,
Who frowning and unpleasant Aspects were;
Whose waning Crowns with faded Lustre shine,
Shall after you succeed, first Constantine
Conanus , and the rest of British Line.
These look not with their Native Splendour bright,
But dimly shine, with delegated Light.
Heroick Deeds by great Forefathers done,
Cast all their Glory on them, not their own.
To narrow Bounds their scanty Empire shrinks,
And Briton s Grandeur, with their Virtue sinks.
At last their Crimes, offended Heav'n provoke,
To crush their Nation with the Saxon Yoke.
Here Arthur sigh'd, that his degenerate Race,
Should with inglorious Deeds their Stock debase.
When Uter cry'd, Observe the Saxon Line,
Where mighty Kings the British Rank outshine.
Crowns on their Heads, and Scepters in their Hand,
All great in War, and born for high Command.
Their Arms the British Empire shall Assail,
And aided by the Briton s Crimes prevail.
This mighty Nation quickly shall believe
The Christians God, and Heav'nly Light receive.
That's Ethelbert the first of Saxon Race,
That shall pure Faith, and Truth Divine embrace.
He shall destroy in their own Temples Flames,
Their sensless Gods, of barb'rous, Northern Names.
In vain their Priests on helpless Idols call,
They, and their Groves by the same Axes fall.
Fragments of broken Altars, and the spoil
Of ruin'd Gods, fill all th' applauding Isle.
All shall adore the great mysterious King,
And of his Cross the glorious Triumphs sing.
The Spring of Life gilded with Heav'nly Beams
Purge guilty Minds, with pure Baptismal Streams.
From hence the Light shall break that shall dispell
The Pagan Shades, that on the Saxons dwell.
Proud Lucifer subdu'd, flies in despair,
With all th' Infernal Powers about the Air,
That with their broad, extended Wings retreat,
To seek a safe, and unmolested Seat:
To fix on Scythian Hills their gloomy Throne,
Or on the Sands fry'd by the burning Zone .
As when the Storks prepare to change their Clime,
The long-neck'd Nation, in the Air sublime
Wheeling, and towring up in Circles fly,
And with their cackling Cries disturb the Sky.
In lingring Clouds they hang, and Leisure give,
For all their feather'd People to arrive.
To th' Airy Rendezvous all hast away,
And their known Leaders noisy Call obey.
Then thro' the Heav'ns their trackless Flight they take,
And for new Worlds, their present Seats forsake.
So here the Fiends assembled in the Air,
Quit Albion 's Soil, and to wild Lands repair.
Remark that Prince, that in the midst appears,
Seven bright imperial Diadems he wears;
That's the great Egbert , whose heroick Might,
Shall the dismember'd Island reunite.
His Arms shall give him universal Sway,
And all the Saxons shall his Power obey.
See there the great Northumbrian Monarch stands,
Edwine his Name that all the Isle commands.
A happy Prince, if his good Angel's Art
Diverts the Mercian Ruffian's bloody Dart.
Saxons and Briton s shall obey his Arms,
Himself, the lovely Ethelburga Charms.
Her beauteous Eyes the mighty Monarch fire
Her Words, his Soul with Christian Flames inspire.
Blest Ethelburga of unrival'd Worth,
That plants Religion in the barren North.
See Alfred there, all shall his Praises sing,
A pious Souldier, and an humble King.
Hero and Bard , able in lofty Verse
His own great Deeds, and Triumphs to reherse.
Obey'd by all his unresisted Arms,
Shall to their Coasts repel the Danish Swarms.
Into the Seas swept by his potent Hand,
Those Northern Locusts leave th' afflicted Land.
The People his wise Laws shall cultivate,
Form their rude Minds, and smooth th' unpolish'd State.
Upon the Verdant Plain where Isis Streams
Hast to th' Embraces of her Sister Thames .
This mighty Prince shall a fam'd Empire Found,
Where Learning sits with branching Laurels Crown'd
Where sacred Arts with all their Letter'd Train,
In lofty Schools shall unmolested Reign.
Banish'd from Greece and Rome , no safe Retreat
They'll find, till setled in this Peaceful Seat.
Ages to come, this Seat will Oxford name,
Of which no Time, or Place, shall bound the Fame.
Remotest Nations shall her Wonders know,
Far as Great Britain 's potent Navies go.
Learning, her Native growth shall Strangers fetch,
And taught by her, their own rude Countries teach.
Th' admiring World shall Albion then adore,
Revere her Armies, but her Learning more.
As when the Wisdom of th' Eternal Mind,
Rude Chaos labour'd, and the Mass refin'd;
The scatter'd Rays that wander'd in the Air,
Did to the Sun's capacious Orb repair;
The shining Colonies pour'd thick around
Here fixt, and did a glorious Empire Found.
So here the broken Beams of glimmering Arts,
Assembling all their Light from distant parts,
To make bright Oxford 's Luminary stay,
That o'er the World shall spread Celestial Day.
Remark Elfeda there, a Martial Dame,
That by her Arms shall win Immortal Fame.
At last the Princes of the Saxon Line,
From Heav'nly Love and Purity decline.
Their Christian Virtues, and pure Zeal abate,
And with them sickens their decaying State.
With Christian Names, their Pagan Crimes they keep,
And deaf to Heav'n's loud Threats securely sleep
Till the fierce Dane sent by supream Command,
A vengeful Scourge does on their Borders Land.
The Saxon 's Guardian Angels call'd away,
Leave them to hostile Arms, an easie Prey,
Thus Heav'n afflicts a Land, when Impious grown,
And from their Throne pulls haughty Monarchs down.
This dreadful Curse, shall by relenting Heav'n,
Be soon from sad Britannia 's Empire driv'n.
The Cruel, slothful Dane shall soon decline,
To make way for a nobler Norman Line.
That Prince observe, that moves with so much Grace,
Is the great William of the Norman Race.
A mighty Prince, a Leader Brave, and Wise,
Whose towring Fame shall soar above the Skies.
Heav'n does for him Britannia 's Crown design,
From which great Stock shall branch a numerous Line
Of mighty Princes, that shall Rule this Isle,
Enriching it with Conquer'd Nations Spoil.
The Valiant second Henry , see him there,
What Majesty does in his Looks appear?
Through wild Hibernia he shall force his way,
And add four Kingdoms to the British Sway.
Brave Richard see, who from the sacred Coast,
Shall drive the Barb'rous, Unbelieving Host.
In Gaul this Monarch's Arms shall be renown'd,
Dreaded in Battel, and with Conquest Crown'd,
Long time in Peace his Crown might be enjoy'd.
Could he the Arrow at Chaluz avoid.
Now, Son, your Eye to that brave Warriour turn,
Whose Beams so much the Norman Line adorn.
How great a Presence, what a Port he bears?
How much a mighty Conq'rour he appears?
That Prince is Edward , whose Victorious Arms
Judea save from Pagan Foes Alarms.
How he returns thro' the Trinacrian Isle,
Thro' high Parthenope 's delicious Soil,
Thro' loud Applauses of admiring Rome ,
Reeking in hostile Blood triumphant home!
The beauteous Person next that Monarch seen,
Is Eleonora his Illustrious Queen.
In Storms she's with him on the Ocean tost,
To seek out horrid War on Asia 's Coast.
Midst barbarous Arms his Wife, Adviser, Friend,
She his prodigious Labours shall attend.
And when her Lord, so Heav'n permits, shall feel
Within his Veins, the Murd'rer's poison'd Steel.
She to the spreading Plague her Lips applies,
And gives that Ease, which Asia 's Blam denies.
Invading Death her healing Kisses charm,
And with new Life the sinking Monarch warm.
No other Prince that in this Age shall reign,
Shall equal Honour to brave Edward 's Gain,
But great Adolphus of th' Illustrious Race
Of Heros, which the House of Nassau grace.
This mighty Prince shall gain th' Imperial Sway,
And wide Germania shall his Laws obey.
The God-like Virtues, and Heroick Fire,
That shall the brave Nassovian House inspire,
Shall make Adolphus shine in this high Sphear,
Preluding to the great Deliverer
The pious William ; yonder he's in Sight,
In whom Nassovian Blood, and ours unite.
There war-like Edward stands, that with his Host,
Shall cross the Ocean to the Gallick Coast.
Where he his Conquering Ensigns shall display,
And make the haughty Franks his Laws obey.
There Queen Philippa shines, th' Albanians Dread,
Worthy of Britain 's Crown, and Edward 's Bed.
While Forraign Kingdoms Edward 's Arms subdue;
Hers thro' the North the vanquish'd Scots pursue.
See the Black Prince in Armour by her side,
Proud Gallia 's Terrour, and fair Albion 's Pride.
What Triumphs wait him in Pictavian Fields?
What never-fading Laurels Croissy yields?
That Henry mark, the glorious Conquerour,
That Gallia shall reduce by Albion 's Power.
Immortal Prince, if Arms can make thee so,
For thee in Norman Fields what Laurels grow?
How great he'll seem his Arms distain'd with Blood,
Chasing the Franks o'er Sein 's affrighted Flood.
At Agencourt what Wonders shall be done,
What Towns of Force, what Battels shall be won,
Before in Triumph he ascends their Throne?
Our Blood the Royal Channel now regains,
Deriv'd thro' Tudor our brave Offspring's Veins;
Which with the Norman joyn'd, the Confluent Tide
As long, as that of Time, shall downward glide.
From their Embrace to rule Britannia springs,
A glorious Race of Queens, and potent Kings.
See, the first Tudor that ascends the Throne,
After the glorious Field at Bosworth won.
The Scepter he shall sway with great Applause,
And Rule the Isle with Wise and Equal Laws.
Young Edward there, Albion 's Delight appears
Learn'd, Pious, Manly Wise above his years.
Then Liberty in all her lovely Charms,
Shall sit secure from Tyranny's Alarms.
Religion purg'd from Rome 's Adulterous Stain,
Shall in her pure, and Native Splendor Reign.
No greater Mind to Albion 's Crown succeeds,
Rever'd for Brave, and lov'd for Pious Deeds.
Blest Albion , if kind Heav'n would long permit
So great a Monarch, on thy Throne to sit.
But, oh, how short Delights attend him here,
Such Heav'nly Guests are shown, and disappear.
Dear both to Earth and Heav'n, he'll soon remove
His Throne from hence, to Reign in Bliss above.
With what Complaints, with what despairing Cries,
Shall sad Britannia Mourn his Obsequies?
There, see, the bright Elizabetha rise,
Inlightning with her Rays the British Skies.
Th' Indulgent Parent of her People, she
Loves, Feeds, and Guards Britannia 's Family.
Heav'n's and her People's Rights she shall protect,
And for Britannia 's Ease, her own neglect.
Her Sons she shall embrace with pious Care,
And from her Coasts send back th' Iberian War.
Blest times, when she that wears th' Imperial Crown,
Regards her Peoples Safety, as her own.
Intently now on that great Monarch gaze,
So much distinguish'd by his brighter Rays.
This is the Man, the brave Nassovian , whom
I nam'd, the great Deliverer to come.
Succeeding Prophets under your great Name,
This our great Offspring shall aloud proclaim;
Rais'd from a noble Branch of Tudor 's Line,
From Thamisis transplanted to the Rhine .
Amaz'd Posterity, will scarce believe
The wond'rous Deeds this Hero shall atchieve.
Th' European World by Rome and Gaul opprest,
By his long-wish'd-for Arms shall be releast.
He'll far outshine his own Heroick Race,
Europe 's Protectors, who shall Tyrants chase,
And Monsters vanquish with Herculean Toil,
And rescue from their bloody Jaws, their Spoil.
The beardless Hero's first victorious Arms,
Shall free his Country from the Gauls Alarms.
As he advances, Seas of Gallick Blood
Shall with red Streams, swell Mosa 's wondring Flood.
Their slaughter'd Ranks shall lie along the Rhine ,
And with strange Purple stain th' astonish'd Vine.
For in this Age
Just Heav'n shall cause a haughty Prince to rise,
Cruel, as Lucifer , and like him wise.
Heav'n's Laws, and Power, the Tyrant shall deride,
Breaking in Sport, the Oaths wherewith he's tide.
Th' insatiate Monster pleas'd with humane Gore,
And urg'd with Hellish Rage, shall first devour
His Gallick Slaves, and with a merc'less Hand,
Spread fearful Ruin o'er his fruitful Land.
Raging with Fire and Sword he shall invade
His Neighbour's Cities, to his Gold betray'd.
No Spoil, no Carnage, shall his Fury cloy,
But drunk with Blood, he shall around destroy,
Like spreading Fires, or Torrents roaring down,
From melting Snows, that all the Vally drown.
Like Hell, he shall derive his chiefest Joy,
From the divine Permission to destroy.
Mischief and Ruin, he shall Conquest name,
And from Destruction raise a dismal Fame.
Regions laid wast, Orphans and Widdows Cries,
Proclaim his Power, and barb'rous Victories.
So dire a Plague, shall Heav'n permit to reign,
To scourge the impious World, but to restrain
The savage Spoiler, shall this Prince employ;
Monsters grow up, for Heroes to destroy.
The valiant Youth sinking Batavia saves,
Their surest Digue against the Gallick Waves.
After opprest Britannia shall invite,
The fam'd Deliverer to assert her Right.
His Arms the lowring Tempest shall dispel,
That threatning Albion , rolls from Rome and Hell.
Fair Liberty her drooping Head shall rear,
And blest Religion on her Throne appear.
His Reign fresh Life to Albion shall impart,
And teach her Sons War's long-forgotten Art.
Briton s dissolv'd in soft, inglorious Ease,
In courtly Vices, and luxurious Peace,
He shall inspire with a new martial Flame,
And lead them on, to gain their Ancient Fame.
Now Albion 's Youth polish their rusty Arms,
And once more, Gallia dreads their loud Arms,
Victorious Briton s, as of old, shall come
Laden with Spoils, and crown'd with Laurels, home.
He ceas'd; but near the great Nassovian stood
A Heroine, by mien of Royal Blood.
Her Form Divine, and Seraph-like her Face
Where Heav'nly Sweetness, strove with Princely Grace.
But a black Cloud on her fair Temples lies,
And on the ground she fixt her beauteous Eyes.
Prince Arthur on th' Illustrious Form Intent,
Ask'd who she was, and what the Sadness meant,
That her dejected Eyes did overspread,
What the thick Mist that hover'd round her Head.
King Uter with Reluctance thus replies,
While flowing Tears gush'd from his mournful Eyes,
Ah, Son, demand no more their Fates to know,
That must produce such universal Woe.
Telling that Offspring's Story, I reveal
A Scene of Grief, I labour'd to conceal.
This Wonder to the World, as soon as shown,
Is taken up to her Celestial Throne.
Ah! what sad Accents, what a mournful Cry,
What lamentable Sounds will fill the Sky,
When her high Herse, shall from her Palace go
Thro' weeping Throngs, in all the Pomp of Woe.
So sad a Cry did wondring Nile affright,
When Egypt 's first-born Youth were slain by Night.
What Strains of Sorrow will Augusta show?
What Floods of Tears, sad Thamisis , will flow
Into thy Stream, while gliding by the Dome,
Where fresh erected stands her lofty Tomb.
Son, mind her Presence, what a God-like Air?
What Throngs of Graces in her Eyes appear?
No nobler Genius, no well fashion'd Mind
E'er took a Turn more happily design'd,
From an Etherial Mould more labour'd and refin'd.
Mild as the blest above, without serene
As Eden 's Air, and calm as Heav'n within.
No lovelyer Star adorns the British Sphear,
Ah! might she longer in her Orb appear,
That her Celestial Influence might Flow
In chearing Streams on all the Isle below!
New warmth to Albion her kind Beams afford,
To Albion guarded, as before restor'd,
By the Nassovian Angel's flaming Sword.
My fairest Offspring! ah, her rigid Doom!
She shall Maria be: Come, quickly come,
Bring me white Lillies, Roses newly blown,
Lillies and Roses, like Maria 's own.
These on her Herse I'll scatter, and perfume
With od'rous Herbs and Flowers the precious Tomb.
Let me my Sorrow thus express, 'tis true,
A fruitless Deed, but all that Love can do.
The Tides of Grief that here swell'd Arthur 's Breast,
Broke Sleeps soft Fetters, and dissolv'd his Rest.
The Airy Objects, that without did wait,
Now rush in by the Senses open Gate.
His waking Thought, the wondrous Scene reviews,
And various Passions in his Mind renews.
Go to "Prince Arthur" Part II
PRINCE ARTHUR. AN HEROICK POEM IN TEN BOOKS
by
SIR RICHARD BLACKMORE
BOOK VI
Now in the East of Saffron Morn arose,
And call'd the Lab'rer from his soft repose.
Thro' all the Region flew Loquacious Fame;
And the glad tydings spread, where'er she came.
Prince Arthur 's Landed, is the general Cry,
Straight to their Arms the chearful Briton s fly.
The great Restorer all prepare to meet,
And warlike Noise resounds in every Street.
His eager Friends impatient of delay,
Had long expected this Auspicious Day.
They knew he was Embark'd to bring them Aid,
And for his quick, and safe Arrival pray'd.
Oft on the Rocks and highest Hills they stood,
And all around the Subject Ocean view'd
With longing Eyes, hoping the sight to gain
Of Arthur 's Conquering Navy on the Main.
And when no Fleet, no Arthur they descry'd,
They chid the Winds, and interposing Tyde.
With less impatience staid th' Ithacian Dame,
Till to her Arms her wish'd Ulysses came.
The Sestian Maid not with such Passion stood,
To spy her Lover cutting thro' the Flood.
The Zealous Men while adverse Boreas reign'd,
And from the Coasts Prince Arthur 's Fleet detain'd,
When mild Aurora with her rosy Light,
Began to streak the dusky Face of Night,
Oft from their Beds, up to the Windows flew,
And thence the Fanes and flying Clouds would view,
To see if yet more favourable Gales
Rose from the South, to swell Prince Arthur 's Sails.
Anxious they look around, but when they find
Their hopes retarded by an adverse Wind,
Their Sorrow in repeated Sighs exprest,
They to their Beds return, but not to Rest.
Thus they expected Arthur 's powerful Aid,
And such their Sorrow was, their Hopes delay'd.
But now, at last the Prince's Fleet arriv'd,
Raises their Courage, and their Hopes reviv'd.
The joyful Throngs Prince Arthur 's Praise proclaim,
This every Tongue employs, ev'n Children aim,
That scarce have learn'd to speak, to lisp his Name.
Some praise his Stature, and his God-like Face,
His awful Presence, and Majestick Grace,
His Courage some, and Conduct in the Field,
And think great Cæsar 's Fame to his, must yield.
His Clemency and Pity some admire,
And all the Virtues, that his Mind inspire.
The Actions of his Childhood some repeat,
In which they still discover'd something Great.
And now, what they expected he appears,
The Hero promis'd in his tender years.
Others relate the ancient Prophecies,
Wherein was told a Monarch should arise
Of mighty Power, and Universal Fame,
That should to Heav'n advance the British Name.
Things weigh'd, and well compar'd, they all consent
Arthur 's the Conq'rour, that the Prophets meant.
Some tell their Friends, their Courage to support,
What mighty Guards surround the Prince's Court.
What Succours hir'd were from Germania brought,
Succours, as oft Victorious, as they fought.
Fierce Alpine Allobrogs with slaughter fed,
In Snows and everlasting Winter bred.
Men of stupendous Bulk, pamper'd and cloy'd
With Blood of Nations, which their Arms destroy'd.
Arm'd with broad, flaming Swords, and mighty Spears;
Their Caps were Wolves, their Coats rough Skins of Bears.
Who stretcht on Beds did n'er their Limbs repose,
But from the naked ground still vig'rous rose.
Of Aspect terrible, their squallid Face
Thick, matted Beards with bristly Terrour grace.
None e'er escap'd, that did their Arms provoke,
They Mow whole Squadrons with a single stroke.
This monstrous Kind of Men did Fame invent,
And Arthur 's Troops so dreadful represent,
To raise the Briton s Hearts before deprest,
And strike a Terrour thro' the Saxon 's Breast.
With Joy transported all for Arms declare,
And all the Accoutrements of War prepare.
The Shepherds on the Hills forsake their Flocks,
And leave their brouzing Goats upon the Rocks.
Instead of Crooks, that did their Flocks command,
Long warlike Spears they brandish in their Hand.
The British Youth their Courage rais'd, rejoyce
To see the Banners fly, and hear the Trumpet's Voice.
The Farmers leave the Hopes their Field afford,
To reap fresh Laurels with their Conquering Sword.
The noise of War does from the Hills rebound,
And midst the Miners Eccho's under ground.
Who straight alarm'd, at nobler Labour Sweat,
And into Swords their glowing Metal beat.
Their Forges, Anvils and wide Bellows breath,
Are all employ'd in various kinds of Death.
Some shape the Halbert, and broad Fauchion's Blade,
And Darts by some, and Arrows Heads are made.
Some forming Battle-Axes heave the Sledge,
Some into Shields strike out a flaming Wedge.
To fashion Helmets some the Hammer ply,
Some labour, Pieces for the Leg and Thigh.
With Lances arm'd, some their hot Coursers rein,
And to the War Curvet along the Plain.
Some with their clenching Gauntlets grasp the Shield,
Shake their long Spears, and rush into the Field.
Across their Shoulders some their Quivers hung,
Their Arrows trim'd, and Bows for Death new strung.
As when black Clouds dark'ning the Summer Sky,
Loaded with Crystal Tempests slowly fly,
Th' Artillery discharg'd with mighty Sound
Th' exploded Hailstones, leap upon the ground,
Thunder amidst the Woods, and from the Hills rebound.
So with the Briton s all the Region swarms,
So thick their Troops, so loud the noise of Arms.
The groaning Earth complains, and trembling feels
The trampling Hoofs, and Chariots fervid Wheels.
In order now, Celestial Muse, declare
What Troops, and who those ancient Briton s were,
Who for their Country's Liberty combin'd,
And their Brigades with Arthur 's Forces joyn'd.
From Time's dark Prisons set the Hero's free,
And may their glorious Names Immortal be.
First warlike Cadwall the Dimetians Head,
His Forces from the neighbouring Region led.
Their Troops advance from the bleak Northern Shore,
On which the Hybernian Sea's loud Billows roar.
And where Octopitarum thro' the Waves
Wedging his Way, the opposing Ocean braves.
Fair Maridunum pours her Squadrons forth,
Where the fam'd Sorc'rer Merlin had his Birth.
They came who dwelt round high Plinlimmon 's Sides,
Where Stuccia flows, and swift Turobius glides.
King Meridoe the Oordovican leads
Down from the British Alps, whose snowy Heads
Imaus like, stand towring in the Air,
And midst the Stars eternal Winter bear.
And from the Soil lav'd by Conovius Flood,
And Menai 's Banks, where then Segontium stood.
Great Numbers swarm'd from Mona 's noble Isle,
Deform'd for Aspect, but of fertile Soil.
Where once in shady Groves erected stood,
The Druids Altars stain'd with humane Blood.
The Troops their March from Mediolanum take,
From Helen 's Way, and the Tegeian Lake.
Thro' which fair Deva 's Streams so swiftly pass,
They uncorrupted shun th' impure Embrace.
Here the sublime Mervinian Mountains rise,
And with sharp-pointed Tops transfix the Skies.
Next Morogan the bold, Silures brought,
None for their Country's Freedom better fought.
They bravely Valens and his Troops withstood,
And dy'd Sabrina 's Streams with Roman Blood.
With like Success Veranius they defeat,
And forc'd his vanquish'd Eagles to retreat.
This cause, as much their Courage did provoke,
To free their Country from the Saxon Yoke.
They take in hast their Swords and Bucklers down,
And march to meet the Prince from every Town.
From all the Cities on the verdant side
Of Nidus , and on Loghor 's Crystal Tyde.
They march from Bovium , and the neighboring Shore,
Thick, as the Waves, that there insulting roar.
Down from the Hilly Lands the Briton s came,
Which now th' Inhabitants Brechinia name.
Where the black Mount stands lofty in the Air,
And forky Peak , since call'd great Arthur 's Chair.
They march from Bulleum , Haga , and the Lake,
Where when broad Sheets of Ice dissolving crack,
The ratling Noise rebounds from Neighb'ring Hills,
And with loud Thunder all the Region fills.
From Ariconium, and the flowry Space,
Which wanton Vaga 's winding Arms embrace.
Where Lugus his transparent Bosom spreads,
And where Liddenus murmurs thro' the Meads.
Where thick Hesperian Woods with Apples crown'd,
Of golden Hue, enrich the Fields around.
Which the most generous British Wine produce,
Ausonia scarce affords a nobler Juice.
They leave the Fields fam'd for the purest Corn,
And the rich Plains that Wooly Flocks adorn,
Which bless the Farmer with a nobler Fleece,
Than what Apulia boasts, or fertile Greece .
They leave the golden Vale, and happy Ground
Which Dorus laves, and lofty Woods surround,
The warlike Youth from Venta came and those
That Muno 's Flood and Isca 's Streams inclose.
With those that round the Oazy Moor are bred,
And near the Golden Rocks refulgent Head.
Out from her Gates her Youth fair Isca pours.
Crown'd with gilt Spires, rich Domes, and lofty Towers.
Where Golden Roofs, and checker'd Floors abound,
Deep Vaults, and spacious Chambers under ground.
A stately Theater the Town o'erlooks,
And noble Works convey the neighb'ring Brooks,
By Conquering Romans built, that far from home
They might enjoy the Sports and Pomp of Rome .
Such was the ample City's ancient Fame,
Now worn by time it scarce preserves its Name.
Those from Gobanium march, a Town that stood
On Isca 's and Gevini 's confluent Flood.
In cheerful Troops the stout Cornavians came,
From the rich Soil we now Salopia name.
From either side of fair Sabrina 's Tyde,
Whose silver Streams the fruitful Land divide.
From Usocona , end the Towns that lay
On the fam'd Roman Military way.
From Uriconium , yet a Noble Town,
And old Rutunium , then of good Renown.
Galbut their Leader at their Head appears
A lovely Youth, and Wise above his Years:
Descended from a Noble ancient Race
Of Heros, who the British Annals grace.
He by Forefathers Beams Illustrious shone,
Great by their Deeds, but greater by his own.
Zeal for his Country, and the British Cause,
The generous Youth to glorious Danger draws.
For this he crost the Ocean, to implore
Prince Arthur 's Arms, their Freedom to restore.
The Prince embrac'd him, as his Fav'rite Friend,
And did his Zeal and Vigilance commend.
He staid the dear Companion of his Toil,
Both on the Seas, and on th' Armorick Soil.
And when the Saxon , and the British Fleet,
(A dreadful day) did on the Ocean meet,
By Arthur 's side upon the Deck, he stood
Distain'd with scatter'd Brains, and reeking Blood.
The Youth at danger unconcern'd appear'd,
And nothing but his Country's Suff'rings fear'd.
He leap'd out first on the Dimetian Strand,
And welcom'd Arthur to his Native Land.
Where taking leave, he to his Country came,
To Head his Men, and win yet greater Fame.
Devana sends brave Troops, a noble Town,
For lofty Works, and splendid Structures known.
Where once the Roman Conquerours did reside,
And envy'd not Italia 's Wealth and Pride.
The bold Inhabitants on Deva 's Bank,
And they who Danus , and Merseia drank;
With those that had their Seats, along the Soil
Which Briny Riches gives with easie Toil;
Draw out and Muster on the Neighb'ring Plain,
Resolv'd the British Honour to regain.
Bothan their Captain was a Warlike Knight,
A brave Asserter of his Country's Right.
A noble, but ungovernable Fire,
(Such is the Hero's) did his Breast inspire.
His honest Rage, his Friends could scarely Rule,
Hot for the Camp, but not for Counsel Cool.
Fit to assist to pull a Tyrant down,
But not to please the Prince that mounts the Throne.
Impatient of Oppression, still he stood
His Country's Mounds, against th' invading Flood.
Impetuous, as a Tempest in its Course,
He not to Conduct trusted, but to Force.
Unskill'd in Court Intreagues, on which the wise
And crafty Statesmen, as his strength, relies;
He still expected that a loud Applause,
Should follow Brav'ry, and a Righteous Cause,
His Country prais'd him; no Britannik Lord,
Was as his People's Patron more ador'd.
And Now in Arms they throng about their Head,
None to the Prince such numerous Forces led.
The Corintanians , that the Soil possest,
By fair Darventio 's fruitful Waters blest,
And Repandunum , where clear Trenta's Tide
Do's into Dovo 's silver Bosome glide.
Those near high Peak , in heavenly Waters drown'd,
And in the Dale, which craggy Rocks surround;
Their Zeal and Courage rais'd by loud Alarms,
Forsook their Seats, and Fields, and flew to Arms.
These valiant Men that Fame and Freedom sought,
To join the Prince's Arms Canvallo brought.
Noble Canvallo , who did with him bring
The Majesty, and Presence of a King.
Of lofty Stature, and a graceful Air,
By's own Sex fear'd, and favour'd by the Fair.
Th' Inglorious Pleasures of the wanton Court,
That drain'd his Wealth, did not the Patriot hurt,
Fit for the Camp, or Business of the State,
But soft Enjoyments Love to both abate.
Alarm'd with Publick Danger, he arose
Like a rous'd Lyon, from his long Repose.
Arm'd, and equip'd with gaeat Magnificence,
He mounts his fiery Turk, bought at a vast Expence.
His princely Train, and splendid Equipage,
Wher'ere he past the Eyes of all engag'd.
The Atrebatians From the happy Land,
Which then sublime Gallena did command.
Where winding Thamisis does bless the Soil,
The Wealth and Glory of the British Isle.
In War-like Bands advance to Arthur 's Aid,
And rich Bertudor , as their Head obey'd,
Who still against the Pagan Interest strove,
Rich in Possessions, and his People's Love.
His happy Tenants, and the Farmers round,
His Hospitable House still open found.
Each Week ten Oxen from the Stall he drew,
A hundred Sheep, and forty Swine he slew;
Fat Venison, Fowl, and Fish, an endless Store,
To feed his Guests, his Servants, and the Poor.
He to the Woods, and Forrests was inclin'd,
To hunt the Fox, and chase the flying Hind.
Pleas'd with his Friends, and with his rural Sport,
He wisely shun'd, the Dangers of the Court.
But for the Christian Cause, and publick Peace,
He quits the Forrests, and his Wealth and Ease.
His Helmet brac'd, and on his Arm his Shield,
He march'd before his Troops into the Field.
And that my Verse may to his Name be just,
Of all the Lords Bertudor was the first,
That to the Camp, his valiant Forces brought,
Tho' not inur'd to War, and tho' remote.
The Durotriges from the western Coast,
Where the Britannick Ocean's Waves are tost.
Their Troops assembled, for the Prince declare,
And march from all the Towns, to meet the War.
From Dornavaria , and the Seats that stand
On Froma 's Stream, and wealthy Blackmoor Land:
From Vendogladia , and the Tow'rs that rose
On the fat Glebe, where pleasant Stourus flows.
Sakil their Leader, and Illustrious Peer,
Was to his Prince, and to his Country dear.
He, their Mæcenas cheers the British Bards ,
Learns them to Sing, and then their Songs rewards.
So Heav'n to makes Men good, does Grace bestow,
And then rewards them for their being so.
Him as their Head the Athenian Sons adore,
The Muses Fav'rite, but the People's more.
To form great Men, his Palace was the School,
His Life good Breeding's, and good Nature's Rule.
To him the needy Men of Wit resort,
And find a Friend in an unletter'd Court.
The Poets Nation, did Obsequious wait
For the kind Dole, divided at his Gate.
Laurus amisdst the meagre Crowd appear'd,
An old, revolted, unbelieving Bard,
Who throng'd, and shov'd, and prest, and would be heard.
Distinguish'd by his louder craving Tone,
So well to all the Muses Patrons known,
He did the Voice of modest Poets drown.
Sakil 's high Roof, the Muses Palace rung
With endless Cries, and endless Songs he sung.
To bless good Sakil Laurus would be first,
But Sakil 's Prince, and Sakil 's God he curst.
Sakil without distinction threw his Bread,
Despis'd the Flatt'rer, but the Poet fed.
His Sword the Muses great Defender draws,
T'assert Britannia 's, and Religion's Cause.
Orson their Head, the bold Brigantes brings,
Subject of late, to the North - Saxon Kings.
Now for their Liberty they boldly speak,
And thro' the Foe, to joyn Prince Arthur , break.
Osron 's Example all the Region fir'd,
With noble Heats, and Martial Thoughts inspir'd.
None in the Field did greater Courage show,
Whether he charg'd, or else sustain'd the Foe.
Yet none more fit in Council to preside,
And in a Storm, the lab'ring State to guide.
A mighty Genius of uncommon Mould,
As Cæsar Eloquent, as Cæsar Bold.
He could th' unstable People's Tumults stop,
And a declining Kingdom underprop.
Matur'd by Age, and business of the State,
The hoary Oracle in Council sate.
Where he the British Nestor ws esteem'd,
And all his Language, Inspiration seem'd.
This finish'd Statesman, did the Prince perswade
To pass the Seas, the Saxon to invade.
And at his Landing quick Assistance brought,
And for his Country none more bravely fought.
The farthest Western Soil, which with their Wave
The British , and Hibernian Oceans lave.
From Isca 's Noble Stream, far as the Shore
Where round Bolerium 's Head the Billows roar,
By the Danmonian Briton s was possest,
And with King Cador 's, temperate Empire blest,
This war-like People, at their King's Command,
Now take up Arms, and muster thro' the Land.
The good King Cador worn with War and Age,
No longer does the Foe in Arms engage.
Macor his Son supply'd the Father's Place,
Whose Virtues equal'd his Illustrious Race.
To serve Prince Arthur , and his righteous Cause,
His Sword the brave Danmonian Hero draws.
A beauteous Youth, whose Breast a strong desire
Of Fame, and Martial Glory did inspire.
Eager of War, he the Danmonians led,
And shone in splendid Armour at their Head.
His coming, Joy to all the Briton s gives,
And in his Arms, the Prince his Friend receives.
To whom to be endear'd, he always strove,
By all expressions of Respect and Love.
The Valiant Youth he did with Honours grace,
To his high Merit due, and noble Race.
Macor , mean time, Prince Arthur did adore,
None serv'd his Cause, or sought his Favour more.
Tracar , and Ormes in the Camp arrive,
Whose Presence to the rest, fresh Courage give.
Their Wisdom was by Fame aloud proclaim'd,
The Briton s none with greater Honour nam'd.
Both fit about a Monarch to abide,
To aid his Counsels, and the State to guide.
None more admir'd for clear, unerring Sense,
For Piercing Sight, and charming Eloquence.
Great Spirits both, but of a different Mould,
Ormes impetuous, Tarbulent, and Bold;
But Tracar was compos'd, sedate, and cool,
His Passions subject to a stricter Rule.
Ormes was haughty, inaccessible,
And knew his Riches, and his Sense too well.
Tracar was courteous, easie of Access,
Of great Humanity, and mild Address.
Ormes was therefore honour'd not desir'd,
Tracar belov'd, and equally admir'd.
Ormes would still advance unbounded Power,
Tracar his Country's Liberty secure.
Tracar had letters, Ormes Native Fire:
Both had by Birth, what Labour can't acquire.
Arthur to neither Rival Wit inclines,
But us'd them both, to serve his wise Designs.
Such Love the Briton s to the Prince exprest,
Who when he found his Numbers thus encreast,
Advanc'd his Ensigns, and to Isca came,
Where the Silures dwelt, theh chief for Fame.
Hither fresh Squadrons to the Prince resort,
Which from that time is call'd great Arthur 's Court.
Five times the Sun had his Diurnal Race
Compleated, when from this delightful place
The pious Prince his Ensigns mov'd, and came
To Glevum , seated on Sabrina 's Stream.
Decamping hence, his arm'd Battalions gain
Prince Arthur at their Head, the fertile Plain
By easie Marches, where Gallena stood,
Which Thamisis laves with its noble Flood.
Thus stood the Briton s, after his Defeat,
Octa with Grief did to his Coasts Retreat.
As when by chance a Royal Eagle spies,
From some high Mountains Top, amidst the Skies;
A flight of Swans, obscuring all the Air,
Swift as the Lightning, which he's said to bear,
Upon the Prey his Airy Flight he takes,
And with sharp Pounces vast Destruction makes.
Some fall struck dead, some wounded slowly fly,
While Snowy Clouds of Feathers fill the Sky.
Those that the fierce Invader's Strokes survive,
With all the speed, Fear to their Wings can give;
To their belov'd Cayster 's Banks return,
And in their reedy Seats, their Wounds and Losses mourn.
So far'd the Saxons , and their shatter'd Fleet,
Octa forthwith Commands his Lords to meet
In Council, where they in long order sate
T'advise, what best might save their threaten'd State.
Cissa first spoke, an able Counsellour
Let us assemble all our present power,
And straight advance the Briton s to Attack,
Who to our Arms can small Resistance make.
Sore with their Wounds, and weary with their Toil,
They tempt the Saxons to an easie Spoil.
Boldly fall on, before their Troops are eas'd,
With Food and Rest, and with Recruits increas'd.
Your Wisdom thus, and Courage will appear,
Who tho defeated, have not learn'd to fear.
The Foe surpriz'd must to your Mercy yield,
Or to their Ships Retreating, quit the Field.
He ceas'd, then Osred , who had always won
By his wise Counsel great Applause, begun:
Our late Defeat has too much Terrour strook,
Thro' all our Troops, too much our Empire shook,
And too much flesh'd the Foe, to let me joyn
In this Advice, my Counsels more incline
To draw into the Field our utmost Power
From all the Saxon States, and to secure
Our Empire, let us labour to perswade
The Pict , and Scotish King, to give us Aid.
The Cause and Interest is the same of all,
They and their Gods, if we are crush'd, must fall.
Our Arms united in a numerous Host,
We may before of certain Conquest boast.
The trembling Foe unable to withstand
Such mighty Armies, will forsake the Land.
But if supported with vain hopes they stay,
They fall into our hands an easie Prey.
Pascentius next, a wise Nestorian head,
Whose Looks, and Words profound Attention bred:
Thus spoke-'tis true our Troops while thus dismay'd,
And of Prince Arthur 's Fame, and Arms afraid,
From present Action justly may disswade.
Seeking the Foe we too great Danger run,
Embolden'd by his Victory lately won.
And thus far Osred 's Thoughts and mine you see
Conspire, as in the rest they disagree.
If with our utmost Force we meet our Foes,
To too much hazard we our State expose.
Th' uncertain Game of War they little know,
That Stake an Empire on a single Throw.
While we delay to gather all our Force,
And to the Picts and Scots , shall have recourse;
Prince Arthur will advance, and mightier grow,
Like rolling Balls, that gather up the Snow,
Or Rivers taking Streams in, as they flow.
The Briton s led by ancient Prophecies,
Expect that near this time, a Prince shall rise
Heroick, Wise, a mighty Conqueror,
That all their lost Dominions shall restore,
And o'er the World, extend their Naval Power.
Something like this, our Augurs seem to fear,
From Prodigies, and Signs that oft appear.
Those hopes they all of Arthur now express,
Drawn by his Fame abroad, and late Success.
While this Belief, tho' false, the Briton warms,
He grows less fearful of the Saxon Arms.
He'll be more bold in Fight, while thus inspir'd,
And with such Zeal, and Expectation fir'd.
Intoxicated thus Men Wonders do,
And by bold Deeds, make their vain Fancies true.
He therefore serves King Octa , that creates,
An Understanding first, between the States.
An Embassy may to the Prince be sent,
To treat how Blood and ruin to prevent,
They may propose the Kingdom to divide,
And offer Octa 's Daughter for his Bride,
Fair, Ethelina , whose perverted Mind,
To Christian Worship is too much inclin'd.
He ceas'd, and his Advice did chiefly please,
And of the Council most declar'd for Peace.
The Lords dispers'd, King Octa unresolv'd,
Long in his Mind his troubled Thoughts revolv'd.
With strong contending Tydes of Passion prest,
Now War he looks on, now on Peace, as best.
Long he appear'd on Osred 's Counsel bent,
And to the Neighb'ring Saxon Princes sent,
That all, the strong Necessity might know
Of joyning Arms, against the Common Foe.
At the same time an Embassy he sends,
To make the Pict , and Scotish King his Friends.
That of their powerful Aid he might not fail,
If Arthur , and his Briton s should prevail.
But when he heard, that Arthur had as far
As Glevum 's Walls, advanc'd the threatning War,
Observing that the Saxons were dismaid,
And not yet strengthen'd by his Neighbours Aid,
He now declar'd, it was his setled Sense,
A Treaty with the Briton to Commence.
Then Orators he sent without delay,
Who to the Briton s Camp direct their way.
Titullan , Selred , and wise Theocles
For this Negotiation chiefly please.
Heldured of the Embassy was one,
Osrick and Thedred noble Ormar 's Son.
Arriving at the Prince's Camp, they found
The British Youth in Crowds disperst around.
For then with various Sports, and manly Play,
The Briton s solemniz'd, th' auspicious Day,
Of Arthur 's Birth, o'er all the Fields they spred,
To different Games, by different Passions led.
Here Chariots raising Clouds of Dust appear,
And run with smoaking Wheels their swift Career.
Here the robust Danmonian Nation swarms,
Hurling their massy Balls with vig'rous Arms.
Here the Dobunians to advance their Fame,
Toil at their Country's old laborious Game.
Long Ashen Staves across their Shoulders lie,
Then sway'd with both their Hands, strike thro the Sky.
A mounting Orb of Thongs, or well sow'd Hide,
While at due distance rang'd, on th' other Side
The Foe inclining stands, to wait its Fall,
And with like Force, strike Back the bounding Ball.
Incircled Wrestlers here their Manhood try,
And with loud Shouts, that rend the lab'ring Sky,
The standing Ring proclaims the Victory.
Some to a Cudgel prize their Fellows dare,
Who strait spring out to meet the wooden War.
They brandish in the Air their threat'ning Staves,
Their Hands, a woven Guard of Osier saves,
In which they fix their Hazel Weapon's End,
Thus arm'd, the nimble Combatants contend
For Conquest, giving and receiving Blows,
And down their Heads a crimson River flows.
Here flowry Garlands their proud Temples crown,
Whose airy Feet the Race had newly won.
Such were the Briton s Sports, as thro' the Throng
The Saxon Orators pass'd slow slow along.
Who strait were to th' August Pavilion led,
Where Arthur sate, his Lords around him spread.
To whom Edburga thus,
The Saxon King, whose ardent wishes are
To save Britannia , from Destructive War.
Who rather seeks t'enjoy the Fruits of Peace,
Then by his Arms his Empire to encrease.
Makes such Advances for these glorious Ends,
As may the Briton s make his lasting Friends.
The Saxons , and the Briton s shall command
Their equal Shares, of the divided Land.
Such Barrier shall be fixt, as shall secure
The Briton s, jealous of the Saxon Power.
To give Britannia Peace, we condescend
To yield up what our Arms can well defend.
Such steps King Octa makes for Peace, beside
That both may yet with closer Bonds be ty'd,
Bright Ethelina , Octa 's chief Delight,
Shall be the Link, the Nations to unite.
This so much envy'd Favorite of Fame,
Whom all with Love, and Admiration name.
Octa consents shall be your beauteous Bride,
To you already, in her Faith Ally'd.
These Measures all Contentions may adjust,
Friendship confirm, and fix a mutual Trust.
But if rejected, Octa does declare
He's guiltless of the dire effects of War.
Upon the Christians Head, will rest the Guilt
Of all the Blood, that by the Sword is spilt.
The Prince reply'd,
Affairs of that Importance to the State,
Require our thoughtful Care and calm Debate.
The two Proposals by King Octa made,
For lasting Friendship, shall be duly weigh'd.
Twice had the Sun broke from the Purple East,
Twice was he seen dilated in the West.
When Arthur seated on his Chair of State,
Thus spake, the Saxons with Attention wait.
An honourable Peace my Thoughts prefer,
To all the Triumphs of a Bloody War.
I, and my Briton s, those just Terms approve,
King Octa makes t' establish Peace and Love,
To spare each Nation's Blood, and save the Isle
From Desolation, and destructive Spoil.
Indulgent Heav'n is to both Nations kind,
That has your King to peaceful Thoughts inclin'd.
Ten Lords of Saxon , ten of British Blood,
May meet at Spina near Cunetio 's Flood.
T'adjust the Limits of each Nation's Power,
And Barriers fix, that may their Peace secure.
You for an Interview, the place will name,
Where I may see the beauteous Saxon Dame.
He ceas'd, and all the Audience pour'd around,
To this assented with a murmuring Sound.
A sudden Joy did in their Eyes appear,
While smiling Peace, triumph'd o'er vanquish'd War.
Mean time the Infernal Monarch wings his Flight,
To the White Hills , whence his Angelick Sight
Might all the Fields, and subject plains survey,
Where in their Camp, the hateful Briton s lay.
While with malicious Eyes around he view'd,
The Christian Army fill'd with Joy, he stood
With Rage dilated, and with Envy blown,
Like glowing Ætna , on Plinlimon thrown.
Flashes of Fire from his red Eyeballs flow'd,
Like Lightning breaking from a lowring Cloud.
So when a Toad, squat on a Border spies,
The Gardner passing by, his bloodshot Eyes
With Spite, and Rage inflam'd, dart Fire around
The verdant Walks, and on the flowry Ground,
The bloated Vermin loathsome Poison spits,
And swoln and bursting with his Malice sits.
So the faln Angel sate, and thus begun,
Am I, and all th' infernal Powers outdone?
And must this Briton still pursue his Course,
And thus elude my Arts, and all my Force?
What Christian Towns, and States have I destroy'd,
Forc'd by my Power, or by my Arts decoy'd?
How few remaining Christian Regions are,
Where no deep Marks of my Revenge appear?
What glorious Ruin did my Romans spread
O'er Asia 's Christian; I the Lombards led,
And furious Huns , to rich Ausonia 's Soil;
And fill'd the Land with Blood, and Christian Spoil,
My Maximin 's, and Nero 's, mighty Names,
What Desolation, by devouring Flames,
What Slaughter by the Sword, these Heros made,
With what Success did they the Saints invade?
And if the Fame be true that spreads in Hell,
In Gaul a Prince shall arise, that shall excel
All these, and more in Blood and Spoil delight,
And all Hell's Furies to his Aid invite.
Let that great Prince arise, and may his Birth,
Be honour'd with Convulsions of the Earth,
Eclipses, Comets, Meteors, Lightnings, Storms,
Murders, and Monsters of tremendous Forms.
Nor are there Triumphs of my Power alone,
Much weaker Spirits, have great Conquests won.
Spirits of Lower Order, small renown,
In Hell of little Figure, scarcely known.
Inferiour, subaltern Divinities,
Could often their just Fury to appease,
To wreck their Rage, and honest Malice cloy,
Whole Armies of this hateful Sect destroy:
First tempt th' ungrateful Murmurers to Rebel,
And then with Plagues and Darts invisible,
With Fire, and Earthquakes lay all wast, disseize
Their God, and ruin all his Votaries.
And shall this Briton my Force defy,
And introduce his banish'd Deity?
High States of Hell, ye mighty Gods below,
In your August Assemblies who will Bow,
Who Acclamations make when I appear,
Who dread my Power, my Greatness who revere?
If still this Briton shall resist my Power,
And all my Arts eluded, rest secure?
But if by irresistable Deceree
Pronounc'd by Fate, and unchang'd Destiny;
Arthur at last must mount the British Throne,
Beat down our Altars, and erect his own.
At least new hardships shall obstruct his Way,
And my Revenge his Triumphs shall delay.
That said he Flew, his Snakie Wings display'd,
Down to his Palace midst th' Infernal Shade.
From all their gloomy Regions to his Court,
At his Command, th' Infernal Lords resort.
To whom their Monarch from his glowing Throne
Thus with a haughty, troubled Look begun.
Thus far in vain all our Attempts are made,
To crush the Briton s that our State invade.
At Sea, they Triumph o'er King Octa 's Fleet,
At Land, Success above their Hopes, they meet.
Octa defeated, dreads Prince Arthur 's Arms,
And sues for Peace, by Ethelina 's Charms.
If this should once prevail, Britannia 's lost,
We, and our Priests, must fly this impious Coast.
Help'd by th' Almighty Enemy of Hell,
They yet our Arms escape, our Power repel.
Then Monarch's War with vast advantage wage,
When Heav'n its Power does on their part Engage.
This sure Expedient's left us to annoy
The Briton s, and their tow'ring Hopes destroy.
Let us provoke them to some dire Offence,
Which may against their Armies, Heav'n incense.
Then the Seraphick Guards, that round them ly,
Or else patroling thro' the Region fly,
Scowring the Hills and Vales, with flaming Arms,
The Christians to protect from our Alarms;
These will displeas'd, withdraw their powerful Aid,
And we with Safety may their Camp invade.
What subtile Spirit of seducing Art,
And skill in tempting, will perform this part?
Then filthy Asmodai who Men inspires
With wanton Passions, and unclean Desires,
Whose leud Adorers stand before his Shrine,
Transform'd to lustful Goats, and loathsome Swine,
Thus spake: This grateful Province I embrace,
I from their Minds will virtuous Passions chase.
My stronger Force shall all chast Thoughts expel,
And Heav'n's weak Flames, shall yield to those of Hell.
To solemn Groves, and lonesome Hermits Cells,
Where boasted Chastity in Triumph dwells,
To Cloyster'd Monks Admission I command,
And can a Camp my powerful Charms withstand?
On me such chosen Spirits shall attend,
Whose Skill and Power will most promote my End.
The Gods of Riot , Luxury and Wine ,
In this Attempt shall all their Forces joyn.
Doubt not great Prince, when we their Camp Assail,
Nature is on our side, we shall prevail.
Th' Infernal Diet with his Language mov'd,
With loud Applause the wise Design approv'd.
Straight Asmodai attended with a Train
Of soft Luxurious Spirits, to the Plain
Directs his Flight, where the glad Briton s lay;
With lab'ring Wings he mounts the steepy Way,
And quickly reach'd the tender Verge of Day.
In Companies distinct the Briton s fate,
Pleas'd with their wish'd Success, and prosp'rous Fate.
When to the Camp the Crew Infernal came,
Grasping in either hand Tartarean Flame.
About from Tent to Tent the Demons flew,
And midst the Troops their flaming Torches threw.
The wanton Fires about their Bosoms play,
And to their Hearts lascivious warmth convey.
The soft Contagion glides along their Veins,
And in their Breasts the pleasing Poison reigns.
Straight all in Riot and Debauches joyn,
Dissolve in Mirth, and sit inflam'd with Wine.
The Captains Snore on Scarlet spread beneath,
And with their lab'ring Breasts contend for Breath.
Tables o'erturn'd and broken Swords betwixt,
And Dishes faln, with Armour intermixt,
Helmets and Harness, and bruis'd Goblets by,
A mad Confusion, make of War, and Luxury:
Acted with lustful Fires, from Town to Town
Commanders and their Men promiscuous run.
With Outrages and ravish'd Virgins Spoils,
The vicious Army all the Land defiles.
Whoredoms in Pagan Cities they commit,
And at their Sacrifices feasting sit.
Heated with leud Religion, Lust, and Wine
They in the Worship of their Idols join.
Then to tht Camp the hot Adulterers lead
Their Pagan Women and avow the Deed.
Th' Angelick Guards th' enormous vices saw,
And in Displeasure from their Camp withdraw.
All Hell with Shouts of Triumph did resound,
That Such Success had all their Wishes crown'd.
The Prince of Hell strait summons from beneath
The chief supporter of the Throne of Death,
Vengeful Megæra , she without Delay
From Hell's Abyss ascends, and in her Way
Gathers raw Damps and Steams from noisome Graves,
And putrid Reeks, from Subterranean Caves;
Where spotted Plagues first draw their poisonous Breath,
The Nurseries of Pain, and Magazines of Death.
These Seeds of Torment, and devouring Heats,
From whose Contagion vanquish'd Life retreats,
Megæra in compacted Hides dark Wombs,
For this infernal Purpose made, entombs.
In their distinct Repositories laid,
Sad choice of Death, she various Plagues convey'd.
Arm'd for Destruction thus the Fury Came,
And brought from Asmodai 's, a different Flame.
Then Wolves were heard in neighb'ring Hills to howl,
Th' illboding Raven and the screaching Owl
Sung o'er the Camp by Night, the Sun by Day,
Distain'd with Blood, shone with a dismal Ray.
The cruel Fury strait her Flight did take
To find her Prince, to whom th' Apostate spake.
Go, glut thy Rage, and let the Briton s know,
Hell's Monarch is not yet a vanquish'd Foe.
Pass thro their Camp with thy accustom'd Hast,
And on them all thy deadly Treasures wast.
Strait did the vengeful Minister prepare,
T' infect the Camp, and poison all the Air.
Her Bottles turgid with imprison'd Death
She open'd, and releas'd the fatal Breath.
In livid Wheels the dire Contagion flies,
And putrid Exhalations taint the Skies.
The Region's choak'd with Pestilential Steams,
Malignant Reeks, raw Damps, and soultry Gleams.
Now with their Breath the hot Infection slides
Into their Breasts, and thro' their Vitals glides.
Their Lab'ring Hearts spout out the flowing Blood,
And fry the Limbs with an Ætnean Flood.
The raging Pest'lence chases thro' the Veins
Retreating Life, and drest in purple Reigns.
While other Plagues run colder to the Heart,
And thro' their Breast strike like a poison'd Dart.
Rack'd with tormenting Pain some gasping lie,
Some only breath th' envenom'd Air, and die.
Their Hearts with chill, congealing Blood opprest,
Throb a few moments in their panting Breast,
Then yield, and from their Vital Labour rest.
In vain for Help, in vain for Drugs they cry,
Friends and Physitians come, but with them dy.
Thro' all the Camp the fierce Destruction's spread,
Deforming every Tent with Heaps of Dead.
Mean time the pious Arthur prostrate laid,
Thus in a Flood of Tears dissolving pray'd:
Great King of Heav'n, thy Arm thou makest bare,
T' invade the Briton s with resistless War.
Thy glitt'ring Sword brandish'd with dreadful Sway,
Does thro our Camp with wide Destruction Slay.
Why did thy Aids the Shipwreckt Briton s save,
From Rocks and Tempests, and th' insulting Wave,
If we must only see our Native Isle,
And with our Dead th' encumber'd Land defile?
Th' insulting Heathen will Blaspheme thy Name,
And in their Songs advance their Idols Fame.
To their vain Gods loud Praises they'll return,
And Hecatombs upon their Altars burn.
Spare yet thy Briton s, let some Reliques live,
That may due Honours to thy Temples give.
Let the Destroyer cease at thy Command,
And Death at thy Rebuke arrested, stand.
And may the Crimes that Heav'n provoke, be known,
That our deep Sorrows may its Wrath atone.
The pious Prince's humble Cries succeed,
And glorious Raphael with Angelick speed
Descends, his Sword of Flame drawn in his Hand,
To chase the fierce Destroyer from the Land.
A Crystal Vial full of Od'rous Fumes,
Ambrosial Balm, and rich Etherial Gums;
His other hand pour'd out upon the Air,
To cure the Damps, and noxious Vapours there.
Megæra flies the bright Archangel's Sword,
The Plague was staid, and Health and Life restor'd.
Then to the room swift Raphael Wings his way,
Where Arthur still devoutly prostrate lay.
To whom the Seraph thus:
Heav'n by the Briton s daring Crimes incens'd,
Almighty Wrath severely has dispenc'd!
Your unprotected Camp it did expose,
To the dire Rage of your Infernal Foes.
Who by Divine Permission soon o'erspread
Your guilty Camp, with putrid Heaps of Dead.
Th' Angelick Guards return'd to Heaven, complain'd
That your flagitious Troops you n'er restrain'd.
Your Captains boldly Whoredoms, Riots, Rapes
Commit, and yet each Criminal escapes.
Thus you avow the Ills, by others done,
And their unpunish'd Guilt, becomes your own.
Had your Vindictive Arm been first employ'd,
Heav'n's had not thus your guilty Troops destroy'd.
But now th' Eternal yielding to your Prayer,
Has sent me from his Throne, with speedy Care
To stay the Plague, and make the Fiend retreat,
That spreads the Poison, to her Stygian Seat.
Heav'n's now appeas'd, may ne'er the Briton s dare
By their Revolting, to renew the War.
The Seraph disappear'd, and Arthur rais'd
Upon his Feet, th' Eternal Goodness prais'd.
BOOK VII
The Prince of Hell that on the Moutain staid,
And with Infernal Joy around survey'd
The Camp, where Death did in sad Triumph reign,
With wide Destruction, covering all the Plain.
Thus to himself: At last I have prevail'd
Against this Sect, tho other Arts have fail'd.
Their Troops half ruin'd with the Plague, afford
An easie Conquest, for King Octa 's Sword;
Ill break the Peace, although advanc'd so far,
And finish their Destruction by new War.
Arthur , prepare against the Saxon Arms,
'Tis time enough for Ethelina 's Charms.
Heros delay'd, and disappointed, prize
The Crown, that got too cheaply, they despise.
Pleasures the farther off, the greater seem,
And Toil and Danger, best preserve Esteem.
That service I will do, by taking care
To give fresh Fuel to th' expiring War.
That said, he leaves the Crystal Plains of Light,
And to th' Infernal Regions takes his Flight.
There stands a Rock, dash'd with the breaking Wave
Of troubled Styx , where was a gloomy Cave
Flowing with Gore, the fierce Bellona dwells,
And bound with Adamantine Fetters, Yells.
Around stand Heaps of mossy Sculls, and Bones,
Whence issue loud Laments, and dreadful Groans.
Torn Limbs, and mangled Bodies are her Food,
Her Drink whole Bowls of Wormwood, Gall, and Blood.
Long curling Snakes her Head with Horrour crown,
And on her squallid Back hang lolling down.
This gripes a bloody Dart, the other Hand
Grasps of Infernal Fire, a flaming Brand.
Treason, and Usurpation near ally'd,
Haughty Ambition, and elated Pride,
And Cruelty, with bloody Garlands crown'd,
Rapine, and Desolation stand around.
With these Injustice, Violence, Rage remain,
And ghastly Famine, with her meagre Train.
This Savage Rout to Gallia now resort,
Drawn by the Fame of proud Versallia 's Court.
There these Attendants on their Master wait,
And with their odious Forms, compose his horrid State.
To this wild Den now did th' Apostate fly,
Resolving all Bellona 's Aid to try.
At his Approach the Monsters cease their Din,
And bow at distance with a dreadful Grin.
The Stygian Prince, the Fury soon unchains,
Strait double Rage boils in her swelling Veins.
Then thus he spoke, to Octa 's Palace fly,
Attended with perfidious Treachery,
And various Discord, let thy Arts perswade
That Prince, the ruin'd Briton s to invade.
Go raise new Tumults, and dissolve the Peace,
For this high Task Bellona I release.
Charg'd with these dire Commands, she flies away,
To the Superiour Regions, blest with Day.
Near Peak 's aspiring Mount, and spacious Wood,
And the green Banks of Dovus Crystal Flood.
A wide-mouth'd Den, th' admiring Traveller sees
With Thorny Shrubs o'er-spread, and shady Trees;
That downward goes unfathomably deep,
Beneath the subterranean Vaults, that keep
Imprison'd Damps, and Winds tumultuous Store,
And the low Caves, where falling Waters roar.
It passes thro' the Bowels of the Earth,
And the rich Beds, where Metals have their Birth,
Till it reveals the gloomy Mouth of Hell,
Bellona freed from her infernal Cell,
Thro' this dire Gulph ascends with hasty Flight,
And soon emerges in the Fields of Light.
The Air grew dark, the Rocks, and Mountains struck
With Horrour, at the Fury 's Presence shook.
The Sphears disorder'd roll, the starting Sun
Springs from the Heav'nly Course he us'd to run.
The Moon all drown'd in Blood, and blazing Stars,
Portended Tumults, and destructive Wars.
Straight to King Octa 's Court the Fury comes,
And Acha Octa 's Mother's Shape assumes.
Then thus she spoke.
From blest Elysian Gardens I descend
To teach thee how to gain a glorious End
Of all thy Labours, and thy warlike Toil,
And fix thy Empire o'er the British Isle.
Heav'n has decreed that here thy Race shall reign,
And therefore has the hateful Briton s slain
With a destructive Plague, and poison'd Darts
Shot from above, into their impious Hearts.
Not half their Troops survive, make hast my Son
Their Ruine to compleat, by Heav'n begun.
Run then to Triumph, hast to certain Spoil,
And chase the cursed Nation from the Isle.
You see how much your League the Gods offend,
Let not their Enemy, be Octa 's Friend.
They must not be to us by Blood ally'd,
Nor Ethelina be a Briton 's Bride.
That said, a spotted Viper from her Head
She to his Bosom secretly convey'd.
The poisonous Vermin, with infernal Art
Glides thro' his Breast, and twines about his Heart.
The secret Poison wanders thro' his Veins,
And warlike Fury o'er his Spirits reigns.
Hence straight-way to the Picts and Scottish Court,
The Fury, and her hellish Train resort.
Where they to bloody Wars sound loud Alarms
And make the barb'rous Nations fly to Arms.
Mean time, the Saxon Monarch raving flew
About the Court, and soon together drew
The chiefest Lords, and thus himself exprest,
It was resolv'd to give the Briton s Rest;
The Land between the Nations to divide,
And that the Princess should be Arthur 's Bride.
But Heav'n against his Treaty does declare,
And singly with the Briton s wages War.
In vain we offer what they can't enjoy,
We spare the Men, Heav'n labours to destroy.
Avenging Gods from their high Regions came,
Arm'd with bright Swords of keen, Etherial Flame,
And fatal Darts of pointed Lightnings made,
And with sure Death the British Camp invade.
Their trembling Reliques fall our certain Prey,
Heav'n sounds th' Alarm, and we must Heav'n obey.
Tho we by Sea their Power could not withstand,
Our Gods more potent are, then theirs by Land.
Th' unfinish'd Conquest we may soon compleat
Or from this Isle oblige them to retreat.
This fair occasion let our Arms improve
To fix our Power, and all our Fears remove.
He ceas'd, and all his Captains War desir'd,
And sprang into the Field with Martial Heat inspir'd.
Straight Orders are dispacht for all to Arm,
And thro' the Cities sounds the loud Alarm.
The tremb'ling Husbandman his Toil forbears,
Fells his tall Ash, and shapes long Staves for Spears.
Some sighing o'er their Anvils forge the Blades
Of Swords, instead of Hooks, and rural Spades.
Huge Gauntlets some, some hollow Helmets beat,
And some o'er brazen Backs, and Breastplates sweat.
Some shape their Darts, and some their Javelins Points,
Or fit their pollish'd Armour's Manly Joints.
Shap'ning their Arrows Heads, some stand inclin'd,
Some on revolving Stones their Axes grind.
Some serve on foot, some take the Horseman's Launce,
And to the Field their foaming Coursers praunce.
In hast, some from their high roof'd Halls hung round,
With all the horrid Pride of War, and crown'd
With dusty Trophies, take their massy Shield,
And flaming Sword, and fly into the Field.
Some clasp their Helmets on, some snatch their Spear,
And polish'd Buckler, and in Arms appear.
Ensigns display'd, and Trumpets voice delight
The Saxon Youth, and martial Minds excite.
The lighted Beacons from the Hills declare,
As blazing Comets do, approaching War,
The flaming Signals giv'n, the Regions round
With Hors'men, Arms, and warlike noise resound.
As when
In some great Town a Fire breaks out by Night,
And fills with crackling Flames, and dismal Light,
With Sparks, and Pitchy Smoak th' astonish'd Sky,
Th' affrighted Guards, that first the Flame espy,
Straight give th' Alarm, and spread the dreadful Cry.
Th' amaz'd Inhabitants the Signal take.
And run in Crowds half cloath'd, and half awake,
To stop the spreading Ruin, and to tame
With spouting Engines the destructive Flame.
So when the frightful Cry of War begun,
Into the Fields in Troops the Saxons run.
Now Muse relate, and in their Order name
The People, that from different Regions came.
What fam'd Commanders did their Squadrons head,
And what great Lords their valiant Subjects led,
First the stout Cantian Saxon, from the Land,
That bravely once did Cæsar 's Arms withstand,
Where Joyful Nature, sits in Plenty crown'd,
Hesperian Woods, and Sylvan Scenes surround,
Her shady Throne, that with rich Fruit abound.
Of these some on the flowry Banks reside,
Of fair Medvaga , that with wanton Pride,
Forms silver Mazes with her crooked Tide.
The Durobrovian Youth of war-like Fame,
And bold Vagniacans , together came,
With those about the fruitful Region bred,
Where Durovernum , reers her stately Head.
They march from Thanotos , and from her Towers,
Her valiant Youth sublime Rutupia pours.
Rutupia , whose rich Gems, and Pearly Store
Inticed Victorious Cæsar , to her Shore.
Their chief Commanders were great Amades ,
Valiant Theodorick, Osred , and with these
Hengist , a splendid Youth, the Blood, and Name
Of the first Saxon , of Illustrous Fame,
That from the Belgick Shore, to Albion came.
From the fat Glebe they come, and flowry Land
Which the stout Trinobantes , did Command.
Augusta sends her warlike Youth, a Town
Of ancient Fame, to Forraign Merchants known,
Ev'n then for Naval Power of great Renown.
But since her stately Head is rais'd so high,
Her glorious Towers surmount the wondring Sky.
Her Royal Fleets the watry World controll,
Where the vast Ocean can his Billows roll,
Far as the Indies , and from Pole to Pole.
Her Power by trembling, Neighbour States is fear'd,
By distant Empires, and new Worlds rever'd.
Her bellowing Oaks, with louded Thunder roar,
Then what annoy'd them, on their Hills before,
Shaking the Gallick , and the Belgian Shore.
Britannia 's Head she reigns in Wealth and Ease,
Mart of the World, and Emp'ress of the Seas.
Edgar and Cissa, both Illustrious Names,
From the delightful Banks of famous Thames,
Into the Field, Augusta 's Squadrons bring,
None fought more bravely for the Saxon King.
They from the Forests come, whose Sports invite
Augusta 's youth, that in the Woods delight.
From the sweet Gardens of the fruitful East,
With smiling Flowers, and od'rous Saffron blest.
From Camelodunum pop'lous once, and proud
Of its fam'd Colony of Roman Blood.
From round Canonium , arm'd with Swords and Shields,
The warlike People March, and from the Fields
Where Idumanum verdant Wealth bestows,
Whose wanton Tide in wreathing Volumes flows,
Still forming Reedy Islands, as it goes.
Brave Sebert led them, valiant Oga 's Son,
Whose Arms had great Renown in Battel won.
The chearful Youth from Verolamium came,
A Town of ancient, and illustrious Fame.
Where fortify'd with Trenches, Lakes and Wood,
The valiant Casibellan , once withstood
The Roman Arms, oblig'd at last to yield,
Where Cæsar fights, who can maintain the Field?
Since cherish'd by th' indulgent Conquerour,
The City was advanc'd in Wealth and Power.
Its Towers, gilt Fanes, and Palaces did rise,
Darting Terrestrial Glories thro' the Skies.
Now where the City stood, the Ploughman toils,
And as he works, turns up old Roman Spoils,
Medals and Coins, enrich th' admiring Clown,
Pavements and Urns, by ancient Figures known.
From the rich Seats they came, from whence their Sword
The Coritanian chas'd, the rightful Lord.
From all the Towns, around the spacious Wood
Near which sublime Tripontium 's Castles stood.
From Bannavenna well-arm'd Squadrons came,
And Durobrevis , on Aufona's Stream.
Their chief Commanders were brave Alopas ,
And valiant Egbert , both of Horsa 's Race.
They came, who dwelt along the Southern Coast,
On which the German Ocean's Waves are tost.
The Soil the brave Icenian Briton s blest
With Peace, and envy'd Plenty, once possest.
Venta they left, where Garienus Tide,
Does to the Bosom of Bardunus glide,
An ancient, wealthy Town that did abound,
With warlike Youth, and rul'd the Soil around.
High Branodunum does her Squadrons send,
Where Roman Arms, did once the Coast defend.
They leave the Towns along fair Theta 's Flood,
And happy Soil, where Gariononum stood.
Those from the Banks of winding Stourus came,
And the rich Town, that bore Faustinus name.
They come from Oza 's Banks, and from the Land
Which lofty Combritonium did Command.
This numerous Saxon Youth, that then obey'd
King Ella 's Laws, adavnce to Octa 's Aid.
Ella their Valiant Prince, was at their Head,
And to the Field, his warlike People led.
From Camboritum , and the Neighb'ring Hills,
The chearful Youth drawn out, the Region fills:
From Camboritum , then a warlike Town,
Since for the Muses Seat, much better known.
Her learned Sons have gain'd Immortal Fame,
And high as Heav'n, have rais'd Britannia 's Name.
Redwal , whose Lands a vast Revenue yield,
Led them, compleatly arm'd into the Field.
They leave the reedy Lakes, and marshy Soil,
Once happy by the British Farmers Toil.
Now the vext Land a Forreign Master knows,
Which o'er the Country, like a Deluge flows,
That from the Sea, the Banks born down, is roll'd,
And o'er their Fields advances uncontroll'd.
The Valiant Youth from all the Region goes,
Which Trent and Lindis , confluent Streams, enclose.
High Margadunum , all her Squadrons lends,
And stately Lindum , which her Power extends
O'er the wide Province, her Battalions sends.
Mighty Ebissa , from the Fenny Land
Into the Field, did lead this warlike Band.
Orla , and Imerick , a Valiant Lord,
Fam'd for his Strength, and vast unweildy Sword,
Drew all their Squadrons, and Battalions forth,
From all their Towns, that lay the farthest North.
King Cerdic from the West his Army brought,
Who for the Saxon Empire bravely fought.
He all the Saxon Heros far excell'd,
Whose conquering Arms, were never yet repell'd.
A great Commander, Brave and Fortunate,
That founded first the Western Saxon State.
Those seated on Halenus verdant Banks
Draw out, and Muster their Victorious Ranks.
They March from Tresantona 's Crystal Flood,
From Venta ' s Downs, and Regnum 's spacious Wood.
From rich Clusentum , and fair Vecta 's Isle,
From Briga and Segontium 's fertile Soil.
On Sorbiodunum 's Plains arm'd Youth appears,
With nodding Plumes, and moving Groves of Spears.
The famous Captain, who had chief Command,
That with his Prince came to invade the Land,
Was Lothar , born on Belgick Mosa 's Flood,
Whose noble Veins were fill'd with Royal Blood:
Him did fair Emme Cerdic 's Sister bear,
And dying, left him to her Brother's Care.
With all this Strength King Octa takes the Field,
Nor doubts, but Arthur to his Arms must yield.
The Briton s now a solemn Fast proclaim
To mourn their Guilt, and take th' attendant Shame.
To own the dreadful Plague, their Crimes desert,
And by their Grief, like Judgments to avert.
That Heav'n appeas'd, from its relenting Hand
May drop its Bolt, and spare the threaten'd Land.
Sorrow untaught on every Face appear'd,
And only Sighs and sad Laments were heard.
They weep aloud, and mourn their impious Fall,
And with united Prayers for Mercy call.
The prostrate Penitents for Pardon Cry,
And from Heav'n's Justice, to its Pity fly.
To Grief, and flowing Tears, no Bounds are giv'n,
Th' Artillery alone, that Conquers Heav'n.
Righteous Resolves fill every humble Mind,
And all in Vows of blest Obedience joyn'd.
The mournful Camp's a Scene of pious Woe
Where thro' their Eyes, their Hearts dissolving flow.
Their loud and fervent Supplications, rise
Above the Clouds, and penetrate the Skies.
Contending thus with Heav'n they weep, and pray,
And strive to turn th' impending Storm away,
That charg'd with Vengeance o'er their Camp appear'd,
More Plagues they had deserv'd, and therefore fear'd.
Prince Arthur , that in Piety was chief,
And now chief mourner, thus exprest his Grief,
Th' attentive Briton s hear, and hope Relief.
Of Wrath Divine, what Vials have been pour'd,
And empty'd on our Heads, that have devour'd
The guilty Briton s, and our Camp consum'd;
Where pil'd in Heaps, the Dead, the Dead entomb'd!
Th' Eternal's Sword around did widely wast,
And carried Death, and Ruin where it past.
It reek'd in Blood, and shone with Slaughter dy'd
Red, as the Crimson Sins, that for its Vengeance cry'd.
This day we deprecate the Curse, and all
With wounded Souls, for Heav'n's Compassion call.
To still the Storms of Wrath that on us beat,
And cause the fiery Torrent to retreat.
The God we Worship Jealous is, and Pure,
His Wrath advances slow, but reaches sure.
His threat'ning Arm does long extended stay,
But then descends with the more fearful Sway.
Who then can his consuming Fire withstand,
Who bear the strokes of his Revenging Hand?
There's hope your Prayers have found Success above,
And Heav'n aton'd, will this fierce Plague remove.
May ne'er our impious Crimes, his Arm provoke
To end our Ruin, by a second stroke.
He ceas'd. His Men their sacred Vows renew,
And for Devotion to their Tents withdrew.
Where while Celestial Warmth their Breasts extend,
The Day in Prayers, and Hymns of Praise they end.
Heav'n the Returning Penitents embrac'd,
And far away th' Infernal Legions chas'd.
Their Guardian Angels once more take their Post.
Drawn out in bright Array, around their Host.
Twice had the Sun with dawning Glories blest
The World, and call'd the Lab'rer from his rest,
As oft the Night her Sable Vesture, set
With pearly Dew, ascends her Throne of Jet.
When certain Tydings Arthur 's Camp alarm'd,
That Octa 's Men against the Briton s arm'd,
Believing that the Briton s thus distrest,
By Saxon Arms, might be with Ease opprest.
With Octa Leagues, and Overtures of Peace,
When War shall offer more advantage, cease.
The Tydings soon thro' all the Army ran,
Whence in their Minds tormenting Fears began.
They thought their weaken'd Troops, could not oppose
The fierce Attack, of their insulting Foes.
The trouble spreads, all, their sad State bewail,
That those the Plague had spar'd, the Sword shold now assail.
The pious Prince with heavy Grief opprest,
To Heav'n thus vents the trouble of his Breast.
Thou that from dark Egyptian Prisons freed,
As Shepherds do their Flocks, did'st Israel lead.
Who from between the Cherubs, did'st display
Thy Heav'nly Glories, to direct their Way.
Whose mighty Arm extended, did secure
Their trembling Host, pursu'd by Pharoah 's Power.
Shine forth, and with thy Beams dispel this Night,
Whose horrid Shades, my lab'ring Soul affright.
Stir up thy Strength, thy Foes, and ours invade,
And bring thy shining Myriads to our Aid.
Thou God of Light, reveal thy glorious Face,
Thy Rays will from the Sky, this Tempest chase.
Thee, all the unnumber'd Hosts of Heav'n obey,
Drawn in embattl'd Lines, and bright Array
Along th' Etherial Plains, and here below
Monarchs to thee, precarious Empires owe.
Prest by our Enemies, to thee we fly,
How long wilt thou neglect thy People's Cry?
Bath'd in our Tears, and pleas'd with Grief, we moan
Our solitary State, for God is gone.
Our Foes around, despise our Mournful State,
And on those Loads that press us, heap more Weight.
Our Enemies enrag'd, no Mounds between,
On us, like rising Waves, come roaring in.
Against the Reliques thy fierce Wrath has spar'd,
The Foe's Inexorable Sword's prepar'd.
On me with Scorn th' insulting Scoffers look,
As one, whom Heav'n displeas'd has now forsook.
The Pagans make my Woes their sprotful Theam.
Reproach thy Vot'ries, and thy Name blaspheme.
Stir up thy Power, thy glitt'ring Arms assume,
Bowing the Heav'ns, to our Deliverance come.
As from th' aspiring Mountains, rais'd around
Jerusalem , while it stood, Protection found.
So let a Guard, from thy bright Host detach'd,
T'encamp about our Army be dispatch'd.
Thou God of Truth arise, let th' Heathen see,
Thy Wrath pursues perfidious Treachery.
While thus Prince Arthur Heav'ns Protection sought,
The God-like Raphael , this kind Message brought.
Thy Prayer prevails, O Prince, be not dismay'd,
Th' Almighty 's Arm is strecht out of your Aid.
Highly your Crimes Heav'n's Majesty displeas'd,
But your Repentance hath his Wrath appeas'd.
His People's Faults do but his Rod employ,
But his fierce Vengeance shall his Foes destroy.
Let not the Saxon 's Numbers be their Pride,
You're stronger far, for God is on your Side
Abundantly your Loss is thus Supply'd.
Arise, and let the Briton s Courage take,
Their Arms shall drive th' advancing Saxon back.
The Prince with Raphael 's heav'nly Message cheer'd,
Octa 's unequal force, no longer fear'd.
His chearful Looks the drooping Briton s saw,
And thence reviving Warmth, and Courage draw.
His God-like Language calms their troubled Minds,
And with its Charms reluctant Passions binds.
He to their frozen Veins new Life procures,
Dispels their Doubts, and fainting Hopes assures.
The Briton s that before did scarecely dare
T'expect it, now resolve to meet the War.
They now no more the Fears of Danger own,
While Heav'n assists, and Arthur leads them on.
Mean time illboding Prodigies affright
King Octa , and disswade his Men from Fight,
The Birds of Heav'n the gazing Augurs scare,
Crossing with inauspicious Flights the Air!
The Fowl as sacred kept, projected Meat,
Coldly regard, and sullenly retreat.
From hollow Oaks, obscene Night Ravens sung,
And clustring Bees upon their Ensigns hung.
Bullocks with Garlands crown'd reluctant come,
Break from the Altar, and run lowing home.
Near silver Thamisis sweet Banks, there stood
Awful for solemn Shade, a lofty Wood.
Where they ador'd their God Irmansul nam'd,
A war-like Idol, thro' Germania fam'd.
His Right Hand did a flowry Garland bear,
His Left held up a Balance in the Air.
His Breast a grisly Bear's fierce Figure bore,
And in his Shield a Lyon seem'd to roar.
Fresh gather'd Flowers dispers'd in Heaps around,
Gay Superstition, paint their sacred Ground.
Hither the Saxons , and their Priests repair,
T'atone their God, with Victims and with Prayer.
His Aid against the Briton s to invoke,
While the tall Oaks with Clouds of Incense smoak.
The Priests the Wood to burn the Victim lay,
And a crown'd Bullock at the Altar slay.
Their reeking Hands, ransack in vain the Breast,
To find the Heart of the prodigious Beast.
The Priests grow pale, and from their Altar start,
Finding a Victim slain without a Heart.
But that which most the gazing Saxons scare,
Are Armies seen engaging in the Air.
The highest ground of all th' heavenly Way,
The Sun had gain'd, darting a downright Ray.
When two black Clouds appear'd, one from the East
Threat'ning arose, the other from the West.
They stretcht their lowring Fronts across the Sky,
And frowning, seem'd each other to defy.
Between a Glade of free and open Air,
Did, as betwixt two spacious Woods, appear.
Then issuing from the Womb of either Cloud,
Two Armies met, and drawn in Battel stood.
The sick'ning Sun shone with a gloomy Ray,
Scar'd with the bloody Business of the Day.
Between them straight began a furious Fight,
And glitt'ring Arms supply'd the want of Light.
Eager of Glory from Heroick Deeds,
The Airy Knights spur on their foaming Steeds.
They rush to Battel with a full Career,
And tilting break their Lances in the Air.
Swords clashing Swords, and Shields rencountring Shields,
Fill with the Din of War th' Etherial Fields.
Vaulting the Air, thick Showers of Arrows fly,
And warlike Labour troubles all the Sky.
A Bloody Field was fought, and Heaps of Slain
Seem'd to o'erspread the wide Etherial Plain.
Chariots o'erturn'd, and scatter'd Harness by,
Steeds, and dismounted Riders, mingled ly.
From gaping Wounds, a Crimson Sea of Blood,
Along the Heav'nly Pavement reeking flow'd.
At last the Squadrons, in the Eastern Sky
Fell in Disorder, and began to fly.
The Conquerours hung upon their Backs, and chas'd
Their Troops, with mighty Rout thro' all the Wast
Into the Clouds and Heav'nly Wilds they fled,
And left upon the Bloody Field their Dead.
Next off the Theater the Victors go,
And into shapeless Air dissolving flow.
The lab'ring Scene, and Actors disappear'd,
And of the War the Airy Stage was clear'd.
Octa that view'd th' important Prodigy,
Trembled to see the Eastern Army fly.
He wisely hid his Fears within his Breast,
And to his Captains thus himself exprest.
Let not vain Prodigies the Saxons scare,
Form'd by the wanton Demons of the Air.
Wrapt in dark Clouds, the Will of Heav'n's conceal'd,
To Mortals only by th' Event reveal'd.
Think not fantastick Portents can declare
The Fate of Kingdoms, and Results of War.
These only weak, and vulgar Minds affright,
Like Phantoms, borrowing Horrour from the Night.
Which, as capricious Nature's Play, the wise
From timerous Superstition free, despise.
The valiant on their Arms make Fortune wait,
And carve out to themselves propitious Fate.
Neglect these Dreams, the Gods are ever kind
To the best Troops, and to th' undaunted Mind.
Great Cæsar thus contemn'd his Augurs Tales,
Fights, and o'er Foes, and Portents too, prevails.
Thus Octa strove their Passion to appease,
And give them what himself enjoy'd not, Ease.
At a small Village now unknown by Name,
There dwelt a Sorcerer of wondrous Fame.
The Pagan Briton Merlin , that of late
For his dire Art, driv'n from the British State;
Did with the Pagan Saxons safely dwell,
And kept his Correspondence up with Hell.
With potent Juices, and infernal Charms,
The black Magician, Plagues, and Mortal Harms,
And various Kinds of Mischiefs did inflict
On those, whom Heav'n was pleas'd he should afflict.
He in the silent Night while Mortals sleep,
By Hedg-rows, Lakes, or o'er the Hills would creep.
To gather baleful Herbs, with which he drew
Familiar Fiends, that round, like Ravens, flew.
Mounting his Magick Wand, he thro' the Air
To rich Nocturnal Feasts would oft repair,
Spread on green Hills, or near some shady Wood,
Or Grassy Banks of some sweet River's Flood;
Where when th' infernal Company are met,
Rich Meats, and Wines on stately Tables set
They seem to taste, and by the Moon's pale Light,
Spend in Fantastick Luxury, the Night.
But from th' imaginary Banquet come,
At the grey Dawning, lank and meagre, home.
King Octa 's Servants at their Lord's Command,
With their unrighteous Wages in their Hand,
To Merlin come, and soon prevaild to bring
The fam'd Magician, to their anxious King.
Whom Octa thus bespoke,
The Miracles, your sacred Art has shown,
Make you thro' all the wondring Island known.
Let your prodigious Power my Army Guard,
Honour and Riches shall be your Reward.
The Foe we'll now engage, but let him first
Be here by you, and your Enchantments curst.
Curse then this impious Enemy your Breath
Will blast their Strength, and fatal prove as Death.
Your Curse and that of Fate, is deem'd the same.
And whom you bless the World does blest proclaim.
Assault their Camp with all your magick Powers,
You'll curse your mortal Foes, as well, as ours.
Revenge your Wrongs, and by your potent Charms,
Draw off the Guardian Gods, that help their Arms.
Come with me then, I will a Mountain shew,
From whose high Top you may their Army view.
There we'll atone the Gods with Prayer and thence
You shall your Curses on the Foe dispense.
Then Octa to a Mount the Sorc'rer led,
Whence thro' the Vale he saw the Briton s spred.
Seven Altars they erect, and in the Flames,
Seven Bullocks sacrifice, and seven Rams.
Here Octa and his Lords, their Gods ador'd,
And kneeling round the Flames, their Aid implor'd.
At last, the Night advancing to her Noon,
Merlin conducted by the silver Moon,
From Octa , to a neighb'ring Hill withdraws,
T'observe infernal Rites, and magick Laws.
He seeks out noxious Plants, whose powerful Juice,
Magicians for their strong Enchantments use.
Green Henbane, Wormwood, Hemlock, Savine Tops,
In whose prest Juice he dipt his magick Sops;
With Plants that to the Moon their Vertue owe,
And Toadstools, that from Storms of Thunder grow.
Which mixt with humane Fat, red Hair, and Blood,
He offers up cast on the Burning Wood.
Then with his potent Wand, he walks around,
And with dire Circles, marks th' enchanted ground.
Then did he with a mutt'ring Voice rehearse
Wondrous, mysterious Words, and potent Verse.
Th' infernal Charms all Nature did affright,
The waning Moon straight sickned at the Sight.
The Hill with Horror trembled, and around
With howling Wolves the neighb'ring Woods resound.
Then Storms of Rain ensue, swift Lightnings fly,
And dreadful Thunderclaps torment the Sky.
Spectres, and Ghosts break from their hollow Tomb,
And glaring round the Necromancer come.
All Hell was mov'd, the Powers drawn from their Seats
Arise, while Merlin his dire words repeats.
Whom with his Charms he labours to engage
Against the Briton s, and excites their Rage.
His powerful Arts incline them to employ
United force, their Army to destroy.
But Hell and all its Friends, vain Rage express,
And Curse in vain, when Heav'en designs to Bless.
Merlin his impious Ceremonies done,
Returns to Octa with the rising Sun.
Before the Saxon Lords he stood, prepar'd
To Curse their Foes, and merit his Reward.
When the Magician's Breast an unknown Fire
Laps'd from above did suddenly inspire.
A warmth Divine his Spirits did invade,
And once a Sorcerer, a Prophet made.
The Heav'nly Fury Merlin did constrain
To Bless, whom he to Curse design'd in vain.
How Beautiful the Briton 's Tents appear?
What goodly Heads his Tabernacles Rear?
As the rich Vales they spread their verdant Pride,
Or flowry Gardens by the River's side.
As shady Aloes in th' Arabian Woods,
Or lofty Cedars planted by the Floods.
Indulgent Heav'n upon the Briton pours
Prolifick Dews, and sweet refreshing Showers.
His Seed shall flourish midst surrounding Streams,
Blest with mild Air, and pure reviving Beams.
His Prince's Glory, shall his People's Love,
And Neighbour Monarchs Fear, and Envy, move.
He, like a fearless Unicorn shall stand,
Sure of his strength, and all the Fields command.
Those hostile Nations who oppose his Power,
He with resistless Fury shall devour.
He'll break their crashing Bones, his Bow he'll bend,
And thro' their Flesh, his piercing Arrows send.
He couches like a Lyon on the Sand,
Like a vast Lyon in a Desart Land.
Stretching his fearful Limbs at Ease he lies,
What Creature dares provoke him to arise?
Bless him, and be of happy Men the first,
Curse him, and thou thy self shalt be accurst.
He ceas'd. King Octa tho incens'd, supprest
His Trouble and Displeasure in his Breast,
And to the Sorcerer, thus himself addrest.
By solemn Execrations, to devote
The Briton s to Destruction, you were sought.
But, you this impious Nation chuse to Bless,
And all your Words presage their Arms success.
Withdraw a second time, perhaps you'll find
The Gods, by your Enchantments more inclin'd.
Perhaps some Errour might at first displease,
A second Essay will the Powers appease.
The Sorcerer a second time retreats,
And all his potent Charms with Care repeats.
He added ev'ry poisonous Juice, and Spell
He knew had force to shake the Realms of Hell.
Merlin his impious Rites perform'd, returns,
And acted by Satanick Fury burns.
All Hell within shook the Magician's Breast,
But by a Power Divine straight dispossest;
Th'affrighted Demons fled, and in their stead
A pure Celestial Spirit did succeed.
Transports Divine, his lab'ring Soul engage,
And thus he spake, mov'd with Prophetick Rage.
In vain with Divination, we assail
The Christian Arms, where all Enchantments fail.
Our Curses by the powerful Breath of Heav'n,
Back on our Heads, with fatal Force are driv'n.
Those God has blest, no Guards nor Bulwarks need,
Nor can their Arms, whom he has curst, succeed,
Unchangeably he's on his Purpose bent,
Nor do's he, like unstable Man, repent.
The Christian Army will prevail, that said,
Observing Octa 's Fury rise, he fled.
The King incens'd, cry'd, curst Magician fly,
Spite of thy Charms, and thee, shall Victory,
And Triumph, on the Saxon Arms attend,
Against such Troops what Signs can ill portend?
Thy impious Tongue Propitious Heav'n belies;
And for the Briton s forges Prophecies.
Thy self of British Blood, the British Cause
Stronger than Wrongs, or ev'n Religion draws.
So oft poor Slaves, who to a neighb'ring State
Fly for Protection from a Tyrants Hate,
If he does War against those Neighbours wage,
And with his Arms, upon their Frontiers rage.
Joy at th' Oppressor's Conquests and Success,
Against their own Protector's, they express.
Octa at this Defeat with Fury burn'd,
And to his Army with his Lords return'd.
Amidst his Troops he rode, and thus he spoke,
His Voice high rais'd their Courage to provoke.
Saxons , you now to certain Conquest go,
To glean the Reliques of a ruin'd Foe.
The Gods do loudly for your cause declare,
And call you, but to finish their own War.
Think on the Deeds by your great Nation done
The Towns they took, their glorious Battles won,
And the Rich Countries by their Arms o'er run,
From this fair Island shall the Briton s chase,
From these sweet Fields, great Odin 's warlike Race?
From these sweet Fields, for which our Leaders fought,
Which with the noblest Saxon Blood were bought.
Shall we with ignominious Flight retreat,
O'er the rough Main, to seek some milder Seat?
Or shall we back to our cold Region go,
To hide in Caves, and dwell Hills of Snow?
Can my victorious Friends the Briton s dread,
Who from your conquering Arms so oft have fled,
A vanquish'd Nation, by an Exile led?
Appear like Saxons , add this Conquest more,
To all th' immortal Laurels won before.
Thus you'll the Grounds of lasting Empire lay,
And still the Briton shall your Laws obey.
Vain with Success at Sea, they draw their Swords,
And for Dominion strive with us, their Lords.
Let now your Arms chastise their wanton Pride,
And then in unmolested Peace abide.
He said, and brandish'd his threatning Launce,
And springing forward, bids his Men advance.
Now from the Hills th' embattel'd Saxon Swarms,
And covers all the Plain with hostile Arms.
As when the great Commanders, Orders give
To quit the straight Dominions of their Hive,
The Bees pour out a numerous Colony;
From their sweet Cells, the busie Youth on high
Wheel in the Air, and darken all the Sky.
While brazen Pans charm and compose their Heat,
In some tall neighb'ring Tree they fix their Seat.
Thither th' unnumber'd Vulgar straight resort,
And clustring Crowds, surround their Monarch's Court.
So thick the Saxons on the Field appear,
Following their Leader with an endless Rear.
The gloomy Throngs look terrible from far,
Disclosing slow, the horrid Face, of War.
The thick Battalions move in dreadful Form,
As lowring Clouds advance before a Storm.
So when the Sea grown black, the hazy Sky,
And rising Winds, foretel a Tempest nigh.
Th' experienc'd Mariners with hasty care
Furl their spread Sails, and for a Storm prepare.
Straight in the black Horizon , to the Skies
The dusky Billows threat'ning Heads arise.
Th' unnumber'd Troops upon each others throng,
And with a gloomy Aspect march along.
Advancing, they their boundless Front extend
O'er all the Main, and fearful Wreck portend.
The Saxon Host thus in its March appears,
And where it came, thick Groves of bristling Spears,
Broad Iron Backs, and Breast-plates, brazen Shields,
Mail-Coats, and burnish'd Helms o'erspread the Fields.
Chariots of War in Clouds of Dust advance,
And tossing up their Foam, the thundring Coursers Prance.
Their Army's Wings stretcht out, they to the Foes
A long extended Ridge of War oppose.
The British Squadrons tho outnumber'd far,
Run boldly on the horrid Edge of War.
To make their Front, the thin Battalions ran,
But stretcht not equal to the Saxon Van .
Both Armies thus, rang'd in Battalia stood,
And Death prepar'd her thirsty Jaws for Blood.
From the Celestial Host, a glorious Band
Of Seraphs was detach'd by high Command.
Hither the shining Warriours did repair,
And drawn in long Array, stood in the Air.
Their Blades divinely temper'd flam'd on high,
And blazing Shields inlighten all the Sky;
Impenetrable Shields, drawn from the Towers
Of Heav'n's high Ars'nal, fill'd with warlike Stores.
Th' Angelick Cuirassiers, in Armour shone
Of Adamant , from Rocks Empyreal hewn.
High milk white Plumes, like Snowy Clouds arise,
From their bright Crests, and Nod against the Skies.
Rich Helmets, of Immortal beaten Gold
Adorn their Heads, Brass of Etherial mould
Refin'd above, their joynted Gauntlets made;
Brass, that the Teeth of Time can ne'er invade.
Broad silver Belts richly embroider'd o'er,
Rare Seraphs work, their shining Shoulders bore
And round them Sky-dy'd Purple Scarfs they wore.
Michael a Prince in Heav'n of first renown,
Who, like a Sun, high in his Chariot shone;
This bright Detachment did in Chief Command,
Charg'd to maintain strict Guard, and to withstand
Th' Attempts, that might by Hellish Fiends be made,
Sent by their Prince the Christian to invade.
While Lucifer on the white Mountain's Head,
His black, Infernal Crew about him spread;
With Malice, Rage, and Pride extended sate
High on his dusky Throne, resolv'd to wait,
And see, if this important Day's Event,
Would answer with success, his curst intent.
In glitt'ring Arms the dazling Prince appears,
Before his Troops, the Saxon sees, and fears.
His Helm of polish'd Steel brac'd round his Head,
Did o'er the Field, a glorious Terrour spread.
Bright Stones, and high rais'd Needle Work adorn
The shining Belt across his Shoulders worn.
His fatal Sword, the Bane of Gothick Pride,
With fearful Grace hung by his warlike Side.
Odar the Neustrian of this famous Blade
Inur'd to Victory, a Present made
To Arthur , when from Albion first he came,
To Odar 's Camp, to win Heroick Fame.
Lodar did with this Gift King Odar grace,
A valiant Hero of the Neustrian Race.
His radiant Shield, of Brass its outmost Fold,
Th' inmost temper'd Steel, the midst of Gold,
Was the rare Work of Lycon's skilful Toil,
From which unpeirc'd, the sharpest Darts recoil.
Bright, like a Sun, it did fierce Glory dart,
Where might be seen pourtray'd with wondrous Art,
Strong Towns besieg'd, and famous Battels won,
And great Exploits by ancient Heros done;
Who to defend their Country, bravely fought,
By Men inspir'd, in sacred Volumes wrote.
Here th' Israelites , kind Heav'n's peculiar Care,
Their famous Gen'ral Joshua leads to War.
The Rocky Desart past with wondrous Toil,
With Marches worn, and heavy with the Spoil
From vanquish'd Baashan and King Sihon won,
Where their illustrious Triumphs first begun,
Advance their Ensigns, Canaan to invade,
Ripe by their full grown Sins for Conquest made.
To Jordan 's Streams they come, straight to his Head
His Waves roll'd back, obsequious Jordan fled.
The naked Channel shews his sandy Face,
And gives the Fav'rite Nation leave to pass.
Th' astonish'd Canaanites , like Jordan , fly,
And weep to see their Guardian River dry.
Here valiant Gideon , with his Troop by Night,
March'd out t'attack the haughty Midianite .
The Foe, like Locusts, numberless was pour'd
Around the Vale, and all its Fruits devour'd.
But dreading Gideon 's Arms, the Spoilers fly,
And by his Sword, and by their own, they die.
King Zeba , and Zalmunna , with a throng
Of Captive Princes, draw their Chains along.
Here in the plain, stretcht like some spacious Wood,
In long Array, the throng'd Philistines stood.
Goliah issuing from their opening Files,
Of Bulk stupendous, hideous with the Spoils
Of yellow Lyons slain, and shaggy Bears,
Towring before their shouting Host, appears.
With haughty Air, the wondrous Figure strode,
His Sword his Trust, and his right Hand his God.
Beneath his Weight the Vally seem'd to shake,
But his pale Foes did more than seem to quake
Gnashing his Teeth the grinning Monster stood,
Himself an Army, and his Spear a Wood.
Sufficient Stores whole Mines could scarcely yield,
For his wide Cuirass, and prodigious Shield.
Where Figures pourtray'd of fierce Monsters shone,
But none so fierce, and monstrous as his own.
High in the Clouds his brazen Helm did show
Like some vast Temple's gilded Cupilo .
His mighty Legs, that brazen Boots embrac'd,
Tall Pillars seem'd, with Corinth Mettal cas'd.
Thus arm'd he stood, and by his Mein did seem
To curse aloud, to threaten and blaspheme.
His beck'ning Hand held proudly up, invites
To combate, all the trembling Hebrew Knights.
Tho vast of Bulk he bigger swells with Pride,
He curst their Army, and their Gods defy'd.
Here, God-like David , in the flowry Bloom
Of Youth, and Beauty, brings the Monster's Doom.
To kindle Love, or Pity fitter far,
Then the rough Passions, that attend on War.
And likelier by his Youth's engaging Charms,
To wound the Anakite , then with his Arms.
Yet bravely he embrac'd th' unequal War,
And scorn'd his Rage that curst him from afar.
The fatal Stone by the young Hero slung,
Cut thro' the Air, and sure of Triumph sung.
It pierc'd the Cyclops Head, his Carcass fell
Swift to the Ground, his Soul, as swift to Hell.
Faln on his Face, he bites the trembling Ground.
And Brains, and Gore break thro' the gaping Wound.
Wallowing he lay a vast extended Load,
Like a great Island, in a Sea of Blood.
His ghastly Eye-balls strive with parting Light,
And swim, and roll into eternal Night.
Here Saul receiv'd the charming conquering Boy,
The Captains blush'd for Shame, and wept for Joy.
His Brothers griev'd to see the glorious Day,
Prompted with Pride, and Envy shrunk away.
Here Judah 's Daughter flowry Garlands bring,
They crown young David , and presage him King.
In Songs and Dances they his Deeds proclaim,
And Saul 's is lessen'd, to advance his Fame.
Here mighty Sampson , hot with Martial Rage,
A numerous Army does alone engage.
His Sword high wav'd, reeking in Sweat and Blood,
O'er slaughter'd Heaps, th' invading Conqueror strode.
His fatal Arms, his Foes no longer bear,
But their whole Host flies from his single Spear.
Confus'dly o'er the Field lay spread about,
Wide Ruin, Spoils, and ignominious Rout.
Here valiant David 's Troops victorious come,
From their Assyrian Expedition home.
Vast were the Spoils, which from the glorious Day
Won on Damascus 's Plains, they bore away.
King Hadadezer 's Arms in Triumph born,
And Purple Robes by their soft Princes worn,
And sparkling Gems, that did their Ears adorn.
Rich Collars, Chains, and blazing Shields of Gold,
Vast Silver Bowls, that richer Metal hold.
High gilded Dishes, graven or emboss'd,
Treasure immense, that Syria had engross'd.
Purple Pavilions once in lofty Rows,
And Crimson Beds, where Monarchs did repose.
Unnumber'd Camels, laden and opprest,
With all th' Luxury of the wanton East,
Beneath the Booty groan'd along the Road,
Themselves a Prey, as was their precious Load.
Here ran gilt Chariots drawn by generous Steeds,
Such as the noble Soil of Asia breeds.
Here Royal Captives, and chain'd Lords appear,
And vulgar Slaves, prest with an endless Reer.
Here the great Constantine of British Race,
O'er Tyber 's Bridge, does fierce Maxentius chase.
With Roman blood the swelling Rivers dy'd,
And Helms, and Shields swim down the Crimson Tyde.
Spears, broken Armour, Men, and Coursers slain,
The Streams encumber, and the Flood detain.
Great Constantine in glitt'ring Armour shines,
And pressing on, breaks thro' the Roman Lines.
Maxentius Hopes are blasted in the Bloom,
He flies, and opens wide the Gates of Rome ,
To the Victorious Christian, and his God,
Where for a while, he made his blest abode.
BOOK VIII
Thus in resplendent Arms Prince Arthur shines,
Darting bright Terrour thro' the Saxon Lines.
All at his fearful Presence were amaz'd,
And on the glorious Foe with Wonder gaz'd.
Confusion seiz'd them, and a chilling Damp
Went to their Hearts, thro' all the trembling Camp.
And now the vaulted Sky rings with the Noise
Of Souldiers Shoutings, and shrill Trumpets Voice.
The British Prince waving his flaming Blade,
The Saxons 's strong Battalions did invade.
First Baldred fell a bold and daring Knight,
That rushing forward did his Fate invite.
The Javelin thro' his Shield of treble Hide,
And Coat of Mail, pierc'd deep into his Side.
Eska the second Triumph did afford,
His Head stroock off by Arthur 's conquering Sword.
Next groveling on the Ground great Ina lies,
And the brave Orla of stupendous Size.
Whose Clubs like that Alcides us'd to weild,
Laid whole Brigades, on Heaps upon the Field.
Neither their Arms, nor Stature, nor Descent,
From mighty Osca could their Fate prevent.
As Pharo boasted loud, and threatn'd Death,
The Javelin pierc'd his Throat, and stop'd his Breath.
Kinullar next the conquering Prince withstood,
A valiant Captain, and of noble Blood.
Resisted by his Shield the Saxon 's Spear
Flew off, and pass'd obliquely thro' the Air.
Here on the Prince Cissa exclaiming loud,
Rush'd in, and press'd him with a numerous Crowd.
Thick showers of Javelins with a mighty Sound,
Like Storms of Hail, from his bright Shield rebound.
The Prince enrag'd caught up his Spear in hast,
Which he at Cissa with such Fury cast
It pierc'd his famous Buckler's seventh Fold,
And his rich Coat dawb'd thick with pond'rous Gold.
Then deep between the Paps the Weapon went,
And its last Force in his warm Bosom spent.
Flat on his Face the Bleeding Saxon lies,
And rat'ling in his Throat stretcht out, and dies.
Mollo rush'd in and with his hand did wrest
The bloody Weapon from his Brother's Breast,
And boldly to attack the Prince advanc'd,
But from his shield th' unprosperous Weapon glanc'd.
The Prince's Spear thro' Mollo 's Sheild of Brass
Thro' His Habergion, and his Breast did pass,
Mollo of Sense bereav'd fell to the Ground,
And spew'd black Blood, both from his Mouth and Wound,
Striving th' invading Hero to repel,
Alcinor , Peda , and Darontes fell,
Three Men of wondrous Strength and warlike Fame,
Who from the farthest Snows of Scythia came;
Descended all from Otha 's noble Line,
Whose glorious Deeds in Saxon Records shine.
He was victorious Odin 's constant Friend,
And all his Toils, and Conquests did attend,
Then Cerdic with his Troops the Prince withstands,
Sustain'd by Sebert , and th' East Saxon Bands.
Now these, now those, the British Prince attack,
And press on every side, to force him back.
As when two adverse Hurricanes arise,
Must'ring their stormy Forces in the Skies.
Of equal Fury, and of equal Force,
Against each other bend their rapid Course.
The Clouds their Lines extend in black Array,
And Front to Front a fearful War display.
Exploded Flames against each other fly,
And fiery Arches Vault th' inlighten'd Sky.
Conflicting Billows, against Billows dash,
Thunder 'gainst Thunder roars, Lightnings 'gainst Lightnings flash.
Nor Flames, nor Winds, nor Waves, nor Clouds will yield,
But equal strength maintains a doubtful Field.
Briton s and Saxons thus in Battel stove,
And neither from their Ground the Foe remove.
Then Valiant Cadwal threat'ning from afar
High in his Chariot, plung'd into the War.
His strong, extended Arm his Javelin flung;
Cutting the Air, the hissing Weapon sung.
Falling on Kingills Shield it pierc'd the Hide
Of treble Fold, and enter'd deep his Side.
Fainting and stagg'ring Kingill backwards reel'd
Then fell with sounding Arms upon the Field.
Gasping he lay, and from his ghastly Wound,
His Crimson Life ebb'd out upon the Ground.
And next his fatal Shaft at Bertac flew
With mighty Force, and pierc'd his Breastplate thro'.
The secret Springs of Life the pointed Dart.
Broke open, and transfixt his generous Heart.
His Wound from gaping Channels inward bled,
And on his Shoulder hung his lolling Head.
He fell, and shivering gasp'd his latest Breath,
And fainting sunk into the Arms of Death:
A noble Youth worthy of milder Fate,
But Death's blind Stroaks distinguish not the great.
At last the Saxon Troops in Throngs surround,
The valiant King, Thus far with Conquest crown'd.
Thick Showers of Darts from every Side invade,
And in his Shield a bristling Harvest staid.
Th' undaunted Hero long thier Force sustain'd,
And held at Bay; th' unequal War maintain'd:
Like a chas'd Boar that in a sheltring Wood,
The clam'rous Dogs surround King Cadwall stood.
A noble Rage did in his Breast arise,
And Streaks of Fire break from his burning Eyes.
So when by Night th' Islandian Ocean roars,
And rolls its angry Waters to the Shores.
Flashes of Light, and fiery Lustre glance
From raging Waves, that in bright Troops advance.
With his refulgent Sword the Warriour flew,
Upon the Crowd, and cut his Passage thro'.
Soga and Kenrick from the Hilly Land
Where Sorbiodunum 's lofty Castles stand;
Two constant Friends, whom Fate could not divide,
Together by the Briton s Weapon dy'd.
Then Redburg Alfry and Theodrick fell,
Striving in vain the Victor to repell.
Great Numbers more he slew, whose vulgar Name
To those, in after Ages never came.
As a high Rock, which the vast Ocean laves,
Expos'd to stormy Winds, and raging Waves,
On its fixt Base unshaken does defy
Th' united Fury of the Seas, and Sky.
So 'midst surrounding Foes, brave Cadwall stood,
About him flow'd a Sea of Hostile Blood.
He slew Rovennar , with his mighty Sword,
And Saradan a great west Saxon Lord.
Valiant Elmunor , to his Country dear,
And Osith dy'd, by his projected Spear.
Octa enrag'd to see the numerous Spoils
Round Cadwall spread, sprung thro' the thronging Files.
Rushing with Fury on, and threatning high
He thus aloud, did to the Briton cry.
Cadwall on me let all your Force be spent,
Hither be all your pointed Javelins sent.
Here see a Foe that will your Pride abate,
Or in the glorious Combate meet his Fate:
At this his massy Spear with Vigour sent,
Thro' valiant Cadwalls shining Buckler went.
Thro' all the Plates of Brass, and all the Plies
Of thick Bull's Hyde, th' impetuous Weapon flies.
Which bruis'd his Thigh, and springing from his Veins
A crimson Stream his polish'd Armour Stains.
Cadwall incens'd his Spear at Octa flung,
Which in his temper'd Shield arrested hung.
A second hissing Weapon Octa cast,
Which th' interposing Buckler never past.
But glancing on the Steel, away it flew
And with an oblique Stroke, Idwallo slew.
Then Cadwall chas'd, exerting all his Force,
His second sends, with unresisted Course.
Thro' Octa 's brazen Shield it Passage found,
Inflicting on his Side, a painful Wound.
Their missive Weapons spent with equal Chance,
To closer Fight the Combatants advance.
Equal in Strength, alike in Combate brave,
Their Swords on high, like circling Flames they wave.
Both traversing the Ground for Fight prepare,
And with Heroic Ardor meet the War.
And Octa first dischar'd a noble Stroke
On Cadwalls Crest, which thro' his Helmet broke:
Cadwall amaz'd, recoyl'd, and backwards reel'd,
And scarce his Spear his tott'ring Limbs upheld.
A loud Applause rang thro' the shouting Host;
The Briton s rag'd, and thought thier Hero lost;
But he recov'ring from th' amazing Blow,
Collects his Strength to meet the insulting Foe.
His brandish'd Blade fell with prodigious Sway,
And thro' the yielding Cuirasse, forc'd its Way.
The gaping Wound pour'd out a Vital Tyde,
And Crimson Streams his burnish'd Armour dy'd.
Octa his wounded Body wreaths in Pain,
And viewing on his Limbs the Bloody Stain,
With angry Eyes calls back his Life again.
And then assaults the Foe with doubled Rage,
Who meets his Arms, as eager to engage.
Fresh Strokes, fresh Wounds, they give on either side,
While Vict'ry does for neither Sword decide.
Weak with their Wounds, and with bruis'd Armour pain'd,
An equal, noble Combate they maintain'd.
Feeble and Breathless still they kept the Field,
Unable more their blunted Arms to wield.
And now the Throng rush'd in, the Combat done
By neither Hero lost, by neither won.
And rending with their Shouts the tortur'd Air,
Back to their Files, the Combatants they bear.
So when two valiant Cocks in Albion bred,
That from th' insulting Conquerour never fled
A Match in Strength, in Courage, and in Age,
And with keen Weapons arm'd alike Engage;
Each other they assault with furious Beaks,
And their trim'd Plumes distain with bloody Streaks.
Each nimble Warriour from the Pavement bounds,
And wing'd with Death, their Heels deal ghastly Wounds.
By turns they take, by turns fierce Strokes they give,
And with like Hopes and Fears, for Conquest strive.
Both obstinate maintain the Bloody Field,
Both can in Combat dye, but neither yield,
Till with their bleeding Wounds grown weak and faint,
And choak'd with flowing Gore they gasp, and pant.
Disabled on the Crimson Floor they ly,
Both Honour win, but neither Victory.
Then Morogan , his Javelin in his Hand,
Charg'd the fierce Troops where Ella did Command.
Wigmunda , first his deadly Weapon felt,
Who on the flowry Banks of Oza dwelt,
Faln on the ground, the Saxon groan'd aloud,
And dying, lay deform'd with Dust and Blood.
Next Ethelbright he slew, the Javelin past,
Thro' the brave Leader's Hand, where sticking fast
He from the Battel fled, and thro' the throng
Complaining loud, trail'd the huge Spear along.
To fight the Briton , Thedred did advance
And in his Buckler broke his pondrous Lance.
High in the Air the scatter'd pieces flew,
When Morogan , his ample Fauchion drew;
He mist the mighty stroke aim'd at his Crest,
But cleft his Shoulder down into his Chest:
Thro' the prodigious Wound, a Sea of Blood
Spouts from his Veins, and down his Armour flow'd,
Weltring in Gore, upon the Ground he stretcht,
And his last Breath in thick Convulsions fetcht.
Next he his Spear at great Merthellan throws,
Thro' Breast, and Back, the deadly Weapon goes.
Then warlike Ella , with excessive Rage
All fir'd, advanc'd the Briton to engage.
As two chaf'd Lyons on a Lybian Plain,
Contending which shall o'er the Desart reign,
With raging Eyes, and fierce erected Hair,
Scowr o'er the Sands, to meet the horrid War;
So furious Ella , and great Morogan ,
Eager of Conquest, to the Combat ran.
The Saxon first his massy Javelin flung,
With the vast Stroke, the Briton 's Target rung,
The Temper'd Steel the Weapon did repel,
Which flew aside, and at a Distance fell.
The Briton next, did his bright Javelin throw,
Ella his Head inclin'd, eludes the Blow.
Ella with all his Might his second cast,
Which mist, but stroke the Plume off, as it past
The Briton stop'd, and lifted from the Field
A pond'rous Stone, which both his Hands did weild,
So vast, that two in our degenerate Days,
Tho Men of Strength, the like can scarcely raise;
With all his Strength he throws the craggy Stone,
Which thro' King Ella 's Leg-piece, crush'd the Bone.
The wounded Warriour fell upon the Plain,
Adda advanc'd, the Conquerour to Sustain;
While Gomel with his Men did Ella bear
From the hot Place of Action, to the Rear,
Where Charioteer, and Steeds, and Chariot stay,
Waiting his coming from the Bloody Day.
Mean time great Morogan , had Adda slain,
The Spear had thro' his Forehead pierc'd his Brain.
Biting the Ground, th' expiring Saxon lies,
And Death's unwelcome shade o'erspreads his Eyes.
And with like Courage, and with like Success,
The brave Prince Conan did the Saxons press,
Which Osred led, great Numbers he destroy'd,
Whose putrid Blood, the slipp'ry Field annoy'd.
Sefred , Carantes , Molinoc he slew,
And Ethelfrid , in Arms surpass'd by few.
Oswy , and Bassa , all of warlike Fame,
And many more, of unrecorded Name.
Thus Valiant Conan , triumph'd in the Field,
And all he met, did to his Courage yield.
Until a sculking, unknown hand, at last
Did unperceiv'd, a pointed Javelin cast:
Deep in his Arm, th' inglorious Weapon goes,
His Wound the Blood upon his Armour shows,
He drew the Steel out, from his bleeding Veins,
And from the Field, retir'd in tort'ring Pains.
Mean time, out-number'd in another part,
Macoe 's Danmonian Troops began to start.
Macor to stop their ignominious Flight,
And give them Spirit to renew the Fight;
Now sharp Reproaches us'd, and bitter Threats,
And now with Prayers he earnestly intreats.
Enrag'd, ashamed, and fearing open Rout,
Exclaiming loud, he wildly flew about.
He stays them with his Hands, and Voice, and Eyes,
And to confirm their sinking Courage, cries,
Whither will my Danmonians madly run,
And leave behind a Vict'ry almost won?
What pannick Fear does my brave Friends invade?
Till now, you never knew to be afraid.
Think on the Brav'ry you have always shown,
And Laurels you and your great Fathers won.
By their great Deeds, and yours, by Cador 's Name,
By all my Hopes and yours which are the same.
By the Danmonian Fame, I all conjure
Trust not to Flight, your Arms must you secure.
Who will maintain their Ground, if you recoil?
Thus do you mean to guard your Native Soil?
To what new Seats will you from Albion fly?
Or will you in the Rocks and Mountains ly?
Briton s return from your inglorous Flight,
Rally your Forces, and renew the Fight.
To Safety, and to Fame the way I'll show,
See, here it lies, across the thickest Foe.
He said, and straight amidst the Troops he flew,
Osher the first he met, the first he slew.
He pierc'd his Belly thro' the yielding Shield,
And out his Bowels gush'd upon the Field.
To aid his Friend, constant Eballan flies,
But wounded by the Briton , with him dies.
Then while Adulphas , Bertham 's Offspring stands,
Poising a pondrous Stone in both his Hands,
The mighty Fragment of a craggy Rock,
And aim'd at Macor 's Head, a deadly Stroke.
Thro' his pierc'd Side the Javelin made its Way,
And buried, in his bleeding Liver lay.
Then you brave Youths, Egbert , and Alopas ,
Both noble Branches of great Horsa 's Race,
Their Age the same, the same their youthful Charms,
Fell in the British Fields by Macor 's Arms.
This 'twixt the Ribs receiv'd the fatal Dart,
Where transverse Bounds the Breast and Belly part.
Lopt from the Shoulder with a fearful Wound,
T'other's Right Arm lay quivering on the Ground.
Now the Danmonians who began to run,
Seeing the Wonders by their Leader done,
With Shame and generous Indignation burn,
And to the War with doubled Rage return.
Then Macor let his Spear at Redwall fly
In his bright Chariot, passing swiftly by.
It pass'd his Shield, and went into his Reins,
A Purple Flood, springs from his wounded Veins,
And mixt with Dust, the fervid Wheels detains.
Projected headlong on the Ground he lay,
Fetch'd a deep Groan, and gasp'd his Life away.
With like Success his Men no more afraid,
Of Saxon Arms, their thickest Files invade.
So when dissolv'd by Summer Rays, the Snow
Do's down the Sides of Alpine Mountains flow,
Below the several Rills, and Currents joyn,
And different Streams in one great Flood combine.
Then do's the Deluge rear its foaming Head,
O'er-flow the Banks, and o'er the Meadows spread.
No lofty Mounds arrest th' insulting Tide,
But o'er the flowry Vale, the Waves triumphant ride.
So the Danmonian scatter'd Troops unite,
And with associate Arms, revive the Fight.
Here to restrain Macor 's victorious Course,
Bartha , oppos'd a fresh collected Force.
From his strong Arm his singing Javelin flew,
And passing thro' his Neck Guitardan flew.
He hurl'd his Ball of Iron at the Head
Of stout Gomallador , and struck him dead.
His Helm in Pieces flew, his Bones were crash'd.
And from his Scull his Blood and Brains were dash'd.
Macor incens'd, advances to the Fight,
And pray'd to Heav'n, to guide his Weapon right.
Nor did he pray in vain, th' unerring Dart
Transfixt his Breast, and sunk into his Heart.
Strong Bartha fell, the Blood his Armour stains,
And shivering Death crept cold along his Veins.
But to revenge so great a Captain's Fall,
Lothar aloud does on his Saxons call.
First Lodoic he flew, who stood the Shock,
Of War before unshaken as a Rock.
Strong Mandubrace , of whom the Briton s tell
Such mighty Deeds, by the brave Saxon fell.
Beauteous Codunan the Silurians Pride,
And warlike Hanomer together dy'd.
Their Leaders brave alike, alike enrag'd,
The Briton s, and the Saxon close engag'd
An obstinate, and bloody Fight maintain,
And Heaps of Dead, ly thick upon the Plain.
Dark Clouds of Dust thro' th' airy Region fly,
And warlike Noise bounds from the vaulted Sky.
Helms mix with Helms, and Arms with Arms unite
Their bright Reflexion, to oppress the Sight.
Now Man at Man, Squadrons at Squadrons rush,
And Files at Files with Spears protended push.
Swords clash with Swords, Bucklers on Bucklers bray,
And thro' the Field a horrid Din convey.
Slaughter and Death in dreadful Pomp appear,
And Brains, and Gore, the slippery Field besmear:
So when two adverse Tides their Waves advance,
With equal Fury, and with equal Chance;
The foaming Forces, doubtful Fight maintain,
Where both by Turns loose, what by Turns they gain.
On this Side now retreats the vanquish'd Tide,
And on its back th' insulting Billows ride.
Rallying its roaring Troops with swift Career,
It soon returns, and reassumes the War.
The Conquerour before is forc'd to yield,
And rolling back its Waves deserts the Field.
Alternate Conquest, and alternate Flight,
Between the Foes prolong a doubtful Fight.
So thick the Troops, so fast and close were prest,
The wedg'd Battalions standing Breast to Breast,
They scarce have space their Hands or Arms to move,
But like contending Waves each other shove.
Here Macor urges, presses, and invades,
Here Lothar stops him with his strong Brigades.
Equal in Arms, in Beauty, and in Age,
But not allow'd each other to engage.
On both the valiant Youths a different Fate,
From a far greater Foe does shortly wait.
King Cerdick then advanc'd exclaiming loud
And with his rapid Chariot cuts the Crowd.
And to the Troops that stopt his way, he cry'd
Open to right and left, your Ranks divide,
Macor and I this Contest will decide.
Nor did the Saxon Troops his Will oppose,
But open, and an ample Space disclose.
Then leaping to the Ground his pondrous Oak,
Pointed with polish'd Steel, he threatning shook.
At such a Sight th' amaz'd Danmonians start,
And their chill Blood congeal'd about their Heart.
Macor undaunted, traverses the Ground,
And at the Saxon aims a fatal Wound.
Then thro' the Air his Spear projected flew,
And from its Sheath his flaming Sword he drew.
The Buckler's Brims the glancing Weapons raz'd
And flying off, on the right Shoulder graz'd.
Then Cerdick 's Javelin pois'd, and aim'd with Care,
Flew from his Arm, and hissing cut the Air.
Who cry'd out as it went, go swiftly fly,
And the hard Metal of his Armour try.
While Cerdick thus insults th' impetuous Oak,
Thro' Buckler, Coat of Mail and Cuirass broke,
And pierc'd his Breast where the deep Springs abide,
Whence Life leaps out upon its circ'ling Tide.
The Vital Streams thro' his bruis'd Armour spout,
While he in vain wrests the warm Weapon out.
After the parting Dart, together crowd
From the wide Wound, his Soul, and Life, and Blood.
He fell, his Arms upon his Armour rung,
And Death in cold Embraces round him clung.
Thus fell the brave Danmonian who had slain,
Such Numbers pil'd on Heaps upon the Plain.
His Friends with Sighs, and Tears upon a Sheild,
Bear his Pale Corps off from the bloody Field.
Cerdic his Weapon warm with Macor 's Blood,
Advanc'd with Fury not to be withstood.
With his drawn Sword he does the Foe invade,
And midst their Ranks prodigious Havock made.
The Briton s all enrage'd at Macor 's Fall,
With Showers of Darts the raging Saxon gaul.
On every Side the Monarch they assail,
With thick Brigades, but cannot yet prevail.
As when a mighty Stag, that long had stood,
The unmolested Monarch of the Wood,
Safe in its Coverts, and protecting Shade,
Against the Foe, that would his Peace invade:
If at an ancient Oak, he stands at last
At Bay, by furious Dogs too closely chas'd;
Fearless he looks and to his clam'rous Foes,
Does his thick Grove of Native Arms oppose.
The Dogs with distant Cries infest his Ears,
And from afar the Huntsmen cast their Spears.
None daring to approach the generous Beast,
Project aloof their Darts against his Breast,
Thus Cerdick stood, nor dar'd the boldest Knight,
Advance to undertake a closer Fight.
They cast their Darts at distance, and from far
Shower on his brazen Shield a ratling War.
With their loud Cries the ambient Air they rend,
And raging, all their missive Weapons, spend.
Mean time around, King Cerdick 's Jav'lins flew,
And Arthur s Men, with vast Destruction slew.
Cadwan he kill'd, whose Arms great Fame had won,
And Vortiger great Ganumara 's Son.
Then Vogan fell and Ottocar who trace
Their high Descent from Hoel 's ancient Race.
Great Numbers dy'd where the chaf'd Saxon flew,
And with his Sword cut his wide Passage thro'
So when a generous Bull for Clowns Delight,
Stands with his Line restrain'd prepar'd for Fight.
Hearing the Youths loud Clamours, and the Rage,
Of barking Mastives eager to engage.
He snuffs the Air, and paws the trembling Ground,
Views all the Ring, and proudly walks it round.
Defiance lowring on his brinded Brows,
Around disdainful Looks, the grisly Warriour throws.
His haughty Head inclin'd with easie Scorn,
Th' invading Foe high in the Air is born,
Tost from the Combatant's victorious Horn.
Rais'd to the Clouds, the sprawling Mastives fly,
And add new Monsters to th' affrighted Sky.
The clam'rous Youth, to aid each other call,
On their broad Backs to break their Fav'rites fall.
Some stretcht out on the Field lie dead and some
Dragging their Entrails on, run howling Home.
But if at last on all Sides he's engag'd,
By fresh and fiercer Foes, strait all enrag'd
He flies about, some with his Horns He gores,
Some strikes, and mov'd with Indignation roars.
With Disproportion'd Numbers prest at length,
He breaks his Chain collecting all his Strength.
Then Dogs and Masters scar'd promiscuous fly,
And fal'n in Heaps, the pale Spectators ly.
He walks in Triumph, nods his conquering Head,
And proudly views the Spoils about him spread.
Hyalca fell, a Lord of Neustrian Birth,
Struggling with Death, he bites the hostile Earth.
Rivollan dies, the brave Armorican ,
Who swifter than a driving Tempest ran.
Mador , not daring Cerdick to engage
Fled from his Post to scape the Conquerors Rage.
Cerdick pursu'd him close, exclaiming loud,
And to o'ertake him, breaks th' opposing Crowd.
As when a Lyon on the Mountains spies,
A well grown Stag, his furious Bristles rise,
And yawning horribly, with Hunger prest,
Away he flies to tear the trembling Beast.
He leaps upon him with his dreadful Paws,
And buries in his Sides his fearful Jaws.
So raging Cerdick flew faln Mador dies,
And everlasting Night shuts up his Eyes.
Ludvalla , from the high Silurian Hills
Eldubert flew, Poel Edella kills,
Chelrick Adarc , Tudor pierc'd Alwy thro',
Oswoll Pricarden , Oven Kensey flew.
Bladoc kills Athelmar in single Fight
Of goodly Stature, and a Valiant Knight.
Edwin gave Vortimer his faral Wound,
Who from his Steed, fell headlong to the Ground,
Lovellines Blood the great Barnulfa spills
Kentwin Rodollan , Pricel Uffa kills.
Now equal Ruin rag'd on either Side,
And Vict'ry mutual Favours did divide,
Flowing, and Ebbing with an equal Tide.
With like Success, by turns the doubtful Field
The Victors and the vanquish'd, win and yield.
Such was the bloody Labour of the Day,
And in such even Scales their Fortune lay.
Now certain Fame had reach'd Prince Arthur 's Ear,
That his lov'd Macor dy'd by Cerdick 's Spear.
No Tydings more his Fury could provoke,
Or strike into his Breast a deeper Stroke.
His Looks reveal'd his Wound, and Grief, and Rage,
His conquering Arms in deep Revenge engage.
With his refulgent Sword he hew'd his way,
Like grass mown down the slaughter'd Saxons lay.
His Stroaks are all as sure, as those of Fate,
And Death and Vict'ry on his Progress wait.
His Arms the Field with vast Destruction clear.
Wide Lanes made by his Sword and spacious Voids appear.
Thro' their thick Ranks the raging Tempest flies,
And fearful Ruin all around him lies.
In vain his fatal Javelin never flew,
Ebissa , Edgar , Ethelburg he flew.
And Ethelwoll who fled the Conquerors Sight,
But the swift Dart o'ertook him in his Flight.
His deadly Spear at Kenfred was design'd,
Who stooping down the hissing Death declin'd.
Then at the Conq'rour's Feet he prostrate falls,
And in sad Accents for Compassion calls.
Spare, God-like Briton , and let Kenfred live,
Me to my Father and my Children give.
Treasures immense of Silver and of Gold,
My Iron Chests, and buried Coffers hold.
These Riches from the Sun, so long conceal'd
Shall to discharge my Ransome be reveal'd.
Mine's but a single Life, if that be spar'd,
It cant the Progress of your Arms retard,
On this does not depend your Empire's Fate,
Nor can my Life or Death affect your State,
He said to whom the British Prince reply'd,
The Silver and the Gold your Cellars hide,
You to your Sons and Daughters must bequeath,
Expect your self, the present Stroke of Death.
That said, he took his Helmet by the Crest,
And drawing back his Head, into his Breast
Up to the Hilts, he plung'd his fatal Sword,
And from the Wound a crimson River pour'd.
Colmar hard by Odin 's and Frea 's Priest,
Distinguish'd by his Dress, from all the rest,
And by the Garland round his Temples known,
In glitt'ring Arms, and splendid Garments shone.
Up flew his Heels while from the Field he fled,
Nazaleod set his Foot, upon his Head,
And stroke into the Ground quite thro' his Breast
His pointed Spear, and his rich Spoils possest.
Then Arthur with his Spear, pierc'd Rufa thro',
Then Osmor , Seward Ethellar he flew
Osa Beorno , Kendred , Ediswall ,
Penda , Kenelmar , Osbert , Ethelbal .
Pale Oswald fled, the Conq'rour to prevent,
But thro' his Back the swifter Javelin went.
His flaming Sword, did ne'er in vain descend
But sure Destruction did its Sway attend.
The reeking Conquerour in Triumph reign'd,
Glutted with Slaughter, and with Blood distain'd.
Th'unnumber'd Dead, that round the Briton lay
More than their living Troops, obstruct his way.
To reach their Men, that from his Fury fled,
He climbs their slaughter'd Piles, and scales the Dead.
Sometimes the Saxons with new Fury burn,
And rallying Squadrons to the War return:
They pour around the Prince their numerous Swarms,
And strive to crush him with unequal Arms.
As when Tempestuous Storms o'erspread the Skies,
In whose dark Bowels in born Thunder lies.
The watry Vapours numberless conspire
To smother, and oppress th' imprison'd Fire.
Which thus collected gathers greater Force,
Breaks out in Flames, and with impetuous Course
From the Cloud's gaping Womb in Light'ning flies,
Flashing in ruddy Streaks, along the Skies.
So Arthur 's flaming Sword cuts thro' the Cloud,
Around him spread, and rends th' opposing Crowd.
With daz'ling Arms, he flies upon the Foe,
Flashes amidst the throngs, and terribly Thunders thro'.
Authum and Alfrid , with fresh Troops sustain,
Their stagg'ring Squadrons, and the War maintain,
To these Prince Arthur wing'd with Fury flew
And first stout Alfrid with his Spear he flew.
Thro the left Groin, the Weapon made its Way,
And stretcht along the Ground, the bleeding Saxon lay.
At Authum 's Crest he dealt a furious Stroke,
The Saxon totter'd at th' amazing Shock,
And fell upon his Knee, and while he pray'd
And for his Life would many Things have said,
His sever'd Head off, from his Shoulders flies,
And bounded on the Field, his Body lies
At a great Distance, quivering on the Ground,
And Streams of Blood spring from his ghastly Wound.
As when the Summers Soultry Heats, draw forth,
Th'exhaling Moisture from the thirsty Earth,
When scorching Rays the gaping Plains have fry'd,
And from their Banks contracted Streams subside.
If then a Fire invades a spaeious Wood,
Where Ancient Oaks have long securely stood;
The conquering Flames advance with lawless Power,
And with contagious Heat the Trees devour.
The spreading Burning lays the Forrest waste,
And sooty Spoils lie smoaking where it past.
So Arthur with resistless Rage around,
Destroys and loads with slaughter'd Heaps the Ground.
Next did the Prince at bold Edburga aim,
Who from the fertile Banks of Abum came
Prince Unna 's Son to vast Possessions born,
Broad Flowers of Gold his shining Coat adorn,
The piercing Steel deep in his Bosom sunk,
And Life's pure Stream at the warm Fountain drunk,
His Arms did next valiant Titullan meet,
Who fell and quiver'd at the Conquerour's Feet.
Osrick and beauteous Hengist next appear,
The first his Fauchion slew, the last his Spear.
Next stout Eldanor did his Fate provoke,
And off his Head flew, at a single Stroke.
And next he threw at Labert , as he fled
The Weapon struck him, as he turn'd his Head.
In Gore and Brains the glitt'ring Javelin reeks,
And from his Veins a Purple Torrent breaks.
Mean time King Cerdic did around destroy,
And with thick Deaths his massy Fauchion cloy.
Him from afar the British Hero spies,
And wing'd with Fury to assault him flies,
Cerdic mean time undaunted did appear,
And forward step't, shaking his dreadful Spear.
Like one of Anak 's mighty Sons he stalk'd,
Or some tall Oak, that after Orpheus walk'd.
Fixt like a vast Colossus by his Weight,
He stood, expecting his approaching Fate.
Lowring, like rising Tempests from a far,
He rages, and invites th' advancing War.
Now the Britannic Hero did appear,
Within the Reach of his prodigious Spear.
King Cerdic curst, and by his God s defy'd
The Briton , and aloud to Odin cry'd;
The glitt'ring Arms, by this gay Robber worn,
Great Odin soon thy Temple shall adorn.
Assist great Founder of our State the Dart
I cast, and guide it to his impious Heart.
Then from his vig'rous Arm his massy Spear
Projected sung, and hiss'd along the Air.
Off from the temper'd Shield the Weapon flew,
Wounded Glendoran , and Alantor flew.
Then his long Spear the pious Briton cast,
Th' impetuous Steel thro' all the Thickness past
Of Brazen Plates, rowl'd Linnen, tough Bulls Hide,
And entring deep, did in his Groin abide.
The fainting Saxon fell upon his Knees,
Pain'd with his ghastly Wound, and trembling sees
The Conquering Prince advancing to asswage,
By striking off his Head, his veng'ful Rage.
Here the brave Lothar that had Wonders done,
And by his Arms Immortal Praises won,
For thro' the Host, the loud Applauses rung
Of mighty Deeds atchiev'd by one so young.
Transported with his pious Care, to bring
Assistance to his Uncle, and his King;
Spur'd his hot Courser on, and forwards prest
Off'ring to Arthur 's Arms, his valiant Breast.
He bravely undertook th' unequal Foe,
To ward from Cerdic 's Head, the fatal Blow.
Then his long Spear he threw, with Manly Force,
But Arthur 's Buckler stop'd th' impetuous Course.
Th' applauding Saxons gave a Shout to see
The Noble Youth's excessive Bravery.
But to his Prince's Aid in vain he flies,
Who by his former Wound expiring lies,
And everlasting Sleep shuts up his Eyes.
But then the British Hero's Javelin fled
At Lothar , but it pierc'd his Courser's Head.
Rais'd in the Air upright, the gen'rous Beast,
Gather'd his shiv'ring Feet up to his Breast,
Then springing strook them out, and stagg'ring round
Fell head-long with his Rider to the Ground.
A mighty Groan the dying Courser fetcht,
And on the Ground a breathless Carcass stretcht.
And here Immortal Elda shall my Verse
Thy unexampled Deed of Love reherse.
Love which will universal Wonder raise,
And scarcely find Belief in future Days.
For whilst the British Hero step'd with Speed,
To take off, with his Fauchion, Lothar 's Head,
Who with his Steed opprest, and wounded lies,
Fair Elda rush'd between, and thus she cries,
Before your fatal Sword takes Lothar 's Head,
Victorious Prince, hear his unhappy Wife.
Faln on her Knees she did her Helm unlace,
And shew'd the charming Beauties of her Face.
The blooming Looks of Spring, and lovely Red
Of opening Roses on her Cheeks were spread.
Her Eyes, that sparkled like the Stars above,
Appear'd both th' Armory, and Throne of Love.
Where thousands of alluring Graces wait,
And mingling Charms form Love's triumphal State.
Bright Ethelina her, and all excell'd,
She the next Place in Beauty's Empire held.
Nor did her Looks, less Admiration move,
While wild Confusion, Sorrow, Fear and Love,
With Beauteous Conflict, for the Vict'ry strove.
A Shower of Tears flow'd down her lovely Face,
Which from her Grief, receiv'd yet sweeter Grace.
At the great Conq'rour's feet she threw her Charms,
And lifting up to Heav'n, her snowy Arms
Aloud she spoke, a wretched Woman's Prayer
Great Briton here, and my dear Lothar spare.
Since first his Bride within his Arms I lay,
Scarce two full Golden Months are stoln away,
Which in Love's Calendar scarce make a Day.
With Prayers, and Tears, and tender Words I strove,
And all th' ingaging Arts of mournful Love;
To keep him from the Dangers of the Field,
And when th' obdurate Man refus'd to yield,
About him my despairing Arms I flung,
And on his Neck, o'erwhelm'd with Grief I hung.
I then conjur'd him, to avoid with Care
Your fatal Arms, so much renown'd in War.
Away he goes, and as he said, adieu,
He touch'd my Life, and my stretcht Heart-strings drew.
For still I fear'd that the heroic Fire
And thirst of Fame, that did his Soul inspire,
Would make him think no Dangers were too great,
Till rushing on your Arms, he urg'd his Fate.
My conscious Fears, this sad Event presag'd
If e'er with you, in Combat he engag'd.
Therefore in Arms I did my Limbs disguise,
And undertook this dangerous Enterprize,
That if he rashly sought, so great a Foe,
I might between him, and your fatal Blow,
My Bosom interpose, and in my Heart
To save his dearer Life, receive the Dart.
Or if Occasion were, to intercede,
As now I do, and for his Safety plead.
I pray by all that is to Mortals dear,
By all the Gods that you, and we revere.
Let this sad Object your Compassion move,
Regard his Valour, and regard my Love.
Oh! Let his hapless Fate your Soul incline,
Pity his blooming Youth, or pity mine.
Oh, melt beneath divine Compassion's Charms,
Let not your Breast be harder then your Arms.
Save his dear Life, he of his Noble Line
The only Branch remains, as I, of mine.
Christian s profess Compassion, Mercy, Love,
Sure such Distress should those kind Passions move.
Sheath in my Breast the Sword, and take my Breath,
But Oh, preserve this wondrous Youth from Death.
My self will to my Veins the Sword apply,
And to prolong his Life will gladly dy.
Hear pious Prince, his aged Father hear
Who thus entreats, or would if he were here.
Oh, spare the spring of all my Hopes and Fears,
The only Prop of my declining Years.
Your fatal Sword deep in my Bowels sheath
And for the Son's accepts the Father's Death.
If great Possessions, or if Gold would buy,
His far more precious Life, he shall not dy,
His Father will a mighty Ransome give,
And mine as much, say but the Youth shall live.
Let us your Prisoners be in Chains confin'd,
The Chains of Love will make those softer bind.
There his dear presence I may still enjoy,
And for his Ease my thoughtful Cares employ.
Free from the Noise of War, and anxious Fears,
I'll kiss his Wounds, and wash them with my Tears.
I'll watch his midnight Slumbers, and by Day,
My Love shall Solace to his Grief convey.
Let him be banish'd from the British Isle,
I'll go, and share the lovely Wand'rer's Toil.
I'll follow thro' the swarthy burning, Zone,
No Flames can scorch me, fiercer than my own.
Our tender Words the savage kind will move,
They'll stand, and gaze, and wonder at our Love.
Th' inhospitable Desart will appear,
A flowry Paradise, when he is there.
O'er Snows with him and Hills of Ice I'll stray,
I know not how, but Love will find the way.
If his sharp Keel shall cut the Foaming Tide,
In the same Bark I'll on the Billows ride.
No stormy Winds my stable Soul shall move,
Or shake the strong Foundations of my Love.
But hurried with distracting Fears away,
And wild with Grief I know not where to stay,
And in a Maze of Thought I lose my Way.
Oh! let your generous Pity calm the strife
In my tost Soul, and save his precious Life.
Thus you'll not only Triumph o'er your Foe,
But o'er your self, and your own Vict'ry too.
Thus Elda pray'd, nor did she pray in vain,
Her tender Accents did Admission gain
To the relenting, generous Prince's Breast,
Who thus the beauteous Supplicant addrest.
This unexampled Effort of your Love,
Does equal Wonder and Compassion move.
True Christian Captains are both brave and good,
Vict'ry pursue, but not with Thirst of Blood.
Revenge and Cruelty we disavow,
And only just and generous Arms allow.
Go, to your Tears your Lothar 's Life I give,
Pleas'd with each others Love together live.
Then Cerdick slain on whom they trusted most,
A shivering Fear ran thro' the Saxon Host.
The Briton s now believ'd the Battle won,
And sure of Conquest on their Squadrons run.
Prince Arthur at their Head breaks thro' their Files
And covers all the Plain with Hostile Spoils.
The Saxon Troops dismay'd, began to yeild
And to the raging Conquerour leave the Field.
Mean time the Prince of Hell who anxious stood,
And from his Hill the bloody Labour view'd.
Seeing the Saxon Troops at last give way,
Resolves the Briton s Progress to delay.
That thro' the Angelick Guards he might escape,
His Form he chang'd to a fair Seraph's Shape.
A mild Celestial Youth, he did apear,
Drest in pure Robes of white Empyreal Air.
What once he was, the Fiend seem'd charming bright,
Conceal'd in Beauty, and disguis'd in Light.
Assuming meek and Heav'nly Looks he strove,
To imitate the loveliest Face above.
Then taking from the Mountain's Top his Flight,
Did straightway at th' Angelick Camp alight.
And thus transform'd thro' the bright Camp he went,
As an Express from Heav'n to Michael sent.
Along he march'd, and slily looking round,
While unobserv'd, a fair Occasion found
Of passing thro' their Lines, without Delay,
Swift as a Ray of Light, he shot away.
He mingles with the fighting Armies, where
He moulds to various Shapes, the thickn'd Air.
In Sebert 's warlike Form he did appear,
With Arthur 's gasping Head upon his Spear.
Which newly sever'd from his Body seems,
So fresh the Wound, so red the bloody Streams.
Briton s he cry'd, learn hence your wretched State,
See your Destruction in your Leader's Fate.
The towring Hopes, you vainly once conceiv'd
Are sunk, nor can your Ruin be retriev'd.
Whose Arms can guard your State now Arthur 's dead?
His Life, and with it, all your Strength is fled.
Fly Briton s hence, and to your Hills repair,
Fly to your Woods, and in your Caves despair.
Protected in your Fastnesses remain,
Stay not t'encrease the Number of the Slain.
Cold to their Hearts this Sight and Language went,
And thro their Veins a shivering Horrour sent.
Confusion and Despair their Souls opprest,
And their sad Looks their inward Wound confest.
Urg'd with their Fear, their Troops began to fly,
And leave behind th' unfinish'd Victory.
Prince Arthur 's Breast with Indignation burn'd,
Who from the fierce Pursuit, reluctant turn'd,
To stop his Army's Flight, stay, Briton s, stay,
He cry'd, and blemish not this glorious Day.
Whence this Distraction, whence th' ungrounded Fear
And wild Despair, that in your Looks appear.
The Battel's won, the Saxons quit the Field,
And to your Arms a perfect Conquest yield.
Let not the vanquish'd Foe escape Pursuit,
The Vict'ry's yours, stay but to reap the Fruit.
While thus he spoke, the Briton s stood amaz'd,
And on their Prince with Joy and Wonder gaz'd.
Their Grief dispell'd, their dying Hopes revive,
And joyful Shouts proclaim the Prince alive.
Mean time the Sun declines, and dusky Night
Covers the Saxons , and protects their Flight.
BOOK IX
Now did the beauteous Morn begin to rise,
Streaking with Rosy Light the smiling Skies.
Prince Arthur rose, and solemn Thanks addrest
To Heav'n, that had his Arms with Conquest blest.
Then rode amidst his Troops, and one by one,
Their Bravery prais'd, and Conduct lately shown.
Dispensing great Rewards thro' all the Host,
To those whose Courage was distinguish'd most.
The Briton s in their turn express their Zeal,
And to the Prince the highest Love reveal.
The Heav'n's around with Acclamations rung,
And loud Applauses of the shouting Throng.
Then to the sacred Temples they repair,
In joyful Crowds to offer Praise and Prayer.
In low Prostration, they the Soveraign Lord
Of Hosts Exalt, and future Aid implor'd.
Soon as their Hymns of Heav'nly Praise were sung,
High in the Temples they their Trophies hung.
Bruis'd Armour, broken Shields, and Standards torn
From the fierce Foe, the gilded Roofs adorn.
This Honour to th' Almighty Saviour done,
Prince Arthur to his Briton s thus begun.
Thus far Success and Triumph on us wait,
And to our Arms, presage a prosperous Fate.
Propitious Heav'n is to your Part inclin'd,
And still more glorious Vict'ries Crowd behind.
The vanquish'd Foe can't long maintain the Field,
But must your ravish'd Lands and Cities yield.
Chase anxious Thoughts far from your Valiant Breast,
And on your Cause, and Heav'n's Protection rest.
A perfect Conquest shall your Labours Crown,
And your Victorious Arms, regain your own.
Fear not the Relicks of a Conquer'd Foe,
Their tott'ring State, falls with another Blow.
Now let no Funeral Honours be deny'd,
To these brave Men, that for their Country dy'd.
Let us with Sighs and Tears lament their Fate,
Who fell, while striving to support our State.
Ages to come shall their great Virtue praise,
Viewing the Tombs that on their Graves you raise.
And first the Prince to the Pavilion went,
Whither brave Macor 's breathless Corps was sent.
He lay extended on a Purple Bed,
With high rais'd Pillows, plac'd beneath his Head.
His Servants standing round their Grief exprest,
With old Pendarvan sad above the rest.
Cador to him as to his faithful Friend,
For wise Instructions, did his Son commend,
His Counsels form'd his Youth, and did prepare
His Mind for all concerns of Peace, and War.
Now in his Face the deepest Grief appears,
He beats his Breast, and baths it with his Tears.
He wrings his Hands, and in his mournful Rage,
Tears off the hoary Honours of his Age.
Immoderate Grief in lamentable Sounds,
As Arthur enter'd, thro' the Room rebounds.
The pious Prince with heavy Sorrow prest,
Burst out in Tears, and thus his Grief exprest.
Inexorable Death, at every Heart
Without distinction, shoots her fatal Dart.
Could Beauty, Courage, Virtue, Youthful Age
Move her Compassion, or divert her Rage;
Brave Youth, thou had'st escap'd, and liv'd to see
Our Triumphs, for a Vict'ry due to thee:
But all thy Charms by stronger Fate o'ercome,
Could not reverse th' Irrevocable Doom.
Oh! thy sad Sire, what swelling Grief will roll
Its stormy Tyde o'er his afflicted Soul?
Can he the News of Macor 's Death survive,
Or me, with whom he trusted him, forgive?
T'allay the smart may the Danmonians tell,
How bravely Macor fought, how Great he fell.
And how my own with Cador 's Grief contends,
He mourns the best of Sons, and I the best of Friends.
Our Hopes are gone, may the Danmonians Cry,
And what Britannia can thy Loss supply?
Then to Embalm the Prince he gave Command,
That he might send him to his Native Land.
Straight with hot Streams, they wash his Body o'er,
And purge his Skin from Dust and putrid Gore.
Then in Arabian Spices, fragrant Gums,
Rare Aromatick Oyls, and rich Perfumes,
They lay his Snowy Body, which they fold
In Bands of Linnen, round him often roll'd.
Then from his Troops a Thousand Youths he chose,
That might a solemn Equipage compose.
That might accompany the Funeral State,
To the unhappy Father's Palace Gate.
Small Comfort for so great a loss, yet due
To the sad Sire, and all the Prince could shew.
Forthwith the Briton s weave with bending Sprigs
Of Willow Trees, and tender Oaken twigs,
An easie Bier, and with soft Rushes spread,
Sweet Flowers, and fragrant Herbs, the lofty Bed.
The Roof on high fresh spreading Branches shade,
And here sublime the hapless Youth was laid.
Such on the Ground the fading Rose we see,
By some rude Blast, torn from the Parent Tree.
The Daffodil so leans his languid Head,
Newly mown down, upon his grassy Bed.
Tho from the Earth no more supplies they gain,
Their splendid Form in part, and lovely Hue remain.
Then a rich Garment, glorious to behold,
Pond'rous with Orient Pearl, and stiff with Gold;
A noble Present from King Odar 's Hand,
Receiv'd when Arthur left the Neustrian Land.
Upon the Bier his Royal Bounty threw,
The last Respect, that a sad Friend could shew.
A noble Portion of the wealthy Prey,
And Spoils gain'd from the Foe, on Cars they lay.
With Arms, and Standards, which himself had won,
The Trophies of the Wonders he had done.
Now the magnificent, and pompous Woe,
Does from the Camp, in sad Procession go.
The lab'ring Axle mourns along the Road,
And groans beneath th' uncomfortable Load.
The Horses slowly March, and mournful look,
As they their share of publick Sorrow took.
Pendarvan follows stooping with his years,
But more with Grief, and delug'd in his Tears.
Then Macor 's Chariot rolls, distain'd with Blood,
On which sublime amidst the War he rode.
His War - horse Rapa , with black Trappings spread,
And he too seem'd to weep, is after led.
His Arms and polish'd Armour others bear,
His Golden Spurs, his Helmet, Shield, and Spear,
Then in long Order the Danmonians mourn'd,
Their Spears turn'd backwards and their Bucklers turn'd.
Then Arthur stood, and with sad Accent spoke,
Thus far I mourn the Fate I can't revoke.
Back I am call'd where Arms and bloody Strife,
With more sad Objects, must renew my Grief.
Farewel brave Youth, farewel, till we above,
Meet in the peaceful Realms, of Light, and Love.
He said no more, but turn'd, and took his way,
Back to the Camp, which lofty Works survey.
Mean time ten Orators from Octa sent,
Arriv'd, and waited at the Prince's Tent.
Their Embassy a Truce was to obtain,
To clear the Field, and to inter the slain.
They urg'd that all Hostilities should cease,
Against the Dead, who ought to rest in Peace.
That all Heroick Conquerors ever gave,
To those, from whom they took their Lives, a Grave.
The Saxons Prayer seem'd just, and ten days Truce,
Prince Arthur granted for this pious Use.
To Cador 's Court the heavy Tydings came,
Born swiftly thither on the Wings of Fame.
Loud Lamentation thro' the Palace went,
And bitter Cries, give their strong Passion vent.
Officious Fame the dismal News relates,
And universal Sorrow propagates.
Pale Faces, crossing Arms, dejected Eyes,
O'erflowing Tears, and deep, despairing Sighs,
Compose a finish'd Scene of Blackest Woe,
The Tragick place does all sad Figures show.
The Men like pallid Gohsts pass silent by,
Women outrageous in their Sorrow cry
Macor is dead, our Hopes too with him dy.
Thro' all the Streets prodigious Numbers flow,
And pour'd out from the Gates, promiscuous go
To meet their Hero's Herse, with flaming Brands,
And Pitchy Torches lighted in their Hands.
Which in long Order shone along the way,
Disclos'd the Fields, and call'd back banish'd Day.
Soon as they spied the lofty Herse from far,
Attended with the Pomp of mournful War;
A lamentable Cry the Valley fills,
Eccho repeats it louder in the Hills.
Wild with their Grief, distracted with Despair,
They strike their throbing Breasts, tear off their Hair,
And with their piercing Screams disturb the Air.
Both Troops unite Rivals in Love and Grief,
And the sad Conquest seek with equal Strife.
As Cador 's Love no bounds his Sorrow knew,
Who from their Arms and Prayers distracted flew.
Close in his Arms he did the Corps embrace,
Kiss'd his cold Lips, and bath'd with Tears his Face.
A Scene so tender, such a moving Sight,
Melts all their Hearts, and does fresh Grief invite,
Touch'd with Compassion to th' afflicted King,
From their exhausted Eyes fresh Torrents spring.
When the fierce Tempest had its Fury broke,
With a deep Sigh th' unhappy Monarch spoke.
Oh, my dear Son! how mild had been my Doom,
Hadst thou escap'd, I suffer'd in thy Room.
This Sight kills worse than Death, Oh that the Dart
Had miss'd thy Breast, and pierc'd thy Father's Heart!
Oh, that to see this fatal Hour I live!
And thee, and all that's dear in Life survive!
Oh, how I wish Life's tedious Journey done,
The empty Name remains, the thing is gone!
But sure I shall not long thy Absence mourn,
I'll hast to thee, thou'lt not to me return.
My hoary Head with Sorrow to the Grave,
Makes hast, the best Repose my Troubles crave.
Thrice happy Wife remov'd from us below,
You have no share in this sad Scene of Woe.
My ill presaging Fears are now fulfill'd,
I started in my Sleep, and cry'd my Son is kill'd.
I knew too well warm Blood and youthful Age,
Eager with Fame, and fier'd with Martial Rage,
His Arms in greatest Danger would engage.
I pray'd, and oft conjur'd him to beware,
Not rashly to provoke unequal War.
He promis'd me while on his Neck I wept,
But oh, how ill has he his Promise kept?
I can't reproach the pious Arthur 's Name,
Nor on his Friendship sworn reflect the Blame.
If by divine, unchangeable Decree,
Untimely Fate, Macor , attended thee;
T'is best that thou art fal'n with such Applause,
Asserting Albion 's and the Christian Cause,
But why do my Complaints thus endless grow,
And why thus tedious my loquacious Woe?
Why from new Laurels should I thus detain
These valiant Troops, to hear my Sighs in vain?
Go, Briton s, to your Prince, at your Return,
Tell him I live, but only live to mourn.
I groan beneath the heaviest Load of Grief,
And spend, in Tears my sad Remains of Life.
May Heav'n his Arms with greater Triumph bless,
Great as his Vertues, let him meet Success.
Mean time must we this last kind Office pay,
And Macor 's Body to the Dome convey;
Where his illustrious Fathers lie interr'd
Who reign'd by Subjects lov'd, by Neighbours fear'd.
Soon as the Sun had with his early Ray
Depos'd the Shades, and re-enthron'd the Day.
The pious Briton s their slain Freinds inter,
And on their Graves new Honours do confer.
Some with their Spades, and with sharp Axes wound
The groaning Earth, and casting up the Ground,
They form deep Vaults, and subterranean Caves,
Then fill up with their Dead, the gaping Graves.
Some cast up hilly heaps, and Mounts of Sand,
That for their Tombs, and Monuments might stand.
And to th' admiring Briton s might declare,
In future Ages what their Fathers were.
Some Stones erect of a prodigious Size,
That bear the Hero's Glory to the Skies.
Mean time the Saxons bear away their Dead,
Whose putrid Heaps, the bloody Field o'erspread.
Innumerable Piles they raise on high,
Which kindled fill with Smoak and Flames the Sky.
With uncouth Cries, around the Fires they mourn,
Where vulgar Dead, in Heaps promiscuous Burn.
The Lords, and Officers of high Command,
They send attended with a warlike Band
Each to his City, there to be interr'd,
Where greater Funeral Pomp might be conferr'd,
But fair Augusta chiefly flow'd with Tears,
Where Grief in all her mournful Looks appears.
Distracted with ungovernable Woe,
Into the Streets in Crowds the Matrons flow.
Confusion in their Looks, and wild Despair,
They wring their Hands, and tear their flowing Hair
Parents on Children, Wives on Husbands call,
Sons mourn their Fathers, Maids their Lovers fall.
For their dear Brothers, Sisters, Tears are spent,
Servants their Masters, Friends their Friends lament.
All mingle Tears, their Cries together flow,
And form a hideous Harmony of Woe.
Pale Consternation sate on every Face,
They fear'd the Prince would soon invest the Place.
They oft reproach'd their Monarch's Breach of Word,
That had expos'd them to the Conquerour's Sword.
They wish'd that this destructive War might cease,
And Ethelina be the Bond of Peace.
Octa 's Affairs in this ill State appear,
Such was their publick Grief, and such their Fear.
Mean time the Briton joyful Sports ordain'd,
For the great Vict'ry by their Arms obtain'd.
For Horsemanship the Briton s always fam'd,
To run a Course his generous Gifts inflam'd.
Desire both of the Prize, and loud Applause,
The British Youth to mount their Coursers draws.
A neighbouring Hill ascending high, but slow,
Survey'd the Valleys, with his lofty Brow.
Upon the flowry Top a spacious Down,
Extended lay, which shady Woods did crown.
The grassy Plains, and rising Groves appear,
Like a rich furnish'd, native Theater.
Where Sylvan Scenes, their verdant Pomp display,
And charming Prospects to the Eye convey.
Soon as the Sun, had with his Rosy Light,
From the cold Air, dispell'd the dewy Night.
The British Hero with a numerous Train,
Directs his Steps, to this delightful Plain.
Where high amidst his Friends he takes his Place,
Who swarm'd around to view the noble Race.
Briton s, Armoricans , and Neustrians stood
Mingled below, the foremost of the Crowd
Stood Eddelin in all his Youthful Pride,
His Purple Boots were of Iberian Hide,
Which fast with Golden Buttons held, and grac'd
With Silver Spurs, his comely Legs embrac'd.
A flaming Ruban of Sydonian Dy,
In a close Knot, his curling Locks did ty,
Which playing on his Shoulders flew behind,
Danc'd in the Air, and sported with the Wind.
Close to his well shap'd Wast, he wore his Coat,
Of Silk and Silver, by his Mother wrought.
A Cap of Crimson did his Head equip,
And as he walk'd, he slash'd his breaded Whip.
His swarthy Groom his generous Courser leads,
That scarcely marks the Ground, so light he treads.
Swift as a Dove pursu'd, or Mountain Hind,
His nimbler Feet could overtake the Wind,
Leave flying Darts, and swifter storms behind.
Illustrious Blood, he Boasts with equal Pride,
Transmitted to his Veins on either side.
The Mother Mare was of Eborac Race,
The Sire Augusta 's Merchants, brought from Thrace .
His inward Fire thro' his wide Nostrils flies,
And noble Ardor sparkles in his Eyes.
His well turn'd Limbs did Admiration move,
Where Strength, and Beauty for the Conquest strove.
His Matchless Speed the Prize did ever gain,
From all the Rival Coursers of the Plain.
Next Blanadoc upon the Plain advanc'd
And led behind, his fiery Courser pranc'd.
Lightly equip'd, and ready for the Race,
He marches to the Base with Manly Grace.
The gazing Crowd admire his comely Steed,
Nobly descended from the famous Breed,
That on the Mauritanian Mountains feed.
And fam'd for his Swiftness in the Dusty Course,
Of wondrous Beauty, and of wondrous Force.
And next to him the gay Lanvallo came
Eager to win the Prize, and raise his Name.
His dapled Courser to the Base advanc'd,
And neighing wantonly along the Champain danc'd.
His high Descent he did from Draco trace,
The swiftest Courser of th' Iberian Race.
A Race so famous for their speedy Feet,
Eurus himself, was not esteem'd more fleet.
So swift they run, that vulgar Fame declares,
The Western Winds, impregnated the Mares.
Next the fierce Tudor comes into the Field,
That did to none for Art or Courage yield.
A Velvet Bonnet on his Head, and drest,
For Lightness, in a thin embroider'd Vest.
Thirsty of Honour to the Base he flies,
And with his greedy Wishes grasps the Prize.
His well-train'd Courser was admir'd for Speed,
Sprung from Calabrian , mixt with British Breed.
Light'ning flew from his Eyes, and Clouds of Smoak,
Dark'ning the Air, from his large Nostrils broke.
None of the Rival Steeds arriv'd before,
More Wonder rais'd, or promis'd Conquest more.
Next Trebor came upon a noble Horse,
And oft victorious in the rapid Course.
He gently strok'd his Mane, and bid him shew
On this great Day, the Feet he us'd to do.
With many more, whose long forgotten Name,
Was ne'er enroll'd in the Records of Fame.
While round the Base the wanton Coursers play,
Th' ambitious Riders in just Scales they weigh.
And those that by their Rules were found too light,
Quilt Lead into their Belts, to give them weight.
All things adjusted, and the Laws agree'd,
Each eager Rival mounts his generous Steed.
To whom th' indulgent Prince himself addrest,
And to inflame their Zeal these Words exprest.
Let no brave Youth despair of his Reward,
Due Gifts, and Honours are for all prepar'd.
Whoe'er are Rivals of the rapid Race,
Two costly Spears shall win, their plated Base
Glitters in Silver Sockets, finely wrought
By rare Engravers, from Germania brought.
Their Points are gilt, illustrious to behold,
Whence a deep Fring depends of Silk and Gold.
Besides a Back-sword whose well temper'd Blade,
Is of the fam'd Iberian Metal made.
The happy Youth that smear'd with Sweat, and Dust,
Shall reach the Goal, midst loud Applauses first,
This Golden Goblet his Reward shall boast,
By Damon wrought, with Figures high embost.
The second Conq'ror shall in Triumph wear,
In a rich Belt, this Persian Scimiter.
The Haft's a costly Stone, which Nature stains
With various Figures, and with bloody Veins.
The chiefest Workmen of the curious East
Have in the inlaid Blade, their Art exprest.
The third shall win a noble polish'd Shield,
Three Coursers rarely pourtray'd on the Field.
The Signal giv'n by the shrill Trumpet's Sound,
The Coursers start, and scowr along the Ground.
So Boreas starting from his Northern Goal,
Sweeps o'er the Mountains to the adverse Pole.
His furious Wings the flying Clouds remove,
From the Blue Plains, and spacious Wilds above.
Insulting o'er the Seas he loudly roars,
And shoves the tumbling Billows to the Shores.
While for the Palm the straining Steeds contend,
Beneath their Hoofs the Grass does scarcely bend.
So long and smooth their Strokes, so swift they pass,
That the Spectators of the noble Race,
Can scarce distinguish by their doubtful Eye,
If on the Ground they run, or in the Air they fly.
So when the Earth smiles with a Summers Ray,
And wanton swallows o'er the Valleys play.
In Sport each other they so swiftly chase,
Sweeping with easie Wings, the Meadow's Face,
They seem'd upon the Ground to fly a Race.
O'er Hills and Dales, the speedy Coursers fly,
And with thick Clouds of Dust obscure the Sky.
With clashing Whips, the furious Riders tear
Their Coursers sides, and wound th' afflicted Air.
Never Epirean , or Arabian Steed,
Flew o'er the Olympic Plains, with greater speed.
On their thick Manes the stooping Riders ly,
Press forwards, and would fain their steeds outfly.
By Turns they are behind, by Turns before,
Their Flanks and Sides, all bath'd in Sweat, and Gore.
Such speed the Steeds, such Zeal the Riders shew,
To reach bright Fame, that swift before them flew.
Upon the last with spurning Heels the first
Cast Storms of Sand, and smothering Clouds of Dust.
The hindmost strain their Nerves, and snore, and blow,
And their white Foam upon the Foremost throw.
Eager of Fame, and of the promis'd Prize,
The Riders seize the Mark with greedy Eyes.
Now Hopes dilate, now Fears contract their Breast,
Alternately with Joy, and Grief possest.
Thus far with equal Fate the Riders pass
Uncertain who should conquer in the Race.
But now the Goal appearing does excite
New warmth, and calls out all their youthful Might.
They lash their Courser's Flanks with Crimson dy'd,
And stick their goring Spurs into their side.
Their Native Courage, and the Riders stroke,
T' exert their Force, the generous Kind provoke.
Each springs out to the Goal with loosen'd Reins,
Works all his Nerves, and staring Eye-balls strains.
In this fierce Strife, Tudor 's the best for wind,
Shot forth, and left the panting Steeds behind.
Eddelin the other Rivals overpast,
Trebor came next, Lanvallo was the last.
Draco , his Steed, had once unrival'd Fame,
When in the Pride, and Pomp of Youth he came;
Curvetting o'er the Plain, to win the Course,
All yielded to his Swiftness, and his Force.
Siff Limbs now shew his Age, with drudging Pace
He sweats behind, and labours thro' the Race.
Now Tudor whips, and spurs his Courser on,
And near the Goal believ'd the Goblet won.
When running o'er a naked, chauky Place,
Slipp'ry with nightly Dew, and bare of Grass,
Up flew the Courser's Heels, and to the Ground
He, and the Rider, fell with mighty Sound.
The sudden Danger could not be declin'd
By Eddelin , that follow'd close behind.
For stumbling on young Tudor 's hapless Horse,
His Floundring fell, and lost the hopeful Course.
The mean time Trebor spur'd, and forwards spurng.
While all the Field with Acclamations rung.
First to the Goal his reeking Courser came,
Next Blanadoc , Lanvallo third in Fame.
The Victors by the Goal triumphant stood,
Surrounded by the thick applauding Crowd.
When Tudor rushing in, cries out of wrong,
And challenging the Prize, broke thro' the Throng.
The Judges over-rul'd the Youth's Demand,
Urging the first establish'd Rules should stand.
The Prince confirm'd their Sentence, and declar'd
Who first arriv'd, should have the first Reward.
But on the two, that by ill Fortune crost,
The Vict'ry almost in Possession, lost,
Rich Marks of Royal Bounty he conferr'd,
And with his Smiles, their drooping Spirits cheer'd.
A famous Quiver wrought by Didon 's Hand,
With Thracian Arrows stor'd, at his Commad
Was first on Tudor , as a Gift confer'd;
And cross his Shoulders hung the bright Reward.
Eddelin that never hop'd so mild a Doom,
Receives a silver Helm, and milk white Plume.
This Kindness to th' unfortunate exprest,
He gives the promis'd Prizes to the rest.
Arthur rose up, and all their Footsteps bend
Back to their Camp, which lofty Works defend.
And now the Briton s all their Hands employ,
To fetch Materials in, for Fires of Joy.
All to the Mountains, and the Woods repair,
And with their Labour fill the ecchoing Air.
They raise their Axes, and with toilsome Strokes,
Fell the tall Elms, and lop the spreading Oaks.
They bear the nodding Trees to every Town,
And from the Mountains, draw the Forrests down.
In every City with the shady Spoils,
The joyful Youth erected lofty Piles.
Nearer the Skies they raise th' aspiring Wood,
Than when before, upon the Hills it stood.
Soon as the Sun his Beamy Light withdrew,
And the brown Air grew moist with Ev'ning Dew:
The shouting Briton s, set the Piles on fire,
And tow'ring Flames to Heav'n's high Roof aspire.
Up the steep Air the ruddy Columns play,
And to the Stars their Rival Light convey.
Around the burning Piles the Crowds rejoyce,
And mingle Shouts, with the shrill Trumpet's Voice.
Heav'n's starry Arch with Acclamations ring,
While the glad Throng, Arthur 's loud Praises sings.
Let Arthur live, the Towns and Fields resound,
Let Arthur live, the ecchoing Hills rebound
The Evening thus in Mirth and Triumph past,
The Briton s to their Rest retir'd at last.
Mean time four Lords arriv'd from Tollo , crave
Audience of Octa , which the Saxon gave.
To hear their Embassy, in regal State
High on his Throne, the Saxon Monarch fate.
Duncan the cheif broke Silence thus, we bring
This Message from the great Albanian King;
He is advanc'd, to give that powerful Aid,
Which by his Orator's King Octa pray'd.
A valiant Host obeying his Command,
Whose conquering Swords, no force could yet withstand,
Who laid the Caledonian Forrest wast.
And from their Forts the fierce Meatian chas'd;
Halts on a Plain, three Leagues remov'd from hence,
Ready t' engage their Arms in your Defence.
But then our Leader prays, that when you come,
The Briton s all subdu'd, in Triumph home,
Fair Ethelina may be then his own,
The bright Reward that shall his Labours crown.
If to these happy Nuptialls you incline,
He'll straight with yours, his valiant Forces joyn.
Let not the Saxons doubt great Tollo 's Arms,
Will free your Kingdom from the Foes Alarms.
He said, forthwith Octa in counsel sate,
A Matter so important to debate.
When Osred thus began,
Great Exigencies of our State perswade,
That we comply with this Proposal made;
We are compell'd by hard Affairs, to court
Th' Albanian Arms, our Kingdom to support.
You know too well, how much the Saxons Host,
Is weaken'd by the Numbers we have lost,
When matchless Arthur did our Troops invade,
What Havock his victorious Progress made.
What wide Destruction in our Army rag'd,
Where'er his fatal Weapons were engag'd.
Our frighted Troops, when he advances, fly
Swift as the Clouds, the Winds chace thro' the Sky.
But valiant Tollo , rivals Arthur 's Fame,
Equal their Courage, and their Strength the same.
Against the Briton He'll the Field maintain,
And on his Buckler his vast Strokes sustain.
No stronger Champion travers'd yet the Field,
To him or none the British Prince must yield.
Kind Heav'n has sent a Man so great, and Brave,
From Arthur 's Arms, our threatn'd State to save.
I would not then his just Desire withstand,
But let him know, you grant him his Demand.
This Grant to such a Prince we must allow,
Was always fit, but necessary now.
He ceas'd, and next Pascentius silence broke,
And wisely thus th' attentive Peers bespoke.
I once advis'd that to preserve the State,
We should strict Friendship with Prince Arthur make.
That we Britannia should between us share,
And with the Princess Nuptials end the War.
The Terms propos'd the British Hero please,
And all things seem'd to promise lasting Peace.
But when we were inform'd the British Host
Had half their Force, by raging Sickness lost.
Thinking we might with Ease, the Foe defeat,
We from the Terms our selves propos'd, retreat.
I wish that Rupture May not Heav'n provoke,
To bring our Necks beneath the British Yoke.
With all our Force the Briton s we assail,
But Arthur 's unresisted Arms prevail.
How great a Loss the Saxons undergo
Our bleeding Wounds and endless Funerals show.
What Hero can be found to guard our State,
Against Prince Arthur 's Arms, and prosp'rous Fate.
True, Tollo 's Deeds give him a warlike Name,
But much inferiour to the Briton 's Fame.
If we confiding in th' Albanian 's Sword,
Fresh Triumphs to the Briton should afford:
Who after, shall controuling Bounds oppose,
To the victorious Progress of our Foes?
Who then against the Torrent can contend,
And from th' o'erflowing Flood, our Towns defend.
We shall in vain our former Conquests boast,
The Saxon sinks, and all Britannia 's lost.
All things well weigh'd, Prince Arthur looks to me
As one supported by divine Decree,
To Empire rais'd by unchang'd Destiny.
If so in vain all our Attempts are made,
In vain we build our Hopes on Tollo 's Aid.
We shall oppose inevitable Fate,
And in our Ruin learn our Fault, too late.
I would Prince Arthur 's Temper found, and strive
Once more, the former Treaty to revive.
This way we may controul the Conqueror's Arms,
And Arthur bind by Ethelina 's Charms.
This way perhaps you'll stem the rapid Tyde,
And gain a Conquest to your Arms deny'd.
Pascentius ceas'd, Crida with Choler burn'd,
And with an Air disturb'd these Words return'd:
We all well know Pascentius Tongue, was made
Smooth, soft, and fluent fitted to perswade.
For courtly Arts, and fine Intreagues of State,
No Saxon Genius can Pascentius mate.
All to his Eloquence at home must yield,
As he to all, for Courage in the Field.
Men of the Cabinet take no Delight,
In bloody War, they are too wise to fight.
The Briton 's Strength, and Arthur 's Arms I find,
Strike fiercely on a Prudent timerous Mind.
A brave Heroick Spirit can't despair,
That minds the Turns and doubtful chance of War.
Joyn'd by the Pict and Albanian Horse,
We're much superior to the British Force,
Tollo and Mordred , both for Arms are fam'd,
Whose Deeds with greater Wonder are proclaim'd?
We too have Heros left that dare engage
The Briton 's Arm, and can sustain his Rage.
My self will meet him in the Field, and stand
Unmov'd against the Fury of his Hand.
Shall we at last a Conquer'd Nation fear,
And long inur'd to Victory despair.
Let not our vile Submission stain our Name,
And lessen thro' the World the Saxon Fame.
No, let the King, with Tollo 's Prayer comply,
Our Forces joyn'd must make the Briton s fly.
He ceas'd, the Councel murmur'd their Applause,
And pleas'd with this Advice King Octa rose.
He straight dispatch'd th' Albanian Orators,
By whom the valiant Tollo he assures,
That he the Briton s by his Aid subdu'd,
Shall Ethelina wed for whom he sued.
Withall he added that Affairs requir'd,
Their Troops should join, before the Truce expir'd.
His Oratours return'd, to Tollo bring,
The pleasing Answer, of the Saxon King.
Tollo transported with excessive Joy,
Believes no Rival could his Hopes destroy.
As if the Battel were already won,
He thinks the Beauteous Princess is his own.
Glitt'ring in Arms, like a refulgent Star,
He leads his Scotish Nation to the War.
A Nation fierce and haughty by Success,
Which Albion 's Northern Soil did then posess.
For a rude, cruel People, bred to Spoil,
To Blood, and Rapine, from th' Hibernian Isle,
Did in this Age, infest th' Albanian Coast,
And landed there at last their barb'rous Host.
Scots they were call'd, from their wild Island's Name,
For Scotia , and Hibernia were the same.
Here their new Seats the prosperous Pyrates, fix,
And their course Blood, with the old Briton s mix.
These their Albanian Seats, new Scotia stile,
Leaving Hibernia , to their native isle
The Calidonian Briton s dispossest
And by a hard tirannick Yoke opprest;
Did these Hibernian , Scotish Lords obey,
And felt the Curses of a forraign Sway.
This Nation then obey'd King Tollo 's Laws,
And now in Arms asserts the Saxon Cause.
The mighty Donald , of the Northern Isles ,
Of Visage fierce, and dreadful with the Spoils
Of grisly Bears, and of the foaming Boar,
Which hideous Pride he o'er his Shoulders wore,
Marches his vig'rous Troops into the Field,
Whose thundring Swords, themselves could only weild.
By their rough Captains led, they left the land,
Where once the old Meatians did command.
And where the Walls from Sea to Sea extend,
By Romans built, their Province to defend.
Stupendous Bulwarks, whose unnumber'd Towers,
Repel'd th' Incursions of the Northern Powers.
But when proud Rome was weak and feeble grown,
Th' insulting Foe broke the high Fences down.
Now Ruins show where the chief Fabrick stood,
Between wide Tinna 's and Itunna 's Flood.
The Youth from all the Towns that did obey
In ancient times, the mild Nomantian Sway.
Such as possest th' Elgovian Seats, and those
Who till'd the Land, where silver Devia flows.
Who on the wild and bleaky Shore reside,
Insulted by the rough Hibernian Tide.
To aid the Saxon from their Country came,
By Dongal led, a Lord of Martial Fame.
Those where Verdera rears her lofty Towers,
And Glotta 's Tide into the Ocean pours.
And where th' Orestian Princes heretofore,
And Attacottian Lords the Scepter bore.
Those where the Otadenian Cities stood,
Between Alanus , and fair Vedra 's Flood.
They march from Castralata and the Shore,
Where wide Boderia 's noisy Billows roar.
Then those from Vindolana and the Land
Where Ælians Bridge and high Cilurnum stand.
Mackbeth a great Commander of the North,
And rocky Highlands, draws his Nation forth.
Loose Mantles o'er their brawny Shoulders flung,
With careless Pride beneath their midleg hung.
Cerulean Bonnets on their Heads they wore,
And for their Arms, broad Swords and Targets bore
The Youth pour'd out from fair Victoria 's Gates,
From Orrea and the old Gadenian Seats.
And from the spacious Caledonian Wood,
And where Cebinus rolls his rapid Flood.
These Troops were by the fierce Congellar led,
Of Malcol 's Royal Stock the famous Head.
Who first from wild Jerne wafted o'er,
His barb'rous Engines to th' Albanian Shore.
Those from the Vicomagians Cities came,
From high Banatia , and from ancient Tame .
And they who dwelt on either verdant Bank
Of Longo 's Stream, and those that Itys drank.
With those that stretcht along the western Coast,
To whom the old Creonian Towns were lost,
Where high Epidium midst th' Hibernian Waves,
Protrudes his Head, and all their Monsters braves.
Those from the Towns along the flowry Side
Of Northern Tinna , and fair Tava 's Tide.
Where once the happy Venicontes dwelt,
Before the forraign Conquerours Yoke was felt.
There was a northern Nation fierce and bold,
On whose dy'd Bodies, fearful to behold,
Wild Beasts inscrib'd, and ravenous Birds were born,
Which their vast Limbs did dreadfully adorn.
So fierce they seem'd, as ready to devour,
The naked Limbs, that the wild Monsters bore.
Their Hieroglyphick Armies, stain'd and smear'd
With various Colours, and strange Forms appear'd
In Pageant Armour, and in painted State,
Like Troops of Heralds, who on Triumphs wait.
This Nation Picts were call'd, who wafted o'er
From Scandinavia , and the bleaky Shore
Of Southern Scythia , did these Seas infest,
And with their Fleets, the British Coast molest.
Their Pyracy's by Sea, and Thefts by Land,
Th' exhausted Briton s did in vain withstand.
No more of Rome 's declining Power afraid,
They did the weak, defenceless Isle invade.
Th' affrighted Briton from the Shore retreats,
And leaves the Conquerour his abandon'd Seats.
Their King at Pleasure, this fierce Nation made,
And Mordred now th' imperial Scepter sway'd.
He to King Tollo by his Queen ally'd,
And now by closer Bonds of Interest ty'd.
Commands his Men, to take their Shield and Launce,
And with the Scotish Army to advance.
They march'd, who then possest the Hilly Land,
Which th' ancient Carnonatian did command.
From Ricine , and the frozen Hebudes ,
Lav'd by the loud Deucaledonian Seas.
From all the Towns whence their victorious Sword,
Forc'd the Carenian Prince, the rightful Lord.
Where the wild Hiperborean Ocean raves,
And on the Rocks breaks his tempestuous Waves.
They came who then the Mertian Cities fill'd,
And held the Lands that once the Logian till'd.
They left the Soil where swift Tuesis flows,
Where Grampius stands in everlasting Snows,
Which like the fam'd Riphean Hills appears,
And with his Head divides the neighb'ring Spheres.
From all the Land where Loxa 's Current flows,
Which Vara 's, and Tuesis streams inclose.
Where once the bold Decantians did reside,
And from their Hills the Power of Rome defy'd.
These with the Saxon Troops their Arms unite
Who so well reinforc'd prepare for Fight;
While wounded in his Tent King Octa staid,
King Tollo , as their Leader, all obey'd.
BOOK X
Aurora 's Beams now on the Mountains smil'd,
And adverse Clouds with Purple Edgings gild,
Boyling with Martial Rage King Tollo stands,
And his high Chariot, and his Steeds demands.
Steeds, whiter than the purest Alpine Snows,
And fleeter than the Gales that Boreas blows.
He triumph'd when his noble Breed appear'd,
Their Harness thick with Gold and Silver smear'd.
When he their thundring Neighings heard, and saw
Their wanton Hoofs the trembling Valley paw.
The Grooms and Charioteers about him stand,
Reining the snorting Coursers in their Hand.
Stroking their Backs, they their hot Spirits sooth'd,
And their high Manes with Combs, and Spunges smooth'd.
Tollo mean time, puts on his mighty Arms,
And all the Field resounds with loud Alarms.
Each Army does for Bloody Toil prepare,
And draw their Troops out, to renew the War.
The thund'ring Coursers shake the trampled Ground,
And warlike Clamours from the Hills rebound.
Across the Plain the rapid Chariots fly,
And with thick Clouds of Dust annoy the Sky.
An Iron Harvest on the Field appears,
Of Launces, burnish'd Shields, and bristling Spears.
Throng'd Heads in long embattl'd Ranks dispos'd,
The lowring Front of horrid War disclos'd.
First furious Tollo springs out from the Lines,
And on the Plain in radiant Armour shines:
His polish'd Helm opprest and dazled Sight,
And shone on high, like a huge Globe of Light.
The Golden Shield his mighty Arm did bear,
Hung like a blazing Meteor, in the Air.
His Coat of Mail was on his Shoulders cast,
And Golden Pieces his vast Thighs encas'd.
The Pieces round his Legs, Gold Buttons ty'd,
And his broad sword hung dreadful by his side.
Which when drawn out, like a destructive Flame
Of Light'ning, from the ample Scabbard came.
In such illustrious Arms King Tollo shone,
And thought no Strength superior to his own.
Then shaking in his Hand his massy Spear,
He cry'd aloud, that all his Threats might hear.
This Spear ne'er yet deceiv'd its Master's Hand,
Nor could the bravest Knight it's Force withstand.
Witness Albodian , and great Locrine slain
In single Combates, on th' Albanian Plain.
Witness ye Caledonian Princes, you,
Whom with vast spoil on Tava 's's Banks I slew.
Now, by this faithful spear shall Arthur dy,
If his just Fears perswade him not to fly.
T' Augusta 's Gates I'll bring his sever'd Head,
And in his spoils, fair Ethelina wed.
Thus Tollo boasts, thus did his Fury rise,
And streaks of Fire flash'd from his raging Eyes.
So when a tawny Lyon, from the side
Of some high Lybian Mountain, has descry'd.
A spotted Leopard, or a foaming Boar,
To rouse his Courage he begins to roar,
He shakes his hideous Sides, his Bristles rise
And fiercely round he rowls his fiery Eyes.
Again he roars, his Paws the Mountains tear,
A fearful Preface to th' ensuing War.
High in his Chariot Tollo then advanc'd,
And from his Arms amazing Lustre glanc'd.
A Martial Ardour sparkled in his Eyes,
And hot with Choler he the Foe defies.
So when the Spring's warm Breath, and chearing Ray
Calls from his Cave th' awaken'd Snake , that lay
Folded to Rest, while Winter Snows conceal'd
The Mountains Heads, and Frosts the Lakes congeal'd.
The sloughy Spoils from his sleek Back depos'd,
And the gay Pride of his new Skin disclos'd,
He views himself with Youthful Beauties crown'd,
Elated casts his haughty Eyes around,
And rolls his speckled spires along the Ground.
Fresh Colours dy his Sides, and thro' his Veins
Turgid with Life, reviving Vigour reigns.
The sprightly Beast, unfolds upon the Plain
The glossy Honours of his Summer Train.
His Crest erected high, and forky Tongue
Shot out, he hisses, bounds, and leaps along.
Such Life and Vigour valiant Tollo shows,
Marching with eager Haste to meet his Foes.
And now the British Host advanc'd in sight,
With chearful Looks, and eager of the Fight.
Prince Arthur in refulgent Arms appear'd,
High in the midst, the Saxons saw, and fear'd.
As when a Merchant richly laden spies,
A lowring storm far in th' Horizon rise,
A deadly Fear o'er all his Vitals reigns,
And his chill Blood hangs curdled in his Veins.
He furls his Sails, and fits his ship to bear
The dreadful Hurricane ascending thro' the Air.
Now both th' embattled Hosts advancing near,
King Tollo shakes his long, outrageous Spear.
And crying out, and threatning from afar,
In his swift Chariot flew amidst the War.
His rapid Wheels cut thro' the thickest Files
With fearful Ruine, and prodigious Spoils.
Hapless Vodinar first his Arm did feel,
And in his Breast receiv'd the pointed steel.
Next Byron on the Sand expiring lies,
Orpes flies to his Aid, and with him dies.
Kentwin , Morosten , Caradoc he flew,
And with his Javelin pierc'd stout Mervin thro'.
Then you brave Youths, Risan , and Tudor fell
Who did in strength, and martial skill excel.
His fatal spear transfixt bold Arnon 's sides,
And from his Neck, his Sword the Head divides.
As Udas fled, the hissing Dart he sent
Enter'd his Back, and thro' his Navel went,
He fell, and on the Dust, sad to behold,
His Bowels issuing from his Belly roll'd.
Runo 's right Knee his Javelin did invade,
And in the Bone the glitt'ring Weapon staid.
Strong Runo fell, and as he wildly star'd,
And many moving Words, in hast prepar'd
To beg his Life, th' insulting Conquerour flew,
And with his Spear pierc'd his pale Body thro'.
Groaning he lay, and fetcht long double Sighs
While in thick Mists Death swims upon his Eyes.
Next Leoline , King Cadwall 's Son he kill'd,
A beauteous Youth, and not in War unskill'd.
His Head the Fauchion to the Shoulders cleft,
And on the Dust his groveling Body left.
Ouenar flet within a sudden Dread,
And turning round his Chariot, would have fled.
When his long Spear the fierce Albanian threw,
Which crasht the Bones, and thro' the Temples flew.
Headlong Ouenar fell, and on the Ground
Lay welt'ring in his Blood, pour'd from his Wound.
His fatal Weapons vast Destruction made,
And where he pass'd, the slain in Heaps were laid.
So when a Flood from th' Hyperborean Hills,
Rolls thund'ring down, and all the Valley fills,
Where the high Snows dissolv'd by Summer Beams,
In one vast Deluge joyn their various Streams:
The roaring Tide with its impetuous Course,
O'erflows the Banks, and with resistless Force
Sweeps Houses, Harvest, Herds, and Flocks away,
Nor can the loftiest Mounds its Progress stay.
With equal Rage, with such impetuous Hast,
Great Tollo thro' the thick Battalions past.
The rapid Wheels of his swift Chariot burn,
And in their Course the throng'd Brigades o'erturn.
O'er scatter'd Arms, bright Helms, broad Shields of Brass,
And broken Spears, his raging Axles pass.
O'er Heaps of Dead the furious Warrior flies,
And fills with Dust, and ratling Noise, the Skies.
The squallid Field, a Crimson Torrent choaks,
And mingled Dust, and Blood oppress his Chariot's spoakes.
The trembling Ground th' outrageous Coursers tear,
And snoring, brow their Foam into the Air
Their fervid Nostrils breath out Clouds of Smoke,
And Flames of Fire from their hot Eyeballs broke.
With furious Hoofs o'er slaughter'd Heaps they fly,
And dash up Bloody Rain amidst the Sky.
Reeking in sweat, and smear'd with Dust and Gore
They spurn the Sand, and thro' the Battel roar.
Then Valiant Malgo with a fresh Brigade,
Advanc'd the mighty Warriour to invade.
While from another Part his Warlike Band,
Bothan led up, and made a noble Stand.
Now Showers of Darts, and feather'd Arrows fly
At Tollo 's Breast, that darken'd all the Sky.
When Valiant Marodan approaching near,
With all his Strength, casts his impetuous Spear.
It pass'd the Buckler's Plates, and folded Hide,
And thro' his Armour slightly raz'd his Side.
Tollo incens'd, collecting all his Might,
Broke thro' their Ranks, and put the Foe to Flight.
Now dire Destruction reigns amidsts their Files,
And all the Field was spread with warlike Spoils.
So when Battavian Harpooniers assail,
With their sharp Launces, some prodigious Whale ,
That like a floating Mountain, lies at Ease,
Vastly extended on the Frozen Seas.
When the Leviathan begins to feel,
Within his wounded side, the bearded steel;
And looking round, sees all the ambient Flood,
Deeply distain'd with its old Monarch's Blood.
Straight all enrag'd, he throws himself about,
And thro' the Air does Crimson Rivers spout.
Swift, as a storm, he does the Foe assail,
With his expanded Fins, and hideous Tail.
Some Barks are crush'd, as with a falling Rock,
And some o'erturn'd, sink with the dreadful Shock.
The rest ply all their Oars, and frighted row,
Thro' Fields of Ice, to shun th' unequal Foe.
Canvallo then brought up a stronger Force,
Whom Galbut joyn'd to stop th' Albanian 's Course.
The fainting Briton s these fresh Troops protect,
And with their Arms great Tollo 's Triumphs checkt.
And now their thick Brigades were close engag'd,
And thro' the bloody Field Destruction rag'd.
Now Man to Man stood close, and Spear to Spear,
Helms mixt with Helms, and Shields with Shields appear.
Arrows aloft in feather'd Tempests fly,
Darts hiss at Darts, encountring in the Sky.
A dreadful Noise distracting all the Air,
Came from the hoarce Cerberean Throat of War.
While Arms on Arms, Bucklers on Bucklers ring,
Swords clash with Swords, and flying Javelins sing.
Some threaten loud, while some for Quarter cry,
And some insult, while some in Torment dy.
As when a Torrent down some Mountain's Side,
To the low Valleys rolls its rapid Tide,
Where mighty Stones and rocky Fragments, high
Within the rude, unfashion'd Channels ly.
O'er abrupt Tracks its Course the Deluge bends,
And roaring down with mighty Falls, descends.
Prodigious Noise th' Aerial Region fills,
The Shepherds hear, and tremble on their Hills.
Or as
When high Vesuvius stow'd with wealthy Stores,
Preluding to some dire Irruption, roars;
While horrible Convulsions shake its Womb,
And lab'ring Sides, which hidden War entomb.
Th' imprison'd Thunder bellows under Ground,
And the loud Noise fill all the Heav'ns around.
August Parthenope 's gilt Turrets shake,
And fair Campania 's wealthy Farmers quake.
Such was the loud distracting Noise of War,
Such horrid Clamours tore th' afflicted Air,
While the fierce Foes against each other rag'd,
And for Britannia 's Empire were engag'd.
The neighing Steeds, and wounded Warriours cries,
And rising Clouds of Dust confound the Skies.
Mordred mean time the mighty Pictan King,
Does to the Charge, his threatning Squadrons bring.
Sticking his Golden Rowels in the Sides
Of his huge Steed, amidst the Ranks he rides.
The British Horse unshaken as a Rock,
Bravely sustain'd th' Invader's thundring Shock.
King Meridoc who did the Horse command
Confirm'd his Men, to make so brave a stand.
Yet many valiant Briton s Mordred slew,
First with his Spear he pierc'd brave Jasper thro.
The Valiant Giffith by unhappy Chance,
Came in his Way, and felt his fatal Launce.
Beneath his Ear, the Weapon pierc'd his Head,
He fell, and in a Moment stretcht out dead.
His furious Arm noble Lodanar felt
On whose high Crest so fierce a stroke he dealt,
The Briton stun'd with the prodigious Blow,
Drops the loos'd Reins, and lets his Weapons go.
The frighted Courser thro the Battel Flies,
Lodanor in the Dust dismounted lies.
The Horses Hoofs in pieces crush his Head,
And deep into the Mire his Bowels tread.
Then with great Fury he at Adel flew,
And grip'd him with his furious Hand, and drew
The Briton from his Seat, his fiery Steed
Scours o'er the Field, from his lost Rider freed.
Wrigling and spurning in his Arms the Prey
'Midst loud Applauses Mordred bears away.
So when an Eagle from some Mountain's Top,
To truss a timerous Leveret makes a stoop,
And in his crooked Pounces takes him up.
Struggling he mounts, and squeaks amidst the Skies
And faster than he ran before, he flies.
To fight the Pict straight Guinan did advance
But in his Shield broke his projected Launce.
Then at the Briton Mordred 's Javelin flew
It mist the Rider, but the Courser slew.
Extended on the Ground the groaning Beast,
Th' unhappy Rider with his Weight opprest.
Mordred dismounts, and with his glitt'ring Dart
Loudly insulting, stabs him to the Heart.
Guinan a Friend to Meridoc was dear
Who at his Death enrag'd caught up his Spear,
And shaking it from far, with mighty Rage,
Spurs thro' their Ranks King Mordred to engage.
The Pictan Monarch who elated stood,
Like some tall Oak, that overlooks the Wood,
Or some high Tower, which with its lofty Head
Surveys the Towns beneath, around it spread,
Lifts his Gigantick Spear, and cry'd aloud,
To Meridoc advancing thro' the Crowd,
Briton come on, and but a Moment stand,
A glorious Fate expect from Mordred 's Hand.
Let not thy Fears perswade thee hence to flie,
Heav'ns give thee Courage to come up, and die.
King Meridoc his Spear in Answer sent,
Which in the Shield's third Ply, its Fury spent.
Then Mordred threw, aloft the Weapon hist,
Ludar it slew, but Meridoc it mist.
Brave Ludar was a Lord of Neustrian Blood,
Who long in vain the fair Marinda woo'd.
To bless him with her Smiles, and heal his Wound,
But from the scornful Maid no Pity found:
Lost in Despair, he left his native Soil,
His Torments to beguile with Martial Toil.
Now wounded by an erring Spear, he lies
Cry'd out Marinda , cruel Fate! and dies.
Then did the Briton 's second Weapon fly
Which thro' his Armour, pierc'd King Mordred 's Thigh.
Which from the Flesh he strove to draw in vain,
Then flew about wreckt with Tormenting Pain.
Wildly he star'd, and turn'd his Courser's Head,
Aloud he roar'd, and from the Combat fled.
So when a Sword-Fish, urg'd with generous Rage,
Does a vast Whale, in Northern Seas engage.
The Finny Warriors, with a furious Course
To Battel rush, and meet with wondrous Force.
A Noble Fight ensues, and dreadful Strokes
Afflict the Main, and shake the neighb'ring Rocks.
As they advance, they drive high Seas before,
The Monsters bellow, and the Billows roar.
The boiling Sea, with greater Fury raves,
Then when incumbent Storms press on its Waves.
The Surges raging with intestine War,
With high, curl'd Heads, look terrible from far.
The Foam of breaking Waves, in pointed Sleet
Like driven Snow does on the Ocean beat.
At every Shock the dashing Waters fly,
And clouds of Liquid dust obscure the Sky.
At last the Whale his shining Belly goar'd,
By his fierce Enemy's invading Sword;
Wild with his Rage and Pain whole Seas does spout,
And like a floating Island, rolls about.
The wounded Monster does the Seas out roar,
And tumbles thro' the Billows to the Shore,
Leaving behind broad Tracks of Purple Gore.
Thus strove the Pictan and the British Horse,
While pious Arthur with resistless Force;
In radiant Arms, bright as th' autumnal Star,
Flies thro' the Foe, himself a fearful War.
With his victorious Sword, which wav'd on high,
Made flaming Bows, and Arches in the Sky.
The Body of their Battel he invades,
And thro' a Sea of Blood victorious wades.
Where'er the Conqu'ror did his progress bend,
Ruin and wide Destruction did attend.
Prodigious Numbers by his Weapons fall,
And on their Gods in vain the Saxons call.
He made his way, like an impetuous Flood,
Or furious Burning, raging thro' the Wood
Where'er he pass'd the Dead lay thick behind,
As sapless Leaves, spread by a boistrous Wind.
Ussina first a valiant Lord did feel
In his left Side, the Briton 's piercing steel.
Next Godred fell from valiant Ingulf sprung,
And as he fell, his Arms upon him rung.
Next fell the famous Ethelbert betwixt,
The Head and Shoulders with a Dart transfixt.
Nothing his Courage, or illustrious Blood,
That to his Veins from mighty Odin 's flow'd;
Nothing his well prov'd Armour when assail'd
By Arthur 's hand, the noble Youth avail'd.
Struggling he lay, and wallow'd on the Ground
In the warm Streams that rush'd out from his Wound.
A gloomy Night o'er whelms his dying Eyes,
And his disdainful Soul, from his pale Bosom flies
Then Imerick he slew a valiant Chief,
And Lodocan that rush'd to his Relief:
One with his Fauchion, th' other with his Spear,
That cleft the Head, this pierc'd from Ear to Ear.
Next from his Arm a singing Javelin sent,
Thro' the left Groin of mighty Crida went.
The wounded Chief retires in tort'ring Pain,
And Tracks of Blood his halting Leg distain.
Then Sigebert a noble Youth he slew,
The fatal Weapon pierc'd his Temples thro'.
His furious Dart did next at Ebald fly,
Which thro' his Shield pierc'd deep into his Thigh:
Inflam'd with Rage, and roaring out with Pain,
He strove to pull the Weapon out in vain.
His Javelin next transfixt Congellars 's Reins,
And out his Life gush'd from his open'd Veins.
Then Edbert fell
Thro' the Bright Helmet which his Head encas'd,
Thro' Bones, and Brains the furious Javelin pass'd;
And his left Eye from out its Circle struck,
On the sharp Point, a ghastly Prospect stuck.
Then Ethelrick a stout west Saxon Lord,
And Ida fell, by his victorious Sword.
The first his Head down to his Shoulders cleft,
Fell to the Ground, of Breath and sense bereft.
The heavy Blade falling with oblique Sway,
Half thro' the other's Neck, did make its way.
The Head half sever'd on his Shoulders hung,
And from the Wound a bloody Torrent sprung.
Rolling in Gore upon the Field he lay,
Wildly he star'd, and groan'd his life away,
As when a mighty Tempest from the East,
The Sea assail'd, and on the Billows prest
By Heav'n's Command, that Jacob 's Fav'rite Race,
Might Pharaoh 's Arms escape, and safely pass.
Th' astonish'd Ocean did its Force obey,
Open'd his watry Files, and clear'd the pathless way.
The Waves retreated, and erected stood,
As fear and wonder had benum'd the Flood.
Then Front to Front they kept their Line unmov'd,
And those that crowd behind, they backwards shov'd.
Like a long Ridge of Crystal Hills they rose,
And the low Wonders of the deep disclose.
So valiant Arthur prest upon the Foe,
And so their Troops retir'd, and let the Conqueror thro.
Now he advanc'd to Tollo 's foremost Band,
Where mighty Fingal and Dolavian stand;
Both which he slew, next valiant Duncan falls,
While he in vain for Help on Tollo calls.
And now on every side the Saxon Host
Began to fly, and yield the Battel lost.
Only King Tollo with enormous Rage
Breaks thro' the Troops, Prince Arthur to engage.
Mean time the Prince of Hell stood full of Care,
And fear'd th' Event of this unequal War.
To save the Saxon Squadrons which remain,
Whereof such Numbers lay already slain,
And to prevent Tollo 's impending Fate,
Whose Arms the British Hero's could not mate.
The conquering Britons fierce pursuit to stay,
And once more Arthur 's Triumphs to Delay,
By Heav'n's Permission, causes to arise
A dreadful Tempest in the troubled Skies.
The blustring Powers, and Demons of the Air,
Straight at his Summons to their Prince repair.
To whom thus Lucifer :
Aerial Powers, who my Commands obey,
And in these Regions own my soveraign Sway;
Know, I intend to end this bloody Strife,
To part the Hosts, and guard King Tollo 's Life.
Go hasten then, each to his known Employ,
And let your loudest Storms the Heav'ns annoy.
Swift, as your own projected Lightnings fly,
And in a Moment trouble all the Sky.
The dusky Fiends obedient fly away,
Some fetch up misty Stores to choak the Day.
Some Pitchy Clouds of Stygian Fleeces made,
And in their Bowels Trains of Brimstone laid.
Some ram in Seeds of unripe Thunder some,
With mighty Hailstones charge their hollow Womb.
Some fetch strong Winds, which on their Wings may bear
The heavy Tempest lab'ring thro' the Air.
O'erspreading mists th' extinguish'd sunbeams drown
Dark Clouds o'er all the Black Horrizon frown,
And hang their deep Hydropick Bellies down.
Hoarse Thunder rolls, and Murm'ring try's its Voice,
Preluding to the Tempest's dreadful Noise.
Infernal Torches now the Fiends apply,
And light the fiery Seeds that hidden lie.
The Heav'n's wide Frame outrageous Thunder shocks,
Loud, as the mighty Crack of falling Rocks.
The Cloudy Machines burst amidst the Skies,
And from their yawning Wounds exploded Lightning flies.
Confusion fills the Air, Fire, Rain, and Hail
Now mingle Tempests, now by Turns prevail.
No more the Briton s, and the Saxons strove,
For that below, yields to the War above.
The conquering Briton s, to the Camp return,
Their Loss in theirs, the vanquish'd Saxons mourn.
So when a summer Cloud the Sky o'erspreads,
The Bees that wander o'er the flowry Meads,
Or to the Tops of lofty Mountains climb,
To fetch the yellow spoils of od'rous Thyme,
Forsake their Toil, and lab'ring thro' the Air,
To their known Hives, with hasty Flight repair.
All to their Cells returning from abroad,
Depose their luscious Dew, and strutting Thighs unload.
Perplext, and sad, the Saxon Troops appear,
And horribly they curst Prince Arthur 's spear.
They saw no Saxon could his Arm withstand,
And doubt Deliverance from King Tollo 's Hand.
When half of this uneasie Night was spent,
To all the great Commanders Octa sent,
To bring them quickly to his royal Tent.
And first the Summons they to Tollo bear,
Who to equip himself did straight prepare.
A Wolf grin'd horribly upon his Head,
And o'er his brawny Back a Leopard's Hide was spread.
He girds his mighty Fauchion to his side,
Which hung across his Thigh, with fearful Pride.
Frowning, and on the great Affair Intent,
He straight to Octa 's high Pavilion went.
Next Mordred halting with his Wound, and lame,
And by his massy spear supported, came.
A Beaver's Skin upon his Head he wore,
And a fierce Tyger 's his wide shoulders bore.
A silver Belt, illustrious to behold,
Held his broad sword, adorn'd with studs of Gold.
Then Ella rose with newly laid down to Rest,
And button'd on his rich embroider'd Vest.
O'er which a pompous scarlet Cloak he threw,
Fasten'd with Golden Clasps, and lin'd with costly Blue.
Then putting on his mighty sword, in Hast
Tho lame, he to the Counsel sternly past.
Then valiant Amades , and Chuline went
With wise Pascentius to their Monarch's Tent
Follow'd by Osred , Sebert , and the rest
Of their chief Lords, who great Concern exprest:
And now th' august Assembly fill'd apace,
Where all the Leaders took their proper Place.
Then their Attention Octa did demand,
And leaning on his Scepter with his Hand,
He thus began, Princes, you see the Field
To the victorious Briton s still we yield.
By Sea, and Land we've felt their fatal Arms,
And all our Realm trembles at their Alarms.
Our Heaps of Dead the Field with Horrour crown,
And Seas of Saxon Blood the Valley drown.
All Albion 's Isle resounds with dying Groans,
White with her Rocks, but whiter with our Bones.
Prince Arthur 's Sword the Field with Ruin spreads,
Like Storms, which from the Trees dishonour'd Heads
Their shady Leaves, and spreading Branches tear,
Cover the Ground, and leave the Forrest bare.
On us th' offended Gods severely frown,
But on the British Arms look smiling down.
While we oppose the rapid Tide of Fate,
We think to stop what we precipitate,
And learn our Errour, at too dear a Rate.
He said, the Saxon Chiefs, who found their Host
Feeble, and sunk by frequent Battels lost:
Thinking their Arms unable to oppose,
The rapid Course of their victorious Foes:
Upon Pascentius straightway cast their Eyes,
As one above the rest accounted wise,
And who the King to Peace did still advise.
Pascentius then began.
Octa , the Counsel which at first I gave
From Arthur 's Arms our threaten'd State to save;
What since has happen'd, shows was just and right:
For who can meet the British Prince in Fight?
Our sinking State, and hard Affairs demand
A Remedy of Force, and near at Hand.
He that in such a Storm, would safely steer,
Must have a Head that's steady, cool, and clear.
'The lab'ring Ship on all sides feels dire shocks,
Charybdis shun'd, she's dash'd on Scylla 's Rocks.
Tis hard to give a Monarch Counsel where
On either Hand such frightful shelves appear.
Statesmen, in such a Case as this debate
How best to save themselves, and not the state.
But if my Judgment still I must declare,
I would at any Price compose the War.
And till a more effectual can be found,
This as a safe Expedient I propound.
Sore with their Wounds, and sunk with ill success,
The Saxons strong Desires for Peace express.
This to obtain, we must to Arthur sue,
And the first Treaty, which we broke, renew.
The Princess Ethelina 's Heav'nly Charms,
Are only stronger, than the Briton 's Arms.
She must be offer'd, as the Prince's Bride,
This once prevail'd, and must again be try'd.
But then you break the Promise, that you made
To Tollo , who'll complain he is betray'd.
Since hence to Peace, our chief Obstructions spring,
I move that Arthur , and th' Albanian King,
May by their single Arms the strife decide,
And let the Princess be the Conqueror's Bride.
If o'er the Briton s we th' Advantage gain,
And Arthur by th' Albanian King is slain.
The Briton s shall repass Sabrina 's Tide,
And in their Rocks, and Hilly Lands abide.
But all the Cities, Castles, and the Land,
That lie on this side, Octa shall command.
But if King Tollo slain by Arthur 's Sword,
New Triumphs to the Briton shall afford;
We'll meet no more their Armies in the Field,
But all our Towns, and conquer'd Places yield.
Those who shall ask it, shall be wafted o'er,
To our old seats along the German shore:
The Cantian Kingdom still we will retain,
And in its Limits circumscrib'd remain.
This, as the best Expedient, I propose,
He said, the Saxons murmur'd their Applause.
Then Tollo answer'd with a haughty Air,
Pleas'd with my Fate, I undertake the War.
My Sword and Arthur 's shall the Strife decide,
And let the Princess be the Victor's Bride.
This conquering Arm the Saxon Realm shall guard,
Repell the Foe, and win the bright Reward.
For if the Foe does not my Sword decline,
The War is ended, with his Fall or mine.
Th' Assembly rose, and back the Captains went,
Praising King Tollo much, but fear'd th' Event.
At the first opening of the tender Day,
Six Orators King Octa sent away.
To Arthur 's Camp, who introduc'd declare,
The Measures taken to compose the War.
The Challenge Arthur heard with great Delight,
And readily accepts the single Fight.
Straight to the sacred Temples all repair,
Heav'n to solicite with united Prayer,
That Arthur in the Combate might succeed,
And vanquish'd Tollo , by his Weapon bleed.
With warmer Zeal, and with more earnest Cries,
The Briton s never importun'd the Skies.
A deep Concern at Heart they all exprest,
And mighty Passions struggled in their Breast.
For if the Prince fell in the Combat, all
Well knew their unsupported State must fall.
Soon as the Sun had streak'd the Skies with Light,
Prince Arthur rose; and Arm'd himself for fight.
Peices with silver Studs his Legs encas'd,
And Plates of Gold his warlike Thighs embrac'd.
And on his Head he lac'd his burnish'd Helm,
Whence flashing Brightness did the Sight o'erwhelm.
Like some Celestial Orb his blazing Shield,
Darted amazing Lustre thro' the Field.
And then he girded to his Martial Side,
His faithful Sword, so oft in Battel try'd.
Thus arm'd the Hero mounts his thundring Steed,
Nor Thrace , nor Greece can boast a nobler Breed.
With his strong Arm he grip'd his trembling Spear,
His very Friends, tho pleas'd, yet seem'd to fear.
And as he spurr'd his Courser, and advanc'd,
Unsufferable Splendour from his Armour glanc'd.
As glorious Michael , when the Foe alarms
The blissful Realms, clad in Celestial Arms,
Bright as the Sun, leads forth th' Angelick Host,
To chase th' Invaders from the Heav'nly Coast,
In such illustrious Arms the Prince was seen,
His warlike Grace was such, and such his Godlike Mien.
Mean time King Octa from his Camp proceeds,
High in his Chariot, drawn by milk white Steeds.
And by his Side, Tollo , appear'd in sight,
Compleatly arm'd, and coveting the Fight.
His Coat of Mail was o'er his Shoulders flung,
And by his side his dreadful Fauchion hung.
Like a high Beacon lighted in the Air,
His Buckler flam'd, denouncing horrid War.
In his right Hand he shakes his pondrous Launce,
And on his Steed did to the Lists advance.
The Marshals of the Field had markt out Ground
Fit for the Fight, and fixt high Pales around.
Which with arm'd Troops, on either side were lin'd,
Their Spears stuck in the Ground, their Shields reclin'd.
On either Side the Armies stood in sight,
Drawn up, as they two were design'd for Fight.
Attended with his Heralds on the Place,
Prince Arthur first appear'd with Martial Grace.
When Octa and his Priests advancing near,
Raising his Voice that those around might hear.
His Hand devoutly on his Breast, his Eyes
Fixt in a solemn Manner on the Skies;
To ratifie the Treaty, thus he swore,
Th' Eternal Mind whom Christians do adore,
The God of Truth I here to witness call,
That if this Day by Tollo 's Arms I fall,
We will no more Hostilities repeat,
But o'er Sabrina's Waters will retreat.
We will no more the Saxon State molest,
But in our Hills and snowy Mountains rest.
But if we find this an auspicious Day,
And by Heaven's Aid, my Arms shall Tollo slay;
Then if the vanquish'd Saxons shall restore
The Towns and Lands, which we possest before,
They in the Cantian Kingdom shall reside,
And unmolested in those Bounds abide.
Then did King Octa by an Altar stand,
Rais'd with Green Turf, and on it laid his Hand.
And thus his Idols he invok'd.
Irmansul God of Arms, and mighty Jove ,
Tuisco , Odin , all ye Powers above,
And you green Gods, and blew-ey'd Goddesses,
Who rule the spacious Empire of the Seas.
And you tremendous Powers, who all resort,
At Pluto 's Summons, to th' Infernal Court:
Ye rural Gods, who rule the Hills and Woods,
Ye watry Powers, who dive beneath the Floods.
By gloomy Styx I swear, bear witness all,
That if King Tollo does in Combate fall,
The Treaty now agreed to, shall be kept,
The Cantian Kingdom only we except,
All other Lands, our once victorious Sword,
Won from the British Kings, shall be restor'd.
He who shall Conquerour in the Field remain,
Shall for his Bride fair Ethelina gain.
He said, and to confirm the Oath he swore,
He drew his Sword, that by his Side he wore:
And with its Point did his full Veins divide,
And let out from his Arm, the Crimson Tide.
A golden Bowl receiv'd the vital Flood,
Which Octa took, and drank the flowing Blood.
Arthur and Tollo now themselves prepare,
By a brave Combate to decide the War.
The Martials, Heralds, and the Fecial Priests
The Ceremonies finish'd, clear the Lists.
Then the loud Trumpet's Clangour did invite,
The mighty Warriours to begin the Fight.
Both in their Hands grasping their pointed Launce,
Spur their hot Steeds, and to the War advance.
And now the Combatants approach'd so near,
Their Voices rais'd, they might each other hear.
Then Tollo cry'd aloud
Till now distress'd without a Friend or Home,
In forraign Lands, you did an Exile roam,
Here stop your Course, your Soul mean time shall go,
A wandring Exile to the Shades below.
I'll take off with this Sword your gasping Head,
And in your Spoils, fair Ethelina wed.
Were you brave Hector , or his braver Foe,
Or Godlike Hercules , I'd stand your Blow.
Did you advance, with Thunder in your Hand,
Against your Bolts I would undaunted stand.
But such a mighty Foe I need not fear,
You bear not such a Shield, nor such a Spear.
Oh! that bright Ethelina now stood by,
To see her Lover, and my Rival dy.
Thus boastful Tollo did his Choler vent,
And thus in Air his empty Threats were spent.
The pious Prince enrag'd, without Reply,
Shakes his long Spear, and hastes to Victory.
As when a roaming Lyon from a far,
Sees a strong Bull stand threat'ning furious War,
Who flourishes his Horns, looks sowrly round,
And hoarcely bellowing, traverses the Ground.
For want of Foes, he does the Wood provoke,
Runs his curl'd Head against the next tall Oak,
Wishing a nobler Object of his Stroke.
The Lyon fir'd, regards him with Disdain,
And to insult him scowrs along the Plain.
So Arthur boyling with Heroic Rage,
Springs with a full Carrier, King Tollo to engage.
Collected in himself th' Albanian stood,
Like some tall, shady Pine, it self a Wood,
Or a vast Cyclops wading thro' the Flood.
Then Tollo first, Arthur advancing near,
With all his Force casts his long Ashen Spear.
Which Arthur on his temper'd Buckler took,
While with the vast concern the Briton s shook.
Thro' the first Plate of Brass the Weapon went,
But in the next its dying Force was spent.
Then from his valiant Arm the Briton threw,
His Javelin, singing thro' the Air it flew.
The yielding Buckler did its Force obey,
And thro' the Plates, and Hide it made its Way.
Thro' the thin Joynts of Steel the Spear did fly,
And wounded, as it past, his mighty Thigh.
The Blood sprung thro' his Armour, from the Wound,
And trickling down the Plate, distain'd the Ground.
Then did King Tollo 's second Weapon fly,
Which broke within the Buckler's second Ply.
The British Prince another Weapon threw,
Which, Tollo stooping, o'er his Shoulders flew.
And falling went so deep upon the Ground,
No Arm, of Force to draw it out, was found.
These Weapons spent, to end the noble Fight,
The furious Warriours from their Steeds alight.
And as they nimbly leapt upon the Ground,
The most undaunted Chiefs that stood around,
So fearful was the Chinck their Armour made,
Started, as Men surpriz'd, and look'd afraid.
Then furious Strokes on either Side they deal,
The ecchoing Air rings with the dreadful Peal.
Pale with the vast Concern both Armies look,
And for their Champion's Life with Terrour shook.
So when two vig'rous Stags, each of his Herd
The haughty Lord, thro' all the Forrest fear'd,
Resolv'd to try which must in Combate yield,
In all their Might advance across the Field;
They nod their lofty Heads, and from a far
Flourish their Horns, preluding to the War.
The Combatants their threatning Head incline,
And with their clashing Horns in Battel joyn,
They rush to combate with amazing Strokes,
And their high Antlets meet with dreadful Shocks.
The mighty Sound runs ratling o'er the Hills,
And Eccho with the fight the Valley fills.
Retiring oft, the Warriours cease to push,
But then with fiercer Rage to Battel rush.
The trembling Herds at Distance gaze, and stay
To know the Conquerour, whom they must obey.
No less concern'd Saxons , and Britons stand
To see the Victor, who must both command.
Now Tollo backwards shrinks, and panting stood
Faint with his Labour, and his Loss of Blood.
The British Prince enrag'd to see the Fight
So far prolong'd, collecting all his Might,
With double Fury on th' Albanian prest,
And his bright Sword high rais'd, upon his Crest
It stun'd the Foe, and took his Sense away.
He dropt his Arms, and giddy reel'd about,
The joyful Britons raise a mighty Shout.
Arthur on fire, lets not th' Advantage go,
But stepping forward with a back hand blow
Drawn with prodigious Strength, from side to side
Did his wide Throat, and spouting Veins divide.
A crimson River gushing from the Wound,
Ran down his burnish'd Armour to the Ground.
Reeling and tott'ring for a While he stood,
And from his Stomack vomits clotted Blood.
Then down he fell, the Field beneath, and all
the Saxon Army tremble at his Fall:
Groveling in Death, and smear'd with Gore he lay,
And his dim Eyes scarcely admit the Day.
Rolling in Dust his wounded Body bled,
Away his Soul with Indignation fled.
Convuls'd and quivering for a while he fetcht
A dreadful Groan, and breathless out he stretcht.
As when a Whirlwind with outrageous Force
O'erturns a lofty Oak, that stops its Course,
Its Roots torn up, the Tree's caught from the Ground,
And with the furious Eddy carried round:
Then falling from the Sky, his stately Head,
And shady Limbs, the groaning Hill o'erspread.
So by Prince Arthur 's Arms, King Tollo slain,
Fell down, and lay extended on the Plain.
FINIS
KING ARTHUR
by
SIR RICHARD BLACKMORE
THE PREFACE
When I had written Prince Arthur , a Poem that came abroad two years ago, I was so diffident of the Performance, that I continu'd unresolv'd for many Weeks, whether I should let it appear, or wholly suppress it, till the Judgment of others, for which I had a great Deference, determin'd me to make it Publick. The Favour and Approbation it met with, was much greater, and far more Universal, even among great Names, and establish'd, uncontested Judges, than I had ever the Vanity to expect. Nor was I in the least surpriz'd or troubled, that it met with some Opposers. For I must have been extreamly ignorant of the nature of Humane Passions, if I had not certainly foreseen, that not only the Design of the Poem, but likewise the Provoking Preface to it, must needs have engag'd a Considerable Party , among whom were several Men of Wit and Parts, to use their utmost Endeavours to sink its Reputation; if indeed it should deserve any.
Besides, when I consider'd that I was so great a stranger to the Muses , and by no means free of the Poets Company , having never Kiss'd their Governour's hands, nor made the least Court to the Committee that sits in Convent Garden; and that therefore mine was not so much as a Permission Poem , but a pure, downright Interloper , it was but natural to conclude, that those Gentlemen , who by Assisting, Crying up, Excusing and Complementing one another, carry on their Poetical Trade in a Joynt-stock, would certainly do what they could to sink and ruin an unlicens'd Adventurer ; notwithstanding I disturb'd none of their Factorys, nor imported any Goods they had ever dealt in. I knew that I ran a very great Risk while I was so hardy to venture abroad Naked and Unguarded, when none of the Company went out without a notable Convoy of Criticks and Applauders , who were constantly in their Service; Men tho' singly of no great Force, yet when united, considerable for their Numbers. Accordingly when the Poem came forth they attack'd it, tho' perhaps not with all the Discretion, yet with all the Fury Imaginable; But all their Strokes were lost, and all their Efforts made in vain. Impartial Readers, with great Generosity, protected the strange Muse from their rude Insults; and rescu'd her from their Noise and Violence. For their Character and Temper, as well as the Grounds and Reasons of their Outcrys and Opposition were so well known, that they could by no means pass for unbyass'd and Disinterested Judges; and therefore all their Attempts either prov'd Unsuccessful, or produc'd a quite contrary Effect, and instead of lessening the Credit of the Poem, in many Instances they very much advanc'd it.
These Gentlemen pretend to be displeas'd with Prince Arthur , because they have discover'd so many Faults in it: But there is good reason to believe they would have been more displeas'd, if they had discover'd fewer. But they say, they have very nicely and carefully compar'd this Poem with Virgil 's, and they find that famous Roman has abundantly the advantage of Prince Arthur . This they are Confident of, and are ready to maintain against all Mankind what I must confess, I never in the least doubted of. But in the mean time, the making of that Comparison, and the very starting of the Debate, is a greater Honour done to the Poem than could have been expected from the enemys of it. But they seem to have given it yet a greater Reputation, inasmuch as they have not adventur'd to say or maintain, that either Homer himself the Prince and Father of the Epick Poets , or any of his Successors, Virgil excepted, has shewn a more regular Conduct, or a more perfect Model, how much greater Genius soever do's appear in their Writings.
After all it must be acknowledg'd, that setting aside abundance of Frivolous, Frolicksom, and Groundless Objections which the Enemys of Prince Arthur have made, that several considerable Defects are to be found in that Poem . I was conscious to my self, that the Second and Third Books were too long before I publish'd them, tho' they were not made before the First, as some have imagin'd, but hoping that they would not prove tedious to any impartial Readers, and that it might be an useful Entertainment to many, I was contented to let that Indecorum pass. And several Friends to Prince Arthur did very early convince me, that in several Instances the Descriptions, Digressions, and Similes, were lyable to the same Objection. I was likewise soon after the Publishing satisfy'd, that I had not well consider'd the Recital made by Lucius in the Fourth Book; and particularly that it began too high; as likewise of many other Faults and Indecencies of less Importance.
'Tis certain, that none could expect from me an Epick Poem in all degrees of Perfection, there is no faultless Writer of that Kind, has ever appear'd in the World, not Virgil himself excepted, tho' his Poem was a labour'd Piece, the Work of great part of his Life; and after revis'd by two Eminent Criticks Tucca and Varius. And as for the great Homer , if any Gentleman is pleas'd to read Rapin 's Comparison of him with Virgil , he will be soon convinc'd that the Poems of this Wonderful Man have many considerable Defects. But the Criticks , and particularly the famous Longinus have an Apology that will easily get him off: They say of Writers of the first Rank, such as Homer and Demosthenes , that one or two of their extraordinary and admirable Thoughts will Atone for all their Faults, and that a great Man is uncapable of attending with anxious Care to matters of little Importance.
And if a sour, pragmatical Critick would spend a Years time in searching after Objections to either of these Authours, he might perhaps find a great deal to say; but nothing that would lessen their Reputation.
The faults in Prince Arthur proceeded partly from defect of Judgment and Genius equal to, and sufficient for so great and difficult an Undertaking; partly from want of Leisure and Retirement, to consider coolly ever part of that Writing, and partly from the hasty Dispatch of it; it having been Begun, Carry'd on and Compleated, as in the Preface was Suggested, in less than two years time, and by such catches and starts, and in such occasional, uncertain hours, as the Business of my Profession would afford me. And therefore for the greatest part that Poem was written in Coffee-houses , and in passing up and down the Streets; because I had little leisure elsewhere to apply to it.
Another reason of the Defects that appear in that writing is this, That when I undertook it I had been long a stranger to the Muses. I had read but little Poetry throughout my whole Life, and in fifteen years before, I had not, as I can remember, wrote a hundred Lines in Verse, excepting a Copy of Latine Verses in honour of a Friend's Book.
As this Apology will perhaps take off the severity of the Reader's Censure as to Prince Arthur , so I hope it may likewise have the same Effect, as to the following Poem ; for all the same things, except the last, can be said to excuse the Defects that shall appear in this. And if it shall be demanded why it was so hastily publish'd, all that I shall say is this, that the Judicious Reader will soon find in the Poem it self, the true Reason why I could keep it no longer by me; which if I could have done, it would, perhaps, have appear'd with more Advantages.
The Reasons which induc'd me to make the former, did likewise engage me in this second Attempt in Epick Poetry; and among the rest, particularly this, that the young Gentlemen and Ladys who are delighted with Poetry might have a useful, at least a harmless Entertainment, which in our Modern Plays and Poems cannot ordinarily be found. The Candor of the Age has made my Design in a great measure successful, whereby I am abundantly convinc'd that those Poets are under a great mistake, that think there is no other, but that leud and abominable way of writing which was encourag'd in the late Reigns, that will please the Nation. This is a meer Pretence of ill Poets, whose Imaginations are fill'd only with base and contemptible Ideas ; Men of a poor and narrow Genius , scarce above the level of Writers of Farce, who would not have Images enough left in their Minds to furnish out a Poem , if the prophane and obscene ones were struck out. And tho' these mischievous ways of Writing are still endur'd, to the great prejudice of Religion and good Manners, yet if ever the English Nation recovers it's ancient Vertue, and a just Tast of these Matters, I do not doubt but most of those Writers who have been esteem'd and applauded in the late loose and vicious Times, will be rejected with Indignation and Contempt, as the Dishonour of the Muses, and the Underminers of the Publick Good. But I am carry'd on to a Subject of which I have spoken enough heretofore.
Since the writing of this, I have seen a Tragedy call'd the Mourning Bride ; which I think my self oblig'd to take notice of in this place. This Poem has receiv'd, and in my Opinion very justly, Universal Applause; being look'd on as the most perfect Tragedy that has been wrote in this Age. The Fable , as far as I can judge at first sight, is a very Artful and Masterly Contrivance. The Characters are well chosen, and well delineated. That of Zara is admirable. The Passions are well touch'd, and skillfully wrought up. The Diction is Proper, Clear, Beautiful, Noble, and diversify'd agreeably to the variety of the Subject. Vice, as it ought to be, is punish'd, and Opprest Innocence at last Rewarded. Nature appears very happily imitated, excepting one or two doubtful Instances, thro' the whole Piece, in all which there are no immodest Images or Expressions, no wild, unnatural Rants, but some few Exceptions being allow'd, all things are Chast, Just, and Decent. This Tragedy , as I said before, has mightily obtain'd; and that without the unnatural and foolish mixture of Farce and Buffoonry, without so much as a Song, or Dance to make it more agreeable. By this it appears, that as a sufficient Genius can recommend it self, and furnish out abundant matter of Pleasure and Admiration without the paultry helps above nam'd, so likewise that the Tast of the Nation is not so far deprav'd, but that a Regular and Chast Play will not only be forgiven, but highly Applauded. And now there is some reason to hope that our Poets will follow this excellent Example, and that hereafter no slovenly Writer will be so hardy as to offer to our Publick Audiences his obscene and prophane Pollutions, to the great Offence of all Persons of Vertue and good Sense. The common pretence that the Audience will not be otherwise pleas'd, is now wholly remov'd; for here is a notorious Instance to the contrary. And it must be look'd on hereafter as the Poet's fault, and not the People 's, if we have not better Performances. All men must now conclude that 'tis for want of Wit and Judgment to support them, that our Poets for the Stage apply themselves to such low and unworthy ways to recommend their Writings; and therefore I cannot but conceive Great Hopes that every good Genius for the fuutre will look on it self debas'd by condescending to Write in that leud Manner, that has been of late years introduc'd, and too long Encourag'd. And if this comes to pass the Writers in the late Reigns will be asham'd of their own Works, and wish they had their Plays in again, as well as their fulsome Dedications.
Some Persons have demanded the Reason, seeing I had a Fancy to be an Author, why I had not written on some useful Subject in Physic or Philosophy: this they imagin'd would have became me better than the engaging my Thoughts on a Subject so far distant from the Business of my Profession. I desire these Gentlemen to receive this answer; First, That the writing of this, as well as the former Poem was not Business, but Diversion and Recreation; an Innocent Amusement to entertain me in such leisure hours which were usually past away before in Conversation, and unprofitable hearing and telling of News. But if I had set my self to writing on matters of Physic or Philosophy , this would not have been a Recreation , but another Business and Labour , for which I was unfit, and that requir'd the Liberty of my Books and Closet, and some sort of Retirement, which the Continual Dutys of my Profession would not allow me. But I have also another Reason to give to the Persons who ask the Question above mention'd; and that is, that I am so far faln out with all Hyphotheses in Philosophy , and all Doctrines of Physic which are built upon them, that in such matters I am almost reduc'd to a Sceptical Despair . The Almighty 's Creation is like his Providence , unsearchable; his Works , and his Ways are equally past finding out; the raising of an Hypotheses in Philosophy obtains little more Credit with me, that the erecting a Scheme in Astrology; and the Judgments and Decisions that are given upon them seem to me alike Precarious and uncertain. I was once enamour'd with the Cartesian System , but the warmth of my Passion is quite extinguish'd. It may indeed make a Man capable of entertaining and amusing others, but not of quieting and satisfying himself. All Knowledge is valuable according to it's degree of Usefulness, as it do's more or less promote the benefit of Mankind, and for this Reason 'tis a great mortification to consider how little the Pains and Time I have bestow'd in Philosophical Enquirys, have contributed to my knowledge in Curing Diseases. I am now inclin'd to think, that 'tis an Injury to a Man of good sense and natural Sagacity, to be hamper'd with any Hypothesis before he comes to the Practice of Physic. For this prepossession obstructs the Freedom of his Judgement, puts a strong Byass on his Thoughts, and obliges him to make all the Observations that occur to him in his Practise, to comply with, and humour his pre-conceived Opinions; whereas in Reason, his Observations on Nature should be first made, before any Hypotheses should be establish'd. A clear and penetrating Understanding, Cultivated and Matur'd by repeated, Diligent Observation, will in my Opinion, make a more able and accomplish'd Physitian, than any Philosophical Scheme that has yet obtain'd in the World. And what useful Knowledge, I have gain'd this way in my Profession, may perhaps sometime be made Publick.
I look on my self to have greater obligations to the Studies of Logic and Metaphysicks, wherein I was carefully instructed in the University, which improve and advance our reasoning Faculty, teach us to think clearly and distinctly, to speak pertinently, closely, and justly; and thereby fit a Man for any kind of Business or Profession, than to all the Searches which I have made after the Reasons and Causes of Natural Phænomena .
I am very sensible, that these Studies are in great Contempt with many Ingenious Men; the subject of much Raillery, and the great Abomination of the Wits . But I am likewise very sensible, that these merry Men very rarely become eminently useful in any sort of Profession; for the most part they continue Triflers all their Days; and a meer Jester, when he comes abroad into the World, makes a very mean Figure among Men of Business. 'Tis remarkable that those Idle, and almost illiterate Young Men, that are call'd Wits in our Universities, are very inconsiderable Things elsewhere; for Mankind will never be perswaded to have those Men, who can only make them laugh, in equal Esteem with those that can do them Good.
Thus much in answer to those who have demanded, Why a Physician instead of communicating his Knowledge and Experience in his Profession, busys himself in Writing Heroic Poems.
As to the following Performance, tho' the Hero be the same, yet 'tis another entire Poem, distinct from the former: For 'tis the Diversity of the Action, and not of the Hero , that diversifies the Poem. And that the Reader may better observe whence the Action of this takes its Rise, I will tell in short King Arthur ' s Story, as 'tis related by Geofry of Monmouth . That there was about the end of the Fourth, or the beginning of the Fifth Century , a King of Britain nam'd Arthur ; a Prince of extraordinary Qualities, and Famous for his Martial Atchievements, who succeeeded his Father Uter Pendragon , all our Historians agree; and the eminently learned Bishop of Worcester in his Origines Britannicæ, do's acknowledge it. And tho' the above-cited Geofry of Monmouth is indeed a Fabulous Author, yet his Authority, especially considering that there was such a Warlike Prince as Arthur , is a sufficient Foundation for an Epick Poem . This Author says, that after King Arthur had Conquer'd the Saxons , who being call'd in by Vortigern to protect him against the Incursions and Depredations of the Scots and Picts , took the advantage, and settled themselves in this Island; he prepar'd a Royal Navy , Embark'd his Troops , and directed his Course to the Coasts of Norway ; then called, according to Cluverius , Nerigon , or the Western Part of Scandinavia . This Kingdom being subdued, he carried his Arms into the Country now call'd Denmark , then inhabited by the Cimbri : And by the Writers of the Age in which Geofry of Monmouth liv'd, call'd commonly, but erroneously, Dacia . This Kingdom he likewise quickly overrun: For it seems nothing could stand before him. This done, he return'd home in Triumph, and having for a while, entertain'd at his Court with great Splendor and Magnificence, multitudes of Foreign Princes, and Knights famous for Chivalry, who came to signalize their Valour at the Justs and Tournaments which King Arthur had proclaim'd; He Embark'd his Army to Invade Gallia , sate down before Lutetia , once the Capital City of the Parisij , and in Arthur' s days of the Franci , and soon made himself Master of the Place. This Expedition, and the Conquest of Lutetia , is the Subject of the following Poem .
The Model of it is New, and therfore now I hope I shall not be Censur'd for an Imitator , tho' I must confess, I cannot believe my Imitation of Virgil in the former Poem to be the least dishonour. Would the famous Sir Godfry Kneller think it a Reproach if any should say, that his Pencil too nearly follow'd that of Raphael Urbin ? Or can it be imagin'd, that Sir Christopher Wren would be offended, if it should be objected to him, that in his building of St. Paul' s Church he too much imitated Michael Angelo.
And as I had not my Eye upon any other Model, so I am not conscious to my Self of having us'd any Authour's Thoughts or Expressions, excepting two or three Images taken from Homer , and a few allusions to some Inventions of Milton, whom I took on as a very Extraordinary Genius . If there be any other Thoughts that are not my own, they are taken from the Sacred Writers of the Bible, which I hope I shall not be condemn'd for. I have in the Sixth Book adventur'd on an Allegory , finding Homer has done the like in his Story of Circe . His Example, I imagin, as well as the Nature and Design of Epick Poetry will justify that Attempt, especially since I have not dwelt long upon it.
Whether the Fable of this Poem be a regular Contrivance , whether there be but One , Unbroken, Compleat Action, whether the Choice , the Conduct, Connexion, and Extension of the Episodes , and whether the Diction and Narration be such as the Rules of Epick Poetry require, must be left to the Decision of the Judicious Reader . It would be a wild Imagination to think of pleasing all the Criticks who are no better agreed among themselves. Till the Rules of Writing are Setled by some Infallible Judge of Controversys among Poets, there will be different Opinions and disagreeing Sects in Parnassus , who will always treat and persecute one another as Obstinate Hereticks . The Essential and Fundamental Articles , for want of which a Poet is justly condemn'd, are very few. There are Abundance of probable Doctrines which the Schoolmen of Parnassus and the Poets in Speculation may hold affirmatively or negatively, as they please, and yet be look'd on as very good Sons of the Muses. If there appears enough in this Poem to Entertain those candid Readers who were not displeas'd with the Former , I shall be abundantly satisfy'd, and easily pass by the Censures of those who are declared Enemys before hand. The Ingenuous part of Mankind will not fall unmercifully on a Writer of Epick Poetry , wherein only two Men, I mean Homer and Virgil have succeeded. Whatever Genius others have discover'd, none have left any Thing that came near to a perfect Model, but these two great Masters: and I do not think it amiss in this place to make a Comparison between them, with which I shall end this Preface.
Homer excels in Genius , Virgil in Judgment. Homer as conscious of his great Riches and Fullness entertains the Reader with great Splendor and Magnificent Profusion. Virgil 's Dishes are well chosen, and tho not Rich and Numerous, yet serv'd up in great Order and Decency. Homer ' s Imagination is Strong, Vast and Boundless, an unexhausted Treasure of all kinds of Images; which made his Admirers and Commentators in all Ages affirm, that all sorts of Learning were to be found in his Poems. Virgil's Imagination is not so Capacious, tho' his Ideas are Clear, Noble, and of great Conformity to their Objects. Homer has more of the Poetical Inspiration . His Fire burns with extraordinary Heat and Vehemence, and often breaks out in Flashes, which Surprise, Dazle and Astonish the Reader : Virgil' s is a clearer and a chaster Flame, which pleases and delights, but never blazes in that extraordinary and surprising manner. Methinks there is the same Difference between these two great Poets , as there is between their Heros. Homer' s Hero, Achilles , is Vehement, Raging and Impetuous. He is always on Fire, and transported with an immoderate and resistless Fury, performs every where Miraculous Atchievements , and like a rapid Torrent overturns all things in his way. Æneas, the Hero of the Latine Poet , is a calm, Sedate Warriour. He do's not want Courage, neither has he any to spare: and the Poet might have allowed him a little more Fire, without overheating him. As for Invention, 'tis evident the Greek Poet has mightily the advantage. Nothing is more Rich and Fertile than Homer ' s Fancy. He is Full, Abundant, and Diffusive above all others. Virgil on the other hand is rather dry, than fruitful. 'Tis plain the Latin Poet in all his famous Æneis, has very little, if any Design of his own. The Recital of the Destruction of Troy , and the Story of the Wooden Horse, Macrobius says, is almost word for word taken from Pisander. The Navigation of Æneas; and his Dangers and Adventures by Sea , are drawn from the example of Homer's Ulysses. His Descent into Hell, which makes the Noble Sixth Book , is likewise in Imitation of the Hero before nam'd. The Shield of Æneas is form'd by that of Achilles . The Battels in the Æneis very much resemble those in the Ilias . A great many of the Pictures are taken from thence, and abundance of the Warriours are the same with those who fought before the Walls of Troy .
And tho 'tis true the Story of Æneas and Dido is not to be trac'd in Homer 's Works , yet Macrobius tells us in his Saturnalia, that this likewise is borrow'd from what is said of Jason and Medea in the Fourth Book of Apollonius his Argonautica . Those who are willing to see how much Virgil is indebted to Homer , and the rest of the Greek Poets , and also to the Latins themselves, as Ennius, Lucretius , Varius , & c. from whom he has taken his Designs, or his particular Images; or whose very Lines he has Translated almost word for word, of which an Incredible number of Instances may be given, may consult the before nam'd Macrobius in his Saturnalia, Fulvius Ursinus his Comparatio Virgilij cum Scriptoribus Græcis & Guellius , his Comments on this great Poet. They will then see plainly that Virgil ' s Materials were all borrow'd, tho' the Noble Structure be his own. The Excellency of this Extraordinary Man lay in his Judicious Contrivance, Regular Conduct, the Skilful Accomodation of other Mens Conceptions to his own Purpose, and in the Propriety, Decency, Beauty and Majesty of his Expression, which in the finish'd Parts of his Poem are Admirable and Inimitable. If therefore the Question be, who had the greater Genius, Homer or Virgil , there is no doubt but Homer must be Prefer'd? But if it be whether Virgil' s be a more Regular, Artful and Judicious Poem than either of Homers, then Virgil must be acknowledg'd to have the advantage?
BOOK I
Celestial Muse, Instruct me how to sing
The generous Pity of the British King,
Who mov'd by Gallia 's crys, and Heav'n's Command,
Sustain'd excessive toyl by Sea and Land,
The Gallic Christians Freedom to restore,
And save Neustrasia 's Realm from Clotar 's power.
The Valiant Briton from the Cimbrian Coast
Was newly landed with his Conq'ring Host,
Leading his Spoils and Captive Lords along
Augusta 's Streets, amidst th' applauding throng,
Who sung his Triumphs and proclaim'd aloud
His mighty Deeds on Eyder 's wond'ring Flood:
When num'rous Envoys drawn by Arthur 's fame,
From distant Kingdoms to Augusta came.
Faces so strange, and Habits so unknown,
Had ne'er before pass'd thro' th' admiring Town.
They made their publick Entrys at her Gate
With great Magnificence and Princely State.
They strove in Pomp each other to out-do,
And who should most their Master's Greatness shew.
Thick at the Court did Forreign Lords appear,
Some by Affection brought, but more by Fear.
Some Leagues of lasting Friendship offer'd, some
Did for Protection from Oppressors come:
But all, O Albion , did applaud thy fate
Blest with so just a Prince to guide thy State.
The Night her Sable Banner did display,
And from the Air to chase the Light away
Drew out her must'ring Shades in black Array:
When Britain 's King dissolv'd in balmy rest
Dismist the Cares of Empire from his Breast.
But Heav'n mean time, which such a Noble Mind
For Dangers, and for glorious toyl design'd,
Did by a Dream sent in the silent Night,
To fresh Heroic Deeds the King excite:
Its Springs divinely touch'd, his lab'ring Brain
Did this Celestial Vision entertain.
The pious King seem'd in his Dream to stand
On Albion 's Shore , and to the adverse Strand
Looking across the interposing Tyde
Which do's the Briton from the Frank divide,
He saw upon the Beach Sev'n Men appear
Of Noble Form, and more than Vulgar Air.
Advancing to the Margin of the Flood,
And lifting up their hands they cry'd aloud,
Oh, come and help us, come victorious King,
And quick Assistance to th' afflicted bring.
The strong Impression Sleep's soft Fetters broke,
And from his Dream the British King awoke:
Who in his thoughts revolv'd what Heav'n should mean
By this surprizing Visionary Scene.
When the fair Morn had shot her early ray,
And spread her Purple Loom with dawning Day:
Four Noble Gallic Lords who had surviv'd
King Clotar 's Rage, at Arthur 's Court arriv'd,
To move the Briton 's Pity, and to crave
His mighty Aid their sinking State to save.
Then on his Throne his Scepter in his hand
Great Arthur sate, but first he gave command
That these to have the Audience which they sought,
Before his high Tribunal should be brought.
Soon as the Franks came onward to relate
King Clotar 's Rage, and Gallia 's wretched fate,
Arthur perceiv d by Face, and Dress, and Mein
That he the Men had in his Vision seen.
The Gallic Peers advanc'd, and at their head
Great Clovis came in Arms and Suff'rings bred.
So soft his Air, so graceful was his Port,
As he had practis'd nothing but the Court:
And yet so brave in Arms, and so much skill'd,
As he had ne'er been absent from the Field.
He spoke to all the high Concerns of State,
As in the Council he had ever sate,
And when amidst the Men that wore the Gown,
The Schools admir'd, and thought him all their own.
But his Religious Zeal and Pure Belief
Crown'd with Immortal Praise the Pious Chief.
The Noblest British mixt with Gallic Blood
To make th' uncommon Man together flow'd:
For by the Father's he was near ally'd
To Gallia 's King, and by the Mothers side
He from the Catuclanian Princes came
A house in Albion of Illustrious Fame.
He with a Mournful and Pathetic Air
To Britain 's King address'd this humble prayer.
When Heav'n with deep Compassion mov'd to see
Mankind Destroy'd by raging Tyranny,
Is pleas'd to raise some mighty Chief, to ease
Kingdoms laid wast, and Captives to release;
To pull proud Monarchs and Oppressors down
And Right, and Liberty to re-enthrone;
When such a Gift Divine from Heav'n is sent,
The Poor, th' Opprest, th' Afflicted Innocent
Think they have Right to tell to him their Grief,
And from his generous Arms to crave Relief:
Heros are Blessings on the World bestow'd,
They reap the Honour, but Mankind the Good.
Torn by a fierce Destroyer's bloody Jaws,
And grip'd between Oppressions Iron Claws,
Tormented with unsufferable Pains,
Bow'd down with Grief, and laden with our Chains,
Low at your feet, we for your Pity cry,
To whom th' Afflicted for Protection fly.
We ask Redress from your Victorious Sword,
To ease sad Gallia 's Realm your Aid afford.
Th' Oppressor Clotar with a cruel hand
Spreads fearful Desolation thro' our Land.
He mocks his Gods, their Laws he disregards,
And scorns alike their Vengeance and Rewards.
Our Noblest Virgins from their Parents torn
Are to his Bed with Barb'rous Outrage born.
In every Town unheard of Rapes asswage
His Lust, as endless Murders do his Rage.
His dreadful Court, like a Cyclopian Den,
Is fill'd with Rapine, and half-eaten Men;
Where lies of mangled Limbs an endless store,
And wide mouth'd Caldrons flow with Humane Gore.
For he his Subjects on his Table sets,
And their raw Limbs (a horrid Banquet) eats:
With Savage Riot on th' unnatural food
He pours down mighty Bowls of reeking Blood.
Pleas'd with the monstrous Luxury he draws
Into a hideous Smile his squallid Jaws.
Vast Magazines appear within his Court
Where Torments are dispos'd of various sort;
Where Cruelty with bloody Trophys crown'd
Views all her Deaths and Tortures spread around:
Wheels, Crosses, Racks by able Masters wrought
Who had with Hellish Skill and anxious thought,
Refin'd Destruction to Perfection brought.
And here their Curst Inventions all remain
Which Death improve, and manage ling'ring Pain.
Th' Oppressor teaches Fate a slower pace,
And rarely gives the Deadly stroke of Grace.
He thinks to those he does Compassion show,
Who die but once, and at a single blow.
His Guards the bloody Servants of his will
With Spoil and Ruin all our Cities fill.
These Ministers of Hell with Sword in hand
Insult our Doors, and all our Wealth demand.
The Farmer sweats and tills in vain the Soil,
These reap the Harvest and enjoy his Toil.
Merchants who Forreign Treasures bring are lost
Upon their own unhospitable Coast.
Those who escape loud Tempests, Rocks, and Waves
Th' inexorable Clotar never saves.
Our Sons and Daughters to the Mountains fly,
Where Grass and Roots their want of Bread supply.
The Men in Heaps are spread upon the Ground,
And half chewn Herbs within their Mouths are found.
Our Towns are Empty, and the tender Grass
Springs in the unfrequented Market-place.
If to our Cruel Masters we complain,
They mock our Suff'rings, and increase our Pain.
Licentious Troops not sparing Sex or Age,
Leave all the marks of their unbridled Rage.
Bloody Assassins force our Doors by Night,
And stab the Children in the Parents sight.
Matrons and Maids together die, when first
They've been dishonor'd by the Murd'rer's Lust.
Some the Destroyer puts off from the Shore
In Barks, without a Rudder Sail or Oar,
To be convey'd, as Winds and Billows please,
'Midst all th' amazing Terrours of the Seas.
Some Gally Slaves with Endless labour sweat,
And on the Ocean's back their strokes repeat,
While from their cruel Masters they receive
More frequent wounds, than to the Seas they give.
The Christians are in Christian Temples slain,
And the Priest's blood do's his own Altar stain.
Some doom'd in Mines to subterranean toyl,
Enrich th' Oppressor with the wealthy spoil.
To Prisons some are drag'd in pondrous chains,
Where Ruffians Whips inflict tormenting pains.
In Dungeons some 'midst loathsom Vermin lie,
Some by the Rack, some by the Jav'lin die.
Thy Nero 's and thy Maximins, O Rome ,
And all the Spoilers which thy savage womb
Fruitful of Monsters ever yet brought forth,
Are all out-done by Clotar 's single birth.
His unexampled Cruelties surpass
The Deeds of all thy Persecuting Race.
Ages to come will their weak Rage forget,
And only Clotar 's Violence repeat.
They seem'd contented only to destroy,
And Death and Torment did their Fury cloy.
But none of all th' Inexorable kind
With Clotar 's Genius Cruelty refin'd:
No Master Tyrant had so vast a reach
To find new Plagues, none so much Zeal to teach
His Ministers strange Methods to destroy,
None e'er before with such transporting joy
O'er tortur'd Innocents insulting stood,
None with such Pleasure bath'd himself in blood,
Or in Tormenting e'er such Judgment show'd.
What Monarch e'er before stood scoffing by,
To see his Subjects in slow Torments dy,
And told the Suff'rers there was no pretence
To blame such soft and gentle Violence:
Such mild inlight'ning Pains, that might display
O'er their Erroneous Minds Celestial Day.
All who these barb'rous Cruelties survive,
The bloody Ruffians to their Altar drive;
Down their Reluctant throats they thrust the Meat,
And force them of their Sacrifice to eat.
Conversions are by Arm'd Invaders made,
Who with resistless Arguments perswade:
Who for Conviction shed the People's blood
And ruin wretched Mortals for their Good.
The mocking Hypocrite's unjust pretence
Is, to reduce by Racks and Violence
Perverted Judgments to a righter Sense.
The Converts of the Sword Complyance show,
And full of horrour to their Idols bow;
By this they hope the Conq'rour's Sword to stay,
And to secure their Lives their Faith betray:
But that infernal Malice may be cloy'd,
That Soul and Body both may be destroy'd,
The Cruel Infidel with Sword in hand
O'er the new Convert do's triumphant stand:
Then in his Bowels do's the Weapon sheath,
Who loses both his Innocence and Breath,
Rack'd with the torments of Despair and Death.
Some sore distrest to Wilds and Desarts fly,
In Caves and Rocks, in Woods and Mountains ly.
While, like the Jews abandon'd Nation, some
Thro' Forreign Regions poor and naked roam.
What Kingdom is not conscious of our Moans?
Who have not seen our Tears, or heard our Groans?
Do's the laborious Sun survey a Soil,
In his Diurnal, or his Annual toil,
Which to our Fugitives ne'er gave Relief,
And never entertain'd our wandring Grief.
This is the Gallic Christians wretched fate,
Which not the liv'liest Accents can relate.
And now the Moon twice dips her silver horns,
And with fresh rays her changing face adorns;
Since I, and these sad Friends together met,
Resolving from Lutetia to retreat,
And seek in Forreign Climes a milder seat.
Then while our Country's fate we did lament,
And flowing Tears gave to our sorrow vent;
A glorious Form like some Inferior God,
Newly descended from his blest abode
Entring the Room, Celestial Lustre spread
From his Immortal Eyes, and radiant Head.
A Heav'nly bloom adorn'd his youthful Face,
And Starry Robes did his bright Limbs embrace:
When first the Lovely Stranger did appear,
We bow'd with Rev'rence, and we shook with fear.
Then strait th' Illustrious Person silence broke,
And thus my trembling Friends and me bespoke.
The God who rules as well the spacious Sky,
As this low Ball, who from his Throne on high
Encompass'd with impenetrable Day,
Do's all his Worlds with one quick glance survey;
Who loves the Proud and Haughty to debase,
And sets the Meek and Humble in their place;
Touch'd with Compassion hears your mournful Crys,
Which mixt with dying groans to Heav'n arise.
He now Decrees th' Oppressor Clotar 's fall,
Whose full grown Crimes for swift Destruction call:
For tho' his Vengefull Thunder rises slow,
'Tis to discharge a more tremendous blow.
Indulgent Heav'n by Arthur 's hand has broke
Britannia 's Fetters, and Tyrannic Yoke.
His Pious Arms shall ease Lutetia 's Pains,
Release her Sons, and break their pondrous Chains.
This Great Deliv'rer shall Europa save,
Which haughty Monarchs labour to enslave.
Then shall Religion reer her starry head,
And Light Divine o'er all the Nations spread.
Quickly embark and steer for Albion 's Shore
To seek King Arthur, and his Aid implore.
Your prayer shall move, that Pity in his breast,
Which shall engage his Arms to give you rest.
He said, and strait the glorious Youth withdrew,
Display'd his shining Wings, and Upward flew.
Cheer'd with his words we with our utmost care
Did all things for the Voyage soon prepare.
When thrice the Sun had his mild splendor shed,
And o'er the East Etherial purple spred:
We all embarkt, and soon to Albion 's Coast
Born with a prosp'rous Gale the Ocean crost.
Thus the Celestial Message we obey'd,
Sent by Supream Command, to crave your Aid.
He ceas'd. King Arthur carefully supprest
The generous Passion struggling in his breast.
He look'd on this as on a Call Divine
Which did this noble Enterprize enjoyn,
The Gallic Christians Freedom to restore,
And give that Aid the Suff'rers did implore.
Then to the Franks the Briton thus reply'd,
Your Prayer is neither granted, nor deny'd:
What you have now propos'd I'll duly weigh,
And then my Answer give without delay.
The Franks withdrawn, the Hero order gave
That Neustria 's Lords should next Admission have:
Soon as the Monarch did the Neustrians see,
He strait discern'd these were the other three,
Who in the Heav'nly Dream the Night before
To give them Aid his Pity did implore.
They to the Throne advanc'd when thus begun
Wise Oleron Giranda 's Noble Son.
Victorious Prince!
We know what Miracles your Arms have shown
In Neustria 's Soil, what greater in your own.
From East to West loud fame extends her Wings,
And thro' th' applauding World your triumph sings.
Your mighty Deeds by wondring Moors are nam'd,
From Zone to Zone, from Pole to Pole proclaim'd.
Commiseration fills your Pious Breast
To wretched States by heavy Yokes opprest.
Mov'd by the groans of dying Liberty,
You arm'd to set afflicted Europe free.
You are by Heav'n a great Deliverer sent,
The World's entire Destruction to prevent.
Empires from Desolation to secure,
From savage Rage, and wild unbounded Power.
From all the dire Calamities that reign
Where no fixt Laws th' Oppressor's Lust restrain.
The wasted World has long with servent Crys,
With groans, and tears sollicited the Skys,
To give fierce Tyranny a fatal stroke,
To break her Murd'ring Teeth, and Iron Yoke:
With th' universal prayer kind Heav'n complies,
Causing so great a Monarch to arise,
Whose Soul is bent to stay the Fury's course,
And whose Herculean Arm alone exceeds her force.
In vain with rage her turgid Volumes swell,
In vain around her womb her Monsters Yell,
You all the Hydra's hissing heads despise,
All her wide Jaws, sharp Tongues, and fiery Eyes.
Your mighty Arm will give the deadly wound,
And leave th' expiring Monster on the ground.
Fertile in Death your Sword Destruction spreads
Fast as her fruitful Necks can bring forth heads.
Besides you lead a Nation brave in Fight
Pleas'd to procure to injur'd States their Right.
When such a Prince with such a People takes
The Field in arms, the pale Oppressor shakes.
In Liberty's defence the warmest Zeal
The nobly Jealous Britons still reveal;
Asserting with their Lives her sacred Cause,
They justly gain th' admiring World's applause.
While neigh'bring Nations Tyrants never check,
But bow to take the Yoke, their passive Neck;
The Britons stem Ambitions rapid course,
Defeating secret frauds, and open force.
Designing Princes still they have withstood,
To Guard the Rights, bought by their Fathers Blood
But Liberty which they to Life prefer,
Could not escape the Saxon Ravisher.
Rifled and spoil'd of all her Heav'nly Charms,
She had expir'd in the rough Conq'rour's Arms;
And Albion soon had shar'd her Neighbours fate,
And felt the Mischiefs of a slavish State:
Had not your generous Arms and noble Toyl,
Sav'd from Destruction this despairing Isle.
Had you not chas'd Tyrannic Lords away,
And from their griping Arms releas'd the trembling Prey.
Blest Isle! that in the lowest Ebb of fate,
Found this strong Arm to prop her sinking State.
Happy Britannia, did thy Sons but know,
What to their brave Deliverer they owe!
And now, Dread Monarch, whose victorious Arms
Have freed Britannia from her Foes alarms;
Whose great Example do's her Sons inflame
To aim at Glory, and their ancient Fame;
Unhappy Neustria by her Prince betray'd,
Implores Deliv'rance from your pow'rful Aid.
Scarce had you sail'd from grateful Neustria 's Shore,
Which ne'er receiv'd so great a Guest before,
Where first your Sword Immortal Laurels won,
And the first Triumphs of your Youth begun:
When suddain Death, King Odar did remove,
From Neustria 's throne to the blest Seats above.
Sardan his Brother to his Crown Succeeds,
Not to his Vertues, and Illustrious Deeds.
This Prince Luxurious, and Effeminate,
Averse to Arms, and Business of the State,
Do's Vertue more than Arms, or Business hate.
Uninterupted Riots only please.
His Mind dissolv'd in long inglorious Ease.
While Neighb'ring Kings their Course of Glory run,
With Laurels crown'd from Vanquish'd Nations won:
Ours Baccanalian wreaths can only boast,
Only the Triumphs of his mighty Lust.
Our Wives and Noblest Virgins are abus'd,
Compell'd by force, or by his wiles seduc'd.
Lascivious Concubines their Prince surround,
They're in his Bed, and in his Counsels found.
These Female Ministers by turns create
Our Judges, Captains, Officers of State:
Our Priests themselves their vile submission make
To the soft Fav'rites, for Promotion's sake.
Jesters for Statsemen in his Council sit,
Not chosen for their Wisdom, but their Wit;
Empty Buffoons, unequal to the weight
Of all th' important Business of the State.
Those Ministers he thinks can serve him best,
Who flatter most, and know their Business least:
Who all Debates to please their Prince decide,
And from the People's Intrest, his divide.
This feeble Race attends this Monarch's Throne,
Whose Wit and Vice resemble most his own.
Th' Augean Stables, cleaner than the Court,
Whither the Vicious and the Lewd resort;
Th' infectious Plague by Sardan 's Influence fed,
Do's o'er our Noble Youth resistless spred.
Poets the most Flagitious, and Prophane,
Neustria e'er fed, his bounty do's maintain.
Who by their Wit procure to Vice applause,
And loud Derision draw on Vertue's Cause.
They easy Nature with fit Baits excite,
And Youth to Crimes too prone before, invite.
By artful Eloquence they strive to show
Those Pleasures Lawful, which they wish were so.
Against their Country they their Wit engage,
Refine our Language, but corrupt the Age.
Our Noble Youth enervated with Vice,
Abhor the Field and Martial Fame despise.
The Sacred Muses, and the Letter'd Train
They Mock, and Camps and Schools alike disdain.
Riot, Debauch, Masks and Unmanly Sport,
Are all the Triumphs our soft Hero's Court.
Sardan all marks of Lust of Empire gave;
None more desir'd his Country to Enslave:
But the designing Monarch was afraid
With open force, our Freedom to invade.
His want of Courage his Ambition checkt,
And his strong Fears his People did Protect.
Oft on the Banks of Rubicon he stood,
But ne'er was bold enough to leap the Flood:
But that with crafty Arts he might prevail,
And undermine the Fort, he durst not Scale:
That those he could not force he might decoy,
He labour'd Neustria 's Vertue to destroy.
His great design was to Emasculate
Our Martial Youth, and then destroy the State.
Thus he believ'd he might Neustrasia bring,
Beneath the Yoke of Gaul 's aspiring King.
Whose growing Power he did with pleasure view,
And gave him Aid his Neighbours to subdue.
Whence he contracted Everlasting Shame,
And future Ages must despise his name.
So ill he wish'd to the Neustrasian State,
So much he courted Clotar 's prosp'rous Fate,
That to advance the Triumphs of his Crown,
He sacrific'd the Int'rests of his own.
He therefore sent to Clotar to demand,
A force sufficient to subdue the Land.
Clotar whose num'rous Armys ready lay,
Watching a season fit to seize the Prey,
Invades our Coasts, and soon was Master made
Of our strong Places to his hands betray'd.
Thus did he force Neustrasia to obey
A Neighb'ring Monarch's Arbitrary Sway.
Sardan was pleas'd so Neustria was undone
To wear himself a Tributary Crown.
Since that, our Land the worst of Plagues torment,
Which Power could e'er inflict, or Wit invent.
This mighty Prince is our Afflicted State,
These the deep Suff'rings, which our Grief create.
We pray by that Immortal Fame you won,
By all your Wonders in Neustrasia done:
We pray by yours, we pray by Odar 's name,
And by your ancient Friendship's sacred flame:
To Neustria 's Sons their ravish'd Rights restore,
And free her Soil from cruel Clotar 's Power.
From her gaul'd Neck remove th' uneasy Yoke,
Only by Valiant Arthur to be broke.
He ceas'd. The King from his high Throne descends,
Mov'd with Compassion to his ancient Friends.
Declaring e'er he rose, he would prepare
A speedy answer to th' important prayer.
Twice on the World the Sun his beams bestow'd,
And twice his glorious tyde had ebb'd, and flow'd:
When Franks and Neustrians at the King's Command
Call'd to attend before his Throne did stand,
The Pious Monarch this kind answer made
To these sad Strangers who had crav'd his aid.
The Christians Suff'rings by Tyrannic might
Against the Laws of Heav'n, and civil Right,
All who with kindly to Mankind lament,
And Christian Kings more deeply must resent.
My Troops I'll therefore for the Neustrian Shore
Embark, your Rights and Freedoms to restore.
Where if propitious Heav'n affords us Aid,
Our Arms shall next the haughty Frank invade.
He ceas'd, the Captains did for Arms declare
Nobly impatient of the Righteous War.
Heroic Ardor all their Vitals warm'd,
And on the Plains the must'ring Cohorts swarm'd.
A War with Gaul so much, so long desir'd
The joyful Britons with fresh Life inspir'd.
Long had they wish'd to see on Britain 's Throne
A warlike Prince, one that himself would own
To be the Christians chief Protecting Head,
Who would the British Troops to Gallia lead .
Indulgent Heav'n at last their wishes grants,
Raising a Prince who answers all their wants.
One that to Albion 's eager Youth will show
The Gallic Fields, and their old haughty Foe.
Each brandishes his Spear, his Fauchion weilds,
And seems already in Lutetia 's Fields.
The Noise of Arms and marching Soldiers toyl
And Warlike Preparations fill the Isle.
The Trumpet's Voice do's Britain 's Sons excite,
And waving Banners to the Field invite.
The Shepherd on the Hills his Flock forsakes,
Casts by his Crook, and the bright Javelin takes.
The Husbandman do's from his labour leap,
To plough the Seas, and Gallic Laurels reap.
He beats his Ploughshares into Helms and Shields,
Deserts his Harvest, and his flowry Fields,
Neglects his Tillage, and his Rural Gains,
To plant with British Spears Parisian Plains.
The Lords forsake their Woods, and Sylvan Sport,
And from the Forrest to the Camp resort.
They leave the Mountains, and the flying Game
To follow Honour, and Immortal Fame.
Some few Inglorious Youths for Arms unfit
Refus'd the Pleasures of the Stage to quit.
Who only War in Theaters have seen,
And Camps and Battles only on the Scene.
Fit only shows and Laurels to prepare
For Arthur come victorious from the War:
To run, and shout amidst th' applauding throng,
As Britain 's Sons in Triumph pass along.
Refulgent Arms Augusta 's Merchants weild
And to the busy Change prefer the Field.
These brave Adventurers in the noble War,
Will Honour fetch, as well as Wealth from far.
Some mount their Steeds, and to the Field advance,
Some shake the Spear, and some the Warlike Lance.
Part arm'd with feather'd Death their Quivers throw
Across their Shoulders, and new string their Bow.
Some round their Necks the martial Coslet clasp,
Some the broad Shield, and glitt'ring Javelin grasp.
Part on their heads the burnish'd Helmet lace,
And all in Plate their vig'rous Limbs encase.
The Royal Fleet with equal hast and care,
The rigid Captains of the Sea prepare.
The craggy Rocks and crooked Shores around
With labour, and promiscuous crys resound.
The Saylor's toil fills every Beach and Strand,
And the Sea-Clamours vye with those by Land.
Some from their Magazines draw Naval Stores,
Long trembling Masts, and Cordage to the Shores.
Some in the Hills with loud repeated strokes,
Dismember nodding Pines and groaning Oaks.
The lifted Axe thro' all the Mountain sounds
To heal the Navy's with the Forest's Wounds.
For Masts, and Planks, they fell the fairest Trees,
The rest, for supplemental Ribs and Knees.
They draw the Spoils from the dishonour'd Wood,
Whose Trees, that once fixt and unshaken stood,
Must now find Wings to fly upon the Flood.
Some from wide Bellows mouths whole Tempests blow,
To make vast Anchors in the Forges glow;
Then choak'd with flame and smoke, and smear'd with sweat,
Vulcanian Youth the Red-hot Iron beat.
Some on the Strand Careen, and fresh adorn
The Ships grown foul, and with their labour worn.
Some new ones Launch, which with surprising Art
From all their Bands, and Wooden Fetters start:
They break away, and from their Cradles flee
Now to be rock'd upon the restless Sea.
Some carry Arms, and Warlike Stores aboard,
Some in the Ship's deep Caves Provisions hoard.
Whole Herds of fatted Swine and Oxen dy,
The Ships capacious Bellys to supply,
Furnish'd by old Polcaran 's toilsom care,
The first that cloy'd the hungry mouth of War.
Then all th' expected Equipage on Board,
Their Topsails loos'd, and all the Ships unmoor'd;
The Royal Navy on the Billows rode,
And prest with heavy War th' uneasie Flood.
The fierce Commanders stand in awful State,
On their high Decks, and Arthur 's coming wait.
The Monarch with his valiant Troops arrives,
And strait t' embark his Army order gives.
The British Cohorts at the King's Command,
Mount their tall Ships, and long for Neustrian Land.
Loud Boreas to extend the spacious Sails,
From Northern Prisons frees his chosen Gales,
All bold and vig'rous, and refresh'd with ease,
All vers'd in toil, and conscious of the Seas.
These swell the Canvass with their utmost force,
And strait to Neustria 's Shore direct their course.
The panting Winds to shove the Navy strain,
And of the Squadrons weight in Sighs complain,
The Labour of the Air, and Burden of the Main.
The bounding Castles on the Billows dance,
And in long Order on the Deep advance.
While wanton Dolphins round the Squadrons play,
And sporting Course each other o'er the Sea.
Huge Porpoises and the great Lords that reign
O'er all the Scaly People of the Main,
Attend the Navy with an endless train.
The Finny Murd'rers that the Deep infest,
Forsake their Prey, and give the Ocean rest:
While they at distance gaze, and fawning roll
To Court the Prince who do's their Seas controul;
Fearing the great Deliv'rer came to free
The watry Nations too from Tyranny.
On the high Cliffs in throngs the Neustrians stood,
And on the Sandy Margin of the Flood,
Advanc'd, as far as Waves permit, to meet
Europe 's Restorer and his Potent Fleet.
And when they saw, the Navy under Sail
Advancing to them with a prosp'rous Gale,
With such loud Shouts they made the Mountains ring,
As sunk the Winds which should their wishes bring.
So Thund'ring Cannons, when two Fleets engage,
With their loud roar the angry Seas asswage,
Awe list'ning Winds, and calm their weaker rage.
King Arthur 's Navy made the Neustrian Land,
And strait the Britons leap'd upon the Strand:
Their warlike Ensigns on the Hills display'd
Declare th' arrival of th' expected Aid.
Now Muse the Names of those great Hero's sing,
And mighty Chiefs, who with the British King
On this illustrious Expedition went,
And pitch'd in Neustrian Fields the warlike Tent.
Shobar was first, sprung from a Noble Line,
Which dwelt upon the Banks of rapid Rhine .
His martial Genius early did appear,
Danger he knew, but knew not how to fear.
Eager of fame he fought with studious care
Battles, and Camps, and all the Seats of War.
His valiant Deeds won Universal Fame,
And every Soil his Triumphs did proclaim.
His mighty Name was thro' Europa spread,
All Armys strove to have him for their head,
For those were sure of Conquest, which he led.
A noble Fire did in his Veins abide,
And the severest Wisdom was its Guide.
His Camp the only School of War was thought,
Which all young Hero's for Instruction sought,
For none had Martial Art to such Perfection brought.
But worn with Labour, Battles, Camps, and Age
The Hoary Warriour left the bloody Stage.
Back to his Fields, and Rural Seat he came
Laden with Laurels and Immortal Fame.
Resolving, far remov'd from noise and strife,
To spend in Peace his short Remains of Life.
But when he heard how Arthur 's Arms were prais'd,
And what a great Restorer Heav'n had rais'd,
Nations oppress'd from Bondage to release,
And to procure to suff'ring Christians, Ease,
The Pious Chief resumes his Sword and Shield,
And once again resolves to take the Field.
The ancient Warriour felt a youthful flame,
And from the Rhine to find King Arthur came.
Arthur who knew what Deeds he had atchiev'd,
With high respect the brave Old Man receiv'd.
He always to his Counsels did attend,
Call'd him his Father, and his Faithful Friend.
Next mighty Solmar who was near ally'd
To pious Arthur by the Mother's side;
Who by his Strength and Skill in Arms had won
Authority, Esteem, and great Renown,
Brother to Meridoc, of glorious fame
With th' Ordovician youth to Arthur came,
Next faithful Lucius Arthur 's fav'rite Knight,
An able Statesman, and as brave in Fight.
Who from his Youth his Monarch serv'd and lov'd,
And in the greatest Streights his Zeal approv'd,
No Servant from a Monarch e'er before
Receiv'd more Love, and none deserv'd it more;
He the Silures from their Country led,
O'er whom the King had plac'd him as their head.
The stout Cornavians to engage the Foes,
The Region left where fam'd Sabrina flows.
The fertile Soil where Etocetum stands,
And which obeys Branonium 's high Commands.
Some left Presidium still a noble Town,
And the rich Soil, that did her Empire own.
And some the Citys, that on Dovus lay,
And where fair Deva do's her Streams convey,
Thro' smiling Vallys to th' Hibernian Sea.
The Atrebatian and Dobunian Lords
Brought their Battalions from Sabrina 's Fords.
And from the Soil where Ouze and Tama meet,
The Muses Garden now, and high Imperial Seat:
Prince Osor worthy of his noble Line,
Whose mighty Deeds in Albion 's story shine,
Warm with a generous and Heroic flame,
Fearless of Death, and fond of warlike Fame,
Zealous to give the suff'ring Christian rest,
To break th' Oppressor, and defend th' Opprest
Into the field these Various Nations brought,
Who arm'd with Spears, and Battle Axes fought.
Osor so high in Arthur 's Favour stood
For Martial Vertue, and Illustrious Blood,
That he the Youth to ancient Chiefs prefer'd,
And Gen'ral of the Cavalry declar'd.
Malgo King Arthur 's Master of the Horse
Fam'd for his Courage, and his wondrous force,
Whose Courteous Manners and Deportment won
No less Applauses, than his Sword had done,
The brave Dimetians to the Army led,
All valiant Troops to warlike labour bred.
The Trinobantes with the Region blest,
Which the Victorious Saxon once possest,
Left the Delightful Banks of Thamisis ,
The Seat of Plenty and Terrestrial Bliss.
They left Augusta which by Arthur 's Sword
To Truth divine, to Right, and Law restor'd,
From Pagan Gods, and from th' Oppressor freed,
Reer'd up to Heav'n her high Imperial head:
For stately Domes and lofty Tow'rs renown'd,
With Arts and Arms, and Wealth and Empire crown'd.
Capellan valu'd for his Youthful Charms,
For his high Birth, and forward Zeal in Arms:
The warlike Deeds of whose Illustrious Line,
As well as Suff'rings, in our Annals shine,
Into the field the Trinobantes led,
And shone in splendid Armour at their head.
Some bore the glitt'ring Spear, and some the Bow
All bold in Arms, and pleas'd to meet the Foe.
The warlike Youth rul'd by Icenian Lords,
Some arm'd with Halberts, some with two edg'd Swords,
Left all the Citys which adorn the Coast,
Where the Germanic Ocean's waves are tost.
The Catuclaxian Cohorts left the Soil,
That lay the inmost of the British Isle.
Those who in Lactodorum did reside,
Which Usa 's Stream did in the midst divide.
And those who all the Region round possest
Adorn'd with Citys, and with Riches blest.
These valiant Squadrons arm'd with Slings and Bows,
Brave Talmar led to charge the Gallic Foes.
A truly martial, but impetuous Fire
Did with immoderate heat his breast inspire.
Nobly impatient of unbounded Power,
He strove Britannia 's Freedom to secure.
A brave Assertor of her ancient Laws,
Of Pious Arthur 's, and the Christian Cause.
Onwards he always prest, and Danger sought,
Patient of toyl, and fearless to a fau't.
His Courteous Manners, easy, free Address,
Th' indulgent care he did for all express
Providing due supplys for all their Wants,
And kindly hearing all their just Complaints.
Made the brave Chief the British Youths Delight
Of Arthur 's Camp the most applauded Knight.
The Ottadenians left Alaunus flood,
Near which the famous Roman Bullwark stood,
Rais'd with prodigious labour to protect
The Frontier, from th' Jernian , and the Pict .
With these the stout Brigantes who confin'd
On th' Ottadenian Towns, their Ensigns joyn'd.
They from Galatum on Ituna 's Stream,
And from delightful Aballaba came
With these appear'd the fierce Arbeian Youth,
And those who dwelt near Moricambe 's Mouth.
Fair Gabrosentum did her Squadrons send,
As did the Towns that on her Power depend.
The Troops Mancunium left, and all the Fields
To which Merseia verdant Riches yields.
These Maca led a Caledonian Knight,
Long vers'd in Arms, Sedate, yet brave in Fight.
He still advanc'd by Military Rule,
Vig'rous in Action, but in Counsel cool.
He all the British Captains did out-shine
For pure Devotion, Zeal and Love divine.
Just, Upright, Faithful, and with Vice unstain'd
Eu'n in a Camp the Pious Chief remain'd:
And nobler heats Religion do's inspire,
Than what from Honour spring, and native Fire.
These aim at transient Empire and Renown,
But those at Heav'n, and an Immortal Crown.
Coril a valiant Durotrigian Knight,
Who ever made the Camp his chief delight;
A great Commander, to the Soldier dear,
Void of all Pride, uncapable of Fear,
Brought his bold Troops from Durnavaria 's Fields,
With mighty Fauchions Arm'd, and spacious Shields.
The Regnian Troops came from the Hilly Land,
Which lies direct against the Neustrian Strand.
From all the Citys, Castles, and the Towns,
Or in the Vales, or in the airy Downs
Which stretch on great Augusta 's Southern side,
Between the Ocean, and fair Isis tyde.
With these the Belgian Britons did unite,
Who did in Battles and in Camps delight.
These came from Venta, and the Citys found
On the delightful Plains which lye around.
Great Cutar Viceroy of fair Vecta 's Isle,
Brought these Battalions from their native Soil.
A generous Impulse, and a noble Flame
Urg'd the brave Man to seek Immortal Fame.
Ravish'd with War's and Danger's horrid Charms,
He with impetuous Ardor flew to Arms.
Triumphant Conquerors with their Laurels crown'd,
Not more delight, than he in Combate found.
He midst the Foe the hottest Battle sought,
And grown with Death familiar, fearless fought.
His strong desire of Arms was never cloy'd,
With such a Relish Danger he enjoy'd.
Soon as the rang'd Battalions came in sight,
He felt fierce Joy, and terrible Delight,
And shudder'd with his eagerness to Fight.
What flames flew from his Eyes, when he from far
View'd the sowr Brows, and murth'ring Jaws of War?
He midst the Heros was for Valour fam'd,
And midst the Bards, with envy'd Honour nam'd.
He by his matchless Song, as well as Sword
The Laurel gain'd, and loud Applause procur'd.
The Cangian Britons left the wealthy Soil,
Which with abundance crowns the Farmer's toil.
Where fair Uzella rolls her noble tyde,
And o'er the Meads unfolds her silver pride.
They left the Citys rais'd on Thona 's flood,
And on the Fields round Coitmaur 's spacious Wood.
From all the Towns round airy Camelet ,
Which bears the name even now, of Arthur 's seat;
Where winding Bruis with her lazy Stream
Surrounds Glascona 's Isle, where antient fame
Has plac'd the Seat of th' Arimathean Saint,
Who first in Albion did Religion plant:
Which do's with pious Sepulchers abound,
And where King Arthur 's blest Remains were found.
From high Mendippa and the spacious Plains
Blest with rich Entrails, and Metallic veins.
Where rapid Floods flow roaring under ground,
Where the fam'd Grotto Ochi Hol is found;
Which do's Parthenope all thine out-do,
That of Lucullus, and the Sybils too.
The warlike Youth from Aqua Solis came,
Whose wholsom Baths give Sinews to the Lame.
Their Healing Power the wise affirm proceeds,
From unform'd Minerals, and Metallic Seeds,
Which wash'd away from Subterranean Caves
Impregnate with their Heat the flowing Waves.
Whether these Seeds which in the Water strive,
Or some good Angel do's the Vertue give,
'Tis sure that Health and Vigour they impart
Above the reach of Æsculapian Art.
Witness the Spoils and Trophys which are shown
From vanquish'd Death, and from Diseases won.
Erla of Lands of great extent possest,
With Ease, with Honour, with Abundance blest,
By Pity mov'd, and martial Ardor warm'd,
To aid th' opprest Lutetian Christians Arm'd.
For Danger, and for Honourable toil
He left his Ease, his Wealth, and Native Soil.
The bold Danmonians did attend their Lord,
Each took his Shield and wav'd his threat'ning Sword.
Active and vig'rous they advanc'd their Names
By Wrestling, Whorlbat, old Heroic Games.
They left the Southern, and the Northern Shore,
Where British Seas, or where th' Hibernian roar.
Th' undaunted Youth from fair Tamara came,
And from the Flood that gave the Town its name.
They left Voluba, and Cenonis Mouth,
The most applauded Haven of the South.
They left the Banks of Isca and the Town
For Commerce, Wealth, and Power, of great renown.
These mighty Men to warlike labour bred,
Came from their hilly Land by Trelon led.
For old indulgent Cador at his Death
To Pious Arthur did his Realm bequeath.
Viceroy of which King Arthur Trelon made,
Whom the Danmonians as their Head obey'd.
His Martial Vertue do's in Story Shine,
A Vertue common to his ancient Line:
For Trelon 's Noble House was so renown'd,
For mighty Deeds, that none was ever found
Who wanted Valour, or did e'er debase
By one inglorious Deed the Martial Race!
True Eagles they, when Infants, could behold
A Burnish'd Helm, or blazing Shield of Gold:
Ev'n then no horrid object mov'd their fear,
And their first play was with a Sword, or Spear.
The Coritanians left the Towns that stood,
Along the Banks of swift Aufona 's flood.
Their Squadrons left the fat and fertile Land,
Where Verometum 's Tow'rs and Raga 's stand.
Where Margidunum from the Mountain's brow
Proudly surveys the wide stretcht Vale below.
Where Lindum reers her antient, awful head,
By all the Fenny Region round obey'd.
Where famous Pontis stood an ancient Town
By Roman Coins and checker'd Pavements known:
Brave Stannel patient of Heroic toil,
Sprung from a Race of Kings whom Mona 's Isle
Insulted by the wild Hibernian Sea,
But blest with temp'rate Empire, did obey:
Who always for his Country bravely fought,
To Neustrian Fields the Coritanians brought.
The valiant Youth advanc'd their warlike Ranks
From noble Abum's , and Darventio 's Banks.
Some from Calcaria came, from Danum some,
Some from the Tow'rs of high Eboracum .
Gotric a Chief Majestic, Awful, Grave,
Wise in the Senate, and in Battle brave;
Of unstain'd Honour, and uncommon worth,
Brought in these bold Brigantes from the North.
All Men of Courage and of subtile Wit,
All for the Camp, and some for Counsel fit.
The warlike Squadrons from Meldunum came,
Almost encompass'd by Antona 's Stream.
From old Verlucio, and the fertile Land,
Where Leckham now, and ancient Cosam stand:
Cosam, with Plenty blest and temp'rate Air,
To me a Soil above all others dear.
The valiant Youth from Sorbiodunum came,
Of all their Towns the Chief, in Power and Fame.
Whose gilded Domes and Towers amidst the Sky,
With all but those of great Augusta vy.
Around her Walls lie stretcht the famous Plains,
Which Eccho with the toil of joyful Swains,
Where happy Shepherds with more Flocks are blest,
Than the Sicilian Mountains e'er possest;
Who fill the Air with loud, and sweeter Lays
Than those which once did fam'd Arcadia raise.
They left the Bourns, and all the fertile Plain
Where the high Monument do's still remain
Of Albion 's Lords by Saxon Treach'ry slain.
An awful Pile wondrous in every part,
Not wholly wrought by Nature, nor by Art.
The Stones are all of such prodigious weight,
And raise their heads to such amazing height,
Such is the Structure's rude Magnificence,
And proud Disorder, that it makes pretence
To be Gigantic work, wherein are shown
High Rocks on Rocks with careless labour thrown.
Where now th' admiring Trav'ller may behold
What mighty Men Britannia bred of Old.
They left Cunetio still a noble Town
Rais'd on a fair, delightful, spacious Down,
Which over-looks the Vale, whose fruitful Crops
Out-do the greedy Farmer's utmost hopes.
Vebba a Cangian Chief of great Renown,
Who by his Arms had frequent Laurels won;
A Leader worthy of the high Command,
Brought to King Arthur 's Camp this Cangian Band
These mighty Warriors from the British Isle,
Attended Arthur to his Foreign toil.
BOOK II
Strait thro' the neighb'ring Citys welcom Fame
King Arthur 's Landing did aloud proclaim.
The Neustrain Youth by Gallic Power opprest,
Reviving Hopes, and wondrous joy exprest.
In shouting throngs they left the Oazy Coast,
And Inland Towns to joyn King Arthur 's Host.
They came from Juliobana and the Land
Which Breviodunum 's Castles did Command.
From all the Towers and pleasant Towns that stood
On the sweet Banks of fam'd Sequana 's flood.
Gomar and Rollo two illustrions Lords
Whose Deeds adorn Neustrasia 's old Records;
Who lov'd their Country and its Freedom sought,
To joyn the Briton their Battalions brought.
Arthur advanc'd, and all Neustrasia 's Fields
Shone bright with polish'd Helms and blazing Shields.
The Host in warlike Columns took the way
To the rich Fields where Rotomagum lay.
Mean time the Gauls who Neustria 's Soil possest
By Sardan entertain'd, and much carest,
Did Arthur 's fame and valiant Army dread,
Deserted Neustria, and to Clotar fled.
With these inglorious Sardan, who the sight
Of Swords and Spears detested, took his Flight.
Arthur did soon the Gallic Frontier gain,
And lay encamp'd along Lutetia 's Plain.
There stood a Dome whose Pinnacles did rise
Above the Clouds, and enter'd far the Skys,
Surveying proud Lutetia far and wide,
Which aw'd the Nations with Imperial pride.
Along the flowry Banks the City stood
Where silver Sein rolls down her noble flood.
The Prince of Darkness from the Temple's head
View'd Arthur 's Army o'er the Vally spread.
Enormous Rage distended every vein,
And all Hell's Furys o'er his Breast did reign.
Swoln with Revenge his blood-shot Eyes did glare
Like Ruddy Meteors blazing in the Air!
He gnash'd his Teeth and his black Brows he bent;
Then thus he spake to give his Anger vent.
How great and wide is my Imperial Sway,
Whom all the Peers of Hell's dark Realms obey?
I over all th' Aerial Powers preside,
Who raise loud Storms, and on wild Whirlwinds ride.
These Powers at my Command the World Assail
With blended Ruin, Thunder, Rain and Hail.
All the dire Ministers of Death and Hell
That chain'd in gloomy Prisons howl and yell;
All the fierce Furys fly at my Command,
To spoil a Town, or wast a fruitful Land.
My hollow Caves and Magazins contain
Endless variety of Grief and Pain.
Where panting Thirst with ghastly Famine dwells,
And pois'nous Damps in raw unwholsom Cells
Engender livid Plagues; where how to moan
Sad Grief first learnt, and Torment how to groan.
Here uninstructed Death first learnt her Arts,
First strung her Bows, and pointed first her Darts.
These all obey me, in my Court beside,
Haughty Ambition, Riot, Lust and Pride,
Revenge and Envy my Domesticks dwell,
My fav'rite Plagues, that all the rest excel,
And vastly have enlarg'd the power of Hell.
These always foremost in my Troops appear,
And for my following Plagues the passage clear.
These make th' Assault, and all my Furys teach
To mount the Walls where they have made the Breach.
Their mighty Triumphs and Victorious fame
Kingdoms laid wast and ruin'd Worlds proclaim.
What blest Destruction have th' Invaders spred
O'er Christian Realms by me their Monarch led?
What States have they attack'd and not prevail'd,
Who have escap'd their Arts, if Power has fail'd?
And shall this Briton still advance his Arms,
And shake my Temples with his proud alarms?
Shall he my Priests from my high Altars chase,
And dispossess the Franks Victorious Race,
Who such a Passion for my Empire show,
And are so dear to all the Powers below?
Shall this fair City, this new Babilon ,
This other nobler Rome, this pious Town,
Where all in prostrate Adoration ly
Before our Shrines, and for Protection cry,
Where with such strains of pure Devotion all
Our Temples fill, and us their Guardians call;
Shall Arthur 's impious Arms this Town deface
And thro her Streets in haughty Triumph pass?
Shall the proud Christian this fair Region gain?
Expel my Franks, and o'er Lutetia reign?
Shall these sweet Vineyards, this delightful Soil
With a rich Vintage crown the Briton 's toil?
Then I in vain Immortal vigor boast,
My Scepter's gone, and all my Empire lost.
All will Revolt who now obey my Laws,
And Rome her self desert my righteous Cause.
Nor Vot'rys here, nor Subjects will below,
To me, as to their God, or Monarch bow.
By any means, by Stratagem, or Force,
I must arrest th' ambitious Briton 's Course.
If all Hell's Power thy Empire can sustain,
Lutetia, thou thy Greatness shalt maintain.
But whether Force or Fraud we shall employ
In this Conjuncture Arthur to destroy,
Must be debated and consider'd well,
On this I must Consult the Powers of Hell.
He said, and strait th' enrag'd Arch-Traytor flys
To Hell's Abyss, and leaves the Crystal Skys.
As when an Eagle from a Mountain's head
Surveys the flowry Vale around him spread,
And sees a Snake along the Meadow play
Enliven'd with the Spring's reviving Ray;
The Eagle stoops down from the Mountain's top,
And in a moment takes the Viper up:
The twining Beast his crooked Pounces bear
Wriggling and hissing swiftly thro' the Air.
So swift a flight the wing'd Apostate made,
And in a moment reach'd th' Infernal Shade.
High on the gloomy Banks of Lethe 's flood
The haughty Monarch's awful Palace stood;
Built with Angelic Art and cost immense,
With fearful Pomp, and vast Magnificence.
The lofty Roof, amazing to behold,
Was all of burnish'd, fine, Tartarean Gold,
Which dismal Glory did around display
Thro' the Dun Air, and made a hideous Day.
The high rais'd Pillars were of Stygian Jet,
Of Doric Order in high Ranges set.
The Walls were Marble, streak'd with bloody stains
And Azure intermixt with Purple veins.
Around thick Groves of shady Cypress grew,
O'er which prodigious Bats, and croking Ravens flew.
Poppys the Gardens bore, and Hollioaks,
Henbane, and Nightshade and unwholsom Box.
Hither the summon'd Spirits did resort,
And with their numbers fill'd their Prince's Court.
Th' Assembly made a murm'ring hollow sound,
Like that of Torrents rolling under ground;
But all the busy Spirits, when they saw
Their Monarch enter, with a silent Awe
Attentive waited, he ascends his Throne,
Which high erected o'er the Assembly shone.
Then with a frowning Look yet haughty Air
He thus began. High States of Hell, th' Affair
Which now demands your Counsel, I'll declare.
Britannia 's Monarch our Inveterate Foe,
Who do's such hatred to our Empire show,
Who has our Temples and our Groves laid wast,
Destroy'd our Vot'rys and our Shrines defac'd,
To storm Lutetia has the Ocean crost
And shakes our Altars with his impious Host.
All means yet us'd his Progress to oppose
Have fruitless been, the Briton greater grows.
He has eluded all our deep Designs
And now in Arms before Lutetia Shines.
Against her Towers his Ensigns are display'd,
And our fierce Franks are of his Fame afraid.
If by the Briton this fair City's won,
Gallia farewell, that Realm from Hell is gone.
There, we no more shall be as Gods ador'd,
No praise return'd, no more our Aid implor'd.
No Victims more shall at our Altars dye,
No Vot'rys more before us prostrate lye.
No more your Pamper'd Nostrils shall be fed
With fatty steams from burning Entrails spred.
No more you'll wanton in aspiring flames,
Nor revel more in blood of Goats and Rams.
In your high Groves you must no longer stay,
Nor in sweet Clouds of rising Incense play.
If Gallia 's lost, Iberia may be too,
Ausonia next the Conqueror will subdue.
If this Success attends th' Ambitious Foe,
Illustrious Peers, say whither will you go?
If to the Frozen or the Burning Zone,
To Heats and Colds not much unlike your own.
Or shall we always here despairing ly,
Freeze on this Ice, or in these Burnings fry?
Shall we take up with this Infernal Shade,
Content no milder Regions to invade?
Did we such wondrous Labour undergo,
Such God-like Wit, and God-like Courage show,
To win this Province from th' Almighty Foe;
And shall we tamely yield the noble Spoil,
And just Reward of all our ancient toil?
Speak, Princes, how shall we Lutetia Aid,
Whether by Art or Power we shall invade
The British King; propound the likeliest way
To check his Arms, and his swift Progress stay.
He said, and straightway Belus rose, outdone
In Fierceness, Pride and Insolence by none
Of all th' Apostate Spirits, who combin'd
To take up Arms against th' Eternal Mind:
Who with th' Almighty for Dominion strove
Troubling with Civil War the Realms above.
Fir'd with excessive Rage he Silence broke,
And thus th' attentive Senators bespoke.
Prudent, Considering Spirits may destroy
Those whom their Arts and subtile Wiles decoy:
I hate your wise Expedients, I declare
For generous Arms, and honourable War.
Tricks amongst Angels must our fame debase,
And stain the Glory of our Heav'nly Race.
Our Mould's Divine, of pure Etherial Light,
We the first Offspring of Eternal Might.
An unextinguish'd flame dilates our Veins,
And thro' our Limbs Immortal Vigour reigns.
Shall such a Race to Shifts and Cunning fly,
And not on Power, and matchless Strength rely?
I scorn a sordid un-Angelic course,
Unworthy of our Birth, and of our Force.
In our first Wars what Courage did we show
Shaking the Throne of our Almighty Foe?
'Tis true we fell, but yet the glorious Field
Do's greater fame than thousand Conquests yield
Won from Created, Vulgar Enemys;
Great was th' Attempt, and bold the Enterprise.
Success we wanted, but the brave Design
In Heav'n's and Hell's Records shall ever shine.
And shall we think our Strength and Courage less,
And by our Shifts our Impotence confess?
That which perhaps may Cautious Spirits damp
Is this, that drawn out round the British Camp
Of the Seraphic Guards a Party stands,
Which Michael our old Enemy Commands.
We know this Hallelujah singing Host,
Who such Devotion and Religion boast:
Who look on us, Curse on their Gracious Sect
As Reprobates, with scorn and proud neglect.
They would not with our Arms their Forces joyn,
T' assert our Right, and gain our high Design.
They would no Succours to our Army send,
But still their tender Conscience did pretend.
Yet Conscientions Michael and the rest
Who such abhorrence of our Cause exprest,
Beneath the Veil of Sanctity and Zeal
Falshood, Revenge, Malice and Pride conceal.
On Heav'n with open Arms they will not fall,
For this the timerous Saints Rebellion call.
But oft I've heard their best Arch Angels Ly,
I know their Fraud, and deep Hypocrisy.
These Godly Seraphs let our Arms attack,
And to their Praying Regions chase them back.
To us their Numbers and their Strength are known,
We know their Courage, and we know our own.
Thro' Hells dark Realms let's sound the loud alarm,
And give Command for all our Youth to Arm.
Your Ensigns on the Dusky Plains display,
And draw your Legions out in long Array:
Legions that Life, and Strength Immortal feel,
Arm'd all in Adamant and treble Steel.
Let's empty all our Arsenals, and drain
Our stores of Death, and Magazins of Pain.
We'll draw out all th' Artillery of Hell,
Artillery, like that by which we fell.
We'll ride in flaming Tempests thro' the Air,
And on the Foe discharge amazing War.
Blue flames we'll carry from these Sulphurous Caves,
And lave into the Air these boiling Waves.
With this Tormenting Fire the Foe we'll burn,
And against Heav'n, will Heav'n's own Vengeance turn!
Up from their Roots these burning Hills we'll tear,
And Hell's tremendous Spoils aloft we'll bear,
And hurl our Racks and Tortures thro' the Air.
With Storms of Fire, with Thunder, Rain and Hail,
Mingled Destruction, we'll their Camp Assail.
For our great Prince is Monarch of the Air,
Our Empire still is uncontested there:
Thus we th' Angelic Guards will soon remove,
And send them to excuse themselves above.
When they dismay'd back to their Seats are fled
We'll o'er the Britons dire Destruction spred.
Thus we'll Lutetia save, and Blood and Spoil
Shall sooth our Torments, and our Pains beguile.
He said. Then Rimmon rose up from his Place,
Of noble Stature, and Majestic Grace.
In Eloquence and soft perswasive charms
He much excell'd, but little car'd for Arms.
No Seraph of a vaster Genius fell
From the blest Regions to the Gulph of Hell.
No Lord, that in th' Infernal Council sate
Sustain'd with greater skill a high debate,
Or seem'd more fit for Business of the State.
None spoke with so much Ease, and such Address,
None Business better knew, or lov'd it less.
Dissolv'd in Luxury, in Sloth and Ease,
He War declin'd, and pleaded still for Peace.
No nobler Presence in the Court appear'd,
None by the Senators was better heard.
They knew his falshood, yet th' attentive throng
Lov'd the soft Music of his charming Tongue.
Who thus begun. Immortal Potentates,
Illustrious Princes, high Seraphic States!
T' uphold this ancient Monarchy, a Zeal
Greater than mine no Seraph can reveal.
None to Obedience more Reluctance show,
Or greater Hate to our Allmighty Foe.
None more t' enlarge our Empire can desire,
None feel more sensibly this painful Fire.
Who more delights in a Terrestrial Seat,
That from our Torment yields a mild restreat?
Scorcht with corroding flame no Seraph loves
More to frequent our cool refreshing Groves.
Who's pleas'd with Incense more and od'rous Gums,
Or the sweet Steams of burning Hecatombs?
Therefore no likely means I would neglect
To save our Altars, and our Priests protect.
Arthur assisted with Celestial Aids
Our Empire with resistless course invades.
He his bold Cohorts round Lutetia pouers,
And threatens with his Arms her lofty Towers.
A Guard of Seraphs round his Army stands,
Celestial Sabres flaming in their hands.
Now valiant Belus wondrous Courage shows,
Off'ring in Arms t'assault our potent Foes.
I'm not for Arms by long experience taught;
What have we gain'd by all our Battles fought?
In Heavenly plains fir'd with a noble rage
Our Troops did all the Allmighty's Host engage.
Of which brave Deed what Seraph can Repent;
But when our Strength and all our Arms were spent,
You all remember Michael 's dreadful Sword,
What fiery Darts we felt, what Thunder roar'd.
As drunk with wrath divine our Army reel'd,
And with Celestial Spoils o'erspread the Field,
Seraph on Seraph heap'd, and Shield on Shield.
Then did the Chariots which our Troops did chase,
O'er faln Arch Angels Necks, and grov'ling Cherubs pass!
Ignoble Rout deform'd th' Etherial Plain,
When wounded Seraphs first had sense of Pain.
Close on the Reer th' insulting Conq'rors hung,
And with the pointed Lightnings which they flung.
With massy Bolts and Darts of poison'd Steel,
From which our Limbs did raging Anguish feel,
Cross the steep Gulph they chas'd us till we fell
To scape those Torments, down to these of Hell.
This Fire, these Shades are all our Arms have won,
The sad Reward that do's our labour crown.
This Language is not to reproach our Flight,
For who can stand against Eternal Might?
But to diswade you from unequal Fight.
Since first this famous War broke out in Heav'n,
Since our fierce Troops from those mild seats were driv'n,
We've oft with all our force the Foe assail'd,
With wond'rous Brav'ry, yet we ne'er prevail'd;
But Art has prosper'd, where our Arms have fail'd.
We the Terrestrial World by Art did gain,
And must by Art our Conquest still maintain.
Well laid Temptations and enticing Charms,
Which propagate our Guilt, are our successful Arms.
Here lys our Strength, by these we must support
The Power and Greatness of th' Infernal Court.
We with our Heavn'ly Foes engage in vain,
For those who know no Guilt, can feel no pain.
Invulnerable they no hurt receive,
Nor can they feel deep wounds, like those they give.
But we can suffer, we can Torment feel,
From wounds Inflicted by their glitt'ring steel.
Our penetrable Plate and brittle Shield,
Will to their keen Etherial Weapons yield.
In these strange Flames by skill divine prepar'd,
Our Mould grows tender, as our hearts grow hard.
Such disadvantage justly may perswade,
No more with force their Armys to invade.
Let us known Arts and try'd Temptations use,
That may from Heav'n the Britons Minds seduce.
If our Enticements take, we gain our Cause,
For Heav'n from Rebels strait its Aid withdraws.
Then you may Chase the Briton to his Isle,
And spread Lutetia 's Fields with Christian Spoil.
Then Milcom rose full of Revenge and Scorn
A ghastly, meagre Fiend with Envy worn;
His pale, lean Cheeks his restless Mind exprest;
And Spite and Spleen his hollow Eyes possest.
His wrinkled Forehead, sowr and sullen Brow
Did deadly Hate, and deep Resentment show.
He Seeds of Strife and sharp Contention sow'd,
And call'd his Private Quarrel, Publick Good.
With execrable Words and desperate Speech
Th' Apostate still th' Allmighty did impeach.
No ruin'd Angel so audacious seem'd,
Or with so black a Tongue his God blasphem'd.
Ev'n when in Heav'n blest with his Maker's Smile,
The mocking Spirit would his Lord revile.
Cast down from Heav'n he rav'd and curst the Blest
Who still their Thrones and Innocence possest:
Above the rest he show'd his Discontent,
And more impatient seem'd of Punishment.
None yet was found thro' all the Courts of Hell
So Enterprizing, more Implacable.
None of th' Apostate Host would sooner joyn
To carry on a bold and black Design.
And thus he spoke. Lords of Celestial Race,
Let not our Fears Seraphic Might disgrace.
I'll to th' Allmighty ne'er be reconcil'd,
Who of our Thrones our Birthright, us despoil'd;
And in Exchange has made Arch-Angels take
A low black Prison and a fiery Lake.
I'd be reveng'd for this unrighteous Deed,
And still attack him tho' I ne'er succeed.
Whate'er, Seraphic Heros, be your Fate,
Appear true Patriots of th' Infernal State.
I would, as generous Belus do's propose
With Arms and Force invade our Godly Foes.
I would, tho' they our Arms should still defeat,
The noble War eternally repeat.
I would alarm, assault, molest, annoy
And still disturb the Foe, I can't destroy:
For this an endless Pleasure would create,
And with Revenge sooth our Immortal Hate.
Why should we fly to Frauds, will Frauds obtain
A Conquest which by Power we cannot gain?
Do's not th' Eternal Foe as much excel
In Wisdom, as in Strength the Peers of Hell?
Will not his Circumspection undermine
What you believe a deep and wise Design?
Some have 'tis true succeeded by their Fraud,
But I th' Ignoble Way could ne'er applaud.
Let us, as Belus urg'd for Arms declare,
Our Forces Muster, and denounce the War.
Our eager Troops will cheerfully obey;
I'd be reveng'd, and War's the quickest way.
I long the pious Squadrons to engage ----
More had he said, but wild and mad with Rage
He to th' Assembly could no longer speek,
But his Discourse did here abruptly break.
Then Ammon rose a Prince of high Renown,
Awful in Flames, and haughty tho' undone.
On his grave Brow deep Mysterys of State
Prudence, Advice, and Contemplation sate.
No Minister of all the Stygian Court
Declining Empires better could support.
The State of Hell's affairs none better knew,
None did their Int'rest with more Zeal pursue.
Important Looks and solemn Air confest
Labour and vast Concern within his Breast.
The Fate of Kingdoms seem'd his anxious Care,
Ruptures of Peace, and high Designs of War.
He seem'd engag'd in searching proper ways
To prop old Monarchys, or new ones raise.
When he began, all great attention paid,
And silent sate and husht, as midnight shade.
Then thus he spake. Spirits of Race divine
What Belus offer'd, tho' a brave Design,
Suits not with Rimmon 's Judgment, nor with mine.
Should we by gen'ral Vote for Arms declare
And Heav'n once more invade with open War,
If we the Conqu'rour should again incense,
What can we hope from arm'd Omnipotence,
But greater Wrath, and Torments more intense?
Can't he fresh Treasures open that contain
Yet fiercer Vengeance, more destructive pain?
His secret stores yet deadlier Light'nings yield,
More massy Bolts his vengeful Arm can weild.
In his high Arsenals will yet be found
Much keener Arms, and Darts that deeper wound;
Where he preserves his chosen Torments wrought
With greater Labour, greater Skill and Thought.
Where Swords of hardest Heav'nly Metal made,
And Shafts in strongest Fury dipt are laid.
Cannot th' Almighty Conquerour if he please,
From Hell's deep Vaults more dreadful Plagues release,
And with new Racks our Tort'ring pains increase?
Can't he these fiery Mountains on us turn,
Enrage our flames, and make them fiercer burn?
Or may we not in Hills of Ice immur'd,
Feel sharper Cold, than e'er we yet endur'd?
May not his hand bar fast the Gates of Hell,
Confine us to Despair, and make us dwell
Close Pris'ners chain'd in these Sulphureous Caves,
Or overwhelm us with these boiling Waves;
That we no more may our sad hours beguile,
In the soft Air of the Terrestrial Isle:
Nor our fry'd Limbs repose by shady Trees,
Nor fan our Burnings with a gentle Breeze.
Our open force must meet this dismal end,
And these sad Triumphs must our Arms attend.
But of Lutetia why should we despair,
And of our Franks so much renown'd in War?
Great Clotar do's in Wiles and Arts excel,
That scarce inferiour are to those of Hell,
By Force or Fraud the Briton he'll repel.
A numerous Army he together draws,
Resolv'd t' assert ours, and the Gallic Cause.
But grant that high Lutetia should submit,
And the proud Conqu'ror on her Throne should sit.
Grant all the Towns and Provinces of Gaul
Should yield, and follow great Lutetia 's fall:
Must all our other Votarys Rebel,
And take up Arms against the Power of Hell?
Mankind Obedience hate, as well as we,
In Guile and Temper we so much agree,
A great Defection from us cannot be.
Rome ever faithful to our Cause appear'd,
To us by constant Services endear'd.
Her strong Affection all her Deeds proclaim;
Her Aims and Interests are with ours the same.
Besides, Iberia is a faithful Friend,
And will her Troops to our Assistance send.
But what if all th' European Realms were gone,
Asia may still her fixt Obedience own.
There we with Incense may our Nostrils cloy
And all the pleasures of the East enjoy.
There we may sport in mild, indulgent Beams,
And cool our Sores in sweet refreshing Streams.
There we may wander o'er a flowry Land,
And see in Spicy Groves our Altars stand.
Then add to this that our Imperial Sway
The Black and Tawny Nations all obey;
Who lie extended o'er the spacious Soil
From famous Memphis to the head of Nile .
From th' Ethiopean Region to the Shore
On which th' Atlantic Ocean's Billows roar;
And from the Northern to the Southern Moor.
Besides a Western World is still our own,
Where Arthur and his God are yet unknown.
This undiscover'd Soil, this Golden Coast
Serves as a Refuge to receive our Host,
Were all the Eastern World to Arthur lost.
These are the Reasons which with me prevail,
Not with our Arms the Briton to Assail.
I would from Hell the Fury discord send,
That her swift flight might to Britannia bend.
Since Arthur 's absent, she may soon embroil
The wav'ring State, and trouble all the Isle.
She midst the Britons may Dissention sow,
And into noble flames may quickly blow
The Seeds of Strife that in their Bosoms glow.
She'll all the Fuel find she can require
To feed and entertain her raging fire.
Arthur who chas'd us from the British Coast,
And to pursue us has the Ocean crost,
Quitting his high Design, must then be gone,
And leave this Kingdom to Secure his own.
He said. The Synod gave a loud Applause,
And with this Counsel pleas'd, their Monarch rose.
Mean time the Gallic Monarch took th' alarm,
And gave Command for all his Men to Arm.
Resolv'd to stop th' Invading Briton 's rage,
And in the Field his Army to engage.
Lutetia first the Cry of Arms began,
Which soon thro' Clotar 's wide Dominions ran.
The zealous Leaders did their Troops Collect,
To form an Host their Kingdom to protect.
With wondrous speed they did together draw
Their Squadrons, which did distant Citys aw.
The Valiant Lords from various Regions came,
To save their Country, and to raise their Fame.
The Pagan Priests wild with the dismal Fright,
With their loud Crys did all to Arms excite;
Who for their Altars might their Lives expose,
And guard their helpless Gods from Christian Foes.
Thro' every Town the Franks in Arms appear'd,
In every Street the Voice of War was heard.
Loud Clamors, and the Soldiers mingled Crys
Shook all the Azure Arches of the Skys.
Some on their Coursers mounted did advance,
Arm'd with a Shield, a Sword, and glitt'ring Launce,
Some came on Foot and for their Arms did bear
A dreadful Halbert, and a Massy Spear.
They came from every Soil and every Town
Which did the haughty Franks Dominion own.
Round high Lutetia 's Walls to stop the Foe
Their Confluent Troops did in a Deluge flow.
All were compleatly arm'd, and here my Verse
The Names of those fam'd Heros shall rehearse,
Who had in Clotar 's Army high Command,
And the great Briton 's Triumphs did withstand:
It shall the warlike Nations too relate,
Who joyn'd their Arms to Guard the Gallic State.
Gaston for Conduct Strength and Martial Flame
Among the Franks acquir'd the greatest Name.
Clotar this mighty Man his General made,
And next to him, he was by all obey'd.
Villa was next in Dignity and Power,
Prais'd as a Chief, but as a Courtier more.
A gaudy General glorious to behold,
Adorn'd with splendid Arms, and smear'd with Gold.
Arbel was of his ancient noble Blood,
Of his Successes, and high Station proud:
Vast was his Bulk, prodigious was his Strength,
Pondrous his Spear, and of amazing length.
The Franks did next Prince Ansel most admire
Both for his Manly Wit, and Martial Fire.
Whose Praises Clotar did with Envy hear,
And thought his Name was to the Gauls too dear.
Great Oromel of Princely Parents born,
Whose Deeds his Line and Country did adorn,
Came with his Troops from the high Mountain's side
Which do's Iberia from the Gaul divide.
Bofar, to Honour by his Valour rais'd,
Heard his great Deeds by all Lutetia prais'd:
Cruel and Proud, but Vigilant and Brave,
Who that his Wealth and Honour he might save,
Aided his Prince his Country to enslave.
Moloc was next, a Captain fierce and bold,
Known for his Thirst of Blood, and Love of Gold.
This Man was one who with his Sword pursu'd
The Christians, and his hands in Blood embrued.
Some he destroy'd with ling'ring Torments, some
To shun his barb'rous Outrage left their home;
And thro' the Woods and Hills did naked roam.
Olcanor, fam'd for Wealth and Courage, led
His valiant Troops from Silver Liger 's head.
Ruthen a Chief, tho' by his Prince esteem'd
By Christian Franks and Pagans too condemn'd,
Was a fierce Minister of Clotar 's Will,
Employ'd to Burn, to Ravage, Spoil and Kill.
Miran, a Prince eager of Martial Fame,
Sprang from a Vig'rous, but forbidden Flame;
Mantana was his beauteous Mother's Name.
He the bold Youth of Francia 's Island led,
All Valiant Troops, to Arms and Labour bred.
They left the Land with beauteous Citys stor'd,
Which once obey'd their Bellovasian Lord.
The bold Senones came, whose Castles stood
Between Icauna 's and Sequana 's Flood.
The Catalaunian who Matrona drank,
And the Mandubian from swift Arar 's Bank.
They left Augustodunum, and the Field
Which once the Vadicassian Farmer till'd.
The Lemovician from Vagenna 's Stream,
And the Velaunian Youth together came.
The bold Burgundian Leaders from the Banks,
Of Alduabis brought their Warlike Franks:
Where nobler Vineyards crown the fertile Field,
Then Thuscan Hills, or thine, Iberia, yield.
They left the Towns that thro' the Region lay,
Which the Vogesian Hills around survey.
They came from Dola and the fruitful Land,
Which Arborosa 's Towers did then Command.
And where Lugdunum 's lofty Castles rise,
Whose gilded Battlements invade the Skys.
The Helvian and Rutenian hardy Troops
Came from sublime Gebenna 's aiery Tops:
Both Warlike Nations who did far surpass
In Martial Glory all the Gallic Race.
Arausio sent her valiant Troops, a Town
Which then the Gauls did with their Praises crown.
But since it grew a more Illustrious Place,
Rul'd by the mild, Nassovian Godlike Race.
Whose great and glorious Deeds have rais'd her name,
Above the Citys of the highest fame.
Great Huban from the Coast which with its Waves
The Aquitanian rolling Ocean laves;
And from the Towers along Garumna 's Banks,
Brought to King Clotar 's Aid his valiant Ranks:
Unnumber'd Squadrons fill'd the Gallic Host,
Which left the Citys on the Southern Coast,
Which from Boiatum to Nicæa lay,
And various Lords and Leaders did obey:
For so far Clotar o'er the Gallic Land,
Had by his Arms extended his Command.
The numerous Nations which the Lands did own,
Between Garumna and the rapid Rhone ;
Where high Tolosa and Carcassum stand,
And where rich Tarnis rolls her Golden Sand.
The Youth from Alba and Nemaussus came,
Where numerous Martyrs dy'd by Sword and Flame.
For tho' with Christians Gallia did abound,
Yet they were chiefly in the Cities found,
Which o'er the fair and fertile Region lay
Between Gebenna and the Midland Sea.
Between the Alpine Mountains on the East,
And th' Aquitanian Ocean on the West.
These Clotar with inexorable Hate
Strove to Extirpate from the Gallic State.
Ruffians, Tormentors, black Assassins sent
By his Command all Methods did invent,
By which the Pious Race might be destroy'd,
And Hell's and Clotar 's Malice might be cloy'd.
The dreadful Marks of Persecuting Rage,
Frequent appear'd o'er all this horrid Stage.
O'er all the Fields unbury'd Bones were spread,
And bloody Torments dy'd their Rivers Red.
Here Salvage Moloc, and fierce Ruthen strove,
Whose Cruelty should greatest wonder move,
And who should most engage their Monarch's Love.
The various Nations came who did reside
On Rhodanus and swift Isara 's tyde.
They left the Region near the Alpine Snows,
Where old Brigantium stood, and where Druentia flows.
They left the Citys on the Shores that stay
The rolling Waves of the Ligustic Sea.
Stuffa a mighty Allobrogian Lord
Fam'd for his Stature and prodigious Sword,
The Fierce Helvetian Cohorts did Command,
Which Clotar 's Gold brought from their Native Land.
One part the Urbigenian Lords obey'd,
And Till'd the Soil by Jura 's Pekes survey'd.
Some did Bromagus and the Towns forsake
Which lay, Lausanna , on thy spacious Lake.
They left the Mountains where the melted Snow
Do's down the Sides in unform'd Channels flow,
And when beneath their Confluent Streams combine,
They form the Rhone, the Danaw, and the Rhine .
Their Mercenary Citys ever Sold
Their Youth to kill, and to be kill'd for Gold.
They Fought for him who best their Country fed,
And did not Fame and Glory seek, but Bread.
These Nations all were Vigorous, Strong and Bold,
Patient of Labour, Hunger, Heat and Cold.
Clotar this Valiant People much Carest,
And by their Arms the Neighb'ring States Opprest.
These foremost in his Battles always fought,
He his Chief Conquests by their Courage got.
These mighty Leaders did for Armour wear
The Skins of Beasts slain by their fatal Spear.
Some march'd before their Troops in dreadful Pride,
Arm'd with a ravening Lyon's grisly Hide.
The Shaggy Back was o'er their Shoulders spread
With formidable grace, and on their Head
The Tawny Terror grinn'd with open Jaws,
And cross their Breasts were lap'd the hideous Paws:
The Teeth and Savage Beard the Hero's Face
Did with becoming Martial Horror grace.
Some did the Wolf, and some the Tyger wear,
The Spotted Leopard some, and some the Bear.
Some a vast Stag, some a wild Bull adorns
With his Curl'd Forehead and his goring Horns.
Their Shields with dreadful Figures were embost,
And Belts of Hyde their Spacious Shoulders Crost.
The Warriours for Offensive Arms, did bear,
A massy Sword, and vast enormous Spear,
These were the Warlike Nations, these the Lords,
Heros, and mighty Chiefs who drew their Swords
In Clotar 's Cause, and made the last Effort,
Lutetia 's Power and Greatness to support.
BOOK III
Mean time the Prince of Darkness flew away,
To send fierce Discord to the Coasts of Day.
Far on th' Infernal Frontiers near the Shore,
On which th' insulting Waves of Chaos roar;
The utmost limits of Tartarean ground,
Which Hell's dark Realms from Night and Chaos bound;
There stands a high and craggy Cliff that braves
The neighb'ring Tempests and tumultuous Waves.
On this sharp Rock did the dire Fiend remain
Bound with a vast, unweildy, brazen chain.
Whose hideous yellings did the Deep affright,
And interrupt the Peace of lonesome Night.
A Thousand horrid Mouths the Monster show'd,
And each had twenty Tongues, all fierce and loud.
Her bloody Jaws did her lean Limbs devour,
And from her wounds she drank the flowing Gore.
With her sharp Claws she did her Entrails tear,
And from her head pull'd off her Snaky hair.
The Breath she Belch'd out with a fearful sound,
Made Storms and Whirlwinds in the Air around,
Her glaring, fierce, mis-plac'd, distorted Eyes,
Like adverse Meteors flaming in the Skys,
Their fiery Orbs against each other turn'd,
Tremendous in their bloody Circles burn'd.
So glows the Furnace which the flowing Mass
Of liquid Flints, transforms to Crystal Glass.
Round her foul wast a thousand Monsters rag'd,
A dreadful sight, in endless Strife engag'd.
Some Serpent like their spotted Volumns roll'd,
Some a Cerberean Offspring grinn'd and howl'd.
Like Lyons some, like Tygers some appear'd,
And part their hissing heads like Hydras reer'd.
Part Leopards seem'd, part were of Vulture Kind,
Part seem'd for pois'nous Basilisks design'd.
Some were an odious Harpy-footed Race,
Some Dragons Tails joyn'd to a Gorgon 's face.
Some blended Forms did compound Horrour show,
Such as from foul unnatural Mixtures flow,
When all the various Beasts of Lybia meet
At some refreshing Spring to cool their heat.
Where Lyons, Bears, and all the Savage Kind
A horrid Congress, are in Friendship joyn'd;
And when the Stream has quench'd their burning Thirst,
Form dire Conceptions with promiscuous Lust.
These all each other, and their Parent tear,
And rend her Bowels with Eternal War.
Raving and restless on the Rock she turn'd,
And with her Feet her massy Fetters spurn'd.
Her Parent Ignorance close by her stood,
And from her Breast squeez'd Juice like blackish blood,
Her hateful Offspring's most delicious food.
A formidable Figure black as night,
That does in Shades and Labyrinths delight,
Exceeding fierce, but destitute of sight.
A crowd of howling Hellhounds round her staid,
All hideous Forms that her Commands obey'd.
Contention, Zeal, Inexorable Rage,
And Strife that wretched Men in Arms engage.
Various Division, Malice, deadly Hate,
That rend a Kingdom, and dissolve a State.
With these a cursed Figure did attend
Ecclesiastic Wrath, a furious Fiend
That did the rest in Cruelty surpass,
Deform'd beyond the whole Infernal Race.
Swift as exploded Light'ning thro' the Sky,
To this wild Rock did Hell's proud Monarch fly.
The Fiends, as he alighted on the place,
Before him bow'd with awkard, horrid Grace.
Strait with his hands the brazen Chain he broke,
And then the raging Fury thus bespoke.
Thou by whose Aid, we founded first our State,
Who didst these gloomy Seats of Death create,
Of whose great Power all Nature stands afraid,
Hither I come to ask thy speedy Aid.
The British King th' invet'rate Foe of Hell,
By whose prevailing Arms the Saxon fell,
Musters in Gallic Fields his British Ranks,
And threatens Ruin to our Warlike Franks .
Go haste to Albion, and her State embroil,
With Heats and Strife and Tumult fill the Isle.
That Arthur from Lutetia may retire,
To quench distracted Albion 's raging Fire.
He said. The Fiend pleas'd with the high design
Reply'd, this grateful Enterprise be mine.
I first in Heav'n did Strife and Uproar move,
And vext with War the Realms of Peace and Love.
Cast down from thence to Eden 's Walks I came,
Where Adam 's Breast receiv'd my powerful Flame.
From Heav'n his yielding Heart I did divide
Tho' by the Bonds of Love and Int'rest ty'd
Against his God I arm'd the Rebel first,
And then against himself with Guilt and Lust.
His Veins inspir'd by me, distracted Cain
Did first with humane blood the ground distain.
Subjects by me dethrone their Rightful Lord,
Sons in their Parents Bowels sheath their Sword.
Empires whose deep foundations laid in blood,
Collected in their Strength unshaken stood,
Viewing their spacious Conquests far and wide,
And all their Foes Associate Arms defy'd,
By my Superiour force at last attackt,
Have faln with inward, strong Convulsions rackt.
Nations insulted by their Tyranny,
Have seen with Joy their Wrongs reveng'd by me.
The Roman vanquish'd Eagles must have fled,
And left Unconquer'd proud Judea 's head,
Had not my Fury and resistless Flames
Annoy'd the Walls, more than their Batt'ring Rams.
High Rome by all the trembling World ador'd,
Inspir'd by me, plung'd her Victorious Sword
Within her own full Breasts, and with her Darts
Wild with Distraction pierc'd her Childrens Hearts.
Her mighty Sons in Arms and War renown'd,
With the rich Spoils of Conquer'd Monarchs crown'd,
Drunk with my Fury, with each other's blood
Delug'd the Plains, and swell'd sad Tyber 's Flood.
Ev'n Christians whom their Founder had enjoyn'd,
To live in Bonds of Peace and Love combin'd;
Whence both their Strength and Beauty should arise,
And on them draw the World's admiring Eyes,
Inspir'd by me against each other rag'd,
For Empire strove, and in fierce War engag'd.
I taught them to despise the gentle Dove,
And into Savage Fury chang'd their Love.
They soon discern'd by Lights deriv'd from me,
That Kindness, Meekness, low Humility
Those Gospel Vertues that to Peace inclin'd,
Enfeebled and debased a Noble Mind.
The Streets which sounded with Seraphic Lays,
With Songs of Heav'nly Love and Sacred Praise,
Now with the Din of Arms and Trumpets sound,
And warlike noise shake all the Heav'ns around.
Their Mitred Captains spring into the Field,
Lay down the Crosier, and the Fauchion weild.
Th' outrageous Preachers of a Law of Peace,
From Strife and fierce Contention never cease.
The Sacred Prelates now for Arms declare,
Unfold their Gowns, and shake out horrid War.
The furious Shepherds o'er the Mountains scour,
Prevent the Wolves, and their own Flocks devour.
Their Love extinguish'd by my stronger flame,
Their Church a bloody Theater became,
Where with a Zeal that gives all Hell delight,
Ecclesiastic Gladiators Fight:
In bloody Prizes with prodigious rage,
The eager Champions of the Church engage.
That Church has found mine, a more fatal Fire
Then that wherein her Martyrs did expire.
The beauteous Charms and Graces that arose
From perfect Health which Unity bestows,
Soon wither'd and decay'd, and in their place
A sickly Hue deform'd her meagre face.
My single hand has nobler Conquests won
O'er the Vile Sect, than all your Arms have done.
In vain you brought your Scythians from the North,
In vain you led your Roman Armys forth.
Oppos'd by these the Christians greater grew,
And all their Suff'rings did their Strength renew.
Confed'rate Earth and Hell could never move
This Sect supported by their mutual Love.
I broke the strong Enchantment, and infus'd
Those heats which all the binding Cement loos'd.
The Bond dissolv'd which did the frame connect,
Into a thousand parts was rent the shatter'd Sect.
Each Fragment strait aspir'd to soveraign rule,
And every seperate Part would be the whole.
They did each other black Apostates deem,
But all themselves the Orthodox esteem.
With all th' abstracted Points the Schools could find,
And Notions by th' acutest Wit refin'd
I entertain'd and fand the glowing flame,
Till it attain'd a force too great to tame.
Sometimes the Zealots shed each others blood,
For Points by neither Party understood.
Fruitfull in Creeds and Councils Asia 's soil
Is fam'd for fierce Ecclesiastic toil.
Anti- Nestorian at Nestorian rag'd,
And Arrian War with Anti- Arrian wag'd.
Their Synods oft adjourn'd into the Field,
And those were Hereticks, who first did yield.
All for the Conq'ring Faith did soon declare,
And Creeds were vary'd by the chance of War.
In Orthodoxal Pride by turns they reign'd,
As they by turns the Battle lost or gain'd.
These furious Zealots thus the World embroil'd,
And with unheard of Rage each other spoil'd.
So soon the Laws of Peace they did decline,
Despis'd their Master's Badge, and put on mine.
An idle Notion and an empty Word
Have dy'd with Christian Blood the reeking Sword.
Thus has the ruin'd World my Power confest,
And so much Zeal have I for Hell exprest:
Nor will I future Services decline,
But undertake the Province you enjoyn.
Strait to Britannia will I make my way,
She's Conscious of my Power, and must obey.
She said. And strait she mounted in the Air,
And all behind her flew her Snaky Hair.
Thro' the dark Realms she swiftly wing'd her way,
And quickly reach'd the Silver Coasts of Day.
To Morogan 's high Seat she took her flight,
Where she arriv'd when blended Shades and Light,
A brown Confusion made of Day and Night.
When Birds obscene fly from their dark abodes,
And prowling Wolves forsake the shady Woods.
The Lyon now who in his Den by Day
His lazy Limbs extended slumb'ring lay,
Yawning and stretching from his Covert comes,
Roars o'er the Hills, and thro' the Forest roams.
His lofty Palace near Augusta stood,
On the sweet Banks of Isis famous Flood,
Whither the Peer sowr with his Discontent
Came, in Augusta Faction to foment.
Along the Shore his flowry Gardens lay,
Which did with smiling looks the Stream survey.
Here walk'd proud Morogan with Cares opprest,
Holding his Arms across his anxious Breast.
When hither with her Crew the Fury came,
Whose pois'nous Breath, and the malignant flame
That thro' the Air her glaring Eye-balls cast,
All the delicious Gardens Glory blast.
The verdant Walks their charming Aspect lose,
And shriveld Fruit drop from the wither'd Boughs.
Flowers in their Virgin Blushes smother'd die,
And round the Trees their scatter'd Beautys lie.
Infection taints the Air, sick Nature fades,
And suddain Autumn all the place invades.
So when the Fields their flowry pomp display,
Sooth' d by the Spring's sweet Breath and chearing ray,
If Boreas then designing envious War,
Musters his swift-wing'd Legions in the Air,
And then for sure Destruction marches forth,
With the Cold Forces of the Snowy North.
The opening Buds and sprouting Herbs, and all
The tender First-Born of the Spring must fall.
The blighted Trees their blooming Honours shed,
And on their blasted Hopes the mournful Gard'ners tread.
The Fury strait compress'd the ambient Air
Moulded a shape, and did a Dress prepare
So just, that thus disguis'd the crafty Fiend,
Proud Algal seem'd the Peer's departed Friend.
A Mitre did his hoary Temples crown,
Pride in his Eyes, and on his Brow a frown.
Pondrous with Gold a Scarlet Cope made fast
With Silver Clasps, his Reverend Shoulder grac'd.
A low hung Robe as white as Snow he wore,
And in his hand a Golden Crosier bore.
She did a haughty Air and Mien assume,
Such as we see in the proud Sons of Rome .
Gravely she then advanc'd, and coming near
She stood, and thus bespoke the thoughtful Peer.
Let not my coming Morogan affright,
The Seats of Bliss and of Immortal Light.
Where ravish'd Minds their Golden hours employ
In drinking in unutterable joy,
By antient Friendship mov'd I now forsake
To give that Counsel Morogan should take.
While all your Inj'rys tamely you sustain,
You tempt th' Oppressor to encrease your pain.
Wrongs unreveng'd new suff'rings will invite,
And not asserting it, you yield your Right.
Prince Arthur and for ever may be curst
That impious Tongue, which call'd him Monarch first
The Britons and their Merit disregards,
And on the Neustrian only heaps Rewards.
These know his Secrets, and enjoy his Smiles,
Pamper'd with Ease, and rich with Albion 's spoils.
The slighted Briton at a distance stands,
Not to receive his Favours, but Commands.
You that advanc'd him to th' Imperial Throne,
And for his safety did expose your own,
Who did till now his tott'ring Crown Support,
For this are banish'd from th' ungrateful Court.
Commands and Honours are confer'd on those
Who chiefly did his Arms, and yours oppose.
The Profits these enjoy, for which you fought,
And reap the Fields, which by your Blood were bought.
You all are left to tell of Camps and Wars,
To show your Wounds, and unrewarded Scars.
In vain your Merit in the Scale you lay,
Against your Neighbours Gold can Merit weigh?
This Court the Man that's useful now rewards,
And future Service, not the past regards
This Prince those Subjects only will prefer,
Who always please, or necessary are.
When Arthur first the Saxon did invade,
What Forces did you raise to bring him Aid?
What mighty Deeds were at Gallena done,
What Trophys by your Conqu'ring Sword were won?
What Strength, what Godlike Courage did you show,
Passing like Thunder thro' the broken Foe?
How much that glorious Day was due to you,
You beat the Foe, whom Arthur did pursue?
For this he envy'd your Heroic Fame,
And griev'd that yours did Rival Arthur 's Name.
For this, from your Commands you are displac'd,
Strip'd of your Honours, and at Court disgrac'd.
Excess of Worth some as a Crime regard,
And hate the Vertue, which they can't reward.
The Merit which to these does most commend,
Is on their favour wholly to depend.
Your Vertues make you to the People dear,
And whom the People Love, ill Princes fear.
You once were Valu'd, when besmear'd with blood
You o'er the slaughter'd Saxons Conquering rode.
But now the Statesman does your hopes defeat,
And reaps the fruits of all your Blood and Sweat.
Your Merit ceases now the Foe's o'ercome,
The brave abroad fight for the Wise at home.
You are but Camp Camelions fed with Air,
Thin fame is all the bravest Hero's share.
Yet the good Monarch would no longer give
This meagre Sustenance on which you live.
His Ensigns he has wafted o'er the Main
New Laurels in the Gallic Fields to gain.
But you are left neglected here behind,
Such Scorn must deeply wound a generous Mind.
Solmar enjoys the Honour which to you
Is for your Courage and Experience due.
Your noble Soul this treatment does resent,
Nor do you spare to give your Passion vent.
But what will words do? they may prove a Crime
Dangerous indeed to you, but not to him.
Resentments till by sweet Revenge reveal'd,
Deep in your Breast should wisely be conceal'd.
Repeated threat'nings only wound the Air,
The Sword alone your Inj'rys can repair.
In vain your empty Words your Passion show,
He should not hear it, till he feel it too.
Heav'n now has plac'd Revenge within your power,
Had you a Heart to use the happy Hour.
While Arthur 's absent from the British Isle
To seek new Triumphs in a Forreign Soil,
Some Pious Prelates are enrag'd to see
Their Prince protect audacious Heresy.
These in their Zeal to their Restorer cool,
Why should they serve a Prince they cannot Rule?
Adal and many Noble Leaders more
Who call'd their Hero from the Neustrian Shore,
Who from the Cliffs the Ocean oft survey'd,
And with Impatience dy'd to be delay'd;
Who, when he came, unheard of Joy exprest,
And their Deliverer, as they call'd him, blest;
Thousands of these grown Wiser wish to be
From their Deliv'rance, and Deliverer free.
Now the warm Passion has its Vigor spent,
They Cool to Sense, and their rash Choice repent.
Inlighten'd they, their fatal error own,
And crush'd beneath too much Redemption groan.
Power and Promotion were the dazling Prize,
The bright Illusion that engag'd their Eyes,
Which not obtain'd the strong enchantment's broke,
And now their Reason's free, they find the Yoke,
The heavy Yoke is not remov'd, the Name
Is only chang'd, the Thing is still the same.
Ill blood encreases thro' the murm'ring State,
And unpromoted Friendship turns to Hate.
Pernicious Counsellors your Prince misguide;
And from the People's Int'rest his divide.
These Sychophants address with Courtly Skill
Not to his Wants their Counsel, but his Will.
They hide ungrateful Truth and speak no more
Than what they knew would please their Prince, before.
Bright Schemes of Power before him they display,
And the sweet Charms of Independent Sway,
They tell him Kings then only great appear,
When Arm'd with Force they move their Subjects fear.
Princes whose Will pretended Law restrains,
Are only Royal Slaves, and rule in Chains.
That he's a King who triumphs free from Law,
Like the fierce Monarchs which the Desart awe.
Which uncontroul'd range the wild Mountains o'er,
And shake the Forest with their dreadful roar.
Whose haughty Nod the trembling Herds obey,
And are not Subjects only, but their Prey.
To such a Power they teach him to aspire,
And such a savage Empire to admire
More than Elysian Groves, and Spicy Woods,
And flowry Gardens stretcht along the Floods,
Ev'n more than Eden 's Paradise, if there
Does one high Tree above his reach appear,
On which does hang the People's Golden Meat
Which Right protects, and Law forbids to Eat.
To ravish beauteous Liberty they first
Excite their Monarch, then assist his Lust.
By all her Crys unmov'd, and all her Charms
They bring her struggling to th' Oppressor's Arms.
These are the Tyrant's Pioneers that lay
All the high Fences flat, and clear the way
For his destructive Arms to fill with Spoil,
And fearful Ruin all their native Soil.
These in the Saxon Int'rest still abide,
And with design the lab'ring State misguide,
If Arms you take, no doubt but these will joyn,
And with their Squadrons aid the just design.
Others by favour rais'd to high Command,
Weak and unskilful in the Steerage stand,
To guide the Vessel, till 'tis almost lost
Midst frequent Rocks, and on a shoaly Coast.
Indulgent Heav'n of Miracles profuse
Religious admiration to produce,
Protecting Care has of the Britons shown,
Against their En'mys Wisdom, and their own.
But will you still on Miracles rely?
You must the means to heal the state apply,
The Sword's a sharp, but sov'raign Remedy.
She said. And from her odious head she tore
A chosen Viper swoln with pois'nous Gore,
She prest and grip'd him hard, and slash'd him thrice
Against the ground, to make his fury rise.
Then with a nimble hand the twining Beast
She secretly directed to his Breast.
Which pass'd as swiftly as a Parthian Dart,
Or pointed flame of Light'ning to his Heart.
Where while she fixt her Teeth, into the Wound
She prest out all th' envenom'd Juices found
In yellow Cells, wherewith her Jaws abound.
The secret Plague with which his heart was stung
Close to his Life in chill Embraces Clung.
A shiv'ring horror thro' his Vitals struck,
And every Limb with strong Convulsions shook.
The cold to heat no less excessive turn'd,
And with a suddain Fire the Briton burn'd.
All Ætna 's Caves strove in his lab'ring Soul,
And Stygian Tempests in his veins did rowl.
His panting Heart threw out a boiling tide,
And circulating flames their winding Channels fry'd.
Distracting fury all the Man possest,
And Agonys of rage o'erwhelm'd his Breast.
Taking long strides sometimes he Slowly stalk'd,
And then Distracted rather ran, than Walk'd.
Oft stopping on a suddain would he stand
Striking his Breast, and stamping on the Sand.
Sometimes his Eyes were fixt upon the Ground,
Then starting up he wildly star'd around.
He bit his Lips, and with his Hands did tear
From his distemper'd Head his curling Hair.
Death! Heav'ns! 'tis so. Ungrateful Man. Abus'd.
Were broken Forms of Speech his Passion us'd.
Then on his mighty Sword he laid his Hand,
And mutt'ring to himself did threatning stand.
So when a Bull nodding his brindled Head,
And softly bellowing traverses the Mead,
While the warm Sun darts his indulgent Beams,
And most refines the Earth's exhaling Steams;
If then he finds th' invading Hornet cling,
Close to his Flank, and feels the poison'd Sting,
The wounded Beast enrag'd, and roaring out
Whisks round his Tail, and flings, and flys about:
Mad with th' adhering Plague's tormenting Pain,
He Scares the Herds, and raving scowrs the Plain.
Then her Disguise and Shape of Air dissolv'd
Which all her Monsters, and dire Limbs involv'd,
Strait did the Fiend her Stygian Wings display,
And to Miraldo 's Palace flew away.
He, tho a Prelate was a Male-content,
Impetuous, hot, revengeful, turbulent.
False to his Vows, to Broils and Strife inclin'd,
A Mitred Christian with a Pagan Mind.
The Fury pois'd with her unerring Art
Her flaming Torch, and aim'd it at his Heart.
Across the Air the Firebrand swiftly flew,
And lightly pass'd his purple Garments thro'.
His Breast was strait on Fire, thro' every Vein
The hot Contagion did resistless reign.
The haughty Prelate strait outragious grew,
And wild and raving round the Palace flew.
His swelling Eyes did from their Orbit start,
And Streaks of Fire across th' Apartment dart.
He gnash'd his angry Teeth, his heaving Breast
And trembling Joynts the Fiend within confest.
So when surrounding Huntsmen cast a Shower
Of hissing Spears against some mighty Boar.
The grisly Beast provok'd with every Wound,
Rages, and casts his threatning Looks around.
High on his Back his furious Bristles rise,
And Lightning flashes from his raging Eyes.
He tosses Clouds of Foam amidst the Air,
And brandishing his Fangs invites the War.
Part of his over boyling Fury spent,
The Prelate spoke to give his Passion vent.
Do's Arthur thus my service past requite,
Despise my Power, and thus my Int'rest slight?
Is he so firm, so fixt upon his Throne,
That we Supporters once are useless grown,
Remov'd as Scaffolds now the Building's done?
My Power and Strength th' ungrateful King shall know
And find a Churchman is no vulgar Foe.
That the kind Miter must support the Crown,
That Arms are impotent without the Gown.
He shall a Churchman's Strength superiour find;
He rules the Body only, we the Mind.
Against their King my Sons will me obey,
My Power's Divine, and do's the Conscience sway.
The People of their Error I'll convince,
And make it Treason to obey their Prince.
Distracted thus he pass'd the wearing Night,
Watching with eager Eyes the springing Light.
And when the Morn did her grey Wings display,
From whence she gently shook the tender Day.
Strait Messengers he thro' Augusta sends
To call with Speed his most confiding Friends,
Who chiefly by his Eloquence was sway'd,
And his Advice as Oracles obey'd.
Of these deep Hate to Arthur some declar'd,
And for Rebellion had been long prepar'd.
These in the Church a Separation made
Because King Arthur she as Head obey'd.
Some whom Promotion only did convert
To Arthur 's Cause, still lov'd his Foes at Heart.
By solemn Vow they did the Monarch own,
But labour'd hard to undermine his Throne.
While Albion 's famous Church Obedience paid
And for the King her great Defender pray'd,
These few, for some amongst the best are bad,
Ev'n Christ among his twelve one Traitor had,
As open Schismaticks or secret Foes,
Did both the Pious Church and Pious King oppose.
'Tis true in Arthur 's most auspicious Days,
The Peaceful Priesthood gain'd Immortal Praise:
Then noble Lights did in the Church appear,
And with their Orbs adorn'd her sacred Sphear.
Whose Pious Lives and Labours made her shine
With Heav'nly Graces, and with Truth Divine,
Whose learned Fame advanc'd her to the Skys,
And on her drew the World's admiring Eyes:
Then Tylon, Olbar, Arman, Orocon
Britannia 's glorious Luminarys shone.
Then flourish'd Caledon great Tylon 's Friend
Who to the Field King Arthur did attend.
Then flourish'd learned Aula void of Pride,
And Moran did his Church with Honour guide.
Then Patracan the Church's Fame increast,
And charming, sweet-tongued Fleta Albion blest.
These sacred Priests whom Albion most rever'd,
And thousands more to Arthur 's Cause adher'd.
Yet some ev'n then were found, who did create
Disturbance in the Church, as well as State.
Men of aspiring Thoughts and restless Mind,
Who Grandeur and Terrestrial Pomp design'd.
Scepters Immortal, and high Thrones of Bliss
In the next World they mock'd, they'll reign in this.
Celestial Crowns did doubtful things appear,
These would be Mitred Kings, and triumph here.
Religion which their Heav'nly Founder taught,
To these seem'd Plain and Naked to a fault.
These to encrease her Charms did on her throw
Their gawdy Pomp, and Ceremonial Show.
Which soon her native Majesty did shrowd,
Her Form divine and Heav'nly Lustre cloud.
She groan'd beneath her Robe's unweildy Weight,
Eclips'd with Splendor, and debas'd with State.
Her Godlike Looks at first her Vot'rys saw
With Admiration, Love and sacred Awe.
These made her lovely Shape to be despis'd
Deform'd with Paint, with Ornament disguis'd.
Botran to every restless Spirit dear
Did at Miraldo 's Palace first appear.
Inexorable Hatred, Pride unmixt
Desp'rate Revenge, and Malice deeply fixt,
With Wrath from every Stain of Love refin'd
Reign'd uncontroul'd in his envenom'd Mind.
The savage Spoilers of the Lybian wild
Compar'd with this fierce Man, are tame and mild.
His Parents got him in a sullen Mood,
Hell's Furys round th' unshap'd Conception stood,
And all their Poisons mixt in one green Flood:
Then the dire Medly from the flowing Bowl
They pour'd into his Veins, and thence into his Soul.
Each with his Torch the heaving Mass inspir'd,
And with their keenest Flames the Embryo fir'd.
Th' unhappy Parents Womb began to swell,
And quicken'd with the Joy and Hopes of Hell.
With mighty Pangs she brought the Monster forth,
And dy'd to give her odious Offspring Birth.
Her wretched Bowels with Convulsions rent
Th' exploded Thunderbolt midst Mortals sent.
Teeth from his Birth did arm his cruel Jaws,
And Nails his Hands, sharp as a Tyger's Claws,
Fierce as young Beasts of Prey he us'd to try
Upon his Nurse his Infant Cruelty.
Displeas'd with Milk he bit her swelling Breast,
And suck'd her Blood a more delicious Feast.
Young Birds and Beasts he strangled with his Hand,
And o'er their Torments would insulting stand.
Hell's greatest Masters all their Skill combin'd
To form and cultivate so fierce a Mind,
Till their great Work was to Perfection brought,
A finish'd Monster form'd without a Fault.
No Flaw of Goodness, no deforming Vein
Or Streak of Vertue did their Offspring stain.
Then Orban, Sobez , and Elbuna came
Whose Envy, Malice and ambitious Aim
With Botran 's and Miraldo 's were the same.
Tho' all a cruel Nature had exprest,
Botran in Rage and Spite surpass'd the rest.
Th' Assembly fill'd, Miraldo Silence broke
And in these Words his Reverend Friends bespoke.
Prelates you see how Arthur do's employ
His Art and Power our Altars to destroy.
This Prince against us has at last exprest
The Rancor long conceal'd within his Breast.
From us our due Protection he withdraws,
And breaks the Fences of our ancient Laws.
What dreadful Tempests o'er our Heads appear,
What Desolation may we justly fear,
Now all th' Entrenchments, and the sacred Mound
Now the high Pale is levell'd with the Ground,
Which Christ's Celestial Vine did once surround?
Wild Boars and Foxes will destroy her Fruit,
Tear up the Glebe, and gnaw her tender Root.
Now our Sectarian Foes in numerous Swarms
Will lay our Churches wast with furious Arms.
A Rout of raging Monsters will invade
The Heav'nly Vin'yard, now the Breach is made,
And all th' Inclosure is so open laid.
How can our Dignity be now upheld,
Since our coercive Laws are all repeal'd?
The Cement gone that held the Structure, all
The mould'ring Fabrick must decay and fall.
Stript of its Power who will our Gown revere,
Who will a Church unarm'd and naked fear?
Our Empire we no further shall extend,
Nor what we now possess, shall long defend.
We never shall unsheath this Monarch's Sword,
His Arms no Triumphs will to us afford.
He'll ne'er enrich us with Sectarian Spoil,
But when we push him forward will recoyl.
If impious Sects the sacred Mitre dare,
In vain we bid him undertake the War.
He unconcern'd our threat'ning Danger sees,
Nor will revenge our Wrongs and Injurys.
He to the Sects gives universal Ease,
And with our Foes has made a separate Peace:
Prelates, you see what lowring Clouds appear,
Which clearly show our certain Ruin near.
If still our Foes must this Indulgence boast,
The Church is faln, and all her Sons are lost.
Speak Prelates, what Expedient can we find
Whereby th' impending Storm may be declin'd.
Say, how this growing Mischief we shall stop,
And how our sinking Empire underprop.
Botran elated with Infernal Pride,
And urg'd with bitter Rancor thus reply'd.
Miraldo, Reverend Lords, do's truly state
Th' important Subject of this great Debate.
'Tis plain Sectarian Principles obtain,
And o'er the poison'd Court and Nation Reign.
The Sects are numerous, proud and haughty grown,
Find free Admission to the Prince's Throne.
Warm'd by the kind Indulgence of the Court,
Towring on high the busy Insects sport.
No more they dread the naked Church's Power,
But in their Monarch's Favour seem secure.
No Law restrains them, all our Hands are ty'd
And all Redress is to our Prayers deny'd,
And those they fear'd before, they now deride,
Crosiers their Hands, their Heads rich Mitres grace,
Who were the Offspring of Sectarian Race.
Sectarians o'er the Orthodox preside,
Who must the Church by Court-Direction guide.
They call them Men of Temper, Gentle, Meek,
They Peace pretend, and Moderation seek.
The Church by Condescention these betray,
And by reforming purge her Strength away.
How shall we Health to her pale Cheeks restore,
And to her Eyes the Beams they had before?
What Sov'raign Drug, what potent Remedy
Can we to save a sinking Church apply?
Since all our Wrongs and Fears from Arthur spring,
They're all remov'd, if he was not our King.
We guide their Conscience, and can soon provoke
Our zealous Friends to break th' Oppressor's Yoke.
Let us aloud the Church's Fears declare,
And for her sake engage her Sons in War.
Better a thousand Kings should quit their Throne,
Than such a Church as this should be undone.
Thus these two Prelates did the rest inflame,
And dar'd usurp the Church's sacred Name,
Tho she incens'd, the Faction did disclaim.
Mean time bold Morogan by Hell inspir'd,
Came to Miraldo and access desir'd.
The Prelate introduc'd him to the rest,
Who at his coming wondrous Joy exprest.
Then did Miraldo to the Peer relate
At large th' important Matter in debate:
And what the fittest means to them appear'd
T' avert the Church's Ruin which they fear'd.
Entring the Room he straightway silence broke,
And thus the Reverend Prelates he bespoke.
The gath'ring Tempest from Sectarian Foes
Impending o'er the Church still blacker grows.
Our Enemys, th' Inclosure open laid,
With their collected Force the Church invade:
Fathers who ne'er were Sons they now create,
To rule the Sacred Order which they hate.
Sectarian Swarms indulg'd o'erspread the Isle,
Devour the Church, and all the Land defile.
Nor do I only mourn the Churches Fate,
I dread th' approaching Ruin of the State.
Bleeding Britannia from her open Veins
Pours out a Crimson Deluge on the Plains.
Her Beauty faded, and her Vigor spent,
She feels her self grown Faint and Impotent.
What Foreign Soil hears not her dying Moans,
Bath'd with our Blood, and horrid with our Bones.
Outlandish Graves our bravest Youth entomb,
Or else they are swallow'd in the Ocean's Womb.
Her Wealth profusely spent, her Treasures gone,
Lost Albion is exhausted; spoil'd, undone.
No bounds are set to our increasing Woes,
Devour'd by Foreign Friends, and Foreign Foes.
O'erwhelm'd with Sorrow, Anguish and Despair,
With her sad Moans she wounds the ambient Air,
And to her Sons pours out this mournful prayer.
Ease me, my Sons, of my tormenting Pain,
Remove my Yoke, and break my pondrous Chain.
Will not my Wounds my Son's Compassion move?
Where is their ancient Courage, where their Love?
Arthur, restore my Valiant Legions lost
On Scandinavia 's, and the Cimbrian Coast.
Restore my Noble Youth for my defence,
Protect not Forreign Realms at my expence.
My wasted Riches and my Ships restore,
Enrich not Neustria 's Towns to make mine poor.
Relieve my Wants restore my Ease and Health,
And spread not neighb'ring Shores with British Wealth
Let not proud Rhenus and the Gallic Sein
Exhaust my Thames, and all her Treasures drain.
Call home my Armys who with fruitless toyl,
Pursue Ambitious Aims in Forreign Soil.
Protect my Commerce, and my Fleets encrease,
Make me again the Empress of the Seas.
Oh! Let th' insulting Corsairs be supprest,
Who in distructive Swarms my Coasts infest.
Chase this dire plague from my unguarded Shore,
Restore my Fleets, and they will Peace restore.
Can we her Sons see with relentless Eyes
Britannia 's tears, and haer unmov'd, her crys?
Must not these Woes which threaten Church and State
Wound all our Souls and anxious care create?
How shall our Arts the lowring Storm dispel?
What lofty Works can this strong Tide repel?
Britannia must not sink, nor can we see
The Church o'er-run with monstrous Heresy.
We must our Altars with our Arms protect,
And guard our State which Arthur dos neglect.
Our Desolation from Destructive War
Moves not his Pity, nor employs his care;
While Dreams of Foreign Triumphs fill his Brain,
Domestic Evils unresisted reign.
If we Britannia love, we must apply
With speed some sharp and Soveraign Remedy.
By Camps and Battles Albion 's strength decays,
The slow Disease upon her Vitals preys.
This Flux of Blood exhausts her flabby Veins,
And from the Springs of Life their Vigor drains.
Her noblest and her purest Spirits gone,
A windy Vapour swells her Veins alone.
Campaigns protracted and th' insatiate Womb
Of everlasting War her Wealth entomb.
We must debate how best her Wealth to save,
Princes impoverish first, and then enslave.
Adal and Barden to the Britons dear,
Who love their Country, and her ruin fear,
Organ and Subal who have still bewail'd
Their Country's fate, since Arthur first prevail'd,
These all by me engag'd, prepare to Arm,
You Church-men must assist and spread th' alarm.
No doubt some great Sectarians too will joyn,
Who from their Zeal to Arthur 's Cause decline,
Who on their unrewarded Arms reflect,
Proud of their Worth, impatient of Neglect.
These with loud murm'rings all Britania fill,
Expose their Prince and boldly thwart his will.
These tho' they hate us, as we justly them,
Joyn with us Arthur 's Conduct to condemn.
These raise Distrust, Suspition, Jealousy,
Which for Protection to Resistance fly.
These Passions soon in open Arms appear,
To guard against the Dangers, which they fear.
Thus far we'll call the Vile Sectarian Friend,
And use his Service to promote our End,
The Sects shall Aid, King Arthur to dethrone,
Then fall themselves, their chief Supporter gone.
He said, the Faction with a great Applause
Embrac'd the forward Champion of their Cause.
In solemn Vows th' ungrateful Rebels joyn
To execute with speed their black Design.
He whom with Prayers and Tears they did invite,
To ease their Suff'rings and assert their Right.
Who touch'd with God-like Pity, soon releast
These wretched Slaves by Pagan Foes opprest,
By whose blest Arms Deliv'rance did appear
Strange and amazing, as their Dangers were;
He's by ungrateful Murmurers defam'd,
By those his Power protects, Oppressor nam'd.
For now the dreadful Storm is over blown,
And all the hideous shapes of Terror gone,
Now Barb'rous Gods and Barb'rous Kings no more
Oppress despairing Albion as before,
These Men no more their great Restorer own,
But would the Prince that sav'd their Church dethrone.
So when good Moses set his Hebrews free
From the strong Jaws of Savage Tyranny,
Working a thousand Miracles to raise
Their Admiration, and excite their Praise;
They, rescu'd from the proud Oppressor's Hand,
And plac'd in Prospect of the promis'd Land,
Forgot the Wonders in their Favour shown,
Wonders by their Ingratitude outdone.
They soon their great Deliv'rer did despise,
And mock the Freedom, which with earnest Crys
And endless Groans they importun'd the Skys.
So long with Egypt 's Leeks and Onions fed
They soon began to loath their Heav'nly Bread,
They would again be back to Egypt led.
They to their Chains and Brick-kilns would return,
And sore the loss of Egypt 's Bondage mourn.
Of their Deliv'rance so did these repent,
And so revile the glorious Instrument.
They did their great Restorer dare condemn,
And all the Wonders which he wrought blaspheme.
Again the Slaves require their scourging Rods,
Their Saxon Masters, and their Pagan Gods.
Now open War the Rebels did proclaim,
And with their Slanders wounded Arthur 's Fame.
A thousand Falshoods did the Traitors vent,
T' embroil the Realm and Tumults to foment.
Their crafty Arts wrought up the People's Rage,
And in Rebellion did weak Minds engage.
As when high Winds on the vast Ocean blow;
The swelling Surges strait tumultuous grow:
Mad with their Rage they beat with fearful Strokes
Their batt'ring Heads against th' opposing Rocks.
On some while rushing forward, some recoil,
And with wild Uproar all the Deep embroil.
Along the Coasts th' outragious Billows roar,
Or dash themselves to sleet upon the Shore.
Rebellion, Fury, Insurrection reign
O'er the vext Empire of the spacious Main.
So did these Agitators loud Alarms
Embroil Britannia with seditious Arms.
The common Clamour was, Religion's gone,
The Church is ruin'd, and the State undone.
Atheists bewail the Church's wretched Fate,
And Beggars fear the Ruin of the State.
The Vicious and Prophane their Armour take,
Fond of Rebellion for Religion's sake.
Those who derided all her sacred Laws
Appear, as Champions of the Church's Cause.
Those who on Tyrants lov'd to fawn, and still
Enslav'd thtir Country to their boundless Will.
Who did her ancient Laws and Rights betray,
Now most complain of arbitrary Sway.
Mean time fell out a luckless Incident,
Which did Sedition's spreading Flame foment,
And favour'd much the Traytors black Intent.
Augusta 's Fleet equipt with mighty Cost,
Each Year the Ocean pass'd to Asia 's Coast.
As oft return'd with Triumph from abroad
In Albion 's Ports her Treasures to unload.
Hence Albion Empress of the Seas possest
All the Delights and Riches of the East.
Then in her Towns did wondring Strangers see
Arabian Wealth, and Tyrian Luxury.
The Pious King whose Vigilance and Care
Attended all Concerns of Peace and War,
Whose Breast felt only this ambitious Aim
To raise Britannia 's Glory, Wealth, and Fame,
Sends out a Warlike Squadron to protect
This Navy which Augusta did expect.
The Squadron well equipt advanc'd to meet
And guard from Pyrates Rage the Asian Fleet.
With prosp'rous Gales they pass'd the narrow Tyde
That do's Iberia from the Moor divide.
But now the gath'ring Clouds began to rise,
And lab'ring Winds convey'd them up the Skys.
A dreadful Storm ensued, Fire, Hail and Rain
Beat with an unknown Fury on the Main.
Such Thunderclaps, such Winds, such Waves did roar
As never tremb'ling Saylors heard before.
Experienc'd Captains gray in Danger grown
Stood now amaz'd and did their Terror own.
In vain to stop their leeking Ships they try'd,
In vain the Pump, in vain the Rudder ply'd,
In vain they cut their Masts, or furl'd their Sails,
The Sea's resistless, and the Storm prevails.
Some Vessels with inevitable Shocks
Were dash'd to pieces on the craggy Rocks.
Some overset, some founder'd, some the Sand
Suck'd in, and some were lost upon the Strand.
Britannia 's scatter'd Wreck and Warlike Stores
With endless Spoils o'erspread Iberia 's Shores.
The Warlike Squadron lost, that should secure
Britannia 's Asian Fleet from hostile Power,
When thrice Aurora 's bright disshevel'd Hair
Had chas'd the Shades from all th' inlighten'd Air,
In with the Foe the wealthy Navy fell,
And strove in vain their Fury to repel.
For Lusitania won with Gallic Gold,
Their Corsair's Service had to Clotar sold.
Clotar did these and many more employ
The British Coasts and Commerce to annoy.
These prosp'rous Robbers seize the noble Prey,
And to their Ports Britannia 's Spoils convey.
When these ill Tydings to Augusta came,
The Rebels thro' the Streets the Loss proclaim,
And on the pious King reflect the Blame.
Their Mouths a thousand black Invectives vent,
And with infernal Malice represent
Th' indulgent King as one who would betray
Their Naval Strength, and wish'd their Trade's Decay.
Thus the seditious Flame they did foment,
And into Rage blew up the Discontent.
As when the Sun to th' Artick Line returns,
And with a scorching Ray the Harvest burns,
Emptys the Rivers, and the Marshes drys,
Chaps the hard Plain, and russet Meadow frys,
If in some Town a Fire breaks out by chance,
Th' impetuous Flames with lawless Power advance:
On ruddy Wings the bright Destruction flys,
Follow'd with Ruin, and amazing Crys.
The flaky Plague spreads swiftly with the Wind,
And ghastly Desolation Howls behind.
So soon Sedition reer'd her hissing Head,
So swiftly did her raging Poison spread.
Thus did the Fury Albion 's State embroil,
And with Distraction fill th' unquiet Isle.
So far her Undertaking did succeed;
All Hell had joy, and triumph'd in the Deed.
That done, the Fiend left the sweet Realms of Light,
And sinking, plung'd her self in Stygian Night.
BOOK IV
Mean time Gravellan an Illustrious Peer,
Who to his Monarch's Int'rest did adhere,
For Eloquence, for Wit and Courage fam'd,
Was by the Faithful Lords in Council nam'd
The Messenger, who should on Arthur wait,
To represent Britannia 's troubled State.
Forthwith the noble Person undertook
The task enjoin'd, and Albion 's Coast forsook.
With outspread Wings his Vessel crost the Main,
And the Neustrasian Shore did quickly gain:
Thence to the Camp impatient of delay
He hasten'd, where the Valiant Britons lay.
Arriving there, thro' the thick Files he went
With eager Steps to Pious Arthur 's Tent.
Where he in secret with his Monarch spoke,
And to him thus th' unwelcom Message broke.
Since Jason was dispatch'd to let you know
Your heavy loss, and sad Britannia 's Woe;
When Ethelina did her Throne remove,
And chang'd Terrestrial Cares for Joys above:
A Race of Men who are enrag'd to see
Vertue asserted, and Britannia free.
Who to their Country wish the greatest Harms,
And envy you the Glory of your Arms:
Against your Throne and Albion 's Peace conspire
And with Seditious Heats the Britons fire.
With false Reports and Popular Address,
They spread th' Infection with too great Success.
With crafty Language, and ensnaring Arts,
Your Subjects they deceive, and gain their Hearts.
Some of th' Invidious Malecontents declare
Against the Burden of a Foreign War.
Some aggravate the Losses we sustain
By Corsairs, Rocks and Tempests on the Main.
These would th' Intendants of the Sea displace
As an unskilul, weak, and heedless Race.
They cry high Offices are Sold and Bought,
And Trusts for Men, not Men for Trusts are sought.
Some cry, the Freedom all the Sects enjoy,
The Churche's strong Foundations will destroy.
While by the Laws you 're to Sectarians kind,
Her Pillars shake, her Walls are undermin'd.
Some would your chiefest Ministers remove
Who serve you best, and most their Country love.
Into the Field they run in numerous Swarms,
Pretended Inj'rys to redress with Arms.
Rival with Rival, Foe with Foe combine,
Against their Prince divided Int'rests joyn.
Some are enrag'd to see their Foes enjoy
The Mannors, Honours, and the high employ,
Or noble Pension which themselves believ'd
Due to the mighty Deeds by them Atchiev'd.
Court Candidates with long Attendance tir'd
Fill'd with Despair, and with Resentment fir'd,
Neglected Senators, great Peers displac'd,
Captains cashier'd, and Ministers disgrac'd,
Bigots, and all the persecuting Kind
Against your Throne in Friendship are combin'd.
Then did the noble Lord at large relate
What Peers and Prelates most disturb'd the State.
Who did the Insurrection boldly head,
And who in secret did th' Infection spread,
And popular Heats with sly Suggestions fed.
A while King Arthur sitting unresolv'd,
Th' important Message in his Mind revolv'd.
He in the greatest Straights could ever find
Unshaken Courage, and a present Mind.
If happy or unhappy Tydings came,
His Godlike Temper ever was the same.
In Storms of State he was a steady Guide,
Still ply'd the Helm, and stem'd th' impetuous Tyde.
No Change of Looks his inward Care confest,
And when he suffer'd most, he show'd it least.
Oft from the lowest Ebb his Waters came
Back to their Channel with a nobler Stream.
His sick'ning Orb would oft disturb the Sight
With faded Glory, and expiring Light:
But would as often with a suddain Blaze
Break out, and shine with more illustrious Rays:
Oft thrust from Heav'n it left its starry Sphere
Sunk down, and hung below in Cloudy Air,
But the divine Intelligence within
Rais'd it as oft, to its high Seat again.
Then calmly thus did the great Briton speak;
Soon as returning Day from Heav'n shall break,
I'll lead my Squadrons Clotar to invade,
And if my Arms by Heav'n's propitious Aid,
Against the Gallic Forces shall succed,
I'll reach Britannia with the utmost Speed,
To calm those Heats which interrupt her Peace,
And find fit Med'cines for the sharp Disease.
Now had Aurora on the Face of Night
Pour'd from her Golden Urn fresh Streams of Light.
That fin'd and clear'd the Air, while down to Hell
The shady Dregs precipitated fell.
Then with Heroic Eagerness and Hast
King Arthur round his Head his Helmet brac'd:
From whose high Crest a lofty Plume did rise
Pure, as the Milky Stars that grace the Skys.
The radiant Steel which arm'd his Back and Breast,
Reflected Lustre not to be exprest.
Pure, burnish'd Gold his Martial Thighs encas'd,
And Silver Boots his vig'rous Legs embrac'd.
His glorious Belt he cross his Shoulder flung,
In which refulgent Caliburno hung.
With his strong Arm he grasp'd his spacious Shield,
Where a fierce Dragon guarded all the Field.
So bright it blaz'd, the Metal when it came
Red from the Forge, did scarce more fiercely flame.
Then his long Spear he grip'd, which shone from far
Bright, as if pointed with the Morning Star.
When first into his Hand King Arthur took
The pondrous Ash, the trembling Weapon shook,
As if 'twas conscious what a bloody Lake,
What vast Destruction 'twas about to make.
With Martial Port the Hero then advanc'd,
And fearful Splendor from his Armour glanc'd.
A dreadful Pleasure 'twas to view from far
The utmost Pomp, and Terror too of War.
As when the Dogs with their deep Mouths proclaim
That in the Wood they've rous'd the flying Game,
The generous Steed erects his list'ning Ears,
And the loud Noise with brave Impatience hears:
Thick Clouds of Smoke his working Nostrils blow,
And Streams of Fire out from his Eyeballs flow.
His eager Looks his inward Heat express,
And all his quiv'ring Limbs his Joy confess.
He paws the Vally with an needless Strife,
Profuse of Force, and prodigal of Life.
His forward Feet anticipate the Chace,
And seem to run, ev'n while he keeps his Place.
Such Life King Arthur show'd, such generous Rage,
Urg'd with as great Impatience to engage.
The sprightly Trumpet now with shrill Alarms,
The British Troops with noble Fury warms.
Their Arms so well to Vict'ry known they take,
And springing forth the tented Camp forsake.
A graceful Ardor in their Looks appears
While Lances, Swords and Woods of glitt'ring Spears,
Throng'd Helmets, Gauntlets and contiguous Shields
Diffuse promiscuous Splendor o'er the Fields.
The various Glorys of their Arms combine,
And in one fearful, dazling Medly joyn.
The Air above, and all the Fields beneath
Shine with a bright Variety of Death.
Helms flash on Helms, Bucklers on Bucklers blaze
With glancing Lustre, and recoiling Rays.
The Sun starts back to see the Fields display
Their Rival Lustre, and Terrestrial Day.
The raging Steeds shake with their Feet the Ground
And with their Neighings all the Heav'ns around.
Prodigious Clamour rattles in the Hills,
And in loud Eccho's all the Valley fills.
Thick Clouds of Dust which from the Plains arise
O'erspread the Squadrons, and deform the Skys.
The valiant Troops draw out in close Array,
And on the Hills their awful Pomp display.
The thronging Franks amaz'd regard from far
Th' Embattled Wings and Iron Face of War.
On th' other side of Esia 's silver Flood
The Gallic Army in Battalia stood.
And only now this interposing Tide
Did Albion 's Youth from the fierce Frank divide.
Bright, as the radiant Harbinger of Day
The splendid Arthur shone and led the Way.
His Squadrons follow'd, and along the Banks
The Britons swarm'd, and stretcht their Warlike Ranks.
Esia amaz'd at this strange sight appears,
Believing all her Reeds transform'd to Spears.
Th' affrighted Stream with unaccustom'd hast
By its arm'd Banks, and Iron Margin past.
Amidst the numerous Hosts the River flow'd
Like a vast Serpent, gliding thro' a Wood.
The valiant Briton wav'd his flaming Sword,
And full of Rage his fiery Courser spur'd;
The wound resented by the generous Beast
He plung'd amidst the Waves, and with his Breast
He all th' opposing Waters did divide,
And made his way across th' impetuous Tyde.
As when (so Poets feign) lascivious Jove
Forsaking Heav'n became a Bull for Love,
The Thund'ring Beast with mighty Vigor bore
Across the Tyde his Mistress to the Shore.
So Arthur 's Steed the River's fury braves
Carrying a nobler Passion thro' the Waves.
Thro' Showers of Arrows which around him flew,
And Storms of Darts which Gallic Warriours threw
The mighty King advanc'd, and from the Stream
Bright as the Morning Sun in Triumph came.
With such a Lustre, and with such a Force
He rose, prepar'd to run his glorious Course.
Had those who liv'd in antient times descry'd
This Warriour rising from the foaming tide,
They would have thought that Mars himself had come,
As well as Venus, from the Water's Womb.
Fir'd with th' Example of th' intrepid King
The British Youth with Shouts did onward spring.
All to the Banks advanc'd, and with their Swords
High lifted up they leap'd to cross the Fords.
While thus the Britons boldly pass'd the Tyde,
The Gallic Troops rang'd on the other Side
Cast Clouds of Darts from near, and from afar,
To beat off from the Banks the wading War.
A ratling Storm down on the River pours,
And bearded Death descends in feather'd Showrs.
Some Rocky Fragments hurl against the Foe,
Some massy Spears, some glitt'ring Jav'lins throw.
While thus they strove th' Aggressor to repel,
Many great Britons by their Weapons fell.
Who mingled with the Waves their flowing Blood,
And turn'd the Crystal to a Purple Flood.
Coursers, dismounted Riders, Jav'lins, Helms,
And massy Shields the swelling Tyde o'erwhelms.
Spears, Arrows, Bows, and Plumes of various Dy
Upon the rapid Waters floating ly,
And Darts their Fury spent, still on the Current fly.
First his impetuous Dart Olcanor cast
Which thro' Comara 's shining Buckler past:
Then thro' his temper'd Breastplate made its Way,
And buried deep within his Bosom lay.
From the wide Wound warm crimson Streams of Blood
Sprang out, and down the Briton 's Armour flow'd:
Backwards he fell of Sense and Breath bereft,
And his hot Steed without a Rider left.
The generous Courser now without a Guide,
Did with the spacious Breast the Flood divide,
And climbing up the Banks with loosen'd Reins,
Flew wild about, and scowr'd along the Plains.
Then mighty Stuffa threw his massy Spear,
Which with its Errand pleas'd, sung thro' the Air.
He aim'd it full at Goran 's shining Crest,
But missing him, it struck his Courser's breast.
A Crimson Torrent spouted from the Wound,
And deeply tinctur'd all the Flood around.
The Steed tho' tortur'd with the goring Spear,
Would fain the Warriour thro' the Water bear.
He heav'd his lab'ring Limbs, stretcht every Vein,
Did every Muscle, every Sinew strain;
His Mouth out-foam'd the Waves, his Eye balls star'd,
And working Nostrils Death at hand declar'd:
Then faint with toil and vast expence of blood,
He with his Rider sunk beneath the Flood.
Then was at Belon 's head a pondrous Stone
By the strong Arm of raging Bofar thrown.
It lighted on the Briton 's Breast, beneath
The Paps, and from his Body struck his breath.
He straightway headlong fell, and Esia 's Wave
Involv'd the Briton in a liquid Grave.
Next Robar fell of Berta 's noble Line,
Too bold the greatest Dangers to decline:
Now an inglorious Spear at random cast,
His Naval pierc'd, and thro' his Bowels past.
He honour'd by his Birth Sabrina 's Stream,
And by his Death rais'd silver Esia 's fame.
Here Dolan to surmount the rising Banks,
Stuck fast his Spurs within his Courser's Flanks;
The Steed against the Bank with fury sprung
That high above the Water's Margin hung;
But fell down backward headlong to the Flood,
And lab'ring lay, and choaking in the Mud.
Then Arton, Gamal , and Ormellan dy'd,
And with their Bodys swell'd the troubled tyde.
Next Blanadoc for Arts and Courage known,
And Holan, wise Testador 's Valiant Son,
And many more amidst the Waves were slain,
Who strove to make the Shore, but strove in vain.
Mean time their Friends had gain'd the adverse Banks,
And march'd in Battle rang'd against the Franks .
Near to the Hills, the Franks retreating back,
In order drawn, waited the Foe's Attack.
Then Valiant Arthur to his Britons cry'd,
Now, Fellow Soldiers, no remaining Tyde
Is left to Guard the Foe; here, Britons, see
The way is plain that leads to Victory.
He said. And straight he spur'd his fiery Steed,
And thunder'd thro' the Plain with eager speed.
As when a Falcon from the Airy brow
Of some high Hill descrys the Game below,
To truss the Prey so strong, so swift he flys,
As if some Engine shot him thro' the Skys.
So Arthur with a noble Ardor past
T' engage the Foe, and the first Spear he cast
To Death's unwelcome Shades stout Hago sent;
The fatal Weapon thro' his Buckler went,
Broke thro' his Armour oft in Battle try'd,
And pass'd his Body thro' from Side to Side.
At Corolan he aim'd his second Spear,
Which pierc'd his Head ent'ring above the Ear!
He fell, and groveling in his flowing Gore
Fetch'd one deep Groan, and after fetch'd no more.
Then from amidst the Files Grimaldo sprung,
Nobly descended, vig'rous, bold and young:
With all his Might his furious Spear he threw,
Which from the Briton 's Shield in pieces flew.
The Monarch all enrag'd with mighty Force
His Javelin cast, which with impetuous Course
Into his Breast past thro' his massy Shield;
Faint with the fatal Wound a while he reel'd,
Then down he fell, and stretcht upon the Ground
Which with his ringing Armour did resound.
Then Boson stept out from the foremost Ranks
A noble Youth born on Axona 's Banks;
He rais'd his spacious Buckler in the Air
And stooping down guarded his Head with Care.
The Briton saw him, and a Javelin sent
Which might all farther Care of Life prevent:
But Boson seap'd, tho with a mighty Dread
He heard the erring Death sing o'er his Head.
Conrade who next did to the Charge advance
Could not escape with such a prosp'rous Chance.
An Ashen Spear the British Monarch sent
Which on its deadly Message swiftly went.
The furious Weapon did with Ease divide
His Buckler's temper'd Plate and treble Hide.
Then deep within his wounded Breast it sunk,
And at their purple Spring his Vitals drunk.
Strait on the Ground he fell no more to rise,
And everlasting Sleep o'erwhelm'd his Eyes.
Then did Amintor and great Tursin feel
Deep in their wounded Veins the Briton 's Steel.
Next Raban and Amansul near ally'd
By the same mighty Arm together dy'd:
These did when living to each other show
The highest Strains of mutual Love, and now
When dying both their Friendly Streams of Blood
Were joyn'd, and mixt in warm Embraces flow'd.
Then Villa much admir'd for beauteous Charms,
And not less famous for his splendid Arms,
Who with applauded Brav'ry always fought,
Up to the Charge his fierce Battalions brought.
Then did the valiant Frank his Javelin throw
Aiming at Arthur 's Breast a furious Blow:
Thro' the soft Bosom of the Air it went,
And in the Briton 's Shield its Fury spent.
The King enrag'd strait cast his glitt'ring Dart
Which thro' his Shield and Breast transfixt his Heart:
The noble Frank in strong Convulsions lay,
Wallowing in Gore, and Gasping Life away:
His swimming Eyes grew dim, and suddain Night
Her sable Curtain drew before his Sight.
And now the Franks with vengeful Fury warm'd,
In numerous Throngs about the Monarch swarm'd.
Bright Showers of Darts did on his Buckler ring,
And bearded Arrows all around him sing.
Arthur enrag'd, resolv'd to force the Foe,
To break their Ranks, and cut his Passage thro.
He now no longer missive Weapons threw,
But from his Side broad Caliburno drew.
Above his Head he wav'd the glorious Blade,
Which dreadful Flashes thro' the Air convey'd.
And then advancing with a mighty stride,
Did force his Passage, and the Files divide.
As when a River is oblig'd to stay,
Oppos'd by some new Mound that dams its Way:
Th' obstructed Tyde swoln with its Fury stands,
And to its Aid calls its wat'ry Bands.
Recruited thus the River leans, and heaves,
And shoves against the Bank with all its Waves:
Which having broken, with resistless Force
It roars along, and runs with swifter Course.
So Arthur 's Rage resisted higher rose,
And scatt'ring all who did his Arms oppose
He thro' their Ranks with double Fury flew,
And their Brigades with greater Havock slew,
Such was the Conq'rour's rapid Course, that Fate
Could scarce attend, and almost came too late.
While Vict'ry almost spent, and out of Wind
Flew heavily along, and panting lag'd behind.
Ansegius when he saw the Monarch nigh,
Shaking with Pannic Fear began to fly.
The British King pursu'd him o'er the Sand,
His mighty Sword uplifted in his Hand.
The flying Frank finding his Vigor spent,
And that his Flight could not his Fate prevent,
Turn'd back, and trembling on the Ground he kneel'd,
And threw upon the Sand his Sword and Shield:
Then while his Hands he spread out in the Air,
And did his Words to beg his Life prepare,
His Head flew mut'ring from his sever'd Neck,
And in the Dust seem'd eager still to speak.
So when the timerous Game from far descrys
Th' invading Falcon stooping from the Skys,
Upon the Prey so swift is his Descent,
It do's its Crys and almost Fears prevent.
Then Huban glorying in his noble Blood,
Boldly the conqu'ring Briton 's Course withstood.
But strait the Warriour on his Crest did feel
The Weight and Force of Arthur 's massy Steel;
With the vast Blow of the broad Fauchion stun'd
The Frank fell down, and prest the trembling Ground.
Arthur advanc'd and thus the Frank bespoke
Before his Arm discharg'd a second Stroke.
Huban, what Widows Plaints, what woful Crys
Of Orphans made by thee, have fill'd the Skys?
Thou unprovok'd, with Fire and Sword hast past
Thro' Peaceful States, and laid rich Countrys wast.
What pop'lous Towns and Citys hast thou burn'd,
What Towers and Domes to heaps of Rubbish turn'd?
How has thy Sword thy Neighbours round alarm'd,
And slain their Youth when naked and unarm'd?
This Cruelty thy bloody hand has shown
To please King Clotar 's Fury, and thy own.
I'll now extinguish thy unnatural Thirst
Of humane Blood; That said, the Monarch thrust
Deep in his panting Breast his mighty Sword,
And left upon the Ground th' extended Lord.
Then Obal, Rodan , and Gutaro fell,
And Oroman who did in Arts excel.
Ocar and Nisan lay in Dust and Gore,
And great Alcador, and vast numbers more
Whose Vulgar Names appear in no Record,
Dy'd by the mighty Briton 's Conq'ring Sword.
As when a Craggy Rock, that did appear
Still falling while suspended in the Air,
By washing Showers and frequent Tempests worn,
Or by some inward strong Convulsion torn,
Breaks off, and falling from the Mountain's top,
Rolls down the Wood beneath without a stop;
It overturns the Forest in it's way,
Nor can the strongest Oaks it's Progress stay.
Elms rooted up and broken Pines around,
(Amazing Desolation) spread the ground.
The British King advanc'd with such a force,
And no less Spoils adorn'd his rapid course.
Mean time King Clotar who in Armour shone
Of polish'd Plate, led his Battalions on.
Around his Head his crested Helm was lac'd,
And on his Arm his blazing Target brac'd;
Which o'er the Field, amazing to behold,
Shone like a glowing Orb of melted Gold.
Fir'd with excessive Rage he did advance,
And shook from far his formidable Lance.
Then mounted in his high Refulgent Car,
He plung'd with loosen'd Reins amidst the War.
Brave Gisan first did in his Bosom feel
The deadly force of his projected Steel:
Down to the ground the wounded Warriour came,
And by his fall advancd the Conq'rour's fame.
Another Spear at Roderic he threw,
Which thro' his Shield, his Head, and Helmet flew.
The noble Briton stretcht upon the ground
And felt departing Life Ebb from his Wound:
He gather'd up his quiv'ring knees, and strait
He stretcht them out, and yielded to his fate.
Bold Gotric next did in the Front appear,
Resolv'd to stand the mark of Clotar 's Spear:
With mighty Vigor he his Weapon cast;
It flew, and hiss'd with fury as it past.
It struck the Shield, but by unhappy chance
Did from the brazen Brim obliquely glance.
But that his Message might not be in vain,
By its refracted stroke was Ruthen slain,
And lay extended on the dusty Plain.
Where Clotar stood Ruthen was always near,
No Courtier more was to his Master dear.
With him the Monarch did the Secrets trust
Both of his Cruelty, and of his Lust.
The noblest Franks did by his Ponyard bleed,
Whose Doom by Clotar had been first decreed.
Or he the poison'd Bowl bore in his hand,
If bloodless Death his Master did command.
The fairest Women to his Bed he brought,
By Force, or Fraud, or by his Silver bought.
By Ruthen 's fall King Clotar all enrag'd,
His utmost strength in deep Revenge engag'd.
With his extended Arm his Dart he cast,
Which as a Bolt of Thunder swiftly past.
On Gotric 's Shield the hissing Vengeance fell,
Nor could the temper'd Steel its force repel.
Thro' Plates and Plys and Hides it's way it made,
And in his brawny Thigh the Weapon staid.
The Bearded Plague stuck in his wounded Veins,
And rack'd the Hero with tormenting Pains.
Down on his Knees he fell as in a Trance,
The haughty Victor fiercely did advance
To strike his head off, when brave Cutar broke
Thro' the thick Files, to ward the furious Stroke:
He took the Monarch's blow upon his Shield;
A suddain shout rung thro' th' applauding Field.
Then Cutar, Clotar 's progress to arrest,
Discharg'd a noble Blow against his Crest;
The Frank receiv'd it on his temper'd Shield,
But stagger'd with the stroke, and backward reel'd.
Mean time brave Gotric had new Spirits gain'd,
Reviving from his Swoon, and then sustain'd
Both by his faithful Friends and faithful Spear
Retir'd in Pain, and halted to the Rear.
Gibbonius thro' all Britain 's Isle admir'd
As one with Æsculapian Skill inspir'd,
Prescrib'd a nobler Balm to heal the Wound
Then that the famous Locatella found.
King Clotar soon recover'd, and for Fight
Collected all his Rage, and all his Might.
As when a Lyon roaming o'er the Plains
Is stop'd by Huntsmen, and surrounding Swains,
If wounded once by some advent'rous Spear,
He sees his blood upon the Ground appear,
Straight double fury gathers in his Eyes,
And on the Foe with double force he flys.
So with a fiercer Fire the Monarch burn'd,
And to the War with greater Rage return'd.
Then with his mighty Spear he did Assail
His valiant Foe; nor Shield, nor Coat of Mail
Nor harden'd Cuirass could its fury stay,
Till glancing on the Ribs it flew away.
The Briton felt the Wound within his Side,
And all his Limbs the streaming Purple dy'd.
The noble Leader rag'd at this Defeat,
But Loss of Blood oblig'd him to retreat.
Next valiant Horan did the Frank engage,
Fam'd for his Arms and splendid Equipage:
He from the flowry Banks of Isis came,
To win in Gallic Fields heroic Fame.
But in those Fields the Combatant was slain
Unable Clotar 's Fury to sustain.
Then Valiant Malgo shook his pondrous Lance,
And bad his bold Dimetian Troops advance.
He bravely march'd the foremost of the Band,
And charging boldly made a noble Stand.
As when the Rocky Fragments standing up
In a rude Channel oft the Torrent stop
Which during Summer from dissolving Snows
Down the rough Sides of some high Mountain flows.
Obstructed thus the foaming Deluge raves
And roars against the Rocks with all its Waves.
So did the Britons Clotar 's Course oppose,
And in his boyling Veins like Fury rose.
With high Applause great Malgo kept his Ground,
Till feeling in his Head a painful Wound
Inflicted by a Dart which Clotar cast,
His Friends compell'd him to retire at last.
Then did the Frank with Sword in Hand invade
The British Ranks, and vast Destruction made.
Now grisly Death with Crimson Garlands crown'd,
In horrid Triumph reign'd, while all the Ground
With Helmets, Shields and broken Spears was spread,
With ghastly Spoils, and slaughter'd Heaps of Dead.
When famous Shobar with his watchful Eye
Perceiv'd the British Troops begin to ply,
Highly enrag'd, he call'd aloud to those
Who did his own select Brigade compose,
See, where your Countrymen begin to yield,
And fearing Clotar 's Arms forsake the Field.
Let us advance our Ensigns, to sustain
Our stagg'ring Friends, till they their Ground regain.
With this Applause the Britons all adorn
No rallying Troops so oft to Fight return.
Did now that youthful Vigor warm my Veins
Which once I felt in Lusitanian Plains;
Could I with such a Force the Fauchion weild,
As when I slew Gelanson in the Field,
When Romolar who flew to his Relief,
Fell by the Side of that expiring Chief,
While Rhenus was amaz'd to see its Flood
As once Egyptian Rivers turn'd to Blood;
I would not doubt King Clotar to subdue,
Whose conq'ring Arms our yielding Friends pursue.
But since his Sword such Numbers have destroy'd,
And Arthur 's Arms we see elsewhere employ'd;
I'll stay no longer a Spectator here,
But with King Clotar will exchange a Spear.
Old as I am I will my Fortune try
In Arthur 's Cause I'm not displeas'd to dy.
Between the rising Fields on either Hand
Where Shobar and King Clotar did command,
A shady Thicket rose, near which the Way
That led between the Franks and Britons, lay.
Moloc who often had with Joy embru'd
His reeking Hands in slaughter'd Christians Blood,
Who thro' their Towns with Hellish Fury past,
And laid with Fire and Sword their Dwellings wast,
Chose fifty Gauls of equal Strength and Rage,
Who did themselves in dreadful Oaths engage,
Ne'er Children Wives or Lands to see again,
Till they had first the mighty Shobar slain.
And when they saw where his stout Squadron staid
They to this Thicket strait themselves convey'd:
That if his Squadron should advance this Way
They with united Arms might Shobar slay.
Now as the Warriour near the Thicket past
Marching to aid his Friends with eager Hast,
The Gallic Foes did from their Ambush spring,
And all at once their furious Javelins sling.
Then with loud Clamour they did onward rush,
And with unequal Force the Hero crush,
While Shobar rais'd his Shield and stood inclin'd,
Th' Ignoble Foe Morander came behind,
And pierc'd between his Armours Skirts his Reins,
And left the Javelin in his bleeding Veins.
Great Shobar wounded with th' inglorious Thrust,
Fell down, and lay besmear'd with Gore and Dust.
A while he lay convuls'd upon the Ground
While his warm Life gush'd from the treacherous Wound.
His warlike Soul flew up to take its Post,
Midst the bright Squadrons of the Heav'nly Host.
Yet his great Life he did not cheaply sell,
For with his fatal Arms before he fell
He Dorlac, Taman and Orbassan slew,
Bruis'd Bodan 's Head and pierc'd Tibaldo thro.
Nor did his Squadron stand Spectators by
As unconcern'd to see great Shobar dy.
For valiant Calmot when he saw the Chief
Opprest with Numbers flew to his Relief.
Calmot to pious Clovis was ally'd,
In Blood and Vertue both, and now he dy'd
Striving insulting Oran 's Blow to ward,
And from the furious Crowd the Chief to guard.
Altubar next for Arts and Valour known
Strove Shobar 's Life to save, but lost his own.
Next thro' the Files noble Gravellan broke,
But came too late to save the fatal Stroke.
But on the Field he left Moranson dead,
And with his Fauchion struck off Moloc 's Head.
Thus Shobar fell unable to withstand
The suddain Charge of such a desp'rate Band.
The Britons rav'd to see him lying slain
By ignominious Arms upon the Plain.
And to revenge so great a Captain's Fall,
With utmost Rage they charg'd the treach'rous Gaul
Th' amaz'd Conspirators the Fight forsook,
And their swift Flight back to the Thicket took.
Gravellan close pursu'd with Sword in Hand,
And such a Slaughter made that of the Band
Which made the treacherous Onset, only two
Gamol and Arpan from their Fury flew.
Great Shobar 's Fall reveng'd, the valiant Chief
March'd with his Troops to give his Friends Relief.
Who prest too hard by Clotar 's Arms retir'd,
And whom his Presence with fresh Life inspir'd.
When Solmar likewise saw those Troops dismay'd
He brought the Ordovicians to their Aid.
Thus reinforc'd the rallying Britons burn'd
With a new Flame, and to the Fight return'd.
And now the Franks and Britons high enrag'd,
Were close thro' all the bloody Field engag'd.
Now Files on Files, Cohorts on Cohorts rush,
Steeds Steeds o'erturn, Spearmen at Spearmen push.
Shields ring on Shields, Fauchions with Fauchions clash
And Flames from clatt'ring Arms, like Lightning, flash.
Thick Clouds of Dust obscure th' astonish'd Skys,
And on the Field ghastly Destruction lys.
Buckler lay heap'd on Buckler, Dead on Dead,
And sever'd Limbs and Heads the Ground o'erspread.
Loud Shouts, prodigious Clamour, warlike Sound
From Hill to Hill, from Sphear to Sphear rebound.
The Neighings of the Coursers, and the Noise
Of batt'ring Arms, and raging Captains Voice,
Insulting Threats of Conq'rours, and the Prayer
Of vanquish'd Warriours, fill the ecchoing Air.
As when an Earthquake shakes the cavern'd Soil,
And rocking Mountains of Sicilia 's Isle
Th' imprison'd Tempests bellowing in the Caves
Raise on the heaving Fields amazing Waves.
The Sea no more restrain'd by ancient Shores,
In new unfashion'd Channels foams, and roars.
The Ships, prodigious Sight! o'er Citys ride,
And sail amidst the Land without a Guide.
They leave the Harbour, and the Oazy Shore
To visit Forrests where they grew before.
The gaping Earth within her horrid Jaws
Hills with their Woods and sinking Citys draws.
Nature's disjoynted with the noisy Shock,
Mountain on Mountain falls, and Rock on Rock.
United Clamours and distracting Crys,
Fill all the Land, the Ocean, and the Skys.
So do's the Noise of Arms the Region scare,
Shaking the Ground, and rending all the Air.
Gaston mean time did their left Wing invade,
And thro' the British Files great Slaughter made.
He march'd along the Plain with Martial Grace,
Mighty of Bulk, and of Gigantic Race.
A while as Conq'rour he maintain'd the Field,
And to his Force the Britons long did yield.
Till aided by a fresh and strong Recruit
They rally'd, and reviv'd the hot Dispute.
The Britons with their Troops encompass'd round
Gaston advanc'd too far on hostile ground.
Archers their Arrows on the Champion spend,
And clouds of Spears the shouting Spearmen send.
Yet bravely still the Frank his ground maintain'd,
And on his ample Shield the War sustain'd.
So when arm'd Swains on the fam'd banks of Nile
Beset a fierce, Voracious Crocadile,
In vain their Darts, in vain their Spears assail
His scaly Sides, and native Coat of Mail.
On his hard Back they pour a fruitless War,
Which strait recoyls, but can't imprint a Scar.
So did the temper'd Steel unpierc'd repel
The Weapons which on Gaston 's Buckler fell,
Like an Egyptian Obelisk he stood,
Or as a lofty brazen Pillar show'd,
Which grateful Citys out of high respect,
To Princes or Victorious Chiefs erect.
Thus stood the mighty Champion and defy'd
The various Deaths which flew on every side.
With proud Disdain he travers'd all the Ground
Then stood, and cast his Haughty Eyes around.
Aloud he cry'd, what have you not a Knight
In Battle bold, and brave enough in Fight
To come out hither and his fame advance,
By being slain by Gaston 's Conquering Lance.
Then let him come, let him his Valour try,
And chuse the way by which he'd rather dy.
Will none step forth his name to Eternize,
For that he gains, who by this Weapon dys.
While Gaston thus the British Knights defy'd,
And stalk'd around the Field in all his Pride.
The British Monarch he descry'd from far
Advancing thro' the Files to seek the War.
Then cry'd the Frank, yonder his Arms I see
On which depend your hopes of Victory.
He will not sure decline the glorious Fight,
Nor seek his Safety by a shameful Flight.
By this time Flying on with eager hast
Arthur advanc'd within a Javlin's cast,
Then thus he Cry'd, Gaston a Foe appears
Not us'd to Idle words, but active Spears.
Then from his Arm his mighty Spear he cast,
Exploded Light'ning scarcely flys so fast,
Which the strong Hero 's sevenfold Buckler struck,
It past Six folds, but in the last it stuck.
Then Gaston with enormous fury burn'd,
And his Vast Spear with mighty force return'd.
When to discharge the Weapon he prepar'd,
He all his brawny Sinews strain'd so hard,
Such strength employ'd to give a mortal Stroke,
That as he threw, Fire from his Eyeballs broke.
Arthur who ne'er had felt the power of Fear
Receiv'd within his Shield the massy Spear.
Within the outmost folds the Point stuck fast,
And not the middle of its thickness past.
A shiv'ring Dread thro' both the Armys went,
On either side they fear'd the vast event.
Now from their Shields the Spears the Heros drew,
The next the British King with Vigor threw.
It pass'd his Shield, and passing did divide
The treble Plate, and fourfold Bullock's Hide,
Then pierc'd his Belly with a dreadful Wound,
Which tore his Flesh, that clos'd his Bowels round.
The Frank no longer could in Combate stand,
But threw his Spear and Buckler on the Sand,
And held his reeking Entrails in his Hand.
Off from the Field the wounded Chief did fly,
And fill'd the Region with a dismal Cry.
So when a bold Rhinoceros in Fight
With a strong Elephant compares his Might:
The noble Combate all the Forest fills,
And Terror strikes thro' all th' ecchoing Hills.
This with his Trunk invades, and every Blow
Rings on the scaly Armour of the Foe:
Who with his Horn do's on th' Assailant rush,
And makes a furious but a fruitless push.
The Warriours long a doubtful Fight maintain,
And spend a thousand noble Strokes in vain.
Till the Rhinoceros do's gore by chance
The Foe's soft Belly with his Horny Lance.
Then do's the Monster roar in tort'ring Pain,
And flying drags his Entrails o'er the Plain.
Mean time King Clotar with his massy Spear
His Passage to the Quarter strove to clear,
Where the Britannic King victorious stood,
And murth'ring Caliburno reek'd in Blood.
But as the raging Monarch swiftly past
High in the Chariot, valiant Maca cast
His furious Spear, which cut the liquid Air
Attended with the pious Warriour's Prayer.
Who cry'd, Good Heav'ns, the Weapon's Flight assist
And let not Clotar 's Shield its Force resist;
Pierc'd by the Steel may he extended ly;
Kind Heav'n in part, did with the Prayer comply.
The Plate the Weapon's Progress could not stay
Which thro' the Monarch's Thigh strait made its Way.
A bloody Torrent all the Chariot stain'd,
And of his Wound the tortur'd King complain'd.
Exclaiming loud he bad his Charioteer
Turn his hot Steeds, and drive him to the Rear.
Soon as the Franks observ'd their Chief's defeat
And saw their Monarch from the Field retreat,
Their scatter'd Troops dismaid began to yield,
And disarray'd forsook the bloody Field.
The British Youth pursu'd them as they fled,
And all the Ground with fearful Slaughter spred.
Till Night advancing did their Fury stay,
Night to the Franks more welcome than the Day.
BOOK V
The Chiefs returning from the hot Pursuit
Did with becoming Joy their Friends salute.
But all lamented mighty Shobar 's Fall,
A Chief rever'd, applauded, lov'd by all.
But summon'd now King Arthur to attend
To his high Tent they did their Footsteps bend.
The British Monarch from his Chair of State
Began, the Captains did around him wait.
Th' Allmighty Lord of Hosts whom we adore
Has added to the past this Triumph more.
First to propitious Heav'n the Praise is due
For this Success, and next, brave Men, to you.
Your Arms this Day have rais'd the British Name,
And equall'd your great Father's Warlike Fame.
The Courage and the Conduct you have shown,
Your Faithfulness long try'd, and so well known,
Assure me, you will Clotar 's Force sustain,
Whilst I my Troops forsake to pass the Main.
Know, Britons, some in Albion left behind,
Impatient, proud, and turbulent of Mind,
Intestine Heats and civil Feuds create,
And with seditious Arts embroil the State.
I therefore to Britannia must return
To quench the Flames wherewith the Britons burn.
When from its Fears my Kingdom I have freed,
Back to the Camp I'll come with equal Speed.
Till I return to the Neustrasian Strand,
Solmar in chief my Army shall command.
Seek not again t' engage the Gallic Host,
But with defensive Arms maintain your Post.
Such valiant Troops can never be annoy'd,
If private Strife and Contests they avoid.
He ceas'd. The Captains by their Aspect show'd
The Joy was sunk which from their Conquest flow'd.
They griev'd to hear the pious King relate
What Strife embroil'd Britannia 's troubled State;
Which forc'd him to forsake the Gallic Soil,
To re-establish Peace in Albion 's Isle.
Then from his Princely Seat King Arthur rose
Intending Albion 's Tumults to compose.
Now did the Morn her radiant Lap display,
And gently on the Air shook forth the Day.
When strait the King his Chariot did demand,
And took his Way to the Neustrasian Strand.
Valiant Gravellan did his Prince attend,
And faithful Lucius Arthur 's bosom Friend.
Soon as they reach'd the Shore without Delay
They all embark'd, and strait stood out to Sea.
The bounding Vessel ran before the Wind,
Leaving Neustrasia 's Rocks and Towers behind.
And when the rising Sun dispell'd the Night,
The Regnian Strand appear'd within their Sight.
Soon as they came on Shore they took the Way
To Domar 's Castle , there resolv'd to stay,
Till brave Gravellan should return, who sent
To learn the State of things t' Augusta went,
And down from thence his chiefest Frinds to bring
Fit to assist and to advise the King.
Thrice had th' unweary'd Sun his Chariot driv'n
O'er the wide Plains and trackless Wast of Heav'n.
When the wise Lord return'd, and with him came
The Peers and Prelates of distinguish'd Fame
For Zeal and Wisdom, Men who ever stood
For Arthur 's Glory, and their Country's Good.
Then Albion 's pious Monarch Silence broke
And thus the Prelates and the Peers bespoke.
For Britain 's Safety to express my Care
I leave in Gallia an unfinish'd War.
My Arms have met Success, but Zeal for you
Will not permit our Conquests to pursue.
What Feuds some Peers and Prelates ill dispos'd
Have rais'd, Gravellan has before disclos'd,
But what has happen'd since do you relate,
And tell the present Posture of the State.
Suggest some ready and effectual Way
To check Sedition, and its Progress stay.
Britannia might despise all forreign Power,
If from contentious Sons she stood secure.
Her Strength abroad is formidable grown,
No Arms can shake her Greatness but her own.
Only our Strife can Clotar 's Empire Guard,
Obstruct our Triumphs, and our Arms retard.
Only your Feuds can sinking Gallia prop,
Your Feuds their Refuge, and their single hope.
Then Reverend Arman for his Learning known
And his Capacious Genius thus begun.
Illustrious Monarch! whose Victorious hand
From Pagan Kings and Gods has sav'd the Land,
Urg'd by Affection and a Loyal Zeal,
The Cause of our Distractions I'll reveal.
The Liberty Sectarians have enjoy'd
By your Indulgence, has our Peace destroy'd.
At first they cry'd, Indulgence would content,
Ease they demanded, but Dominion meant.
For since from Punishment they live secure,
And dread no more an unarm'd Church's Power,
They now disclose their Malice, and their Pride,
Affront our Order, and our Laws deride.
They boast the Court Sectarians dos befriend,
And dare for Empire with the Church contend.
Freedom and Ease they know not how to use,
But gentle Monarchs favours still abuse.
Peevish, Illnatur'd, Proud and Arrogant
They crave still more, and still more Merit vaunt.
Those who to give a troubled Kingdom Ease
Cherish these restless Sects, do but release
Outragious Winds to calm th' unquiet Seas.
Such call the Foe in, to Protect the Town,
Or dig before the Flood their Fences down.
This Pious Prince is sad Britannia 's fate
While Sects let loose disturb our Church and State.
Cheer'd with indulgent Rays the monstrous Brood
Like Vermin hatch'd in Nile 's prolific Mud,
O'erspread the Land, th' uneasy State molest,
Devour our Country, and the Church infest.
The Sediment which at the bottom lay
From the pure Church thrown down and purg'd away,
Awaken'd now, attempts a fresh ascent,
And with new Strife the Struggling Parts ferment.
Sectarian Dreggs audacious are become,
Rise up and on the top appear in Scum.
The Church can ne'er be from Disorders free
Till fin'd, and rackt from this unquiet Lee.
I labour'd once to give Sectarians Ease,
And thought Indulgence might Establish Peace;
With Youthful Zeal I did assert their Cause,
And strove to blunt the Edge of Penal Laws.
But long Experience and Maturer Thought
Make me retract the Deed, and own the Fault.
I know th' Ambitious Race, they only claim
The Right of Subjects, but at Empire aim.
Which when they grasp, they Cruel Tyrants grow
And unknown Rigour to their Subjects show.
They lash with Scorpions, who complain'd before
Of the mild Whips that show'd the Churches Power.
With Tragic Clamours they for Freedom strive,
Which they when Masters ne'er to others give.
The Church's temperate Empire they destroy,
That they themselves a wider may enjoy.
'Tis not in point of Power we disagree,
But who should be the Rulers they or we.
For, pious Prince, since by Compassion mov'd
You first th' Indulgence of the Sects approv'd,
Th' aspiring Race deliver'd from the Awe
Of Court Displeasure, and coercive Law,
Stand over us insulting, threaten high
And treat with Scorn the sacred Hierarchy.
Their Contumacy, Pride, and Insolence
Justly the Lovers of the Church Incense.
Her Sons too far transported with their Rage,
For her Protection now in Arms engage.
The Trait'rous Deed all highly must condemn,
But would you soon th' impetuous Torrent stem,
Would you at once the threatning Troops disarm,
Which o'er Brittania 's troubled Region swarm,
Against audacious Schismaticks declare,
With Vigor carry on the Pious War.
Revoke th' Indulgence granted, and restore
To Britain 's ancient Church her ancient Power.
Her Friends whom now too much Resentment warms,
Will at your royal Feet cast down their Arms.
This pious Edict will their Troops disband,
Secure your Throne, and bless with Peace the Land.
Then mighty Monarch unmolested you
Your glorious Triumphs may abroad pursue.
He said, and ancient Ladan silence broke
And gravely thus the British King bespoke.
Th' Expedient Reverend Arman do's suggest,
T' appease the Tumults which the State molest.
Great Prince, do's fully with my Judgment suit;
It lays the Axe home to Sedition's Root.
The civil Broils which Albion discompose
From Fears and anxious Jealousies arose,
Lest the proud Sects which kindly you protect,
Should once their Empire o'er the Church erect.
'Tis true, that some who with the Rebels joyn,
Their Country's Fall, and Gallia 's Growth design;
But if those Troops which for the Church appear
Submit their Arms, the rest we need not fear.
Now 'tis with Reason that the Church suspects
The Growth of proud, morose, designing Sects.
I've long observ'd their Pride and Arrogance,
And what destructive Doctrines they advance.
Where they prevail the Church is soon defac'd,
Becomes a wild, uncultivated Wast.
A horrid Wilderness wherein we see
The monstrous Forms of howling Heresy.
Where Grisly Schism, and raging Strife appear
And raving Sects each other rend and tear.
Where mad Enthusiasm and Discord reign,
And endless Errors endless War maintain.
These sad Effects their Liberty abus'd
Thro' Albion 's Isle already has produc'd.
Audacious Schismaticks with lawless Pride
Affront the Church, and all her Laws deride.
Now Heresy her odious Head do's rear,
And fresh engender'd Monsters thick appear,
Which run upon the Church with open Jaws
And fasten in her Wounds their dreadful Claws.
Ev'n ancient Heresys which once annoy'd
The Church's Peace, but seem'd long since destroy'd,
Now chear'd and warm'd by this indulgent Heat,
Stretch out their hideous Limbs, and Life and Vigor get.
Since the Rebellious Britons but reveal
In a Religious Cause an erring Zeal,
And for themselves alledge they flew to Arms
To save their Altars from the Foe's Alarms;
I must for Arman 's wise Advice declare,
As likely to prevent th' Effects of War.
Th' Indulgence granted to the Sects revoke
And thus Sedition's quell'd without a Stroke.
He ceas'd. And Reverend Olbar rose and spoke.
The Gospel Genius and a Christian Mind
All fierce destructive Methods still declin'd.
Our Founder did not raise his Regal Throne
By his Opposers Suff'rings, but his own.
He gave his Church no Arms for her Defence,
But Wisdom joyn'd with Dove-like Innocence.
He always taught his Followers to profess
Meekness Divine, and God-like Gentleness.
When urg'd by eager Zealots to employ
Fire ev'n from Heav'n Opposers to destroy,
He us'd no other Flames, but those of Love,
The gentle Fire he brought down from above.
The blest Restorer of undone Mankind
With soft and mild perswasive Ways inclin'd
The World his Heav'nly Mission to believe,
And his bright Train of Blessings to receive.
He us'd no other Force, no other Arms
But Mercy's tender Crys and Pity's Charms.
And all his Followers he oblig'd to be
Gentle, and kind, and merciful as he.
He gave Command they should in Friendship live,
Patient of Wrongs, and easie to forgive.
Mutual Forbearance, Meekness, Peace and Love
Which fashion Men like the pure Minds above,
He oft declar'd were Heav'nly Marks disign'd
To make them known from th' unbelieving Kind.
He never arm'd his Church with Regal Power,
Nor bad the strong the weaker Part devour.
He to the valiant Champions of the Faith
Allow'd the Serpent's Wisdom, not his Teeth.
He came from Heav'n lost Blessings to restore
But took from Men none they possest before.
He ne'er pronounc'd Error or Unbelief,
Just Forfeitures of Liberty or Life.
He never bad his Church for Arms declare
Nor taught the Rules and Stratagems of War.
He never show'd them how Campaigns to make,
How to defend, and how they should attack.
He ne'er instructed them in future Days
When numerous grown, what Bulwarks they should raise.
What Forts and Cittadels they should erect
The Church's sacred Frontier to protect.
He came to save Mens Lives, and not to Kill,
And therefore taught no Military Skill.
No Models left of Arsenals to be reer'd,
Nor said what Warlike Stores should be prepar'd.
His Church he ne'er Commanded to Amass
Spears, Fauchions, Helmets, Shields and Boots of Brass.
Her Valiant Champions first with Error strove
In Arms Divine, and Armour from above,
Immortal Truth, and Light, and Heav'nly Love.
Thus Arm'd the Chiefs their glorious Course pursu'd,
Defeated Vice, and Ignorance subdu'd.
Error before them fled, and Pagan Gods
Of Light impatient, left their old abodes.
Then a wide Empire Christian Faith possest,
And Truth Divine Believing Nations blest.
The White European and the Swarthy Moor ,
With a like flame Religion did adore.
So powerful then were her Celestial Arms,
So bright her Form, so ravishing her Charms,
That where she came th' obsequious World obey'd,
And at her Altars due Devotion paid.
But when she once her Heav'nly Strength forsook,
And in Exchange Terrestrial Weapons took,
When Martial Faith in Armour first appear'd,
And in the Field her bloody Standard reer'd,
Advancing like an Amazonian Dame
To vanquish Heresy with Sword and Flame;
The World at such a Figure stood amaz'd,
And on the hideous Sight with horror gaz'd.
Against her Throne the Nations soon rebell'd,
And Arms with Arms, and Power with Power repell'd.
Her Innocence, her Love, and Meekness lost,
The warlike Church could no new Triumphs boast.
She soon was stopt in her Victorious Course,
Weak by her Arms, and impotent by Force.
Christ's peaceful Flock with Wolves devouring Jaws,
And his meek Dove arm'd with the Faulcon's Claws,
Prodigious Monsters to the World appear'd,
No longer to be lov'd, and scarcely fear'd.
Religion thus against it self was arm'd,
And Civil War the troubled Church alarm'd!
Temple contended Temple to subdue,
And Flames from Altars, against Altars flew.
Religion endless Revolutions saw,
And all by turns were Orthodox by Law.
The Men condemn'd for Hereticks before
Grew Apostolic, as they grew in Power.
Prevailing Sects did weaker Sects invade,
And Desolation not Conversions made.
For Pain and Suff'rings may indeed affright,
But can't perswade us with Convincing Light.
Torments 'tis true strong Arguments appear,
But 'tis not to our Reason, but our Fear.
Our Heav'nly Founder who at distance saw
Ambitious Churchmen back'd with Power and Law,
Their Peaceful Neigbours would with force invade,
Disarm'd the Gown, and Violence forbad.
Nor do those Princes for their Peace provide,
Who with one Sect against all others side.
Those Counsels therefore Arman gives for Peace
Both as unjust, and dangerous too, displease.
He ceas'd. Then noble Sefel did begin,
Of Prince like Presence, and Majestic Mien.
A noble Genius to the Muses dear,
Yet none knew better how the State to steer
Whom every Minister and every Bard
With equal Awe, and Rev'rence did regard.
To form the wondrous Man great Pompey 's Mind,
And Tully 's flowing Eloquence combin'd.
All Orators grew proud who gain'd his praise,
And where he pleas'd he gave the Poet's Bays.
All charg'd with lessening or debasing Wit
His Sentence did Condemn, or did Acquit.
The trembling Bards at his Tribunal stood,
None prais'd their Songs, till he pronounc'd them good.
None strove with greater Prudence to compose
Contentious Heats, which in the Church arose.
Then this wise Briton thus himself exprest,
And show'd how Albion 's Strife might be supprest.
Subjects who Tribute to their Monarch pay,
And Peacefully his just Commands obey,
With highest Justice from their Prince expect
He should their Lives and Libertys protect.
No Errors in Religion can destroy
Th' Immunitys which we, as Men, enjoy.
Those whom the Churchmen as Sectarians blame,
Lose not the Rights which they as Subjects claim.
The Sacred Laws our Heav'nly Author made,
Were not to force Belief, but to Perswade.
Prisons were ne'er for Christian Schools design'd,
Nor Whips and Racks for Arguments enjoyn'd.
Unless our Wills could Laws to Reason give,
And Man could what he pleas'd, as Truth believe,
Force for Conversion is employ'd in vain;
Whose Judgment ever was inform'd by Pain?
Churches should Arms forbear till they agree
On some unerring mark of Heresy.
Some Christians call'd, of Antichristian mind,
To Force and not to Argument inclin'd.
To take the Sword lay down the Pastor's Crook,
And into Wolves convert their Peaceful Flock.
Forth against Schism they march exclaiming loud,
And make the Church a reeking Field of Blood.
These Sons of Thunder thus the Gospel Preach,
And red in Slaughter Heav'nly Meekness teach.
These Men perswade, and make their Doctrines known,
Not by th' Almighty's Terrours, but their own.
Declining Reason's mild perswasive Course,
They Press for Heav'n, and Christians Lift by force.
These from the Temple's Battlements display
The bloody Flag, and draw out in Array
Their Warlike Orders, who Embattled stand
With Sabres, not the Gospel in their hand.
Then breathing Fire, they March Mankind to free
From Hereticks, as well as Heresy.
How ill her Arms and Military dress
The Gentle, Meek and Passive Church express?
How will this Equipage and strange disguise,
The mild Restorer of Mankind surprise?
How will he like his Vineyard which appears
A Bulwark'd Camp all planted o'er with Spears?
How will he know his Church in Tented Fields,
Midst Chariots, Steeds, bright Helms and blazing Shields?
How will he know her when with Conquest proud,
Laden with Spoils and Garments roll'd in blood?
These Arm'd Evangelists must sure displease
Their Gentle Lord, the Prince of Love and Peace.
When Converts first were in Britannia made,
The Christian Planters only did perswade.
When they were few, easy to be supprest,
Then the Religion which the Sword possest,
Was not allow'd a Right to crush the rest:
Then Persecution was aloud condemn'd,
And Violence the highest Crime esteem'd.
And shall the Christians strong and numerous grown,
The Maxims which advanc'd their Church disown?
Shall they Assert an Antichristian Power
Their disagreeing Neighbours to devour,
Which if the Pagan Princes had employ'd,
The Christian Church long since had been destroy'd?
But grant the Church Sectarians may restrain
Inflicting rigorous Penaltys and Pain,
Grant too that this the Rebels will appease,
Who will have none, if others have their Ease?
Will this Britannia 's troubled State compose,
Or dry the Spring whence our Disturbance flows?
Will not th' opprest Sectarian think it hard
To be of Rights to Subjects due debar'd?
Will Arthur thus their Services reward?
Those who themselves and humane Nature know
Foresee the Mischiefs that from hence must flow.
Those whom unjust Severities provoke
Will struggle hard to break th' uneasy Yoke.
All will conspire, as they Occasion find,
To sink a Government to them unkind.
Whom States oppress they Enemys create,
Who, when they safely can, express their Hate.
If Princes but a Party will protect,
They on a narrow Base their Throne erect,
And can't be more than Monarchs of a Sect.
Wise Princes who would lasting Peace create,
And from all restless Bigots save the State,
Should not on any side their Power engage,
But guard the weaker from the Stronger's Rage.
No Fav'rite Party should their Sword employ,
Those, whom they cannot proselite, to destroy.
Wise Parents if their Sons for Power contest,
Will no one aid to Ruin all the rest.
Monarchs who seek their own and Subjects Ease,
Between contending Sects should keep the Peace.
All will obey when all Protection find,
And Rev'rence Kings without Distinction kind.
Could greater Number, Power, or Splendor shew
What Churches are erroneous, what are true,
Yet peaceful Subjects have a just Pretence
To be secur'd from Force and Violence:
I still would guard Sectarians from the Awe
Of Courts of Justice and coercive Law.
This will to all the Government commend,
And every Subject will be too a Friend.
Freely to speak my Sense in this Debate,
The Way suggested to compose the State
By ceasing all Sectarians to protect,
Because not just, nor wise, I would reject.
I would perswade King Arthur to decree,
And strait proclaim a gen'ral Amnesty.
This would the Rebels into Friends convert,
And make the British Youth their Chiefs desert.
The Britons soon grow hot, but soon repent,
They threaten high, but with soft Words relent.
Their Love to Liberty and ancient Laws,
Oft turns to Jealousy without a Cause:
With whose impatient Flames they quickly burn,
But to their Temper do as soon return.
Their Passions swell, but easily subside,
Kind Looks, and Words repress th' o'erflowing Tide.
The Rebels sure must dread King Arthur 's Name,
And think on their Ingratitude with Shame.
The common Men by specious Words misled
Begin the fatal Consequence to dread.
A general Pardon then to all declare
And you prevent the sad Effects of War.
He ceas'd and most applauded his Advice:
The British Monarch, as an Angel wise,
Who by his God-like Temper was inclin'd
To Pity, and support opprest Mankind,
With Olbar 's and with Sefel 's Language mov'd
Their Prudence and their Piety approv'd.
Mean time the Rebels at Cononium lay,
And as their Head did Morogan obey,
When they had heard that on the Regnian Strand,
The pious King was safely come to Land.
Their Monarch's Presence some began to dread,
And in their Breasts a secret Terror fed.
They trembled at his Arms, and Warlike Fame,
And seem'd already vanquish'd with his Name.
Some of a less ungrateful Mind begun
To think of all the Wonders he had done
And what his Arms had for Britannia won.
How to a Thousand various Dangers, he
To save Britannia 's State by Land and Sea,
Midst Storms and more inexorable Foes,
His sacred Life did freely oft expose.
What vast Herculean Toyl he underwent
Albion 's impending Ruin to prevent.
What Patience, what amazing Fortitude,
The God-like Man in endless Labour shew'd,
Britannia 's Peace and Freedom to restore,
To raise her Glory, and extend her Power.
Many for this who dar'd in Arms appear
Mov'd by their Gratitude, or by their Fear
In numerous Bodys did the Camp forsake,
And by Desertion left the Rebels weak.
They now their Levity, and Folly mourn'd,
And to their Houses and their Farms return'd.
Amongst the Rebels hence disorders grew,
And great Distrust and Contests did ensue.
The Leaders saw they could no more depend
On their rash Troops their Treason to defend.
They found the British Youth would never stand
Against an Host where Arthur did Command.
Then Morogan perplex'd his Servants sent,
To call the Chief Commanders to his Tent:
That they might all things prudently debate
That to th' Important Juncture did relate.
Straight to their Gen'rals high Pavilion came
The Chiefs of highest Trust, and greatest Name.
To whom the General thus himself addrest,
Britons, you see the Zeal which some exprest
For Albion 's Liberty is soon expir'd:
You see, what Troops are from our Camp retir'd.
A fresh example here, brave Friends, you see
Of the weak Vulgars Fear and Levity.
Speak what you think a prudent Man should do,
Shall we desist, or our Design pursue?
Then many Chiefs did various ways suggest
Which they believ'd in this Conjuncture best.
But while in sharp debate they did oppose
Each other's Counsel, great disturbance rose.
Then Adal who in Wisdom all the rest,
And Eloquence excell'd, his Thoughts exprest.
Britons, with great astonishment we see
The Wavering Crowd do's from our Banners flee.
The Vulgar we by this sad Instance find,
As Seas unstable, changing as the Wind.
All our Affairs are now in such a State,
As must oblige us to Capitulate.
With any Terms King Arthur will comply,
That shall disarm a British Enemy.
His Heart is so on Foreign Conquest set,
He'll easily what's done at home forget.
He would abroad be for a Hero shown,
Nor cares at home to know or to be known.
To our Demands no doubt he'll soon assent,
Domestic War and Tumults to prevent.
The Terms on which I'm willing to agree,
Are first an Universal Amnesty.
That all who please may undisturb'd retreat,
Or to their City, or their Rural Seat.
And all who in the State have been employ'd
Shall keep the Places they before enjoy'd.
But all the Chiefs and Captains who declare
They'll serve King Arthur in his Foreign War,
When they attend him to the Gallic Land,
They in his Troops shall have the same Command.
He ceas'd. The rest fearing an ill Event,
In loud Applauses gave a full Assent.
So when the Dogs that chase a timorous Hind
Which o'er the Lawns flys swifter than the Wind,
Are at a fault, and now enjoy no more
The cheerful Scent that lay so hot before:
If some Stanch Hound who rarely do's mistake,
In great Esteem and Credit with the Pack,
Opens, to tell that he the Scent has found,
The rest attending to the joyful sound,
In his Experience and his Skill confide,
And follow with full Cry their faithful Guide.
Then four Commanders from the rest they chose,
In whom they all could Confidence repose.
Who to the Castle where King Arthur lay,
To make this Overture strait took their way.
Where they arriv'd during the great debate,
About the measures to compose the State.
Which ended, they admitted to the King,
The Message told they had in Charge to bring.
The Pious Monarch who his Subjects lov'd,
By tender Mercy and Compassion mov'd,
To win the Rebels hearts did soon agree,
To grant the Universal Amnesty.
Nor did he think it prudent to withstand,
Those other Terms the Rebels did demand.
That he henceforth might undisturb'd pursue
His high design King Clotar to subdue.
That he his Forreign Conquests might repeat,
And the Deliv'rance of the Gauls compleat.
For Crafty Adal wisely did suggest
That the chief Passion in King Arthur 's breast
Was Liberty to Neustria to restore,
And free the Christian Franks from Clotar 's power.
The Messengers that from the Rebels went
Back to their Friends were by King Arthur sent.
Where they their Monarch's gracious Pardon read,
As was agreed, at every Squadron's head.
That done, the Chiefs did all their Troops disband,
And from Seditious Uproar freed the Land.
Thus did Britannia 's jarring Discord Cease,
And in its place return'd Harmonious Peace.
So soon King Arthur 's Fame and Presence quell'd
The Discontented Britons who Rebel'd.
As when a Heav'nly Angel comes to Chase
Infernal Fiends from some Inchanted Place.
Forthwith th' Inchantment's force is gone, and Hell
No longer Aids the black Magician's Spell.
Th' Imaginary Castles disappear,
The brazen Gates and Bulwarks melt to Air.
No Warriours more in Airy Armour stand,
Griping prodigious Bucklers in their hand:
Phantastic Monsters are no longer seen,
But all the Pageant Horrors quit the Scene.
The struggling Air throws off the Magic Chains,
And strait appear sweet Meads and flowry Plains.
So all the Terrours which did Albion feare,
At Arthur 's Presence vanish'd into Air.
The Briton who with ardent Zeal did burn,
Back to his Troops in Gallia to return.
Now all things for his Voyage did prepare,
And to protect Britannia did declare
What Lords he did invest with Regal Power
In whom both Prince and People were Secure.
Olbar was first a mild and prudent Guide,
Who o'er Britannia 's Churches did preside.
Nor Care nor Pains th' Indulgent Pastor spar'd,
Nor Vigilance his Flock to Feed and Guard.
His Erudition did their Reverence move,
And his diffusive Charity their Love.
His Christian Temper oft Contention charm'd,
And the hot Bigots of all Sects disarm'd.
By Moderation, Patience, Gentleness
And Candor which to all he did express.
He ever strove th' Erroneous to reduce,
Who to the Church Obedience did refuse.
But he Employ'd to set their Judgments right,
No Force but Reason's mild but powerful Light.
Resolv'd on Truth and not on Power to stand
He did the Lictors of the Church disband.
Arista was the next whom all Men prais'd,
To Honour by distinguish'd Merit rais'd.
Such was his Justice, such his Eloquence
So strong his Thought, so solid was his Sense,
So well his Wisdom was in Albion known,
That all his Judgment prais'd, to shew their own.
His universal Genius was refin'd
With Sciences, and Arts of every kind,
All held with Ease in his capacious Mind.
In Arthur 's Cause he did such Zeal declare,
To serve the State such was his Toyl and Care,
None his high Station did with Envy view,
For all believ'd it to his Merit due.
He with his Wit could when he pleas'd surprise,
But he supprest it, choosing to be Wise.
None better knew the Business of the State,
Clear as the Day, and as the Night sedate.
Fav'rite and Patriot he the Secret knew
How both to Prince and People to be true.
He made their Intrests one, and shew'd the Way
To serve the first, and not the last betray.
Happy Britannia had in after Days
Thy Statesmen strove thy Glory thus to raise.
Had they not toyl'd with anxious Care and Sweat,
To make themselves, and not their Country great.
Had they not Law and Right and Justice sold,
And form'd their Judgments by inlight'ning Gold.
Hebar was next of noble Parents born,
No Peer did more King Arthur 's Count adorn
Nor Archimedes, nor the Stagirite
Could boast a clearer intellectual Light.
For he th' extensive Power of Nature knew
Whose secret Springs lay open to his View.
She all her wondrous Skill to him disclos'd,
And all the Myst'ry of her Work expos'd.
Great was his Genius as by Nature wrought,
But 'twas by Art to such Perfection brought,
By Contemplation and laborious Thought.
Tho Nature, Art and painful Industry
To make th' accomplish'd Man did all agree,
Yet was he humble, affable, and kind
The true Distinctions of a noble Mind.
All in a Statesman were amaz'd to see
Such spotless Honour, and Integrity.
Courteous without betraying Vertue's Cause,
Just to his Prince, but not beyond the Laws.
He both to Church and State alike was true,
And gave to Cæsar and to God their Due.
Canvallo next. The Land did not afford
To represent a King a fitter Lord.
No Peer did ever grace the British Court
With such a noble and Majestic Port.
Like Saul amidst the Hebrew Knights he stood,
His Head and Shoulders rais'd above the Crowd.
And yet with no less Kindness Nature joyn'd
To such a graceful Frame an equal Mind.
The next was Galbut of illustrious Birth,
Of perfect Honour, and unrivall'd Worth.
Whose Vertues thro' the Isle assiduous Fame
Yet for the Task unequal did proclaim.
With these King Arthur Sakil did unite,
Sakil the People's and the Court's Delight.
Arthur did envy'd Favour to him shew,
As all wise Monarchs to the Muses do.
So the fam'd Conquerour of the spacious East
To the great Stagyrite his Love exprest,
Augustus so the Roman Wit carest.
Danmonian was the last, a noble Lord
Bred in a Court, yet faithful to his Word.
All in his Honour might securely trust,
To promise slow, but in Performance just.
His Words were full and pertinent, but few,
For sparingly he spoke, but always true.
None better knew the Art of Government
To guard the State, and Dangers to prevent.
Skilful to lay a Masterly Design,
And as expert the Foe to undermine.
These were the noble Lords King Arthur chose,
In whom th' important Trust he might repose.
He did to these commit th' Imperial Power,
Yet they with Pain the Weight of Empire bore
Which singly he with Ease sustain'd before.
Thus did the Hero Albion 's State appease
And settled all things for its future Ease.
And now he wish'd himself on Neustria 's Coast,
Impatient to rejoyn the British Host.
Back to his Ships with eager Hast he flew,
His glorious Undertaking to pursue.
BOOK VI
The Prince of Hell finding his purpose crost,
And all his hopes from Albion 's Troubles lost,
Thus to himself began all fir'd with Rage.
Against this Briton must we then engage
Our Arts in vain, must he our Force repel,
And disappoint the deep Designs of Hell?
Must he continue to advance his Arms,
And vex our Empire with his loud Alarms;
Hard Fate, Infernal Gods, if this proud Wight
Must scape our Snares, and baffle all our might.
Still with Success have I the Sect pursu'd,
Vanquish'd their Armys, and their Towns subdu'd.
If Force and open Violence have fail'd,
Discord and mighty Schism have still prevail'd.
Their strongest Bulwarks have I overthrown
Or by my Subjects Arms, or by their own.
And shall this Briton thus my Power defeat,
And force my Priests and Vot'rys to retreat
And fly from Town to Town, from Seat to Seat?
If Aid I can't to high Lutetia bring,
And guard her Towers against the British King,
I must my Temples Abdicate, and make
My fixt abode within th' Infernal Lake.
Did I exert such Strength, such Toyl sustain
T' invade this World, did I with wondrous pain
And wondrous Art beat out th' untrodden way
Till Earth I found and the Mild Coasts of Day?
From Hell's Abyss with mighty Force I sprung,
And in the Stagnant, gloomy Region hung;
Unbroken with my Flight and endless Care,
With lab'ring Wings I beat the pondrous Air.
Without a glympse or ray of Light I past
The Realms of Night, and all the Stygian wast,
Till I arriv'd upon the noisy Shore
Where the Tempestuous waves of Chaos roar:
With God-like Courage and with Looks unchang'd
I plung'd into the Deep, and o'er the Desart rang'd.
Now soaring high I did the way explore,
Now round I flew, now swept the bleaky Shore.
Undaunted I pursu'd my toilsom Flight
O'er horrid Wilds, and lonesome Plains of Night;
Thro' dreadful Tempests, Whirlwinds, blustring War
Fierce Strife, and hostile Rage, till from afar
I did with wondrous Joy descry at last
Some Streaks of Light, which darted on the Wast;
Pale Beams that on the face of Chaos lay
The glim'ring Fragments of the Ruin'd Day.
Mounting this way I reach'd the lightsome Sky;
And saw the beauteous World before me ly.
The fresh Creation look'd all charming mild,
And all the Flowry Face of Nature smil'd.
To me come newly from the Caves beneath
Thro' Smoke and Flame, what an Ambrosial breath
What Odours, such as Heav'nly Zephirs blow
From the sweet Mouth of th' Infant World did flow?
Charm'd with the Clime and ravish'd with the Air
To gain these Regions was my anxious Care.
And spite of Heav'n the mighty Deed was done,
And from th' Allmighty this fair World I won.
Shall I so rich and sweet a Region quit
And see my Franks to Christian Arms submit?
If all the Arts, and all the Power of Hell
Can stop his Course, the Briton I'll repel.
Mean time upon his Adamantine Throne sate
That high amidst th' Etherial Region shone
Th' Eternal Sate, collected in his Might,
Girt with Omnipotence, and cloath' d with Light.
The Sons of God who serve his high Command
Adoring round the sacred Mount did stand:
Angels, Arch-Angels, great Seraphic States
Heav'n's Viceroys, Generals, and great Potentates,
Who o'er Terrestrial Provinces preside,
And their respective Realms, and Empires guide
The mighty Princes of the spacious East
With Ganges Flood and fam'd Euphrates blest.
The Guardian Angels which for Parthia stand,
Who rule soft Persia and th' Arabian Sand.
The Presidents of the vast Tract of Nile
Of Lybia, and the Mauritanian Soil.
All the Protectors of the Sun-burnt Moor
From the Red Sea , to Guinea 's Golden Shore.
And all th' Angelic Prefects who preside
O'er rich Europa, and her Realms divide.
Who the wide Scythian Continent direct,
And all the snowy Northern Isles protect.
While round the Throne these shining Orders wait
Their great Transactions humbly to relate.
Whelm'd over with unsufferable Light
With Wings display'd they screen their troubled Sight.
Hither a Thousand bright Expresses came
Envoys divine, and Couriers wing'd with Flame,
Return'd from distant Worlds to tell at large
Th' important Business which they had in Charge.
Hither repair'd ambitious Lucifer ,
And in the bright Assembly did appear;
Distinguish'd by his Form so much decay'd,
And the deep Scars by vengeful Lightning made.
Like a torn Oak above the verdant Wood
Blasted from Heav'n the ruin'd Seraph stood;
Prepar'd the Just and Upright to arraign,
And his black Charge with Slanders to maintain.
When the blest Seraphs had Narration made
How their Instructions they had all obey'd,
What Revolutions they had caus'd below,
What Kingdoms guarded from th' unequal Foe.
What Monarchs Lust of Empire they restrain'd
What Kings advanc'd, what sinking States sustain'd.
What mighty Nations they had overthrown
By monstrous Crimes ripe for Destruction grown.
Then thus th' Allmighty from his lofty Throne
Which bright with uncreated Glory shone
To Satan spoke. Usurper of the Air
Whence dost thou come to these blest Seats, declare.
Th' Apostate thus return'd. I dayly rowl
From farthest East to West, from Pole to Pole.
O'er Hills and Dales I pass, o'er Lands and Floods
O'er howling Desarts, Wilds, and spacious Woods.
I cross the raging Seas from Isle to Isle,
And fly from Realm to Realm with endless Toil,
To learn the State of Empires, and to know
What busy Mortals say and do below.
O'er the Terrestrial Regions thus I roam,
And now from wandring there, am hither come.
Th' Eternal to th' Impostor thus reply'd:
In all thy tedious Journeys far and wide
Hast thou observ'd my Servant Arthur 's Ways,
That just and perfect Man who still obeys
With chearful Zeal and Pleasure my Command
And rules with equal Laws the British Land.
Whom I've anointed, Tyrants to destroy
And proud Oppressors who the World annoy.
To ease th' afflicted and relieve the poor
And banish'd Peace and Justice to restore.
Then Lucifer reply'd:
'Tis true King Arthur in the Field succeeds,
And by his Arms atchieves Heroic Deeds.
His Zeal seems great to serve the Christian Cause,
And his vast Labors have procur'd Applause.
But do's the pious Monarch serve for nought,
And Vertue's Cause for Vertue's sake promote?
Is all this Zeal for pure Religion shown?
Do's he pursue Heav'n's Int'rest, or his own?
Do's not a steep insuperable Mound
Rais'd by thy Hand this Briton 's Throne surround?
Fenc'd thus about he do's the Foe despise,
Mocks all their Rage, and all their Power defys.
Do not Seraphic Squadrons aid his Arms,
And guard his Camp against the Foe's Alarms?
Do not the bright, divine Militia stand,
Immortal Sabres flaming in their Hand
Around this Fav'rite Monarch, to direct
His Conduct, and his Armys to protect?
Do's not the Angel of thy Presence lead
His Armys forth, and his Battalions head?
'Tis known he still attends him in the Field,
And do's his Head in the hot Battle shield.
He watches always with officious Care
To guard his Life from the sharp Edge of War.
He in the Front of Battle do's appear
And shakes against the Host his dreadful Spear.
He marches on before him to the Foe
Divides their Files, and lets this Favourite thro'.
No Wonder then he should such Laurels gain,
And ride so oft triumphant o'er the slain.
That vanquish'd Nations should receive his Yoke,
For those that him oppose, thy Wrath provoke.
In vain his Foes their hot Revenge pursue,
He must prevail, till Heav'n they first subdue.
Tho various Deaths in horrid Shapes convey'd
On every side th' encircled King invade,
Tho' Showers of Darts and glitt'ring Javelins fly,
Hissing, like deadly Adders thro' the Sky:
Tho' o'er the bloody Field Destruction reigns
And loads with ghastly Heaps the slipp'ry Plains,
Arthur encompass'd with Celestial Bands,
As if a God invulnerable stands.
Those Heav'n defends from Danger are secure,
And those it fights for, are of Triumph sure.
King Arthur 's Arms immortal Wreaths have won
By Power receiv'd from hence, and not his own.
Th' admiring World profusely praise bestow,
And worship Arthur as a God below.
In time they'll Altars to his Name erect,
And ask his Aid their Kingdoms to protect.
No wonder then the Briton do's pretend
Such Zeal for Heav'n, while Heav'n is such a Friend.
But let it now withdraw its aiding Hand,
And like impartial Judges neutral stand:
Or let some unexpected Suff'ring prove
His fam'd Integrity, and stedfast Love,
And thou shalt find he'll curse thee to thy Face,
And shew himself of Man's apostate Race.
Then did th' Allmighty thus reply, to prove
King Arthur 's Patience, Fortitude and Love
To shew how much the mighty Man can bear,
And how unjust these Accusations are,
For twice seven Days thou mayst his Vertue try,
Use all thy Arts to prove his Constancy.
For that determin'd Space he's in thy Power,
His sacred Person only I secure.
The Prince of Darkness felt an inward Joy
From Heav'n's Permission Arthur to annoy.
Down thro' th' aeirial Void he swiftly flew
His deep Revenge and Malice to pursue:
In mighty Wrath, knowing the time but short,
He came, to make his terrible Effort.
So when in ancient Rome a furious Beast
With Hunger pinch'd was from his Den releast
A constant Christian Martyr to devour
Condemn'd by some Imperial Monster's Power,
He roar'd and ran with open Jaws to tear
His Prey and pleas'd the bloody Theater.
Th' infernal Prince from Heav'n's Cerulean Top
Shot thro' the liquid Gulph, nor did he stop
Till he had reach'd the thick inferiour Air,
And saw beneath King Arthur 's Ships appear.
In th' Atmosphear with level Wings he hung,
And calld with such a thund'ring Voice, as rung
Thro' all the Skys, and with its dreadful Sound
Shook all the Rocks, and Shores, and Hills around.
His dusky Ministers who Storms prepare
And temper flaming Meteors in the Air,
Who dress the Magazins of Hail and Rain,
And whip wild Whirl winds round to vex the Main,
The Engineers that in the troubled Skys
Recruit exhausted Clouds with fresh Supplys,
These their great Leader's Summons did obey
And to receive his Orders hast away.
To whom thus Lucifer, see yonder see
Amidst the Waves Hell's greatest Enemy.
Aerial Powers make hast at my Command,
And beat th' Invader from the Gallic Land.
On his tall Ships a suddain Tempest pour
Sink him, or beat him to Pomona 's Shore.
Strait did the Fiends their Diligence employ
T' embroil the deep, and Arthur to destroy.
The Seeds of Tempests that imprison'd lay
In hollow Cliffs, and Caves remote from Day,
The lab'ring Demons did aloft convey.
Now gathering Clouds the Day begins to drown,
Their threat'ning Fronts thro' all th' Horizon frown.
Their swagg'ring Wombs low in the Air depend
Which struggling Flames, and imbred Thunder rend
The strongest Winds their Breath and Vigor prove
And thro' the Heav'ns th' unweildy Tempest shove.
O'ercharg'd with Stores and Heav'ns Artillery
They groan and pant and labour up the Sky.
Impending Ruin do's the Sailor scare
Rolling and wallowing thro' th' encumber'd Air.
Loud Thunder, livid Flames, and Stygian Night
Compounded Horrors all the Deep affright,
Rent Clouds a medly of Destruction spout,
And throw their dreadful Entrails round about.
Tempests of Fire and Cataracts of Rain
Unnatural Friendship make t'afflict the Main.
Prest by incumbent Storms the Billows rise,
Climb o'er the Rocks, and foam amidst the Skys.
Then falling lower than before they rose
The secret Horrors of the Deep disclose.
Pursu'd by conquering Winds they fly and roar
And crowd and headlong run against the Shore.
This Orb's wide Frame with this Convulsion shakes,
Oft opens in the Storm, and often cracks.
Horror, Amazement and Despair appear
In all the hideous Forms that Mortals fear.
Driv'n by the furious Winds the Ships were tost
On the rough Waves, near wild Pomona 's Coast.
Here the Pightlandian Gulph's impetuous Tyde
Do's cold Jerne from the Isles divide;
A dreadful Sea, where adverse Currents meet
And beat their clashing Heads to Foam and Sleet.
The roaring Billows back and forward rowl,
And from the hollow Rocks Sea Monsters howl;
Monsters which from the North here rendezvous,
And on this Coast their hideous Dwelling chuse.
Th' amazing Noise and Uproar from afar
Alike the Shepherds and the Seamen feare.
Sailers that once should these dire Terrors hear,
Would Scylla mock, and by Charybdis steer
And only Pictland Gulph hereafter fear.
Here Remora 's, if Fame belief may gain
Ships under Sail with wondrous force detain,
That thus becalm'd ev'n in a Storm remain.
Stronsa they past with such a furious Gale
As almost rent the Womb of every Sail.
They past the Land, where on the rocky Coast
Agricola his Roman Navy lost,
Misled by Pilots of Pomona 's Isle,
Who gave their Lives to save their Native Soil.
'Cause Rome ne'er thought in Northern Climes to find
A People brave, and of a Roman Mind,
Who could for Publick Good their own deny,
And for their Country, like her Decij, dy.
While Winds and Waves and Tempests waging War,
Vex'd all the Sea and troubled all the Air;
Indulgent Heav'n did the kind Aid afford
Which with their Prayers the Britons had implor'd.
A glorious Spirit from the Fields above
Descending with the swiftness of the Dove,
Approach'd King Arthur with Celestial grace,
And with Ambrosial Odour fill'd the Place.
Around his head a gentle Glory shone,
And thus the beamy Minister begun:
The Powers of Hell their Angry Forces joyn
T' oppose your Arms, and thwart your high Design.
These did the Seas with this fierce Storm embroil,
To beat your Navy from Neustrasia 's Soil.
Your Arms, to try your Vertue, are delay'd,
So Heav'n permits, and Heav'n must be obey'd.
Know, by supream Command I now prepare
To chase the Demons that infest the Air,
Down to their Prisons, that the troubled Seas
May rest enjoy, and the fierce Tempest cease.
And when the Morn shall spread with dawning Day
Her Purple Loom, and shoot her early ray,
You'll Thule and th' Orcadian Isles descry
Which scatter'd o'er the Ocean's bosom ly.
Then steer directly to Pomona 's Shore,
Where you will Terrors meet unknown before.
Fear not this Isle and Dangers yet untry'd,
Heav'n you invoke, and Heav'n will be your guide.
Know, that the Prince of Hell has leave obtain'd
To prove your Constancy, and now unchain'd,
Th' Apostate with excessive Rage prepares
His fiery Tryals, and his various Snares.
That he in this great Combate may prevail,
He'll bring the Pious Arthur to Assail
Prodigious Monsters all of dreadful Shape,
From whom few Heros e'er did yet escape.
When you to Combate these shall take the Field,
Assume your Heav'nly Sword and Heav'nly Shield.
Your Helm unpierc'd shall fiery Darts arrest,
And your Celestial Plate protect your breast.
In these your Arms divinely wrought appear
And then no Monster, no Aggressor fear.
That with prodigious toil and sweat, for want
Of Food and Rest, you grow not weak and faint;
This Balm which Heav'nly Gardens yeild, receive,
Th' Ambrosial Odour will fresh Vigor give,
Your drooping Spirits cheer, and wasted Strength revive.
But when your Arms Hell's Terrors have repell'd
And with immortal praise fierce Monsters quell'd:
Your Chiefest Danger still remains behind,
From a fair Foe, who Murders while she's kind.
A fatal Foe, Fascinia is her name,
Whose Triumphs Vanquish'd Kings and Chiefs proclaim.
You may not stay and Gaze, but straitway fly
The Sight of this perfidious Enemy.
No Mortal Courage can abide the Fight,
You Conquer when you're brave and bold in Flight.
All who contend fall by Fascinia 's Charms,
'Tis Fear must here protect you, not your Arms.
Your diffidence the surest guard will yield
The Wise who run will only Win the Field.
He said, and strait the Seraph disappear'd
King Arthur with his Looks and Language cheer'd,
Waiting th' appearance of approaching Day
Resolv'd the Heav'nly Vision to obey.
Th' Aerial Demons from the Seraph fly
Born off on rapid Whirlwinds from the Sky.
The Winds no more insult the flying Waves,
But for repose retreat to Neighb'ring Caves.
The Sea subsides, and on its peaceful breast
Billows diffus'd dispose themselves to rest.
Now did the beauteous Morn serenely rise
And open'd with her Smiles the Eastern Skys.
The perfect Day ensu'd, when midst the Seas
They had in view the clust'ring Orcades .
Direct to make Pomona 's Isle they steer'd,
Which near and easy of access appear'd.
Soon did the Britons see a peaceful Bay
To guard their Ships her spacious Arms display.
Where weary Billows did securely sleep
Withdrawn to shun the Tumults of the Deep.
Within the winding Shores they safely past
Took in their Sails, and all their Anchors cast.
A Chosen Band of Britons went on Shore
Who might Refreshments and Sufficient Store
Of fresh Provisions for the Navy gain,
Worn with their mighty suff'rings on the Main.
Where many Nights and Days they had been lost
Before the Men descry'd Pomona 's Coast.
Arthur in Person did the Men Command,
Who from their Vessels leap'd out on the Strand,
And boldly thence march'd up to view the Land.
When in the neighb'ring Mountains did appear.
Wild Swine and Goats and Herds of Fallow Deer.
Their fatal Arms did the wild Game pursue,
And soon abundant Store there Weapons slew.
Then laden with their Spoil they turn'd their feet
And came rejoycing to th' expecting Fleet.
In foaming Caldrons some fat Venson boil'd,
They Roasted some, and some on Coals they broil'd.
Spread on the Shore they did themselves refresh,
And prais'd the Swine and Deer's delicious Flesh.
When they had eat and drank with toil opprest
The Men dispos'd their weary Limbs to rest.
Soon as the tender Morn began to dawn,
King Arthur for Devotion was withdrawn.
While he his humble Prayers was offering up
To Heav'n upon a Neighb'ring Mountain's top,
The Prince of Darkness caught him up on high,
And bore th' undaunted Hero thro' the Sky,
But near a Mountain in a lonesom wast,
Swiftly alighting, he the Briton plac't.
A mighty Dragon came down from the Hill
Whose hideous Crys did all the Valley fill.
The monstrous Beast was of prodigious size,
Smoak from his Nostrils broke, Fire from his Eyes.
His odious Feet resembled Harpys Claws,
And the fierce Crocadile 's his bloody Jaws.
Which when expanded did three murth'ring Rows
Of Teeth his native Armory disclose.
His Wings spread out o'ershadow'd all the Air,
Wide as the broadest Sails in Ships of War.
Hard scaly Armour to his Body grew
For Ornament and for Protection too.
Along he drew his mighty poisonous train
Like crooked Rivers sliding thro' a plain.
As on the ground the turgid Volumes rol'd,
They all their Speckled Terrors did unfold.
On did the vast, voracious Monster come
With dreadful noise, denouncing Arthur 's Doom.
Sometimes like heavy Bustards rais'd with pain
He flew, and sometimes ran upon the Plain.
Sometimes employing Feet and Pinions too,
The Dragon both together ran and flew.
The Beast with horrid noise advancing near,
Th' undaunted Briton pois'd his massy Spear
Which strait projected with prodigious Might,
From his strong Arm took his auspicious Flight.
Dragon and Spear against each other hist,
Nor could the Beast this stress of Death resist.
For while he yawn'd and belch'd out dreadful Flames
Amidst the Air in long impetuous Streams,
Down his wide throat the Spear its passage made
And buried deep within his Stomach staid.
Down fell the wounded Beast with mighty sound,
Shook all the Plain, the Woods, and Hills around,
And beat his quivering Wings upon the ground.
A Sea of loathsome Gore resembling Blood,
Sprung from his Throat, and o'er the Region flow'd.
Then did the raging Prince of Darkness bear
Aloft the Conquering Briton thro' the Air.
But set him down amidst a shady Wood,
Which in a wild, amazing Desart stood.
Where only ancient Pines, and baleful Yew,
Unwholsome Box, and mournful Cypress grew.
The noxious Glebe did nothing else produce
But poisonous Flowers, and Herbs of Magic use.
Bald Toadstools, Henbane, Nightshade, Hemlock here,
Abundant choice of Mischief, did appear.
The Birds obscene which love the Shades of Night
Frightful to hear, and odious to the Sight,
Owls, Ravens, Bats, and all th' ill-boding Race
Increast the Horrors of the dismal place.
So black the Shade, so thick the stagnant Air,
That no reviving Sunbeams enter'd there.
Nothing but here and there a straggling Ray
Which lost it self in wandring from the Day.
Which serv'd not to Refresh, but to affright,
Not to Dispel, but to Disclose the Night.
Within the midst an antient Castle stood,
Encompass'd with a Mote of reeking Blood.
Wherein a dreadful Monster did reside,
Who all th' attempts of humane Force defy'd:
A Cruel Tyrant, of Infernal Shape,
Whom none, who Fear her fury, can escape.
Vipers, like those in Stygian Caverns found,
Swoln with black Gore, her meagre Temples crown'd.
Her ghastly Eyes were sunk within her head,
And Death-like Paleness did her Cheeks o'erspred.
Her long, lank Breasts she o'er her Shoulders flung,
Or to her Wast the loathsom Burden hung.
Her shapeless Form no Words have force to tell,
Black as the Night, and Horrible as Hell.
The Monsters which Sicilia 's Seas defame
If this appear'd, would gentle seem and tame.
She brandish'd in her hand a poison'd Dart,
Which Strikes desponding Mortals to the Heart.
Fast in the festring wound the Weapon rests,
And tears with pain their miserable Breasts.
For death in vain the tortur'd Wretches cry,
Still do they Live, but still they Live to Dy.
None but the Brave conscious of Vertuous Deeds;
Whose Courage from their Innocence proceeds,
Are able to withstand her dreadful Power,
The rest the Monster do's with Ease devour.
No sooner in th' enchanted Wood appear'd
Britannia 's Pious King, but straight he heard
The saddest Accents, deep despairing Sighs,
Bitter Complaints, and loud amazing Crys,
Promiscuous Howlings, lamentable Moans,
Outrageous Sorrow, and redoubled Groans.
Clashing of Whips, hissings of mighty Snakes,
Clancking of Chains, and noise of tort'ring Racks.
Yellings of raging Furys, and the cry
Of Men in dreadful Torments rend the Sky.
Then thro' the Air Flashes of Light'ning past,
And flaming Firebrands at his head were cast.
Dragons of Fire flew swiftly thro' the Air,
And ruddy Meteors shook their blazing Hair.
Then murd'ring Ruffians leap'd out from the Wood,
And grasping bloody Daggers threat'ning stood.
Hell-hounds of hideous Forms, and dreadful Claws
Ran roaring on him with their open Jaws.
Pale shiv'ring Ghosts past groaning by, a sight
Which humane Nature cannot but affright.
These various Horrors did he see and hear
Yet stood unmov'd, and ignorant of Fear.
The Prince of Darkness all enrag'd to see
The pious King's unshaken Constancy.
To see him midst such Terrors fearless stand,
Grasping his Heavenly Buckler in his Hand;
Wherewith the Hero did with Ease repel
The Rage of all th' united Powers of Hell;
Invited dire Anelpis to his Aid,
Of whom both Men and Angels are afraid.
Aloud th' Apostate call'd, and at his Cry
The Castle's Brazen Gates did open fly.
The Draw-bridge all with Plates of Iron wrought
Fell down, and lay across the Bloody Moat.
When from the Castle Gates a hideous Rout
With mighty Noise and Outcrys issued out.
The Marks and all the ghastly Shapes of Fear
In their distracted Faces did appear.
Consummate Horror all their Looks possest,
And Consternation not to be exprest.
They beat their Breast, and tortur'd with Despair
Tore from their Heads their stiff erected Hair.
Torrents of Tears they pour'd out from their Eyes,
And fill'd the ecchoing Wood with dismal Crys.
Then next the Hellish Fury came in Sight,
And call'd forth all her Terrors to affright.
She shook her Vipers, and aloud she roar'd
Than Death more cruel, and as Hell abhorr'd.
With horrid Port the meagre Monster strode,
Poising her poison'd Dart all stain'd with Blood.
Up to the King she march'd with furious Hast,
And at his Breast her dreadful Dart she cast.
Off from his temper'd Shield the Weapon glanc'd,
The King with God-like Courage strait advanc'd,
And brandishing his Fauchion in the Air
T' attack the grisly Fury did prepare.
Who straitway fled with all her odious Train,
And in a Moment did her Castle gain.
For she the timorous only can devour
But flys the brave who dare resist her Power.
With Spite and Rage th' Infernal Monarch swell'd
When he the Britons glorious Deed beheld.
Then thus he to himself. Still my Design
My Vengeance still this Briton do's decline,
He all my chosen Ministers defeats,
And even Anelpis from his Arms retreats.
Yet still I'll try, unwearied I'll pursue,
I will molest him if I can't subdue.
This mighty Favourite of Heav'n shall find
That I have Snares and Dangers yet behind,
Milder in show, but of more fatal Kind.
I'll change my Arms and Method of Attack,
Conquer by Wiles whom Danger cannot shake.
In the South Corner of Pomona 's Isle
Blest with a temperate Air and fertile Soil.
On the sweet Margin of a Crystal Flood,
Within a flowry Vale a Palace stood,
Adorn'd with Turrets of Stupendious height,
With Walks and Gardens ravishing to Sight.
Here did Fascinia with her wanton train
In unmolested Peace and Pleasure reign.
Her Form was lovely, and amazing fair
Her Looks so sweet, so tender was her Air,
That such soft charms, such an alluring grace
Besides her own adorn'd no Mortal Face.
A thousand Graces, and a thousand Joys
Smil'd in her Cheeks and danc'd within her Eyes.
Where sate Victorious Love with Triumph crown'd,
His Conquering Arms and Trophys spread around.
From these bright Magazins to Vanquish Hearts
He drew his keenest flames, and all his surest Darts.
Great Heros who Immortal Fame pursu'd,
Citys reduc'd, and mighty Kings subdu'd,
Have at this Conqueror's Feet laid down their Arms,
Pleas'd to be vanquish'd by her gentle Charms.
The Lilly, Jesmine, Violet and Rose
Mingling their various Beautys did compose
The Flowry Garland which encompass'd round
Her softer Hair, and fairer Temples crown'd.
Her Amber Locks loose on her Shoulders lay,
Whither lascivious Zephyrs came to play.
With sporting Wings they rais'd them up, then all
Flew off, aud let their Golden Burden fall.
Her Silken Garments which with careless grace
Her beauteous Limbs and Body did embrace,
Did thro' the Air a rich Perfume diffuse,
Such as Arabia 's balmy Woods produce.
And yet beneath the specious, fair disguise
Of tender Words, and soft enticing Eyes,
The treach'rous Sorceress within her Mind
Conceal'd the deepest Hate to Humane Kind.
She all the Herbs and potent Juices knew
Which on Pomona 's Hills in Plenty grew;
These with infernal Art she could dispence
And Mixtures Form of wondrous Influence.
These Magic Draughts the fair Enchantress gave
To all whom first her Beauty did enslave.
Various the skillful Dispensations were,
Which she for various Uses did prepare.
As soon as some had drank th' infectious Bowl,
They Wolves became, and strait began to howl.
Some did the Form of wanton Goats acquire,
Some Swine became, and straitway sought the Mire.
Some with the Herds did thro' the Forrests pass,
And like Assyria 's Monarch fed on Grass.
Some as from Humane Shape they did decline,
Up to the Wast were Goats, and after Swine.
Some half transform'd compos'd a monstrous Herd,
Where one half Man, and one half Beast appear'd.
Many Fascinia with amazing Art
Changing their Sex to Women did convert.
The Sorc'ress these anointed with an Oyl
Of wondrous Force brought from Campania 's Soil:
Then by her Servants they were all convey'd
To a warm Bath with strong Decoctions made
Of Porna which without the Gard'ners Toil
A Native grew thro' all Pomona 's Isle.
When she had bath'd them for a certain Space,
She then remov'd the Captives from the Place
And laid them softly on a downy Bed,
With Lillys, Poppys, and fresh Roses spread.
Then while she touch'd her Lute's enchanting String
And with a charming Voice began to sing,
Sweet Slumber strait their Eyelids gently prest,
And on their Bed they lay dissolv'd in Rest.
Mean time their Transformation did ensue,
Their vig'rous Bodys smooth and slender grew;
Their Limbs their Force did by degrees abate,
And by degrees turn'd fair and delicate.
Their Nerves grew slack, their Skin, as Lillys, white,
Soft to the Touch, and easy to the Sight.
From their fair Chins dropt off their Manly Beard,
And on their smiling Lips a lovely Red appear'd.
For mild and tender Looks, their changing Face,
Put off its bold, its stern and martial Grace.
Their Shape all o'er discover'd Female Charms,
And all the Distaff sought, instead of Arms.
These in Fascinia 's Court did still remain,
And furnish'd out her soft lascivious Train.
Monarchs and warlike Chiefs who hither came
Drawn by her charming Beauty, and her Fame
In mighty Numbers did her Palace fill,
Their Sex first chang'd by her prodigious Skill.
Straitway the Prince of Hell on Wings display'd,
To this sweet Seat the British King convey'd.
And set him down amidst the balmy Bowers
With od'rous Herbs adorn'd, and fresh blown Flowers.
Wherein appear'd on Iv'ry Tables set
Rich garnish'd Dishes of delicious Meat.
Choice Fruits in great Profusion lay around,
And with their Golden Heaps the Tables crown'd.
Plenty of Wine was plac'd; no nobler Juice
Ausonia 's Hills or fertile Greece produce.
Music exceeding that of tuneful Sphears
With soft harmonious Airs engag'd his Ears.
Hither Fascinia with her Train to eat
Now from her gilded Palace did retreat.
Her, Lucifer had form'd and taught with Care
How best the British Monarch to ensnare.
Telling that this would raise her Glory more
Than all the Triumphs she had won before.
Soon as she saw the Hero stand in Arms
She smil'd, and call'd forth all her conq'ring Charms.
Advancing near, the lovely Sorceress
Did these soft Words to Britain 's King address.
Tho you great Monarch are a Stranger here
Your Fame is not, your Person's therefore dear.
Faint with your Toil with Victorys opprest,
Accept reviving Meats, and Wine and Rest.
Make hast, and your exhausted Strength recruit,
Conquest you've gain'd, and now enjoy the Fruit.
Without Refreshment, and a due Repair
Your mighty Limbs will fail, your Vigor wear.
Your martial Genius for a time unbend,
Some easy Hours in soft Enjoyment spend.
Dangers you've born now tast these peaceful Joys,
Divert your self with Pleasure's charming Voice.
In this Retirement while you please to stay,
All my Attendants shall your Will obey,
And I my self will own your soveraign Sway.
Here we'll advance the Name of Albion 's King,
And in soft Peace your Wars and Triumphs sing.
Then you again shall Martial Fame pursue,
And in the warlike Field your mighty Deeds renew.
She ceas'd. And from her fair enchanting Eyes
Shot Showers of Conqu'ring Darts to gain the Prize.
The British Monarch view'd her beauteous Face
Her tender Shape, soft Air, and every Grace.
Speechless the Hero and astonish'd stood,
And found an unknown Temper in his Blood.
A painful Pleasure seiz'd his beating Heart,
And in his Breast he felt and lov'd the Smart.
The wand'ring Flame creeps thro' his wounded Veins,
And all the Springs of Life the soft Contagion gains.
He ne'er before met such a potent Foe,
Nor did he e'er such Danger undergo.
At last the Briton fir'd with Love, reply'd,
Amidst such Charms who would not still abide?
Happy the Kings, happy the Conquerours are
Who after all their Warlike Toil can share
The Smiles of one who's so divinely Fair.
Then to the Bower she led him by the hand,
And strait to fill out Wine she gave Command.
She drank the Wine off, and of Conquest sure
Bid them a second Bowl for Arthur pour.
But when the Briton took the fatal drink
And stood upon the Precipice's brink,
At last he recollected in his Mind,
How strictly he had been from Heav'n Enjoyn'd
In fair Fascinia 's Presence not to stay,
But from her fatal Arms to break away.
In hast the Monarch rose, resolv'd to fly
Th' Enchanted Place, the Lovely Enemy
Perceiving Arthur 's great and brave intent
Fell on her Knees his Purpose to prevent.
She with her Arms his Martial Legs embrac'd,
And in the snowy Fetters held him fast.
With Tears and Prayers and every moving Art,
She labour'd to confirm his wav'ring Heart.
The Pious Monarch undetermin'd stood,
And felt Alternate tydes Command his blood.
He would not Heav'n's high order disobey,
Nor had the Power or Will to break away.
Thus he a while maintain'd a doubtful Field,
And tho' he did not Conquer, did not yield.
Mean time great Gabriel watchful of his Care,
To give him Aid to break the fatal Snare,
Cloath' d in white Air appear'd, and with a Cry
Which shew'd the Monarch's Danger bid him fly.
If thou he said wilt Life and Honour save,
If thou wouldst prove above all others brave,
No longer with this fair Enchantress stay
Come on, and follow where I lead the Way.
The Briton rous'd with this divine Alarm
Felt now a nobler Flame his Bosom warm.
Upon the Ground the fatal Bowl he threw,
And from the fair Fascinia 's Presence flew,
Who with her earnest Crys did long pursue.
The Gates flew open with obsequious Hast,
Thro' which the Seraph and King Arthur past.
Now in th' Aerial Realms had Light and Shade
Twice seven alternate Revolutions made;
When Lucifer 's Commission was expir'd,
Who from the Briton all enrag'd retir'd.
Him his great Guardian Gabriel did convey
Down to the Coasts where then the Britons lay.
Gravellan, faithful Lucius, and the rest
For their great Leader's Absence sore distrest,
From Place to Place, with Care and anxious Thought
In vain their Prince thro' all Pomona sought,
They rang'd o'er Hill and Dale, and all around
The Woods and Caves did with their Crys resound.
At last o'erwhelm'd with Sorrow and Despair
They to the Coast from whence they came repair;
There to debate what Measures they should take,
If they should cease, or fresh Enquiry make.
Mean time the King amidst his Friends arriv'd,
Whose Presence their desponding Minds reviv'd.
With Wonder they beheld the Hero's Face,
And did with Tears of Joy his Feet embrace.
But when th' excessive Passion did abate,
The King at large did to his Friends relate,
What Dangers in his Absence him befel,
And how by Aids divine he did repel,
All the confed'rate Force and Frauds of Hell.
The mighty Triumphs by the Hero gain'd
His Patience, and the Labors he sustain'd
In various Combates, all his Friends amaz'd,
Who fixt with Admiration on him gaz'd.
With Joy transported all congratulate
His mighty Conquests and his prosp'rous Fate.
Some did to Heav'n his wondrous Patience raise,
Some did his Courage, some his Goodness praise.
And all the Soveraign of the World ador'd,
Who to the Britons had their Prince restor'd.
Whose powerful Hand assisted his Escape,
From Dangers of such Formidable Shape.
Then Meat and Wine they did prepare in hast,
Which now the Britons could with Pleasure tast.
Refresh'd with Food the pious King arose
And went his weary Members to repose.
But first declar'd that when the dawning Day,
From the cold Air should chase the Shades away,
He would embark to make Neustrasia 's Coast,
To lead against the Franks the British Host.
Go to "King Arthur" Part II
THE INDEX
Legends/Sagas
KING ARTHUR
by
SIR RICHARD BLACKMORE
BOOK VII
These things befel the King since Gallia 's Soil
He left to calm Brittannia 's troubled Isle.
Mean time in Gallia when their Monarch found
Himself recover'd from his painful Wound,
He with his greatest Lords in Council sate
About the Means to save the Gallic State.
Then thus the haughty Prince his Chiefs bespoke,
Our Foes who would on Gaul impose their Yoke,
Are now expos'd to your avenging stroke.
Arthur 's withdrawn Britannia to compose,
From whom his Army's Confidence arose.
His Courage, Conduct, Military Fame
Kindled within their Breasts a Martial Flame.
His Presence made them obstinate in Fight,
Eager of Conquest, and asham'd of Flight.
But since the Soul that mov'd their Troops is gone,
Leaving this Kingdom to secure his own,
Let us employ this favourable Hour
To free our Country from the British Power.
Let us advance our Ensigns valiant Franks
T'attack the Foe encamp'd on Esia 's Banks.
We shall a weak desponding Host assail,
And of a glorious Conquest cannot fail.
He ceas'd, and all his Captains did reveal
To storm the British Camp a cheerful Zeal.
Forthwith their Monarch's orders to pursue
The Generals rose and to their Posts withdrew.
Soon as Aurora with her Rosy Light
Had streak'd the gloomy Bosom of the Night;
The Monarch rose and Eager of the War
For bloody Labour did himself prepare.
His Armour and his Arms his Servants brought
All temper'd Plate by famous Masters wrought.
His ample Shield was all of Burnish'd Gold,
Dreadful indeed, but Glorious to behold.
He lac'd his dazling Helm around his Head,
Which thro' the Air did keen Reflection spread.
His massy Sword he girded to his Wast,
And his strong Thighs in beaten Gold encas'd.
His Breast and Back in noble Armour shone
In Battle by excessive Splendor known.
Then in his hand two pondrous Spears he took,
And round him cast a Stern and Haughty Look.
On to the Field he led his Warlike Franks
And drew forth on the Plain th' embattled Ranks.
The Steeds with raging Hoofs the ground did tear,
And Chariots with their Thunder fill'd the Air.
The Troops advancing o'er the Hills did Choak
The Concave of the Sky with Dust and Smoke.
Thro' which their Armours glancing Lustre show'd,
Like radiant Sunbeams breaking thro' a Cloud.
The deep Brigades compos'd an endless Throng,
And with an awful Slowness march'd along.
Drawn out in Order they display'd from far
The sullen Pomp, and the rough Looks of War.
As when short Days and cold Autumnal Air
To some new Seat warn Swallows to repair,
The chatt'ring Race do's round their Leaders fly,
And at their Summons rendezvous on high,
And with their Numbers darken all the Sky.
So thick the Franks did on their March appear
So black and wide their Front, so long their Rear.
Mean time the Scouts and Outguards did alarm
The British Youth, and made the Captains arm.
Who did, as order'd, in their Camp remain,
Not to attack the Foe, but to sustain.
Wise Solmar plaid a wary Gen'ral's Part
Guarding the Camp by all the Rules of Art.
He in Battalia rang'd his valiant Host
And did his Squadrons, as a Master, post,
Where no Advantage of the Ground was lost.
No prudent Measures did the Chief neglect
Their Lines against th' Invader to protect.
The chearful Captains to their Charge repair,
Each takes his Post, and waits th' advancing War.
The British Youth in Arms the Franks attend
Bravely resolv'd each other to defend.
Solmar within the Army's Center stands,
As most convenient to dispence Commands.
The left Wing Talmar did as Gen'ral sway,
The right the valiant Clovis did obey.
Now at a distance did the marching Foes
Their numerous Army's Warlike Front disclose.
Bright Jav'lins, Sabres, brazen Backs, and Breasts,
Gauntlets, contiguous Helmets, burnish'd Crests,
Long glitt'ring Spears, broad Fauchions, temper'd Shie
Spread with illustrious Horror all the Fields.
In his bright Arms King Clotar did advance
Before his Troops, and shook his threat'ning Lance.
The haughty Warriour strait began the Fight
And furiously attack'd the Briton 's Right.
With mighty Clamour and insulting Shouts
The Gallic Squadrons storm th' advanc'd Redoubts.
The noble Clovis all their Force sustains,
Unmov'd, undaunted he his Ground maintains.
Fearless of Death he on the Rampart stands
Dispensing to his Troops sedate Commands.
Projected Stones in Rocky Tempests fly,
And Showers of Arrows fill the troubled Sky.
Their brawny Arms destructive Javelins throw,
And glitt'ring Darts on deadly Errands go.
Some to oblige the Britons to retire
Hurl on them smoking Brands, and Storms of Fire.
The Briton stands the flaming Charge, and pours
Down in Exchange vast Stones in craggy Showers.
Which with the slaughter'd Heaps the Trenches fill,
And the bold Foe at once entomb and kill.
A leafless Wood of tall erected Spears,
O'erspreading all the spacious Field appears,
As thick and close, as the young tender Trees
Shoot up their Heads in thriving Nurserys.
Undaunted they the lofty Bulwarks scale,
And with their Sword in Hand the Foe assail.
But by the valiant Britons beaten back
With mighty Slaughter they forsook th' Attack.
Then with fresh Force the Britons to invade
Valiant Olcanor brought his bold Brigade.
All valiant Men inur'd to Arms and Blood,
Bred on the Banks of Liger 's Silver Flood.
The mighty Chief mounts up, and on the Lines
Waving his Sword in noble Armour shines.
Rollo advanc'd to beat him from his Post,
And to regain the Ground their Men had lost:
But with his utmost Force his furious Foe
On his bright Crest dealt such a dreadful Blow,
That Rollo stagg'ring in a dizzy Swoon
Fell down upon his Knees, and prest the Ground:
He lean'd upon his Buckler with his Hand,
Yet scarcely so his swimming Head sustain'd.
Then brandishing his Fauchion in the Air
The fatal Stroke the Conq'rour did prepare:
When mighty Oloron the Neustrian Chief
All fir'd with Rage flew to his Friend's Relief.
He interpos'd his generous Arms, and took
Upon his ringing Shield the falling Stroke.
The Neustrian Lord ran in, and round his Wast
With his strong Arms he hugg'd and grip'd him fast:
Then from the Ground he rais'd the Warriour up,
And hurl'd him headlong from the Rampart's Top.
Off from the high rais'd Works the mighty Gaul
Fell down, and shook the Vally with his Fall.
So vast Enceladus, as Poets tell,
Gigantic Ruin, from the Mountains fell
By which he seal'd th' Imperial Seat of Jove ,
Struck down by vengeful Thunder from above.
Brave Miran next warm with his Youthful Flame
Up to the Charge with his Battalion's came.
To mount the Lines he straitway gave Command,
But would himself be foremost of the Band.
Vebba observing brought a mighty Stone
And from the high Entrenchment roll'd it down,
It took the noble Warriour in his Way,
And both within the Trenches buried lay.
Rosan advanc'd, Romulian 's learned Son,
Who midst the Bards had many Laurels won,
And now to martial Glory did aspire;
He climb'd the Works urg'd with a noble Fire:
With his right Hand he did his Fauchion weild,
And with his left he held his spacious Shield.
Up to the high Entrenchment's brow he rose,
Amidst the thickest Darts, and thickest Foes.
He with his Spear Radan and Tabal slew,
And down the Works Lanvallo headlong threw.
Coril the valiant Durotrigian Knight
Bravely advanc'd, and undertook the Fight.
The undaunted Frank stept forth to meet the Foe,
And aiming at his Breast a mortal Blow,
To give his Javelin Force stretcht every Vein,
Did all his Nerves, and brawny Muscles strain.
The Briton 's Shield receiv'd th' impetuous Stroke
Which in the second Fold its Fury broke.
Then with a mighty Force the Briton cast
His massy Spear, which thro' the Buckler past,
And pierc'd the Frank between the Hip and Wast.
Down to the Ground he came, and endless Night
Swam o'er his Eyes, and choak'd their vital Light.
Then to the Charge renown'd Olando flew,
Which mounting up Capellan 's Javelin slew.
With such a Vigor was the Weapon thrown,
It pierc'd his Buckler crash'd his Collar Bone,
And enter'd deep within the Warriour's Chest,
Who fell with all the Pangs of Death opprest,
And rolling down from the high Ramparts Brow
Increast the Dead, that lay in Heaps below.
Now ghastly Ruin and Destruction reign,
And scatter'd Spoils o'erspread the bloody Plain.
The Noise of raging Cohorts, horrid Crys,
And Groans of dying Men afflict the Skys.
O'er Shields and Helms down the steep Rampart flow'd
Torrents, and Crimson Cataracts of Blood
That fill'd the Trenches with a dismal Flood.
In vain the Franks their fierce Assault repeat,
Vanquish'd with mighty Loss they still retreat.
King Clotar 's Soul was gaul'd, and all on fire
To see his Legions from th' Attack retire.
He flew along the Lines to take a View
Where he th' Assault might with Success renew.
That done he drew his Forces from the Right,
And on the Left began a second Fight.
Now did the King his fresh Battalions pour
Upon the Place he judg'd the least secure.
Great Oromel did at his Lords Command,
Lead on the Troops his Sabre in his Hand.
Thick Clouds of glitt'ring Darts and Spears they send
To break the Troops that did the Lines defend.
The Britons to repel th' invading Foe
Hurl mighty Stones, and Showers of Javelins throw.
Those bravely storm, and these as well defend,
And missive Arms in bloody Contest spend.
While they with mutual Wounds each other gall,
On this and that side mighty Numbers fall.
But Oromel shaking his trembling Lance
Commands his bold Battalions to advance.
He mounted up the Works, and with his Spear
His Passage thro' the thickest Ranks did clear.
Dispensing Death upon the Lines he stood
With Brains bespatter'd, and deform'd with Blood.
In vain the Britons did the Frank invade,
Who all around him vast Destruction made.
Nor glitt'ring Darts, nor Stones, nor Smoke, nor Fire,
Could damp the Chief, and force him to retire.
His fatal Fauchion first Glendoran felt
Fam'd for his Arms, and rich embroider'd Belt.
The dreadful Weapon did his Arm divide,
And not yet cloy'd went deep into his Side.
He fell upon the Ground and endless Night
Lay on his Eyes to interrupt the Light.
Balandor next a noble Neustrian Lord
Felt in his bleeding Veins the Conquerour's Sword.
Down on the Neck it fell with horrid Sway,
And forc'd quite thro' the sever'd Joynt its Way.
Strait Crimson Jets sprang up from every Vein,
The gasping Head leap'd off, and bounded on the Plain.
Then Ridar, Araban , and many more,
Slain by the Frank lay weltring in their Gore.
Othar mean while his furious Javelin threw
Which aim'd at Milo on its Message flew.
It pass'd his Buckler, and the painful Point
Wounded his Knee, and enter'd far the Joynt.
Back to the Rear off from the fierce Attack,
Strong Sebul bore him on his brawny Back.
Then Asdran cast his Dart with wondrous Force,
The glitt'ring Death with an impetuous Course
Against young Trebor 's Helmet flew direct,
Which now no longer could his Head protect:
The Dart his ample Forehead struck, and full
Between his thick-black Eyebrows pierc'd his Skull.
It reach'd the inmost Marrow of the Brain
Where we perceive our Pleasures, and our Pain.
There where the Soul upon her Throne abides,
And from our Sight conceal'd her Empire guides:
Do's various Orders various Tasks dispence,
To all th' inferiour Ministers of Sence.
Now suddain Death do's her high Seat invade,
And spreads the Courts of Life with horrid Shade.
A fatal Dart which strong Odallon cast,
Pierc'd Modar 's Shield and thro' his Temples past:
Extended on the Ground the Hero lay,
His Eyeballs struggling with departing Day.
A massy Spear which Orbal 's Arm convey'd,
Past half its Length thro' Kirton 's Shoulder Blade,
And on the Dust th' expiring Captain laid.
A pondrous Stone crush'd Cadel 's brawny Thigh,
Which made the Chief in raging Anguish ly;
But then a second struck him in the Breast,
And of its painful Prison Life releast.
When noble Talmar saw what Numbers fell,
By the Victorious Sword of Oromel ;
And how his wavering Friends began to yield
Prest by the furious Frank, the bloody Field:
Up to the Charge he came resolv'd to chase
Th' Invader back, or dy upon the Place.
Against the Frank his massy Spear he hurl'd,
Which had dispatch'd him to th' infernal World,
Had it not glancing from his Buckler flew,
And by an erring Wound Somellan slew.
Then Oromel advancing to the Fight,
Threw his long Weapon with prodigious Might.
Th' impetuous Spear cut swiftly thro' the Sky,
And thro' his Buckler raz'd the Briton 's Thigh.
A Purple Stream spun from the painful Wound,
And striving thro' his Armour stain'd the Ground.
Talmar enrag'd both with the Shame and Smart,
Cast at th' insulting Foe his second Dart.
A prosp'rous Flight the vengeful Weapon took,
The Buckler pierc'd, and thro' the Cuitass broke:
Thro' the left Side it made its Way between
The Border of the Midriff and the Spleen.
The Warriour fainting with the fatal Wound,
Dropt his bright Arms, and fell upon the Ground.
Cold Death congeal'd his Blood within his Veins,
And clos'd his Eyes, with everlasting Chains.
Then did the Conq'rour with his Arms attack
The thickest Foes, and forc'd their Legions back.
Across the Lines he did his Troops pursue,
And as they fled prodigious Numbers slew.
The thin Remains forsook th' unequal Fight,
And sav'd themselves by ignominious Flight.
As when loud Western Winds arrive from far
Upon Batavia 's Coast to levy War:
The roaring Sea draws down its threatning Troops,
To storm the Frontier, which its Progress stops.
The foaming Files, and all the watry Ranks
Rush on to Battle, and insult the Banks.
But they contend to force their Way in vain,
The Digues unshaken all their Force sustain.
The wearied Sea murmurs at these Defeats,
Draws off its broken Billows, and retreats.
Soon as King Clotar saw his Men retir'd,
With Rage, and Shame, and Indignation fir'd,
He drew up fresh Brigades against the Right,
Resolv'd to try his Fate again in Fight.
Advance your Ensigns to the Franks he cry'd,
And show your Valour oft in Battel try'd.
For Gallia 's Glory often you have fought,
And from the Field triumphant Laurels brought.
Now to protect her Towns and Altars show
Your fearless Arms, and here invade the Foe.
Here let us force their Lines, and make our Way,
When well resolv'd no Works your Course can stay.
Then lifting high his Shield to guard his Head,
He up the Lines his furious Cohorts led.
With double Rage they did the Works invade,
And with loud Shouts a vig'rous Onset made.
By various Ways th' undaunted Briton strove
The Foe that press'd so boldly to remove.
Some Spears, some Darts, some iron Wedges threw,
Here flaming Firebrands, here bright Javelins flew
And here vast Stones the fierce Invader slew.
Here to oppress their Sight hot Embers fell,
Here Pots with horrid Stench annoy'd their Smell.
Great Numbers perish'd in the bold Attack,
Such stout Resistance did the Britons make.
Ormansel by a craggy Stone was slain,
Which from his broken Skull dash'd out his Brain.
Bortran a Chief brave and expert in Fight,
By a projected Firebrand lost his Sight.
An iron Wedge struck strong Raymundo dead,
Beating his Helmet deep into his Head.
Valiant Mansellan cast his furious Dart,
Which thro' stout Thedon 's Shield transfixt his Heart.
Blood, Brains, and Limbs did the high Lines distain,
And all around lay squallid Heaps of slain.
The dreadful Roar did all the Region scare
Which issu'd from the brazen Throat of War.
Horrid Confusion, lamentable Moans,
Clashing of Arms and dying Warriours Groans,
Amazing Clamours, and th' insulting Threats
Of raging Captains vex'd th' Etherial Seats.
Long did the British Youth their Works maintain,
And bravely did the fierce Assault sustain.
Till worn with Toyl, and prest with numerous Troops,
Still fresh pour'd on, they left the Ramparts Tops.
King Clotar on the Works his Standard plac'd,
O'er which his throng'd Battalions raging pass'd.
They forc'd the Camp, and like a conq'ring Flood
Pass'd o'er the Banks, that long their Force withstood.
Clotar insulting at his Armys Head,
On to the Foe his eager Squadrons led.
Mean time brave Clovis midst the Britons flew,
And urg'd the Youth the Battle to renew.
With Shame and Fury mingled in his Eyes
To the desponding Troops aloud he crys.
What mean, my Friends, their Country to defame,
And sink the Glory of the British Name?
Will you forget your Conquests? will you throw
Your Wreaths and spreading Laurels from your Brow?
Shall we be vanquish'd by a vanquish'd Foe?
Can Arthur 's Souldiers fear? were Arthur by
Would you forsake your Monarch? would you fly?
Unthoughtful Troops, say, Whither would you run,
You fly to Danger, and your Safety shun.
You cannot reach your Ships to pass the Main,
You must disperse, and be as Straglers Slain.
Come fly from Danger and the Fight renew,
You can't be safe unless you Conquer too.
He said, and strait urg'd with impetuous Rage
The Chief advanc'd th' Invaders to engage.
Upon the thickest Files the Warriour fell,
Resolv'd to dy, or Clotar to repel.
Alfonso who his progress first withstood
Fell wounded down, and welter'd in his Blood.
Within his Side he felt the fatal Dart
Between his Ribs an Inch beneath his Heart.
Another Spear was at great Boson thrown
Which pierc'd his Hip, and stuck within the Bone.
The Frank roar'd out, and tugging at the Spear
In grievous Anguish halted to the Rear.
Another Weapon did at Damon fly,
Which enter'd deep the Hollow of the Thigh;
Wriggling and wrything in tormenting Pain
He strove to draw the Weapon out in vain.
From his wide Wound a reeking River flow'd,
And all the Field around lay bath' d in blood.
Feeble and fainting with the Vast Expence,
The Warriour fell bereft of Life and Sense.
Hemar and Dival by his Arms were Slain,
And many more lay gasping on the Plain.
The British Troops who had before retir'd,
Return'd to Battle by this Chief inspir'd.
Mean time Wise Solmar did with anxious Care
Watch all the Turns and Chances of the War.
And when he saw the Franks had forc'd the Line,
And that the Britons did the Fight decline.
Inglorious Rout and Ruin to prevent
He fresh Recruits from the Main Battle sent,
Which might the British wavering Troops sustain,
Repel the Franks and still the Fight maintain.
Then to inspire his Men to keep their Post,
And strike a terror thro' the Gallic Host,
He noble Osor from the Camp detach'd,
And with the Chief a thousand Horse dispatch'd
And to their faithful Leader gave Command
To wheel about, and take the Hilly Land
Which on the Right hand of the Camp arose,
And then to March direct upon the Foes.
Then valiant Osor did without delay
Wheel from the Rear his orders to obey.
And in his March he took a Compass round,
That undiscern'd he might possess the Ground.
Now had brave Clovis with his fatal Blade
Amidst the Squadrons great Destruction made.
Boldly he stood to stem th' o'erflowing Tide,
Encompass'd round with Spoils on every Side.
The Franks enrag'd still fresh Battalions brought;
And prest with whole Brigades the Warriour fought.
He lopt strong Clomire 's Arm off at a blow,
And cleft the bold Orbazel 's Head in two.
Ellan who in his Strength repos'd his trust,
And Gramol in his Armour prest the Dust.
Nor did Roballon better Fortune meet,
Who lay expiring at the Conqueror's feet.
Then at fierce Maurel 's head he aim'd his Stroke,
But on the temper'd Shield his Fauchion broke.
The Franks who stood at distance round about,
Ran in to seize him with a mighty shout.
The Pious Warriour was their Captive made,
And bound in Fetters to their Camp convey'd.
Brave Trelon to prevent great Clovis Fate
Brought up his Valiant Troops but came too late.
Clotar mean time did Erla 's Troops invade,
And thro' the Files a mighty Havock made.
The British Chief did wondrous Courage show,
But strove in vain to stop th' unequal Foe.
Young Harrel felt the Conqu'rours Weapon first,
And groaning lay, and grov'ling in the Dust.
Torman advanc'd the Monarch to sustain
But at his feet fell Dead upon the Plain.
He next his massy Spear at Corbel cast,
Thro' all the Buckler's fold's the Weapon past,
And thro' his tender Entrails passage found,
The Cawl came forth, and hung down from the Wound.
Down on the ground he fell, and gasping lay,
While Death excluded from his Eyes the Day.
Next Pricel 's Arm receiv'd the Javelin's point
Between the Elbow and the Shoulder Joynt:
The fatal Steel did the large Vein divide,
And from its Chanel sprang th' Arterial Tide.
Subsiding Life Ebb'd down apace, and left
The Youth of Motion and of Sense bereft.
Then at Hermander did his Jav'lin fly,
Which pierc'd his Buckler's Plate and Bullhide Ply
Then thro' his breast and breathing Lungs it went,
And sticking in his Back it's Fury spent.
Hermander Cough'd up from his Wheezing Chest
Fresh Frothy Blood, but strangled and Opprest
He fell upon the Ground and ratling lay,
Stretch'd out his Limbs, and groan'd his Life away.
Coman applauded for his Youthful Charms,
From all distinguish'd by his Painted Arms,
And his rich Scarlet Scarf, by luckless chance
Stood the next mark of Clotar 's fatal Lance.
So the fair Lilly and the Poppy stand
A gaudy Harvest for the Mower's hand.
Strait at his Breast the Monarch's Weapon flew,
First pierc'd his Shield, and then his Body thro'.
Th' expiring Youth fetch'd deep repeated Throbs,
And of his hopes his mournful Father robs.
Then Eldred, Ribal , and Comander dy'd,
All these were Brothers by the Mother's Side.
All from the Mountains of Brechinia came
To win in Gallic Fields immortal Fame.
Vast numbers of the British Youth lay dead,
And with their scatter'd Spoils the Ground o'erspread.
When Solmar to relieve his Troops opprest
And the fierce Victor's Progress to arrest,
Brought the main Battle up to charge the Franks ,
And bravely did attack their foremost Ranks.
Strait thro' the Camp a noble War ensu'd,
And martial Rage was in their Breasts renew'd.
Now Front to Front the Files each other prest,
And Foot to Foot they stood, and Breast to Breast.
All on the Ground their missive Weapons threw,
And with their Swords to close Engagement flew.
Fauchions with Fauchions clash'd, Shields rub'd on Shields,
And the loud Din of War rang thro' the Fields.
Now Franks prevail, and now the British Host,
And both their Arms alternate Conquest boast
While undetermin'd Victory did shew
Such Doubtfulness, as trembling Needles do,
When they between two courting Loadstones stay,
To neither yield, yet neither disobey.
At last with bloody Toyl the Britons worn,
And with unequal Numbers overborn
Began to shrink, while Clotar 's ravening Sword
With undistinguish'd Rage around devour'd:
When on the neighb'ring Hill upon the Right
The Troops detach'd by Solmar march'd in Sight.
Great Osor who the foremost did appear
In Stature, Presence, Arms, and martial Air,
Of all the Heros of the British Host,
The God-like Arthur did resemble most.
Then Solmar cry'd aloud, see you your King,
Arthur 's arriv'd, and do's sure Conquest bring.
Loud Shouts of Joy rang thro' the British Camp,
And struck thro' Clotar 's Troops a shiv'ring Damp.
Those reassume the War with double Rage,
And these but faintly with the Foe engage.
Wavering a while they stood, but then gave way,
And left th' unfinish'd Triumph of the Day.
The Gallic Troops did by their Flight proclaim,
How much they fear'd Victorious Arthur 's Name.
The conq'ring Britons did the Franks pursue,
Hung on their Rear, and mighty Numbers slew.
Only King Clotar still refus'd to yield,
But with his single Arms maintain'd the Field.
Solmar advanc'd to charge th' undaunted King,
And at his Head did his bright Javelin fling;
His blazing Shield the furious Weapon struck
Pass'd the first Fold, but in the second stuck.
Then did the Frank project his pondrous Spear
Which hiss'd along, and cut the liquid Air.
Thro' his right Leg in burnish'd Steel encas'd,
Across the brawny part the Weapon past.
The Veins that deep for sure Protection lay,
The fatal point divided in it's way.
Its Springs broke up, out gush'd the leaping Blood,
And in his reeking Life the fainting Warriour stood.
The British Youth ran in to bring Relief
And from the Field bore off the wounded Chief.
Albert the first who rush'd in to withstand
The furious Frank, fell by his fatal Hand.
Bodal and Eldan went undaunted on,
To save the General's Life, but lost their own.
But when the Monarch saw the Battel lost,
Himself alone left to engage an Host,
He grew enrag'd, but forc'd at last to yield
With bitter Execrations left the Field.
So much did Arthur 's Name the Battel Sway,
And chang'd so soon the Fortune of the Day.
Their own great losses and the Evening Shade,
From long pursuit the British Youth disswade.
For Rest with Joy they to their Tents return,
But Clovis Chains and Solmar 's Wound they mourn.
Solmar in pain had past the restless Night,
And when the Sun had spred the Hills with Light,
Exhausted with expence of Blood expir'd,
Lamented much, and much by all desir'd.
Brave Osor next in Power and Honour, sent
To call the British Captains to his Tent.
Soon hither all the great Commanders came,
All high in Office, and of Martial Fame.
Th' Assembly made a Sound like that of Waves
Roll'd on the Shore, or Winds in hollow Caves.
Or that which high Augusta 's Merchants make,
When in their frequent Burse they Counsel take.
What Riches to their Neighbours they shall lend,
What British Growth to Foreign Climates send.
What Luxury to fetch, what wealthy Stores,
Or from the Asian, or the Afric Shores.
To which Pole next their numerous Fleets shall run,
If to the Rising, or the Setting Sun.
The throng'd Assembly straight in Council sate
Fit measures for their Safety to debate.
Osor arose, and with deliberate words
He thus bespoke th' Allys, and British Lords.
Twice has the Moon her changing Face renew'd
Since we our Monarch's Orders have pursu'd.
Expecting his return from Albion 's Coast,
We with Defensive Arms have kept our Post.
And twice seven days are past since certain Fame
That Albion was compos'd first hither came.
That Arthur was embark'd to cross the Main
In Gallic Fields new Laurels to obtain.
But when in Prospect of the Neustrian Strand
A sudden Tempest beat him off from Land:
So those relate who on the Mountains stood,
And saw his ships advancing thro' the Flood.
Yet still his Ships are on the Ocean tost,
Or forc'd on some unhospitable Coast,
Else had the King return'd to Neustria 's Shore
And we had seen our Monarch long before.
So long we had not labour'd in Suspence,
Nor wanted Arthur 's Arms for our Defence.
Our heartless Troops impatient grown declare
They would return, and leave th' unfinish'd War.
Meantime our Leaders Absence makes the Foe
More insolent, and bold in Battle grow.
Captains advise, what Measure we shall take,
Shall we return and Gallia 's Realm forsake,
Or shall we here entrench'd our Camp defend,
And still th' Arrival of our Prince attend.
He said, wise Gotrick rose, and to the rest
Thus with majestic Air himself exprest.
The Stratagem which did the Franks defeat
We can no more, illustrious Chiefs, repeat.
The Franks who Arthur 's Presence then believ'd,
By busy Fame will soon be undeceiv'd.
Then well we know that no Britannic Lord
Is able to withstand King Clotar 's Sword.
Should he again our high Entrenchments scale,
His numerous Squadrons may at last prevail.
Our two great Heros lest in chief Command,
Who could if any, Clotar 's Rage withstand
These we, alas, have lost. Great Solmar 's slain,
Brave Clovis do's in Clotar 's Power remain.
Thrice happy Man if midst the fighting Bands
Thou hast expir'd and scap'd the Tyrant's Hands!
These were the Chiefs on whom we did depend
As Men whose Arms our Bulwarks would defend.
Our weary Troops who did demand before
Their native Land do now demand it more.
Prest by our hard Affairs we may presume
King Arthur 's Leave to lead our Squadrons home.
The pious Prince our Conduct will approve,
Who to his People thus express our Love.
He said. When mighty Talmar Silence broke
And thus the Lords and valiant Chiefs bespoke.
Here did our Pious Monarch bid us stay,
And his Command what Chief dares disobey?
We must persist our Bulwarks to defend,
And Arthur 's coming in the Camp attend.
Shall we the Honour of our Isle deface,
And show our selves a weak, degenerate Race?
How will the Neighbour States our Arms despise,
And mock our ignominious Cowardize?
How will our Countrymen upbraid our Flight,
And ask what Monsters did our Youth affright?
Our Wives and Children swarming on the Strand
Will mock our Fears, and beat us off from Land.
How will th' observing World our Conduct blame?
How will th' unhappy Christians curse our Name,
Whom from their Chains we promis'd to release,
When our Retreat their Suff'rings shall encrease?
For thus provok'd th' inexorable Foe
Will add more Weight, and multiply their Woe
What Plagues, what Desolation must o'erwhelm
Both the Neustrasian and the Gallic Realm,
If we no longer will our Arms engage,
But give them up a Prey to Clotar 's Rage?
Let us prevent their Ruin, and our Shame,
Express our Pity, and advance our Fame.
Fixt and resolv'd let us our Bulwarks guard,
Success at last our Patience will reward.
He said. And Trelon thus himself exprest.
What Madness Britons has your Minds possest?
Will you betray your Monarch's righteous Cause,
Defame your Isle, and yet expect Applause?
Scar'd with phantastic Terrours will you run,
And leave a War with such Success begun?
Fear seems a Passion wise and eloquent,
But makes the Danger which it would prevent.
Let us the Passion own, and not disguise.
In Vertue's Shape inglorious Cowardise.
For running home what Reasons e'er you bring,
Wisdom's the grave Pretence, but Fear's the thing.
We still in Gallia may in Safety stay,
Defend our Bulwarks, and our Prince obey.
Vainly 'tis urg'd the Britons are dismay'd,
'Tis fearful Captains make their Men afraid.
Your Courage will confirm your wavering Troops,
Inspire new Vigor, and revive their Hopes.
Blame not the British Youth who still obey,
And boldly follow, when you lead the Way.
Then laying on his mighty Sword his Hand,
He cry'd, the Man that leads the foremost Band
From out the Camp shall by this Fauchion dy,
He ne'er shall scape, who first attempts to fly.
He said. And straitway Coril thus reply'd,
Meer Courage is to Madness near ally'd,
A Brutal Rage, which Prudence do's not guide.
Cool Sense and Judgment with a noble Fire
To make a finish'd Leader must conspire.
Some by a wise Retreat have more Renown
Than other Captains by a Conquest won.
'Tis blind Perverseness in our Camp to stay,
And not to go when Prudence leads the Way.
Wisdom is no Defect of Martial Heat
When Reason bids, 'tis Manly to retreat.
For our Return no Reasons need be us'd
Than those which Gotric has before produc'd.
I must declare for breaking up, to shun
The mighty Risk which staying here we run.
And if some Chiefs will this as Fear condemn,
We must object their Want of Sense to them.
We are not aw'd by Threats, and haughty Words,
Nor do we think we wear unequal Swords.
He ceas'd. And strait immoderate Heats arose,
While chol'rick Chiefs each other did oppose.
Some for retreating, some for Stay contend,
Some would forsake, and some their Camp defend.
When Maca saw the Strife still hotter grew,
Fearing the Dangers which might thence ensue,
He rose, and thus th' assembled Chiefs bespoke,
Britons; too much each other you provoke.
A calm Debate our Contests might decide,
But sharp Reproaches more your Minds divide.
Your Dangers by your Discords you augment,
And bring the Mischiefs which you would prevent.
'Tis prudent then this Contest to adjourn,
And when the dawning Morning shall return,
Our Heats compos'd with Rest, our Minds sedate,
In Council we'll revive this great Debate.
He said. And from the most receiv'd Applause,
Who cry'd adjourn, and strait the Council rose.
BOOK VIII
TheBritish Captains thus with Choler boyl'd,
And these Contentious Heats the Camp Embroil'd.
Clotar mean time who full of Rage and Shame,
Back to Lutetia for Protection came,
Thus to his Servants cry'd; let Clovis come,
I'll see the Rebel and pronounce his Doom.
Strait did the bloody Guards in Triumph bring,
The Pious Clovis to the Gallic King.
When Clotar first the Captive Lord espy'd
Insultingly he smil'd, and thus he cry'd.
Thou dost not only Gallia 's Gods reject
Adhering to the Christians impious Sect,
But Trait'rous to thy King art not afraid
To call in Foreign Arms, and give them Aid,
Striving with blackest Malice to subdue
Thy Nat'ral Lord, and Native Country too.
But now just Heav'n has giv'n thee to my hand
T'inflict that Vengeance, which thy Crimes demand.
Speak what Infernal Fury lash'd thee on,
What made thee hope thy Soveraign to dethrone?
He said. And Clovis fearless thus reply'd,
Tis true I still have Pagan Gods defy'd.
I ne'er would Incence on their Altars throw,
Nor in their Groves, nor in their Temples bow.
I ne'er have Worship to your Idols shewn
Stupid, as are the Rocks from whence they're hewn.
Gods Deify'd by Superstitious Fear,
Gods whom Creating Statuarys reer.
Who Pyrrhus and his Wife have far outdone,
Transforming into Gods the senseless Stone.
To th' unseen Mind I've still Obedience paid,
Who this, and those bright Worlds above us made.
This Independent Being I adore,
One God I rev'rence, but revere no more.
He in whose Power and Goodness I believe
Will from your Rage this Mortal Life retrieve
Or in Exchange will Life Eternal give.
I own, I did with humble prayer perswade
The Pious Briton Gallia to invade,
His Arms in our Deliv'rance to employ
To save a Realm you labour to destroy.
How have you triumph'd and Insulting stood
With Garments rowl'd in Slaughter'd Christians blood?
Haughty Proscriptions, Murders, Banishment
And all the Plagues that Tyrants can Invent,
At your Command the Christians have destroy'd,
Yet your Insatiate Rage was never cloy'd.
Tormentors with their cruel labour tir'd
To gain their own, the Suff'rers rest desir'd.
Your frighted People from their Towns are fled,
And Prisons only are inhabited.
All Europe ecchoes with Lutetia 's Groans,
And every Land receives her straggling Sons.
We justly arm'd to set our Country free
From unexampl'd Rage, and barb'rous Cruelty.
Subjects should Kings revere and raise their Fame,
But cruel Monsters lose that sacred Name.
A Father do's not arm'd with lawless Power,
Instead of feeding them, his Sons devour.
Wolves should they Crooks usurp, no Shepherds are,
Nor Spoilers Princes, tho' they Scepters bear.
Wild Violence, and Power outrageous grown
Proclaim the Tyrant, and the King dethrone.
Scepter'd Destroyers do themselves depose,
And all their Right to our Obedience lose.
This is your Case, this sinking Gallia 's Fate,
We, mov'd by Pity to her Suff'ring State
Call'd in the Generous Briton with Intent
Her universal Ruin to prevent.
This I have done, and Glory in the Deed,
And tho' I fall may Arthur 's Arms succeed.
Stedfast in Christian Faith I've always stood,
And ready am to seal it with my Blood.
I will not Life from Clotar e'er demand
Nor ask Deliv'rance from his cruel Hand.
For my expected Suff'rings I prepare,
You've Power indeed, but want a Heart to spare.
More had he said, but Clotar furious grew,
And flashing Fire from his fierce Eyeballs flew.
The Captive's Words like Spears the Monarch gor'd,
And stung with Guilt and Rage aloud he roar'd:
What Pity 'tis that Man but once can dy,
That Life when urg'd begins so soon to fly?
But oh, may thine prove tough and obstinate,
Mighty to bear repeated Strokes of Fate.
May'st thou be hard, resolv'd and bold in Pain,
Able my choicest Torments to sustain.
May baffled Tortures scarcely wast thy Breath,
And mayst thou late escape my Hand by Death.
May all thy Nerves be firm, thy Muscles strong,
Thy Heartstrings sound to bear thy Suff'rings long.
Oh, may Gigantic Force and Vigor show
That thou uncommon Racks canst undergo.
Strive not by Death basely thy self to save,
Be constant on the Wheel, and prove in Torment brave.
For thou canst only make this Recompence,
A flight one too compar'd with thy Offence.
Away the noble Captive was convey'd,
And bound with iron Links in Prison laid,
To be expos'd soon as the Morning came
To cruel Torments, and to publick Shame.
Unmov'd, unchang'd great Clovis did sustain
His heavy Doom and ignominious Chain.
As calm as Peace, as heav'nly Seraphs mild
He view'd the Racks, and on his Torments smil'd.
With easy Arms his Fetters he embrac'd,
And thought himself with Marks of Honour grac'd.
He thought it noble Matter of Applause,
To dy for Gallia's, and the Christian Cause.
What Honour is it, did the Hero cry,
To dy for him that did for Sinners dy?
To rescue Mortals from the Gulph of Hell,
And raise them up to Heav'n from whence they fell?
All our laborious Services are slight,
And all our heavy Sufferings wondrous light
When in a just and equal Ballance thrown
Against th' excessive Bliss, and massy Crown
Of pondrous Glory, which attends at last
The constant Martyr's Zeal and Labour past.
The Way to Canaan by those Martyrs trod
Lys thro' a red amazing Sea of Blood.
Martyrs, Elijah- like, to Heav'n aspire
On ruddy Steeds, and rapid Cars of Fire.
Here on a bleak tempestuous Shore I stand,
Cast on a wild, unhospitable Land,
Which for Disorder do's on Chaos joyn,
And for its Guilt do's close on Hell confine;
A wastful, howling, horrid Wilderness,
Which Beasts of Prey in humane Shape possess:
So monstrous dark that Heav'n's recoiling Light
Bounds from the Surface of the solid Night.
On the other side appears a glorious Shore
Enrich'd with glitt'ring Gemms and golden Oar.
The Land is all a native Theater,
Where flowry Plains, and spicy Groves appear.
A Paradise blest with reviving Beams
Immortal Fruit, and sweet, Celestial Streams.
Where Love and Peace and Friendship free from stain,
Pure Light, and Truth, and Joy unmixt with Pain,
Oh happy Regions! do for ever reign.
To gain this Blissful Land, this Golden Coast,
Death' s interposing Channel must be crost.
'Tis true the gloomy Flood afflicts the Sight,
And self preserving Nature dos affright.
The Stygian Tide a dismal Horror spreads,
And dusky Billows rear their threat'ning Heads.
Nature upon the Brink dos shiv'ring stand,
And dreads the Passage to the Blissful Land.
She willing still terrestrial Joys to keep,
Starts at the awful Prospect of the Deep.
She spins out time, and lingers in Debate,
And dos a thousand Ways Expostulate,
Displeas'd to try a new, and Unknown State.
By Various shifts she labours to Evade
The frightful Gulph, and Solitary Shade.
But Nature is Controul'd by Reason's sway,
Reason's her Guide, Reason must lead the Way.
I'll plunge amidst the Flood, and fearless stride
To gain the happy Shore across the tyde,
Or with bold Arms th' opposing Waves divide.
What if I sink, the shore I cannot miss,
We dive by Death, but to Emerge in Bliss.
The chiefest Terrors which in Death we dread,
Are in our own Imagination bred.
We are not pleas'd a glorious World to know,
Whereof our Senses no Impression show.
Reluctant Sense declines the untrodden Path,
Tho aided both by Reason and by Faith.
Empty phantastic Horrors hence arise
Which fright the vulgar, not the brave and wise.
Th' advancing Shades of Death weak Nature scare,
As hideous Forms and Monsters drawn in Air:
Which issuing forth from the dark Womb of Night
Impregnated with Fear, weak Minds affright.
If tender Infants who imprison'd stay
Within the Womb, prepar'd to break away,
Were conscious of themselves, and of their State,
And had but Reason to sustain Debate,
The painful Passage they would dread, and show
Reluctance to a World they do not know.
They in their Prisons still would chuse to ly
As backward to be born, as we to dy.
This is the Christian's Case detain'd on Earth,
Whose Death is nothing, but his Heav'nly Birth.
Yet still he fears the dark and unknown Way,
Still backwards shrinks, still meditates Delay,
And fresh Excuses finds for longer Stay.
The pious Peer in such divine Debate
Prepar'd himself for his approaching Fate.
His Wife mean time fair Merula, a Dame
Of wondrous Beauty, who when Clovis came
To Albion 's Isle, in Gaul was left behind;
Now to the Prison came her Lord to find.
Fir'd with her Heav'nly Charms great Clovis burn'd,
And she to his an equal Flame return'd.
None to each other did more constant prove,
None more admir'd, and fam'd for mutual Love.
Long she unmov'd had born her heavy Chains,
Long underwent the most afflicting Pains,
But tir'd at last, her Torments to evade
Her Saviour she renounc'd, her Faith betray'd.
The Pagan Altars once so much abhor'd,
And Gods of various Kinds she now ador'd.
Yet did she constant to her Clovis prove,
Apostate from her Faith, but not her Love.
Her Lord thus sentenc'd, she to Clotar went
Brave Clovis Death and Suff'rings to prevent.
And knowing nothing could his Life procure
Unless the Christian Faith he did abjure,
She thought as once revolted Eve had done,
Her Lord by her Perswasion might be won
To break th' Allmighty's sacred Law, and eat
When offer'd by her Hand, forbidden Meat.
And oh! how oft do Female Charms prevail
Ev'n when the brave and wisest they assail?
She therefore undertook by Clotar 's Leave
To try the pious Clovis to deceive;
To form his Mind the Christian's God to quit,
And to the Pagan Idols to submit.
Her Son and Daughter both of tender Age
The Mother brought, hoping they might engage
The Hero's Pity and Paternal Love,
And from his Breast his settled Purpose move.
Thus Clovis she bespoke.
Press'd by resistless Love I hither come
To rescue Clovis, and avert his Doom.
Too great a Zeal, and Labour can't be shown
To save a Life far dearer than my own.
'Tis in your Power your Suff'rings to evade,
Oh, that it were in mine too, to perswade
My Clovis that Deliv'rance to receive,
Which here with Joy I bring by Clotar 's Leave.
Here Clovis interrupting her reply'd,
Oh Merula have you your God deny'd,
Have you renounc'd the Christians solemn Vow,
And learnt before the Pagan Shrines to bow,
And are you in your Guilt so stupid grown,
So like the Gods you worship, Wood and Stone,
That to my Presence you thus boldly press
No inward Gripes and no Remorse express?
Should not your Crime in Crimson Blushes glow?
Should not your Eyes Shame and Confusion show?
Amazing Power of Guilt! one great Offence
Benumbs the Mind, and stupifys the Sense,
Binds fast reluctant Conscience with its Charms,
And of its Sting the Worm within disarms.
But, Merula, your Message tell, prepare
Your Golden Bait, and spread th' alluring Snare.
No Question you your Guilt would propagate,
And make me quit my Faith to shun my Fate.
Speak, is not this your cruel, kind Intent
To change my Faith my Torments to prevent?
Then, beauteous Merula reply'd, 'tis true
The Means to save my Clovis I pursue.
No Joy but you, no Life but yours I own,
I must survive my self, when you are gone.
How strong, how pure, how bright a Flame of Love
To Clovis always in my Bosom strove?
You're conscious of my Passion, you must know
That from your Presence all my Pleasures flow.
If you withdraw your Light, how black a Shade
Must the sad Region of my Breast invade?
This World's a Heav'n to me when you are here,
And Heav'n will more be Heav'n to meet you there.
What I could ever Joy or Pleasure call
'Twas you I tasted, you enjoy'd in all.
The Spring from whence your Stream of Life proceeds
My Veins with vital Warmth and Vigor feeds.
My Life's dependent and precarious Fire
Must quickly cease, should you its Source retire,
As Evening Rays forsaken soon expire.
Deserted and defrauded of Supply
Streams flow no longer, when the Fountain's dry.
Should I behind my Clovis here remain,
I should of Life's uneasy Load complain,
And drown'd in Tears drag on th' encumbring Chain.
How sad, and hard a Task it is to live
When I must all that Life endears, survive?
No wonder then I strive a Life to save,
Where I such vast Concern and Int'rest have.
I can your Freedom and your Ease procure,
Nor need you e'er the Christian Faith abjure.
You need but only to their Altars go,
And on the Flames a little Incense throw.
Th' Almighty dos you know the Heart require,
And you may that preserve for him entire.
When you to Images respect shall show,
Your Mind you need not with your Body bow.
In every place th' Eternal dos abide,
And therefore must in Statues too reside.
When therefore you shall Adoration pay,
Your Mind may thro' the Image make its way,
And Worship to the God within convey.
We do not Worship to a Stone demand,
To Gods created by the Carver's hand.
The God we Honour has his Throne above,
To whom the Image dos our Rev'rence move.
Presents we prize, and Pictures we commend,
Because they mind us of our absent Friend.
By Nature we to Nature's Lord arise,
Who dwells in Bliss conceal'd from mortal Eyes.
We view his Image stamp'd on Nature's Face,
And by the Creatures to their Maker pass.
This beauteous World, and all the rest above,
Were made to raise our Wonder and our Love.
The noblest Use that we in Creatures find
Is to the first great Cause, t'advance the Mind.
The Sun himself whose bright revealing Ray
To it's more glorious Author shews the way,
Serves Mortals more by this, than when it's Light
From these dark Seats removes the Shades of Night.
We can't Divine, Essential Glory see,
Nor view th' Almighty's naked Majesty.
We can't th' unequal Object comprehend;
The Creatures must their help to Reason lend,
While step by step it dos to Heav'n ascend.
Wide Nature's Frame and all her steddy Laws
Lead thinking Man to th' Independent Cause.
And then the Creatures have their noblest Use,
When thoughts Divine they in our Minds produce.
Now in the Sacred Images we rear,
This pious Use more plainly do's appear.
These in our Breasts do warm Devotion raise,
And mind us to advance th' Eternal's praise.
They move our Minds his Greatness to adore,
To love his Goodness, and revere his Power.
They to his Duty stupid Man excite,
And when he aims at Heav'n assist his Flight.
And those who know the high and steepy way,
The painful steps that reach Celestial Day,
Will not of friendly Succors be afraid,
But thankfully receive the proffer'd Aid.
Our Senses to the Mind while lodg'd in Clay,
Do all their various Images convey.
Things that we tast, and feel, and see, afford
The Seeds of Thought with which our Minds are stor'd.
We therefore must the Deity conceive
By such an Image as our Senses give.
Spirits to us this only way are known,
And such Conceptions we must form or none.
Why then should Statues be condemn'd, design'd
To raise Devotion in a Pious Mind,
When if we think of God, within our Thought
Some Image of his Being must be wrought?
The Sacred Volumes oft th' Almighty name
As having Parts and Limbs and Humane Frame.
Th' Eternal to our Minds by Words and Ways
Adapted to our Sense himself conveys,
Whose Being still must be from Man conceal'd,
If not by means that fit our State reveal'd.
These Arguments my yielding Reason sway'd,
When Worship first to Images I paid.
And these with Clovis too would soon succeed,
Were first your Mind from Prepossession freed.
Oh, let no groundless Prejudice oppose
The Light, that from so pure a Fountain flows.
May these kind Beams dispel the Clouds, and find
An unobstructed Passage to your Mind.
Thus you'll preserve your Life with guiltless Art,
And still remain a Christian in your Heart.
She ceas'd, and Pious Clovis thus reply'd:
In vain these artful Snares have oft been try'd.
These are the Nets your crafty Priests prepare,
The timorous and th' uncautious to ensnare.
Such Arguments no Conquests could procure,
If unassisted by the Tyrant's Power.
If e'er these Feeble Arms Impression make,
They from the Sword their Edge and Sharpness take.
Affrighted Nature's willing to receive
The dreadful Reason's Death and Torment give.
She'll by a thousand shifts her Post maintain,
And feels no Argument like that of Pain.
The clearest Light and Reason will displease,
Which thwart our Int'rest and disturb our Ease.
A lawless Rout of Passions still engage
In Nature's Cause with hideous Noise and Rage.
Reason is in the Tumult quite supprest,
And still the safest side we think the best.
But let Tyrannic Power stand Neutral by,
You'll soon the weakness of your Cause descry.
You that would still th' Almighty Being own,
And yet to Idols bow and Gods unknown,
Delude your selves with an absurd pretence,
That still your Minds preserve their Innocence.
We to th' Eternal Mind should Honour pay,
As he himself prescribes the Rule and Way.
No Modes of Adoration he'll admit,
Because our wanton Fancy thinks 'em fit.
No other Forms of Worship should be sought,
But those alone observ'd which he has taught.
He oft declares you shall no Image make,
And asks from whence you'll his Resemblance take.
This is his Will, this his commanding Word,
Shall Man contend and call his Law absurd?
Subjects are to obey, and not dispute
A Will so pure, a Power so absolute.
In vain alas deluding Priests pretend,
That they their Worship to th' Allmighty send.
That all the Honour to the Image paid
Is thro' the Marble up to Heav'n convey'd:
Then Dan 's and Bethel 's Calves would be excus'd,
Which by the Tribes were for Devotion us'd.
They mighty Zeal to Jacob 's God exprest,
To honour him proclaim'd a solemn Feast,
And Worship by the Calves to Heav'n addrest.
When Aaron by the murm'ring Hebrews sway'd
A Golden God of molten Ear-rings made,
'Twas reer'd in Honour of th' Allmighty Hand,
That brought their Youth from Egypt 's cruel Land.
Yet in the sacred History you read
How God incens'd condemn'd the impious Deed.
When you Devotion to an Idol show,
And on the Altar od'rous Incense throw,
You make the Heathen Worshiper believe
That you and he like Adoration give:
You thus confirm the Pagan Votary
And not asserting God, your God deny.
The Mind by Words and Actions is exprest,
And secret Reservations in the Breast
Whereby you think to save your Innocence
Make Hypocrites, and add a fresh Offence.
The jealous God will not his Honour part,
Nor share with Idols a divided Heart.
'Tis not enough to own him in your Breast,
He must in publick boldly be confest.
Th' eternal Mind no prudent Neutral knows,
We for his Cause declare, or are his Foes.
The Managers who cautious Measures use,
And fain would neither Sin nor Suff'ring chuse.
Who like a crafty Statesman to provide
For his own Safety fawns on either Side.
These most th' Eternal's Jealousy provoke,
At these his Vengeance aims the deadliest stroke.
The Hypocrite defeats his own Design,
Splits on the Rock he labours to decline.
He can't himself by base Complyance save
The Secret to be safe, is to be brave.
We are to fiery Tryals brought to prove
Our stedfast Faith, our Courage, and our Love.
To shew th' Heroic Confessors are fit
With Glory crown'd on Heav'nly Thrones to sit.
To draw amaz'd Spectators to believe
That Cause divine, that could such Courage give.
You know, if you in Heart a Christian are,
Our Heav'nly Founder often did declare
The Marks that must his faithful Friends approve
Are patient Suff'ring and their mutual Love.
His Precept, and Example form'd his Friends
For all the Sorrow that his Cause attends.
He oft foretold them their approaching Fate
And what they must expect from Tyrants Hate.
He set the price, and told what Heav'n would cost,
And what to gain that Kingdom must be lost.
And this the constant Martyrs understood
Who swam to Heav'n thro' a red tyde of Blood.
Some were with Wounds, and cruel Scourging try'd,
Some in the Flames with God-like Courage dy'd.
Some were on Racks and Wheels in pieces drawn,
Some ston'd to Death, and some asunder Sawn.
To some a Refuge from the Tyrant's Sword,
The Dens of milder Beasts did oft afford.
They oft Deliv'rance nobly did refuse,
And Vertue when 'twas least inviting chuse.
Conscious what Bliss and Life Eternal meant,
The blest Reward of hours divinely spent,
And what a Heaven 'tis, to be Innocent;
They could the World with brave Neglect despise,
And the vain Joys which charm deluded Eyes.
They with the just did rather Suff'rings bear,
Then guilty Pleasures with th' unrighteous share.
They laid down Life in Vertue's just Defence,
Dear Life, but not so dear as Innocence.
But Merula could these blest Saints have taught
Their Torments to escape without a Fault.
The specious Arguments which you advance
Will make them Martyrs to their Ignorance.
Had those blest Men your nice distinctions known,
They to the Idol might have Worship shown;
For if their inward Thought did not consent,
The Guilt no farther than the Body went;
And thus their Innocence had been secure,
And while the Knee had err'd, the Heart been pure.
Those who alledge we cannot form a Thought
But by some Image thro' our Senses brought;
And therefore we th' Almighty must conceive,
By some Idea which the Senses give,
Will soon th' erroneous Argument detect,
When on their own Conceptions they reflect.
Sense do's, 'tis true, it's Object first enjoy,
And that first Object do's our Thoughts employ.
All Knowledge previous to the acts of Sense
And in-born Notions, are a vain Pretence.
But then, 'tis true, that when our Minds embrace
Those Images which thro' our Senses pass,
They stop not there, but quickly higher go,
And on themselves reflecting Know they Know.
They their own Actions oft review, and thence
Conceptions form above the Sphear of Sense.
They by their Operations must conclude
They are with Life, and Thought, and Choice endu'd,
And hence the Intellectual World is known,
While we conceive their Nature by our own.
Then climbs the Mind to the first glorious Cause,
And his bright Image by this Model draws.
Freedom of Choice, pure Intellectual Light,
Power Independent, Goodness Infinite,
To form the great Idea we unite.
All other Images for him design'd
Debase the Glory of th' Eternal Mind;
Degrade his high Perfections, and infuse
Unworthy Thoughts, and Vulgar Minds abuse.
He ceas'd. Fair Merula reply'd. Your Breast
Is, as I fear'd, too strongly Prepossest,
To be with new tho' truer Lights imprest.
When to Dispute a Woman takes the Field,
A Man believes he can't in Honour Yield.
I am not here a Match, the Righteous Cause
From my Defence great disadvantage draws.
But now if Clovis who's in Reason strong,
Wise in Debate, and Eloquent of Tongue,
Would change the Scene, and plead my Cause, how clear
How pure, he'd make my Innocence appear?
Such is your force in Reasoning, such your Art
That Error you to seeming Truth convert.
The strangest Paradox sustain'd by you
Ev'n to Sagacious Minds appears as true.
But why, alass, should Clovis thus Employ
Such noble Gifts their Owner to destroy?
If Reason can't let Love your Breast incline,
Oh, Pity your sad fate, or Pity mine.
What Words shall tell, what Accents shall relate,
If you are gone, my Lamentable State?
What will become of wretched Merula ,
What shall I do, whither my Self convey?
What can my tedious Life afford to please,
What can asswage my Grief, or Sorrows Ease?
I must to unfrequented places creep,
And seek out secret Corners where to Weep.
I must complain to Woods, and Winds, and Air,
Conscious, alass, in vain of my Despair.
Forsaken, helpless, ruin'd, sore distrest
With mighty Woe, and Life it self Opprest,
I must behind you stay, and make my Moan
To Gallic Tyrants, or to Lords unknown.
Oh, let the dear Engagements of our Love
Dissolve your Heart, and your Compassion move.
You warm Affection once to me exprest,
And thought me fair, pretended so at least.
What dear, engaging, tender things you said,
Which in my Breast the glowing Passion fed?
What Pleasure in my Presence did you show,
And how was I still pleas'd to see you so?
And do's my Presence now so much offend,
That you to part for ever, thus contend?
Or if your Love continue, can you go
And leave me in so sad a Scene of Woe?
But if from me you can so easie part,
Let these your tender Children melt your Heart.
Think how much Woe these Infants must attend,
Without a Father, and without a Friend.
See that dear Boy, how the sweet Creature stands?
How just like you, he moves his little Hands?
See your own Shape, your very Eyes, and Face,
He has your Air, your Step, and every Grace.
Then, Clovis, on his Sister cast your look,
In whom you once such wondrous pleasure took.
How oft you kist and Danc'd her on your Knee,
And said you lov'd the Child, because she look'd like me.
These are next you, of all my Joys the chief,
But if you die will give me no Relief,
But minding me of you, revive my Grief.
When on them I shall look theyll but invite
New floods of Tears, and fresh Complaints excite.
Can't these endearing Pledges of our Love
Dissolve your Heart, and your Compassion move?
Can you these sweet Delights chuse to forsake,
And from the helpless Babes their Father take?
Think how their Lives they must in Sorrow spend,
Who will you leave your Orphans to defend?
You know your Foes will labour to Oppress
Your helpless Widow, and your Fatherless.
Can such a Father e'er Unnatural prove,
Cease to be tender, and forget to Love?
Can you lay by th' Indulgent Parent's care,
And leave these Babes abandon'd to despair?
At such Reflections do's not Nature start,
And try at every Spring to touch your Heart?
Do's not soft Pity's fire begin to burn,
Do not your yearning Bowels in you turn?
In such a case Breasts arm'd with temper'd Steel
And Hearts of Marble, should impression feel.
Then on her bended Knees she fell, and fast,
All drown'd in Tears, his Fetter'd Limbs embrac'd.
And thus she cry'd, here ever will I stay,
Here will I lie, here beg, and weep, and pray,
And strive in Sighs to breath my Life away;
Till Clovis shall our heavy Doom retrieve,
And say he do's at last consent to Live.
Then the sad Mother to her Children said,
Come, Children, help your Father to perswade.
Your Accents full of Grief, and free from Art,
Will penetrate the most obdurate heart.
Your tender Cries will sure his Soul incline,
Your Prayer will more successful prove than mine.
The Children mov'd to see her so distrest,
Burst out in Tears, and the sad Scene increast.
They did about their Father cling, and cry
With mournful Voice, why Father will you dy?
This tender sight did Pious Clovis move;
And in his Breast his mighty Passion strove.
Paternal Pity pain'd his lab'ring Soul,
And made his Bowels in Convulsions roll.
Deep Groans he in his Agony did fetch,
And all his heart-strings felt the utmost stretch.
Striving his Passion to suppress he stood,
At last broke out in Tears and wept aloud.
Now Father's, Mothers, Childrens Cries unite,
And in each others Breasts fresh grief excite.
Confed'rate Sighs and Tears conspire to show
A perfect triumph of Victorious Woe.
Yet constant Clovis still maintain'd the Field,
And tho' o'erwhelm'd with force refus'd to yield.
So when a noble Oak that long has stood
High in the Air, the Beauty of the Wood
Is shock'd by stormy Winds, he either way
Bends to the Earth his Head with mighty Sway.
His lab'ring Roots disturb the neighb'ring Ground,
And makes a heaving Earthquake all around.
Yet fast he stands, and the loud Storm defys,
His Roots still keep the Earth, his head the Skys.
So did great Clovis in the Tempest rock,
And firmly so withstood the Dreadful shock.
But when the Fury and the boyling Tyde
Of his Tumultuous Passion did subside,
Good Heav'ns he cry'd! this is too much to bear,
In such a Storm what Mortal Force can steer?
Nature Extended lys upon the Rack,
And all her shatter'd Frame begins to Crack
Th' impetuous Stress of Passion bears me down,
And the high tyde dos sinking Reason drown.
To bear this mighty weight Heav'n grant support,
All Tortures after this will be but Sport.
The Bitterness and Sting of Death is gone,
When this sad part is past, this Suff'ring done.
He paus'd, and then to Merula he cry'd,
You now your utmost Strength and Skill have try'd.
You've chang'd indeed th' Attack with Wondrous Art,
Quitting your Reason to engage my Heart.
You Wisely your Artillery apply'd
To the most tender, and defenceless side.
You did discreetly think the task not hard
To gain the illman'd Post, which Passions guard.
You thought to win me by your Artful Prayer,
Because I lov'd you and I thought you Fair.
'Tis true when you your Innocence maintain'd
By no Defection, no Rebellion stain'd,
You shone Illustrious in your Heav'nly Sphear,
And lovely as a Seraph did appear.
But now your Crime your beauteous Eyes disarms
Losing your Piety, you lose your Charms.
O'er your bright Form a Night of Guilt is spread,
And hangs in Stygian Clouds around your head.
Like a fallen Angel Merula has lost
The charming Graces which her Form could boast;
Which now no longer can afford Delight,
But like the Sun Eclips'd dos all affright,
And with a dying Splendor pains our sight.
Think not that I could Ease and Life refuse,
And Ignominious Death and Torment chuse,
That I of Bosom Friends could farewel take,
And Children dearer then my Life forsake,
Did not th' Almighty this hard task Enjoyn,
And lend the mighty Aid of Grace Divine.
Down to the Yoke I struggling nature bend
Rather than his Supream Command offend.
I am not fond of Shame, nor do I take
Pleasure in Torment, for the Torment's sake.
I do not Court the Cross, nor Wrongs invite
Nor in Distress, and Ruin take delight.
I in Obedience, not in Pain rejoyce
And rather Suff'ring make, than Sin my Choice.
Nor may our transient Sorrow be compar'd
With that bright Crown, that shall our Love Reward,
With Heav'n's transporting, and unmeasur'd Bliss
And Life Eternal in Exchange for this,
'Tis for the Prize we chuse the Painful Race,
And for the Crown that we the Cross embrace.
Here on a dark and dangerous Sea we steer
Tost on th' uncertain Waves of Hope and Fear.
Oft dash'd on Rocks, oft in wild Tempests lost,
Oft chas'd by Corsairs to an unknown Coast.
And shall th' affrighted Voyager recoil
When Heav'n in Pity to his Fears and Toil,
Shall kindly tow him to the happy Strand,
And on the Shores of Light the shatter'd Vessel Land?
Would Trav'llours fry'd with Lybia 's burning Heat
Faint with their Labour, Hunger, Thirst and Sweat,
Complain if one in Pity would Convey
Them to their wish'd for home a shorter Way?
Men who from Heav'n derive their noble Birth
Cast on a Forreign Clime live here on Earth;
Where the wild Natives with loud Clamor chase
To Woods and Caves the mild and God-like Race.
They are insulted, vext, pursu'd and spoil'd,
Both for their own and Master's sake revil'd.
And should not these be willing to retreat
From such a rude, Inhospitable Seat?
Should Strangers us'd so ill, and so Opprest
Be courted to their Home and to their Rest?
Should such as these at their departure grieve,
And drag'd, like lingring Lot, this Sodom leave?
What dismal Seats the dying Saints forsake,
To what a Blissful Place their Flight they take?
There where th' Almighty's Beatific view
Will crown their Wishes and their Hopes out-do.
Where Joys and Pleasures shall their Breasts extend,
Pleasures unmixt, and Joys that never end.
But now Revolted Merula reflect
On that vast Woe which Rebels must expect.
Who to appease a Man their God Incense
To scape Man's wrath provoke Omnipotence:
Who on Almighty Goodness can't rely,
But from their Saviour's bloody Banner fly,
And to preserve their Lives their Faith deny.
Their timorous flight no Safety can afford,
They fly to meet a more destructive Sword.
What if by Guilt they shun a Mortal Foe,
They run but on his Arms, whose surer blow
Can wound and sink them to the Shades below:
Where they Alternate Death must still repeat
In Piercing Cold, or unextinguish'd Heat;
Where mighty Vengeance they must ever bear
O'erwhelm'd with Wrath, and torn with wild Despair.
Besides when Men from fiery Tryals run,
They meet worse Torments here, than those they shun.
Dos not their Guilt their tremb'ling Souls affright,
And place th' Almighty's Terrors in their Sight?
Outrageous Conscience dos th' Apostate tear
With inward Whips, and Stings him with Despair.
Oh, Merula, say, did you never find
Such Horror, such Remorse within your Mind?
Did ne'er your Fears of Heav'n your Peace molest,
No gripes or inward Pangs torment your Breast.
And was not that a far more painful Rack,
Than those which Tyrants skill'd in Torment, make?
Say, are you not with Consternation struck,
When on your Self deform'd with Guilt you look?
Do's not your secret, self-revenging thought
Afflict your Soul, and lash you for your fault?
An angry Judge your tender Saviour's made,
Of whom you were asham'd, now are you not afraid?
Your thoughts of God must have Amazement bred,
You must his lifted Arm and Vengeance dread.
More had the Hero said, but that he saw
A suddain Storm of Grief in Merula .
Her troubled Looks strange discomposure show'd,
And floods of Tears down her fair Bosom flow'd.
A while she staid to give her Passion Vent,
And when her Anguish had its fury spent:
She cry'd, my heart do's with this Language melt
'Tis true, those Stings, those Torments I have felt,
Which you describe, too well alas, I know
What Horrors from a Guilty Conscience slow.
I dare no more assert my Innocence,
My Mind inlighten'd owns the black offence.
To Save my Life and Suff'rings to evade,
I have my God deny'd, my Faith betray'd.
'Tis true, when Idols I did first adore,
I ne'er design'd by that compliance more,
Then gaining time till I could my retreat
From Gallia make, to seek some peaceful Seat,
Where I might find you, and your Love enjoy,
And undisturb'd my future hours employ.
But now I see by your assisting Light
I'm both Idolater, and Hypocrite.
How black and dismal do's my Crime appear?
How sharp the Stings of raging Conscience are?
Who can the Pangs and deadly Anguish bear?
O let my head a weeping Fountain grow,
And from my Eyes let mournful Rivers flow.
Let me dissolve to Tears, let every Vein
A stream of Water, not of Blood contain.
Thro' all the winding Channels to my Eyes
Let unexhausted Stores of Moisture rise.
Let no sufficient Treasures be deny'd
To feed the sad, but Everlasting Tide.
Let Love's strong Flame by its Celestial Art
To fill my Eyes, dissolve and melt my Heart;
As Central Fire advances watry Steams
Which from the Mountains spring in Crystal Streams.
Rivers and Seas I want for my Relief,
To Ease, and Vent unutterable Grief.
I, that my Tears may to a Deluge grow,
Will break my Stores up, my Abyss of Woe.
Descend my Tears, in Cataracts flow down,
Me, and my load of Guilt together drown.
Let mighty Torrents from my Eye-balls roll,
Fit to dilute th' Almighty's wrathful Bowl.
Lord, strike this Marble Heart, thy powerful Stroke
Will make a Flood gush from the cleaving Rock.
O draw all Nature's Sluces up, and drain
Her Magazines, which liquid Stores contain.
My Guilt with hideous Crys do's me pursue,
O, let me make the Poets Fable true;
To shun the grisly, formidable Shape,
And from the Monster's Fury to escape,
Melting in Tears let me a River grow,
And in a swift, complaining Water flow.
What method is there, Clovis, to decline
The black, impending Storm of Wrath Divine?
What Balm can my tormenting Pain appease?
What can procure my wounded Spirit ease?
How to my troubled Breast shall I restore
That Heav'nly Peace which I enjoy'd before?
Oh, what can smooth th' Almighty's frowning Brow,
Arrest his lifted Hand, and make him drop the blow?
She ceas'd. And Clovis paus'd a little space,
While suddain Tears of Joy ran down his Face.
Then spoke the Confessor. Now you appear
Fair as before, and are to me as dear.
Now you regain your Form, and lovely Charms
And as before are welcom to my Arms.
Heav'n will embrace you too, now you return
And your late fall with pure Contrition mourn.
Heav'n's always ready to afford Relief
To pious Sorrow and ingenuous Grief.
When Penitents with self-displeasure burn,
And to themselves, and to their God return.
Th' Almighty mov'd with Pity will not stay,
But will advance to meet them on their way.
Their Errors he forgets, revokes their Doom
And leads his rescu'd Sons in Triumph home.
Your humble Sorrow gives even Angels Joy,
Who to protect you will their Care employ.
The way to make your Peace which you demand
Is plain, you must the fiery Trial stand.
You must your God before the World confess,
And publick Shame, for publick Crimes express.
We must without debate, without delay,
Boldly advance where Conscience leads the way.
Obedience only can our Peace secure:
No Mind is easie long, that is not pure.
You must Obey even at your Blood's expence,
You must to Life prefer your Innocence.
Regard the Joy that is before you set,
View but the Prize, and you will ne'er retreat.
You can't too dear Immortal Glory reap,
What e'er you give, the purchase still is cheap.
In Vertues Cause whate'er your Suff'rings are,
Heav'n is oblig'd your Losses to repair.
If you with publick Fortitude will own
Your Saviour's Cause, you win the promis'd Crown.
This Favourite Intercessor can alone
Fit Merit plead th' Almighty to atone.
Only his Blood can purge your guilty Stain,
Without this Aid, your Tears descend in vain.
Would you succeed in Christian Warfare, joyn
Sincere Obedience to Belief Divine.
He ceas'd. And thus did Merula reply,
Oh, let not Heav'n its promis'd Aid deny,
And I with Courage will the Cross embrace,
And stare the King of Terrors in the Face.
Both by your words and brave example fir'd,
And with fresh power deriv'd from Heav'n, inspir'd,
Back to the Field from whence I fled I'll come,
And with new Life the Christian War resume.
Faint from the painful Course I once withdrew,
But now return, invited back by you.
I will no more refuse the Christian Yoke,
Nor him forsake, who never his forsook.
From this vile World together we'll retire,
And in Heav'n's Cause together will expire.
With equal swiftness we a breast will fly,
And hand in hand ascend th' Empyreal Sky.
Here he embrac'd her in his Arms, and said,
Now all my Cares and anxious Thoughts are fled.
Kind Heav'n assist, that we may stedfast prove,
And then Reward the labour of our Love.
Then he with God-like Language did proceed
The sacred flame within her Breast to feed.
How nobly he describ'd the bright Reward,
Th' Eternal Joys for Conquering Saints prepar'd!
What high and great Idea's did he draw
Of future Bliss, then cry'd, oh Merula,
These glorious Triumphs will our Suff'rings Crown,
And these blest Joys will quickly be our own.
Thus they proceeded in Divine debate,
And Heav'nly Language fitted to their State,
Till Night was worn, and the declining Moon
Had now past over her Nocturnal Noon.
When Uriel brighter than the Morning Star,
And swift as Light'ning glancing thro' the Air,
Did to the Prison, from above, repair.
Beauty Divine, and Grace ineffable,
Did on his Cheeks and God-like Features dwell.
His Eyes, like Diamonds set in polish'd Gold,
Did a bright Heav'n of Light and Joy unfold.
Unfading Youth did pure, Ambrosial Red,
Mild Air, and blooming Honours on him spred.
His Golden Hair did on his Shoulders shine
Like Locks of Sun-beams curl'd with Art Divine.
From his bright Face broke such Illustrious Rays
As all blest Minds imbibe, who stedfast gaze
Upon the dazling Beatific Sight,
Ravish'd with Joy, and overwhelm'd with Light.
Immortal Life his Heav'nly Mould did move,
And thro' his radiant Limbs the Vital Glory strove.
Ent'ring the Room the Seraph Silence broke,
And thus the Pious Confessors bespoke:
Th' Almighty whose all-penetrating Eye
Do's search the Heart, and all its thoughts descry;
Who views the bent and purpose of your Mind,
Do's your Intention fixt and stedfast find,
To part with Life for your Religion's sake,
And do's the Will for full performance take.
Me therefore in Compassion he has sent
From his high Throne, your Suff'rings to prevent.
I to your Friends will safely you convey,
Then boldly follow where I lead the Way.
He said, and soon the Constant Clovis found
His Fetters loos'd, and fallen upon the ground.
One Child the Father, one the Mother took,
Who at the wondrous Stranger's Presence shook.
With Fear and Joy possest, without delay
They follow, and their Heav'nly Guide obey.
Th' advancing Seraph touch'd the Prison Door
With the bright Rod which in his hand he bore.
Th' obsequious Gate obey'd, and open flew,
Leaving them free their Safety to pursue.
Whom to the Camp the Angel did convey,
Where strong entrench'd the Valiant Britons lay.
That done, thro' all the spacious Fields of Air,
To his Celestial Seat he did repair.
BOOK IX
These Things in Gallia past. The King the while
Prepar'd to Sail from Cold Pomona 's Isle.
Lovely Aurora did serenely rise,
And with her Rosy Footsteps markt the Skys.
When with his Men, and Arms, and war-like store
Arthur embark'd to make Neustrasia 's shore.
The howling Sailors all their Anchors weigh'd,
And the tall Ships their Spacious wings display'd.
They spoon'd away before the shoving Wind,
And left retreating Cliffs and Rocks behind.
They cut the Ocean, while Officious Gales
Swell'd the Capacious Bosoms of their Sails.
Thrice interchangably the Night and Day
Had from the Air each other chas'd away,
When now arriving on the Neustrian Strand
The pious Arthur safely came to Land.
Many glad Troops, soon as the welcome Fame
Of their great Monarch's safe Arrival came,
Sent by the Chiefs, Impatient of delay
Pour'd from his Camp to meet him on his way.
And when they saw the Hero from afar
Advancing like the Poets God of War,
High in the Air they their round Bonnets flung,
And all the Heav'ns with Acclamations rung.
The wild, Transported Youth did run, and shout,
Each other hug'd, and leap'd, and flew about.
His Chariot Wheels on which the Cohorts hung,
Midst loud applauses slowly roll'd along.
With so much Joy King Arthur was receiv'd,
And thus attended at the Camp arriv'd.
Where to his high Pavilion soon they bring,
Rich Wine, and Meats, Refreshments for their King.
His Supper ended, Arthur did relate
How he in Peace had left Britannia 's State.
And what amazing Dangers him befel,
Caus'd by the Malice of the Prince of Hell,
Both on the Waves and in Pomona 's Isle,
All which he vanquish'd with unwearied toil.
Then did he hear his Chiefs Narration make
How all things past, since he did first forsake
Lutetia 's Fields Brittania to compose,
Leaving the Franks to quell Domestic Foes.
For Solmar 's fall he did his Grief express,
And prais'd the pious Clovis stedfastness.
Then he declar'd to all his fixt intent
That when t'atone th' Almighty they had spent
Th' approaching Day in Fervent Praise, and Prayer,
To the proud Foe he would advance the War.
The rising Sun the Throne of Night invades,
Fenc'd with thick Darkness, and entrench'd in Shades;
His radiant Troops break thro' th' Horizon's Line,
And on the Heav'nly Plains triumphant shine.
And now appear'd the Sacred resting Day,
When Christians publick Adoration pay
To Heav'n, and fervid with Devotion raise
In rapt'rous Hymns their great Creator's Praise:
And then with awful Reverence and Fear,
From Sacred Priests Divine Instruction hear.
The Captains warm'd with their Religious flame
Soon to their Monarch's high Pavilion came,
T'address with humble Prayer th' Almighty's Throne,
And his unbounded Power, and Rule to own
They did his Justice and his Love assert,
And by Confessions labour'd to avert
His Judgments, and his Anger to Atone,
Caus'd by their Land's Offences, and their own.
They cast upon his Providential Care
The high Concerns of this Important War,
And with an humble Confidence rely'd
For Victory on his Almighty Aid:
Trusting that Heav'n would ever have regard
To the just Man, and would his Deeds reward.
When thus the Britons had their God ador'd,
His Goodness prais'd, and future Aid implor'd,
They sate prepar'd to hear his Heav'nly Word.
Then Caledon arose with solemn Air,
And to instruct them did himself prepare.
He Albion 's Rights still labour'd to defend,
And pure Religion's Empire to extend.
The finest Clay and pure Etherial Fire
Dispens'd with double Bounty did conspire
To make a Man, that should the World surprise,
A Genius near of Kindred to the Skys.
A Genius so sublime, so rich, and vast,
As all but famous Tylon far surpast.
He did with zeal true piety promote,
For Publick Good he Preach'd, and Pray'd, and Wrote,
All the great Ends for which his Monarch fought.
Prodigious was the Compass of his Mind,
Wide as his Love, which took in Humane Kind.
He Albion 's Good, not Fame or Riches fought,
Generous, and open-hearted to a fault.
An unexhausted Magazin his Brain
Did all the Treasures of the Schools contain.
He shew'd as oft as he Religion taught
Such Fulness, such Fecundity of Thought,
Such Luxury of Sense, such Strength and Art
As soon subdu'd the Hearer's yielding Heart.
How Wise, how Great, how Good must he appear
Who was to Arthur and to Tylon dear?
The famous Priest th' attentive Audience taught,
And from the Sacred Oracles he brought
What in their minds Conceptions Just and Right
Of the first Glorious Being might excite.
What might Create Dependance on his Power,
And by engaging Heav'n make Conquest sure.
And thus his Wise Instructions did Commence
With Zeal Divine, and rapid Eloquence.
The Pagan World ev'n in its darkest Night,
Receiv'd from glimm'ring Nature so much Light,
That by that Candle of the Lord they found
They were by Duty, and by Int'rest bound,
The World's high Moderator to atone,
And their Dependance on his Care to own.
With solemn Worship they invok'd his Aid
Before their War-like Ensigns they display'd.
To take the Field they from the Altar rose,
And from their Temples march'd to meet their Foes.
To render Heav'n Propitious to their Arms,
Christians are more oblig'd to use the Charms
Of pure Devotion, who more clearly know
What Blessings from Divine Assistance flow.
The Lord of Armys in the Battel stands,
And Vict'ry always watches his Commands.
Without his Favour and propitious Aid,
Armies in vain defend, in vain invade.
The Turns of Empire, and th' Events of War,
Result from his Supream, directing Care.
Those who the Self-existent Cause conceive,
And all his Glorious Attributes believe,
Who own his Greatness, and unbounded Power
To crush his Foes, and Vot'ries to secure;
His Justice, that with Threats the Bad deters,
And great Rewards on Upright Men confers,
His unchang'd Love and Truth that never errs:
His Faithfulness, that ne'er forsakes his own,
But stands as fix'd as his Eternal Throne,
That to his Servants still he Succour brings,
Gather'd beneath his kind protecting Wings.
Those Saints who such a Deity conceive,
With strong Devotion arm'd, will ever strive
With Heav'n, and first begin their Conquests there,
Before on Earth they undertake a War.
Success and Triumph, never to the side
That Heav'n engages on, can be deny'd.
Who has an Arm like God? who with his Word
And dreadful Voice, can Thunder like the Lord?
He walks array'd with Majesty and Light,
Hid by excess of Glory from our sight.
He casts his Terrors round on every side,
Observes the Great, and Laughs to see their Pride.
He frowns them to the Dust, their Power defeats,
And tramples down th' Ambitious from their Seats.
He gathers up the Ocean in his hand,
And binds the Billows in with Cords of Sand.
He broke th' Abyss up for the watry Stores,
And plac'd before the Waves his Rocky Doors.
He markt out for them their appointed Seat,
And said, Come hitherto, and then retreat.
He in a Ballance weighs the lofty Hills,
And stooping down with Ease takes up the Isles,
Which torn up from their Roots appear so light,
That when he poises them, they lose their weight.
By him the spacious Heav'ns are over-span'd,
And the Sea's lost when held within his hand.
How swift his flaming Darts of Light'ning fly,
Shot from the gaping Engines of the Sky?
His Voice of Thunder do's his Wrath proclaim,
And shakes affrighted Nature's rocking Frame.
Whene'er he bows the Heav'ns, and thence comes down,
He makes the Mountains tremble at his Frown.
The Rocks are rent where e'er his Terrors go,
Hills melted down like Wax before him flow.
He from their Seats with Ease the Mountains spurns,
And in his Wrath aspiring Hills o'erturns.
He makes the Earth warp from its ancient place,
And wrests its trembling Pillars from their Base.
By him rebuk'd, the Sun withdraws his Light,
And Stars lie hid, seal'd up with suddain Night.
He the wide Heav'ns transparent Curtain spreads,
And on the Sea's unstable Billows treads.
He gives Arcturus, and Orion Light,
And bids the Pleiades adorn the Night.
Hell all its dark Dominions to him shows,
Death and Destruction their sad Spoils disclose.
He rais'd the Southern Spheres, and bid them rowl
In unmolested Order round their Pole.
His Word suspends the Earth, and stretches forth
Above the empty Void, the Frozen North.
The Constellations shine at his Command,
He form'd their radiant Orbs, and with his Hand
He weigh'd, and put them off with such a Force
As might preserve an Everlasting Course.
This mighty King, whose Universal Sway
This, and the spacious Worlds above, obey;
Encompass'd with a vast Abyss of Light,
And mounds of Glory of excessive height,
Do's still unseen, and unmolested dwell,
Conceal'd in Splendor Inaccessible.
With perfect Wisdom he all Nature guides,
And Empires to precarious Kings divides.
Who while he pleases wear th' Imperial Crown,
And when he pleases lay their Scepter down.
Princes by Him, and mighty Monarchs Reign,
Justice Decree, and all their Laws ordain.
He first unsheaths the Sword, then bids it go,
And make a sinful Land Heav'n's Vengeance know.
The glitt'ring Spoiler not to be withstood,
Triumphs in Wounds, and Death, and reeks in Blood.
Enthron'd, on slaughter'd Heaps the Tyrant reigns,
And spreads with ghastly Spoils the Crimson Plains.
Where the red Glutton labours to asswage,
With bloody Riot his insatiate Rage.
Thus while the high Divine Commission lasts,
Realms to Destruction doom'd, th' bright Destroyer wasts:
But when th' Almighty bids the Spoiler stand,
He stops his Course, and owns the great Command.
He choaks th' Infernal Throat of Howling War,
And the black Mouths of Horror and Despair.
All Martial Noise, Uproar, and Tumult, cease,
Husht by the soft melodious Voice of Peace.
Long war-like Spears are chang'd for Shepherds Crooks,
And Swords and Shields for Spades' and pruning Hooks.
The Woolly Flocks again adorn the Hills,
And Rural Care the busy Vally fills.
The grisly shapes of Death and Terror gone,
New Life and Joy the smiling Regions crown.
So when a black Tempestuous Night is past
In which loud Winds have lofty Tow'rs defac'd
The Mountains rent, and laid the Forrest wast,
This strife the Morn composes with her Charms,
And all the fighting Elements disarms.
A joyful Peace succeeds this Stormy War,
And calms the troubled Empire of the Air.
The Sun's bright Beams the reeking Meads adorn,
And chearful Lab'rers to their toil return.
He in set bounds do's wild Ambition keep,
And to her say's, as to the raging Deep,
Here stop before the Bars which I have laid.
Here shall thy proud insulting Waves be staid,
They strive in vain these Banks to overflow,
Thus far they shall, but shall no farther go.
The Fate of Empires flow from his Command,
And all the Hearts of Kings are in his hand.
Which by his skill are guided and inclin'd
Ends to promote those Princes ne'er design'd.
Sometimes he raises by a mighty hand
Tyrannic Monsters to Supream Command,
At once to rule, and scourge a Sinful Land.
Who like the Prince of Darkness to asswage
Infernal Malice, and to cloy their Rage
Furys and bloody Ministers employ
Mankind with various Torments to destroy.
These mighty Nimrods eager of their Food
Hunt down Mankind and bath themselves in Blood.
Kingdoms with Desolation they deface
And in their Rage extirpate Adam 's Race.
Then if the Guilty their Defection mourn,
And back to Vertue's Heav'nly Path return,
If humble Prayer and penitential Crys
With sacred Violence invade the Skys,
Which are the only Gyants that assail
The Throne of Heav'n, and in the War prevail,
For Heav'n and Earth together still repent,
This of its Guilt, that of the Punishment;
Th' Almighty's Bowels mov'd within him turn
And in his Breast mild flames of Mercy burn.
His Heart with soft Compassion melted flows
And he Decrees to ease that Nation's Woes.
Then do's he cause some Hero to arise,
Some mighty Leader, Valiant Just and Wise,
Some Moses, Joshua , Jeptha , Constantine ,
Some pious Hercules of Race divine,
Some Arthur, or some Branch of Arthur 's Line.
For this great Race with numerous Heros stor'd,
Always some great Deliverer will afford.
These he enjoyns the Monsters to invade,
And to support them gives his constant aid.
These from the Earth Tyrannic Spoilers chase,
The great Reproach and Plague of Humane Race.
These Ministers of Heav'n midst loud applause
Restore Religion, Right, and antient Laws.
Then fruitful Peace spreads out her brooding Wings,
And her bright train of Blessings Justice brings.
All freed from Violence and War-like noise,
Beneath their Fig-tree and their Vine rejoyce.
These Hero 's from above derive the Fire
And Force Divine, that dos their Breasts inspire.
The God-like Vigour and th' Immortal Ray
That breaks so brightly thro' their purer Clay
Kind Heav'n bestows; to form a noble Mind
For great Events and mighty Deeds design'd.
And from the glorious Fountain whence it came,
Divine Supplys must feed the Hero 's Flame.
And when their Arms attempt Illustrious Deeds,
Assisted from above their Sword succeeds.
Their Safety springs from Heav'n's peculiar Care,
And from its Aid their Laurels gain'd in War.
The Lord of Hosts dos in the Battel spread
His spacious Shield above his Favorite's Head.
He in the Army's Front dos still appear,
And shakes from far his vast Almighty Spear.
He whets his glitt'ring Sword, prepares his Bow,
And shoots his fatal Shafts amidst the Foe.
What certain Triumph may those Chiefs expect,
Whose Arms Omnipotence dos thus Protect?
The strong the Battel, and the Swift the Race
May often gain, but not of Right, but Grace.
He often his controuling Power to show,
Bestows the Victory on the Weak, and Slow.
He often in the subtile Net ensnares
The crafty Statesman, which himself prepares.
He turns their Counsels into Foolishness,
And makes the Wise their Ignorance Confess,
Some slight, but unexpected Incident
Cast in by him, shall all their Schemes prevent.
Proud Monarchs, who on numerous Troops rely,
And neighb'ring States united force defy,
He's often pleas'd as Captives to bestow
On their much Weaker, tho' successful Foe,
He do's their Pride by their Defeat upbraid,
And shows no Power is great without his Aid.
The Fall of Kingdoms is by him decreed,
And from his Will Events of War proceed.
He strikes Amazement thro a Camp, and then
Shrubs on the Hills appear like Armed Men.
A Flight of Birds, or else a murm'ring Breeze
Shaking the tops of neighb'ring Mulb'ry Trees,
When Consternation has prepar'd the Ear,
Like mighty Hosts upon their March appear,
Or rapid Torrents which from Mountains gush,
Or raging Armys that to battel rush.
They think the Earth, so fear perswades them, feels
Steeds trampling Hoofs, and brazen Chariot Wheels.
When none pursue th' affrighted Cohorts fly,
Fear finds them Wings, that found the Enemy.
Against themselves he can their Swords employ,
And by their mutual Wounds an Host destroy.
He can their stoutest Chiefs and Legions scare,
With clouds in Warriours shape, and Steeds of Air,
With glaring Meteors, and Fantastic War.
A slight mistake can valiant Troops defeat,
Or groundless Fame oblige them to retreat.
He can his Stars his glitt'ring Host above
Draw out in bright Array, and make them move
In radiant Lines of War to Charge the Foe,
And on them deadly Influence to throw.
All his Arm'd Elements in Battel stand
Eager t'engage, and Fight at his Command.
His Airy Troops, Winds, Rain, and Snow, and Hail,
Heav'ns signal giv'n, the trembling Foe assail.
He by a thousand ways can make appear
How weak Man's Power, how vain his Counsels are.
He can of Insects raise a mighty Host
That shall invade his Foes best guarded Coast.
These wing'd Battalions muster in the Sky,
And rang'd in Battel round his Standard fly.
Raw Vapours he can List, Corruption Arm,
And raise from every Hedge a war-like swarm.
With Worms and Flys he can Commissions trust,
And for new Levys can impress the Dust.
He can of Frogs a croaking Army form,
That shall their Bulwarks Scale, their Castles Storm,
That through their Cedar Palaces shall stalk,
And thro' their Rooms of State in Triumph walk.
All these the Lord of Nature can employ,
And by their force his haughty Foes annoy.
But this he need not do, unless to show
How many ways he can destroy the Foe.
For he th' Angelic Armys can Command
Who to observe his nod, Obsequious stand,
Arm'd with Celestial Swords all bright and keen,
As that which o'er Jerusalem was seen,
When in the Air the fierce Destroyer stood
Reeking in Slaughter, and distain'd with Blood.
These on the Foe, when the high Order's giv'n,
Can draw down all th' Artillery of Heav'n.
They such destructive Weapons can Employ
As in a moment will Great Hosts destroy.
Believe that Heav'n engages on your Side,
Will aid your Arms and humble Gallia 's Pride.
Believe your Swords drawn in the Almighty's Cause,
Will Conquest Win, and meet a loud Applause.
Great Armacan whose Breast Prophetic Fire
Descending from above did oft inspire,
Whose venerable Words our Isle believ'd,
And as divine Predictions still receiv'd,
A famous Prophecy has left behind
Of Woes against Lutetia 's Sons design'd.
Wherein it clearly do's appear that you
Are rais'd by Heav'n Lutetia to subdue.
Your certain Hopes of Conquest to create
At large the Prophecy I'll now relate.
Make hast, to all the loftiest Mountains fly,
From whose aspiring Tops amidst the Sky,
You may the Regions all around survey,
Aloft the waving Banner there display.
Aloft th' Almighty's Royal Sandard rear,
Spread out the War-like Ensigns thro' the Air,
And let the bloody Flag denounce the War.
Then call aloud to all the Countrys round,
And fill the wide Horizon with the sound.
Call with a mighty Voice that may alarm
The Realms beneath, and make the Nations Arm.
That all may hasten to the noble toyl,
To easy Conquest, but to Wealthy Spoil.
My sanctify'd, my Chosen Chief, and all
My mighty Warriours, and my Captains call.
Call all my Generals, and my Legions forth,
The Ministers of my avenging Wrath.
A mighty Race, that by their Arms design
Not their own Glory to promote, but mine.
Hark, what a mighty noise the Mountain fills,
How loud it Ecchoes from Contiguous Hills?
How do's the Clamor and tumultuous Sound
Of marching, Armys from the Sky rebound?
What gath' ring Clouds advance, and bring from far
The heavy Tempest of Impending War?
What confluent Multitudes, what numerous Troops
O'erspread the Hills, and crown the Mountains tops?
How fierce they look? how bright their Arms appear?
How wide a Front of War how deep a Rear?
The God of Armys do's his Power display,
And draws his dreadful Battel in Array.
On high they muster, and with martial Grace
In long Review before their General pass.
Embattled Squadrons swarm upon the Plain,
T'attend th' Almighty in his great Campaign.
The glorious Leader grasps his Sword and Shield,
And with his war-like Myriads takes the Field.
Ah! Mourn Lutetia, let thy sorrows grow
Boundless and vast, as thy approaching Woe.
Break open all thy secret stores of Grief
Exhaust thy Weeping Springs, hope no Relief,
Torments pursue thee which exceed Belief.
Let Grief and Anguish reign with lawless sway;
For this proud City is thy dismal Day,
This is thy Fatal and Surprizing Hour
When Heav'n will vast destruction on thee pour.
These storms of Vengeance which the Skys o'erspread
Shall be discharg'd on thy aspiring Head.
These mighty Preparations all are made
With dreadful War thy Empire to invade.
Now Sorrows unexpressible are felt,
And in their Breasts the Hearts of Warriours melt.
Ghastly Distraction do's each Soul possess,
And strange Amazement all their looks confess.
Never such wild and hideous shapes of Fear,
Never such finish'd Horror did appear.
The miserable World could never show
So exquisite a Grief and such excess of Woe.
Gigantic Terrors, Anguish and Despair,
And shiv'ring, howling Fears the City scare.
What Agonys of Grief Lutetia shows
Suddain, and strong as Womens Labour-Throws!
How she bewails her Fate, and well she may,
For now draws nigh th' Almighty's wrathful Day.
How sad a Day? what Storms of Vengeance rise?
What black Destruction gathers in the Skies?
Oh, inauspicious Day! amazing Sight!
Oh, Day more dreadful than the blackest Night!
See, how th' Almighty comes, with how much hast
He marches on to lay Lutetia wast?
Mark, in his Eyes what vengeful Fury glows?
What angry Clouds hang on his frowning brows?
How keen his Sword? how terrible his Shield?
What temper'd Light'nings do's the Conquerour weild?
How vast his Host? how bright their Armor shines?
How long the Order of th' Embattled Lines?
How great this Day is when, with Sword in hand,
Th' Almighty marches to destroy thy Land;
Thy lofty Walls, Lutetia, to surround,
And level thy proud Turrets with the ground?
Th' affrighted Stars retreat into the Sky,
And from Heav'n's brow and outmost Frontier fly,
Unable to preserve their Posts, and view
The bloody Labour ready to ensue.
The Planets starting at the dismal Sight,
Forsake their Orbs, and wander far in Night.
The Sun so long to woful Sights inur'd,
Owns this is worse than e'er he yet endur'd.
For he no sooner from the East displays
O'er all th' Etherial Fields his golden Rays,
But strait he startles, and do's backwards run,
And of its Light defrauds the sick'ning Moon.
Against th Unjust th' Almighty do's declare,
Against th' wicked he advances War.
He'll from the Earth this impious Race destroy,
And with their Slaughter will his Fury cloy.
He'll give his ravening Sword their Flesh for Food,
And make his thirsty Arrows drunk with Blood.
He from their Thrones will haughty Princes thrust,
And roll their awful Purple in the Dust.
The Proud and Mighty who the Earth Oppress,
His Justice by their Ruin shall Confess.
Such Universal Woe, such Misery,
Such shall th' unheard of Desolation be,
That Men with strict enquiry must be sought,
Grown fearce, as Gems from farthest India brought.
Precious and rare as Ophir 's Golden Oar,
Or purest Pearl from wanton Asia 's Shore.
How hard 'twill be to find a Man's abode,
And when 'tis found he'll be with Wonder show'd,
The strangest Savage that frequents the Wood.
With Nails o'ergrown, wild Looks, and matted Hair,
He'll sculk in Caves, or wander in Despair.
And if by chance a roaming Beast of Prey
Shall meet him in his solitary Way,
He'll wonder at a Monster so unknown,
And yield himself by the Man-Beast out-done.
When God in Fury wields his deadly Sword,
Nature to see the Terrors of it's Lord,
Amaz'd, and frighted to its Centre, shakes,
Forgets her Duty, and her Course forsakes.
His Wrath o'erturns the Mountains rocking Heaps,
And the scar'd Earth from its strong Basis leaps.
The trembling World's distorted Pillars crack,
And high above prevailing Chaos back,
The Poles stand up to point out Nature's Wreck.
As when a Roe do's on the Hills appear,
Chas'd by the Dogs, and his own swifter fear,
O'er Woods and Lawns he trips, light as the Wind,
And leaves his Foes, tho' not his Fears behind.
So shall thy Sons to Foreign Climates take
Their hasty flight, and thy vext Soil forsake.
In distant Realms they'll thy Destruction mourn,
But ne'er to this accursed Land return.
As scatter'd Sheep without a Shepherd stray,
Expos'd to every Ravening Beast a Prey,
So shall thy Children o'er the Mountains roam
Naked, Distrest, without a Guide or Home.
None to the straggling Fugitives shall show
The least Compassion to asswage their Woe.
A thousand ways they'll from Destruction fly,
And by a thousand various Terrors dy.
Those who remain about her shall afford
A bloody Harvest to the raging Sword.
All her Adherents in this fatal Hour
Which either lov'd her Gold, or fear'd her Power,
In her Distress Lutetia shall forsake,
Lest of her Cup of Vengeance they partake.
Those who before her Majesty ador'd,
Proclaim'd her Praises, and her Aid implor'd,
Of her Destruction shall Spectators stand,
And point, and say, is this the fruitful Land?
This the great City so ador'd of late?
What an amazing Turn is this of Fate!
Where are her Walls and lofty Pillars? where
Her Towers that shone so glorious in the Air?
Where all her gilded Battlements and Spires
Whose Height and Light outvy'd the Heav'nly Fires?
Where is her Tyrian Pomp, her Robes of state?
Where the high Courts where she in Judgment sate?
Those who enslav'd themselves for Gallic Gold
Betray'd their Trust, and native Country sold,
Who still with zeal her Praises did proclaim,
And with their Guilt advanc'd Lutetia 's Fame,
Shall in Lutetia 's Desolation fall,
While they in vain for her Protection call.
How will the envious Race with Malice burst,
How will th' Anointed of the Lord be curst
By their black mouths, when with his mighty Host
He marches on to proud Lutetia 's Coast?
What anguish will they feel? what shiv'ring Fear
When they the Briton 's mighty Triumphs hear?
When he shall pull their Gallic Idol down,
And spreading Laurels shall his temples Crown.
The Lord of Hosts shall call his Armys forth,
Enroll his Troops and Muster in the North.
He shall his Warriours from Britannia bring,
Led on to Triumph by their mighty King.
With these the War-like Nations shall combine,
That come from Alba 's Banks, and drink the Rhine.
This valiant Host, th' Almighty will engage
On Gallia 's Soil to execute his Rage.
Vig'rous their Limbs and roughly great their Mind,
Patient of Labour, and for War design'd.
All great in Arms, all men of mighty Name,
Not Wealth and Spoil but Conquest is their Aim.
The nobly slight rich Ophir 's Golden vein,
And look on Silver Heaps with just disdain.
These to Lutetia 's Walls their Arms advance
To humble and correct her Arrogance.
The tender Offspring of the Womb shall dy,
And dash'd to pieces on the Pavement ly.
Th' Inexorable Sword around shall rage
Without distinction made of Sex or Age.
The fierce Destroyer shall thy Nobles meet,
And lay thy Youth in heaps in every street.
Children shall trembling to their Father fly,
And at his feet shall by the Javelin dy.
Scar'd Infants cling about the Mothers neck,
And on the Invader look with Horror back,
But stab'd within her Arms they fill with blood
The Parent's Bosom whence it lately flow'd.
Affrighted Maids th' insulting Foe to shun
To screaming Mothers for Protection run,
But neither earnest Crys, nor Youthful Charms
Can melt th' Invader, and Arrest his Arms.
The Cruel, Deaf, and Unrelenting Spear
Shall not Compassion's tender Accents hear,
Or mov'd by Mercy, Youth or Beauty spare.
Thou mighty City, Gaul 's Imperial Head
Which hast so Wide thy Fame and Conquests spred,
And in proud Triumph Captive Princes led,
Which as an Empress hast been long renown'd,
Enrich'd with Spoils, which Power and Plenty crown'd,
Thy Day's at hand, thy fatal Hour is come
That brings at last th' Irrevocable Doom.
The British King his Royal Standard reers,
See where his Host upon the Hills appears.
He shall abase thy Pride, thy slaves release,
Revenge her Wrongs and give Europa Peace.
He shall thy strong and deep Foundations raze,
And on thy Ruins build Immortal Praise.
Thy lofty Towers that with Majestic Pride
In Height and Glory with each other vy'd.
Which their aspiring Heads before did thrust
Amidst the Clouds now hide them in the Dust:
They in their broken Arms each other take,
And ghastly Friendship in Destruction make.
High Roofs of Cedar from Assyria brought,
Rare Statues all by ancient Masters wrought,
Dishes of massy Silver high embost,
And Marble Pillars from Ausonia 's Coast,
Tables inlaid amazing to behold,
Mucovian Furrs, and India 's purest Gold,
Sydonian Luxury, and wealth Immense
Engross'd with wondrous care, and vast expence.
These mingled by Lutetia 's fall shall meet,
And spread with noble Rubbish every Street.
In after times thou'lt be with wonder show'd
Magnificent in heaps, in Ruin proud.
'Twill Learning be thy Monuments to know,
And those thought Wise who thy Remains can show.
Grave Antiquarys shall the Traveller lead
Around the Heaps, and on thy Reliques read.
They'l point, and to th' admiring Stranger cry,
See, yonder where those lofty Ruins ly,
There stood Lutetia 's King's Imperial Seat,
Amazing then, now in Destruction Great.
Delicious Gardens on th' inclining Side
Of that fair Hill display'd their flowry Pride.
What Labyrinths of everlasting Green,
What lovely Walks adorn'd that Heav'nly Scene.
Fountains of wondrous Art did ever flow,
And high into the Air their Waters throw.
Statues that Skill Inimitable show'd
In beauteous order on the Terras stood:
They stood indeed but yet such Life did show,
Spectators wonder'd why they did not go.
How sweet a Shade Confederate Trees did spread,
Raising to Heav'n but one continued Head.
There a Canal, a noble Flood contain'd,
Which from reluctant Nature Art had gain'd,
Where Boats of Pleasure pass'd along the Shores
With Silken Pendants, and with gilded Oars.
Elastic Engines wrought with wondrous Skill
And mighty Cost, rais'd Waters to the Hill
Which first the Fountains fill'd, and then below
Did all collected in the Channel flow.
Now, as you see, the wild neglected Field
Do's only Thorny Shrubs and Thistles yield.
Now view the Reliques of that pompous Arch
Thro' which King Salmo did in Triumph march
Upon the Stones you may with Horror see
Th' Inscriptions, and audacious Blasphemy
With which to flatter his enormous Pride,
Court Sycophants their Monarch Deify'd.
There see the Baths and Aqueducts, and there
See where the Dome its lofty Head did reer.
This shall, proud City, be thy dismal State,
The next to Sodom 's and Gomorrah 's Fate:
The Shepherd's shall not here their Tents extend,
Nor in their Folds their bleating Flocks defend.
The Savage Kind shall their old Haunts forsake,
And in this wilder Seat their Refuge take.
The Serpents in thy Cedar Rooms shall ly,
And o'er thy Heaps shall hissing Dragons fly.
In thy gilt Rooms shall rest th' ill-boding Owl,
And Wolves within thy Palaces shall howl.
About thy Streets the ravening Bear shall stray,
And in thy Courts her unshap'd Whelps shall lay.
The Lyon shall possess thy Prince's Throne,
The next Apartment shall the Panther own.
The Tyger here his Residence shall make,
And there the Leopard shall his Lodging take.
The Bittern midst thy mossy Heaps shall cry,
Vultures and all the Pyrates of the Sky,
To this amazing Wilderness shall fly.
All Beasts and Birds of Prey shall hither come,
That beat the Air, or thro' the Forest roam:
A dire Convention, yet a milder Race
Than what before possest this Cruel place.
Now,Valiant Britons , you may clearly see
Your Arms are meant in this great Prophecy.
You are th' Almighty's Chiefs, his Chosen Host
By him drawn out t'invade Lutetia 's Coast.
Success and Triumph to your Arms belong,
Play but the Men, and for your God be strong.
Now let your Valour and resistless Sword,
Shew that you fight the Battel of the Lord.
Who in Compassion to Britannia 's Fate,
The Mighty Arthur rais'd to save her State.
He, by this God-like Moses set you free
From your hard Tasks, and Marks of Slavery.
And by a thousand various Wonders wrought,
The British Youth from heavy Bondage brought.
See where your war-like Joshua ready stands,
To lead your Troops to Vanquish Pagan Lands.
Advance then to Correct the Gallic Pride,
Arthur has God, and Vict'ry on his side.
He ceas'd. The Captains to their Tents retir'd,
With Caledon 's Seraphic Tongue inspir'd,
A martial Heat did in their Bosoms glow,
And all impatient seem'd t'engage the Foe.
BOOK X
Soon as the rising Sun's victorious Light
Had Scal'd, and pass'd the gloomy Mounds of Night.
The British Partys who to beat the Road
And gain Intelligence were sent abroad,
Returning to the Camp did Tydings bring,
That as Commanded by the Gallic King
His Cavalry advanc'd at distance lay,
Off from the Foot, and Arbel did obey.
Clotar himself did with the Foot remain,
Which lay encamp'd on rich Lutetia 's Plain.
Then did King Arthur let his Captains know
That he the Horse would Lead and Charge the Foe,
Commanding that the Foot with utmost speed
Should onward march to share the glorious Deed.
Great Arthur with Heroic Ardor warm'd
His Weapons took and for the Battel Arm'd.
Round his strong Legs he made his Pieces fast
With Silver Studds, and Golden Buttons grac'd.
Then did he lace his polish'd Helmet on
Which with distinguish'd wondrous brightness shone.
A noble Plume did his high Crest adorn,
Fair as the Morning Star, or as the Morn.
A Purple Scarf, like mild Aurora 's pride,
Enrich'd with Golden Tassels grac'd his Side.
Next, like the Moon at full, his spacious Shield
Blaz'd on his Arm and dazled all the Field.
As Forges full of melted Oar by night
Appear at distance to the Travellers sight,
Where brawny Smith besmear'd with Smoke and Sweat.
For Ships of War unweildy Anchors beat.
So did the Warriour's Burnish'd Buckler glow,
And such fierce Light did from the Metal flow.
His mighty Fauchion which of all the Field,
Two of the strongest Chiefs could scarcely weild,
Whose fatal Edge so many Heros felt,
Hung down suspended in his glorious Belt.
Then his long Spear he took which in his hand
When firmly grip'd shook like an Osier wand.
As when a Cyclops with his pondrous Sledge
On the hard Anvil strikes a flaming Wedge,
When he designs the malleable mass
Shall into some Capacious Caldron pass,
The fiery Dust at every blow that flys
And glaring Light vex the Spectator's Eyes.
The Briton 's Arms shone thus excessive bright,
Darted keen Glances and uneasy Light,
And tho' his Glory pleas'd, it pain'd the Sight.
While thus the Monarch Arm'd, his noble Steed
Sprung from Britannic mixt with Thracian Breed,
Praunc'd in the Negro 's hand, and tost around
His generous Foam that Whiten'd all the ground.
In his hot Mouth he champt the Golden Bit,
And paw'd the Vally with his thund'ring Feet.
The King advanc'd, and in his Martial Heat
Mounting the Steed, and leaping cross the Seat
Such was the clanking of his Arms as made,
By the surprize his starting Friends affraid.
The fiery Beast Impatient of the Rein,
Curveted, Bounc'd, and Bounded o'er the Plain.
The Eagle scarcely flew so swift and strong,
When she to Heav'n, as ancient Poets sung,
From Ætna 's Caves, and Vulcan 's fiery Store
Hot Thunderbolts, and vengeful Light'ning bore.
Thus the swift Courser past, and thro' the Air
Did on his back the glorious Tempest bear.
Next Osor General of the British Horse
In order follow'd, Arthur 's rapid Course.
Then Noble Clovis warm with martial Heat
Advanc'd his great Atchievements to repeat.
Now all the Squadrons from the Camp were pour'd,
All bold in Arms and to the Field inur'd.
The Trumpet's cheerful Voice the Region fills,
Redoubled by the Rocks and ecchoing Hills.
The Heav'ns with Arms and war-like noise resound,
And fiery Coursers shake the trembling Ground.
Thick Clouds of Smoke and Foam around e'm fly,
And rising Fogs of Dust obscure the Sky.
Soon Albion 's Monarch with his speedy Course
Came within prospect of King Clotar 's Horse.
The numerous Squadrons rang'd in Battel stood,
And look'd at distance like an Iron Wood.
As when a gathering Tempest do's arise
With sullen Brow, and slowly mounts the Skys,
The Stygian Vapours from their Caves repair
To the black Rendezvous amidst the Air.
Th' embattled Clouds in gloomy Throngs ascend,
And cross the Sky their dreadful Front extend.
So thick the Franks appear'd along the Plain,
Ready th' invading Briton to sustain.
A Grove of Lances o'er the Region spreads,
With Bucklers intermixt and burnish'd Heads.
As when some famous Master Engineer,
Such as great Ricar and Becano are,
A Triumph for some Conqueror do's prepare.
Bright Rockets, Serpents, Stars of Nitre rise,
And mingling Fires Inlighten all the Skys.
Proud Pyramids aloft to Heav'n aspire
Adorn'd with Wreathing Flames, and Laurels all of Fire.
So now the Air shone bright with Helms and Spears,
With Corslets, Shields, and plated Cuirassiers.
Arbel who ne'er was Conscious yet of fear,
Soon as he saw the British Troops appear.
Pleas'd with th' important Danger of the day
Resolv'd th' advancing Briton 's Course to stay;
And as a prudent Gen'ral did prepare
His numerous Squadrons to receive the War.
He rode thro' all the Regiments and Ranks
To animate and cheer th' Embattled Franks .
Then the great Leader in the Center stood,
And to the Troops around him cry'd aloud,
On you, brave Men, Your Prince has still rely'd,
Sure of your Faith and Courage often try'd.
What mighty Warriours have you overcome?
What Captive Princes brought in Triumph home?
What wonders have your Arms in Battel done,
What wealthy Spoils from vanquish'd Nations won?
You've by the glorious Fields which you have fought,
Not only kept what your great Fathers got,
But have by humbling Neighb'ring Monarchs Pride,
Extended Gallia 's Empire far and wide.
You have the Power of distant Kingdoms broke,
And on their Necks impos'd the Gallic Yoke.
You have your martial fame and terror spred,
And all Europa 's Youth your Ensigns dread.
What Heros ever could your Arms resist?
When have your Squadrons fought, and Conquest mist?
Arthur, 'tis true, did once some Troops defeat,
But must not think his Vict'ry to repeat.
The plying Infantry by giving Way,
The great Disorder caus'd that lost the Day.
You never were engag'd, you ne'er could show
The Fire with which you us'd to Charge the Foe.
Clotar on you his Cavalry relys,
And by your Arms the British Power defys.
'Tis by the Cavalry the Franks have done
Their mighty Deeds, and gain'd their chief Renown.
Your Valour must determine Gallia 's Fate,
You are the Bulwark, that protects her State.
Who can withstand, brave Men, the fatal Sword
Of Vet'ran Troops to Conquest long inur'd?
What Danger is so great, what Task so hard
That can the Triumphs of such Troops retard?
Scarce had he ended when his Courser's Flanks
The Briton gor'd, and Sprung amidst the Ranks.
His first projected Spear Bermondo slew,
Piercing his Cuirass, Shield, and Body thro':
Drunk with the Wound which inwardly did bleed
The giddy Frank sat tottering on his Steed.
The Courser's Reins fell from his feeble hand,
Then down he headlong fell, and prest the Sand.
Next to the sight strong Osbal did advance,
But in his Breast receiv'd the Briton 's Lance.
As Thunder struck from Heav'n, the mighty Gaul
Fell down, and shook the Vally with his fall.
The Conq'ring Briton o'er his Body rode,
And deep into the Sand his reeking Entrails trod.
Stout Monlac next stood in the Briton 's way,
And proudly hop'd the Victor's Course to stay.
Thro' his right Eye the Monarch's Weapon past,
And pierc'd his Skull which steel in vain encas'd.
He tumbled from his Seat, and on the ground
He felt his Life departing from his Wound.
Then by Garontes cast a mighty Spear
Cut thro' the downy Bosom of the Air:
Against the Conquering King it took it's Course,
But in his Buckler spent it's dying Force.
Garontes wheeling off had strait retir'd,
But that the King with Indignation fir'd,
Flew to the Charge, and with an oblique stroke
His mighty Fauchion thro' the Helmet broke.
He did his Mouth from Ear to Ear divide,
And from the Wound gush'd out a reeking Tyde.
His sever'd Jaw depending ghastly show'd,
And from his Throat he Cough'd up Teeth and Blood.
He fell, and while he lay in torturing Pain,
Hot Coursers trod to Mire his Head and Brain.
Onvil advanc'd the Briton to repel,
But on his Crest the mighty Fauchion fell.
The noble stroke did the strong Captain stun,
Who dropt his Sword, and Shield, and in a Swoon,
A while lay sensless on his Courser's Main,
Then fell, and lay stretcht out amidst the Slain.
Martel, who still the hottest Battel sought,
And from the Combate frequent Laurels brought,
Advanc'd the Monarch's progress to arrest,
And hurl'd his massy Spear against his Breast.
On Arthur 's temper'd Shield the Weapon broke,
In pieces flew, and lost the furious stroke.
The King incens'd, flew on t'ingage the Foe,
And at his Neck discharg'd a mighty Blow.
Off leap'd the Head, and murm'ring flew away,
Then gasping in the Dust, and twinkling lay.
So swiftly did the sev'ring Fauchion go,
So quick, so strong, so suddain was the Blow,
That still the Trunk, tho' of the Head depriv'd,
Preserv'd its Seat, and scarce the loss perceiv'd:
A while a ghastly Prospect there it staid,
And from the Neck the bloody Fountains play'd,
Which high into the Air their Purple Streams convey'd,
Then down it tumbled, and amidst the Dead,
Lay at a distance from the sever'd Head.
Next Oroban who grew in Battel bold,
Because the Augur when consulted told,
That from the War he should Victorious come,
And chase from Gallia 's Coast the Britons home;
Oppos'd the King, but th' unexpected Steel
The wounded Frank did in his Bosom feel.
Approaching Fate he did in vain resist,
Dying he fell, and curst the lying Priest.
The Monarch then sprang forward to Assail,
Lansac, confiding in his Coat of Mail.
The Fauchion thro' the Coat soon passage found,
His Shoulder cleft, and made a ghastly Wound.
The fainting Gaul fell headlong from his seat
And lay extended at the Courser's feet.
Then thus the Pious King the Frank bespoke,
At last thy Crimes have met th' avenging stroke.
How many Christians has thy Savage hand
Rack'd and destroy'd, pleas'd with thy Lord's Command?
No Torments, no Destruction could asswage
Thy thirst of Blood, and Persecuting Rage.
Think on the Arts thy Malice did invent,
T'afflict the Poor, and vex the Innocent.
Now thou must suffer for th' atrocious Guilt,
For all the Blood thy impious hand has spilt.
Then his bright Spear he thro' his Body thrust,
Spur'd on his Steed, and crush'd him in the Dust.
Torbet stood next, distinguish'd from the rest
Both by his gaudy Arms, and Priestly Vest.
But when he saw th' advancing Conqueror near,
And ready to discharge his massy Spear,
He from th' Invader turn'd his Courser's head,
And from the dreadful danger would have fled.
But then desparing to escape by Flight,
And yet affraid to undertake the Fight,
Trembling and Pale with fear himself he threw
At Arthur 's Feet, and thus for Life did sue.
Pity, great Prince, as well as Courage show,
And turn from Torbet 's head your fatal Blow.
My Death alass can no Applauses move,
Nor can my worthless Life e'er Dang'rous prove.
A Priest I am, but never did perswade
With Fire and Sword the Christians to invade.
I ne'er did Clotar 's Cruelty Commend,
But thought such Deeds Heav'n's Vengeance would attend.
I still Compassion to the Sufferers shew'd,
And ne'er my hands in Christian blood embru'd.
He said. The King the trembling Coward left
By his own Fears almost of Life bereft.
Then Bramar trusting to his mighty Force
Came boldly on t'oppose the Monarch's Course.
Proudly he rein'd his generous, milk-white Steed
As Thracian bold, swift as Iberian Breed.
The Briton 's Spear aim'd at his shining Crest,
Missing the Rider struck the prauncing Beast,
And entring deep lay buried in his Chest.
He on his hinder Feet himself did rear,
And with the foremost paw'd, and beat the Air;
Then on the ground he fell, and with his fall
The groaning Courser crush'd the war-like Gaul .
Arthur advanc'd, and gave the fatal Wound;
The Weapon fixt the Body to the ground.
At Dagbert next, and Marodel he flew,
The first his Spear, the last his Fauchion slew:
This split the Brain, that with a furious stroke
The Warriour's Ankle-bone to Splinters broke.
Then Cossan, Aldar , Molan , Sarabel ,
Aranda, Clobar, and Elviran fell.
As when loud Boreas blows his stiffest Gales,
To swell some War-like Ship's expanded Sails,
Driv'n with the furious Wind the Vessel braves
The foaming Troops, and thick embattled Waves.
O'er Billows thronging Heads the Victor rides,
Cuts thro', and all the watry Host divides.
With equal Force the Valiant Briton flew
Amidst the Ranks, and charg'd as swiftly thro'.
Osor mean time broke thro' th' opposing Franks,
And bravely plung'd amidst the thickest Ranks.
Great Shabron 's Head his fatal Fauchion cleft,
And on the ground th' expiring Pagan left.
T'engage the Briton Rimon did advance;
But in his Buckler broke th' unprosperous Lance.
Osor incens'd advanc'd to Charge the Foe,
Pois'd his long Spear and pierc'd his Body thro'.
The Pagan sinking backward lost the Rein,
The affrighted steed ran wild across the Plain
And dropt the dying Frank amidst the Slain.
Next the brave Warriour did his Javelin throw
At Ulna 's Breast, which tho' it mist the Foe,
The glittering point his Steed's right Eye-ball past,
And stuck within the bloody Orbit fast.
High in the Air he rose, then to the ground
He backward fell, expiring with the wound.
Struck Breathless with the Fall, the noble Frank
Lay with his Shoulders on the Courser's Flank.
Quick to the ground the Briton from his Seat
With ardor leap'd, his Conquest to compleat.
He laid his left Hand on the Warriour's Crest,
And with his right Hand stab'd him in the Breast.
Then Andolan of Ammon 's noble Line
Born on the flowry Banks of Silver Sein,
Spur'd his hot Steed, and griping fast his Spear,
Ran at the Briton with a full Career.
Illustrious Osor ne'er to fear inur'd,
T'engage the Frank his Courser onward spur'd.
Then with a mighty shock the Coursers met
Dismounting both the Riders from their Seat.
So when two Ships their Contest to decide
In rude Rencounters meet upon the Tide,
No more the Sailors can their Decks maintain,
But with the Shock are forc'd into the Main.
Their feet recover'd, soon the Champions drew
Their flashing Blades, and to the Combate flew.
Forwards stretcht out they did their Bodys bend,
And with uplifted Shields their Heads defend.
Vast strokes were now discharg'd on either side,
Strokes that with ease would unarm'd Limbs divide.
Their Armour was deform'd with numerous dints,
And their bruis'd Bucklers shew'd the Fauchions prints.
For Conquest long the Captains did contend,
And in vast strokes their Martial Vigour spend.
Still both the Combatants maintain'd their ground,
Neither had given, nor yet receiv'd a Wound.
At last their Strength with equal honour spent,
To end the noble Combate both consent.
The valiant Chiefs in friendly manner part,
Praising each other's Strength, each other's Art.
The generous Briton to the Gallic Lord
Did for a present give a famous Sword.
The Haft an Agate was from India brought,
Where inlaid Trees, and Birds by Nature wrought
Appear'd distinct and fair, as Ants and Bees
Kill'd and Entomb'd in drops from Amber Trees.
With their best Skill Iberian Masters made
Of purest temper'd Steel the faithful Blade.
The ample Scabbard which the Sword did hold,
Shone bright with glitt'ring Gems and Studs of Gold.
This Sword Nazaleod from rich Colmar won,
When he the Saxon slew with great renown,
And his rich Spoils midst loud Applauses brought
From the fam'd Battel at Gallena fought:
The Sword Nazaleod to great Osor gave
Whose Arms did once his Life in Battel save.
The noble Frank a Saddle did present
Glorious with Gems, with Work magnificent.
The Pummel was an Ivory Lyon's Head
That fiercly grin'd, as those in Lybia bred.
The Seat rich Crimson Velvet cover'd o'er,
Like that exported from Liguria 's Shore.
Th' embroader'd Skirts were all with Gold besmear'd,
Where Figures wrought with curious Art appear'd.
A Leopard's Skin th' appending Housing was
From Afric brought, and grac'd with Silver Paws.
Elsewhere brave Clovis did the Foe pursue,
And first his massy Spear at Ortan threw.
The temper'd Shield could not it's Force Arrest,
It pass'd the Plys and pierc'd the Warriour's Breast.
The secret Springs of Life the Weapon found,
And broke them open with a fatal Wound.
The Spear fixt in his Breast, some time he hung,
And with his left hand to the Saddle clung,
But with his Right held fast the Courser's Main
And thus a while his Body did sustain.
But Death unstrung his Nerves, and loos'd his hold,
Then in the Sand th' expiring Captain roll'd.
Then with his Battel Ax great Clovis flew
At Maronac, and cleft his Shoulder thro'.
Down on the Ground the Arm dis-joynted dropt,
As a great Limb falls from a Poplar lopt.
Strait the dismember'd Frank, a fearful Sight,
Wheel'd off in vain to save his Life by Flight.
Warm streams flew out from every sever'd vein
And markt with tracks of Blood the Dusty Plain.
Defrauded of his Strength the feeble Gaul
At last did headlong from his Courser fall.
Cold Death forbad his lab'ring Heart to beat,
And in his blood supprest the vital Heat.
Then Carobel who had advanc'd his name
By learned Arts, and Skill in Nature's Fame,
Bold too in Arms, and to the Camp inur'd,
Fell in Lutetia 's fields by Clovis Sword:
Thro' Helm and Skull the Fauchion passage found,
Cleft thro' the Brain, and ruin'd with the Wound
The curious Imag'ry by Fancy wrought,
All Mem'ry's Cells, and all the Moulds of Thought.
Next Alloman lay dead, Lugdunum 's Pride,
And beauteous Ormal stretcht out by his Side.
Capellan also signaliz'd his Arms,
And boldly prest amidst the Gallic Swarms.
He slew at Lucan with a full Career,
And thro' his Bosom past his fatal Spear.
His second Fromel kill'd, the next he threw
Young Lamar pierc'd, the next Obella slew.
Then his Projected Dart transfixt the Head
Of Grutar 's Steed, which on the field lay dead.
Across the Beast on which before he rode
Ghastly with Gore and Dust the Warriour strode
With his strong Arm he did his Spear protend,
And with his burnish'd Shield his Head defend.
A while he strove, and bravely kept his ground,
Till the fierce Briton 's Spear it's passage found
Thro' Helm and Head, and then with Death opprest
He fell, and lay across th' extended Beast.
While Valiant Clovis so much Honour won,
Elsewhere like Wonders were by Lucius done.
First in his way by luckless Fortune stood,
Young Medolan of Trabor 's noble Blood.
The Javelin thro' his Belly made it's way,
And in his wounded Entrails buried lay.
The Youth, so much he was to Arms inclin'd,
Left unenjoy'd his beauteous Bride behind;
He's now embrac'd by Death' s unwelcom Arms,
And to another quits her Maiden Charms.
Brave Arcan burning with a Martial Flame,
To aid his wounded Brother swiftly came;
But felt the Briton 's Steel within his Veins,
Which thro' his Armour pierc'd the Warriour's Reins.
Upon his Seat he could no longer stay
But fell, and cross his dying Brother lay.
Their mournful Friends look'd on, but were afraid,
So great the Peril was, to give them Aid.
So when a Lyon roaming o'er the Lawns,
Descrys the Thicket where her tender Fawns
The Doe as she believ'd did safely lay,
In do's he leap, and tear the panting Prey
The Doe at distance do's their Fate bewail,
But dares not come the Murd'rer to Assail.
While Valiant Lucius such destruction made,
Against the Chief advanc'd a strong Brigade;
And opening to the Right and Left, the Foes
On every side the Leader did enclose.
The noble Briton did himself defend,
While Clouds of Spears from every part they send.
The missive War upon his Buckler rung,
And showers of fruitless Deaths around him sung.
So when fierce Dogs and clam'rous Swains surround
A mighty Boar in neighb'ring Mountains found;
His Bristles high erected on his Back,
The raging Beast withstands the Foes attack:
He whets his dreadful Tusks, and from afar
He foams, and flourishes the Ivory War.
The cautious Huntsmen at a distance rage,
Cast all their Darts, but dare not close engage.
At last the Briton from an unknown Spear,
Receiv'd a painful Wound beneath the Ear.
The striving Blood did thro' his Armour spout
The Franks observing gave a mighty shout.
Thus wounded and opprest, the British Chief
Call'd to his Friends aloud to bring Relief.
It chanc'd that mighty Trelon then was near,
Who to his Squadron cry'd, the Voice I hear
Is Lucius, who encircled with the Foe,
Contends in vain to cut his passage thro'.
To bring him off we'll force the Gallic Ranks.
He said, and strait he spur'd his Courser's Flanks,
And shaking in his hand his glitt'ring Lance,
To Charge the Franks with Fury did advance.
The Franks disperst when Trelon first appear'd,
So much they all his famous Courage fear'd.
So when fierce Wolves have seiz'd a fainting Deer,
But newly wounded by the Huntsman's Spear.
With reeking Blood they feast their hungry Jaws,
And the warm Entrails pant beneath their Paws.
But if a Lyon comes, the awful Sight
Do's from their Prey the prowling Race affright.
Then his bright Spear with Fury cast betwixt
The Flank and Chest, great Tolna 's Steed transfixt.
The generous Beast beneath the Rider fell:
Tolna th' invading Tempest to repel,
Springing with Vigour from the Courser's back,
Advanc'd on foot great Trelon to attack.
And that the Briton 's Fury might be stay'd,
His Left Hand on the Courser's Reins he laid,
And held his flaming Fauchion in the Right,
Resolving thus he would maintain the Fight.
The Britons Steed that Swords and Spears disdain'd,
With Indignation foam'd to be restrain'd:
Trelon enrag'd, divided at a blow
His Arm, which dropt and let the Courser go.
The generous Steed finding the Rein releast,
Sprang forth, and struck stout Tolna in the Breast,
Who breathless fell, with endless Night opprest.
Mean time, at distance Arbel bravely fought,
And wondrous Fame by great Atchievements sought.
His Courage, Strength, and Conduct often try'd
Made all the Gallic Youth in him confide
As their Chief Champion, and their surest guide.
He spur'd his fiery Steed, and forwards sprung
Amidst the Troops, and broke th' opposing Throng.
Brave Gomar first his fury did withstand,
But while to cast his Spear he rais'd his hand,
The Frank 's bright Lance between his Armour's joynt
Beneath his Arm-pit past its glitt'ring point.
Deep in his breathing Lungs the Weapon lay
The Neustrian 's fell, and saw no more the Day.
Coril advanc'd to undertake the Fight,
And threw his Weapon with prodigious might.
The Frank inclin'd his head, and heard the Spear
Aim'd at his Crest pass singing by his Ear.
Then did his Dart against the Briton fly,
And wounded thro' the Plate his brawny Thigh.
A bloody Stream gush'd from the painful wound,
And flowing down his Armour stain'd the ground.
On did th' insulting Frank with fury fly,
And eager to compleat the Victory.
On high his dreadful Battel-Axe did heave,
Hoping in two the Briton 's head to cleave.
But as it fell, the Courser rose, and took
Between his Ears the Champions furious stroke.
The Steel sunk thro' his Brain the staggering Beast
Fell, and his weight the wounded Rider prest.
Bold Malgo brought his Squadron up, and freed
The groaning Briton from the unweildy steed.
They drew by force the Hero from the Field,
Then bore him off laid on a spacious Shield.
So when a Flag Ship is by Foes o'erborn,
Unmasted, and with Cannon's Thunder torn,
From the hot Fight attending Frigates pull
And Tow along the maim'd, disabled Hull.
Mean time the Briton with his reeking Blade
Had his swift passage to the Quarter made,
Where Arbel 's Sword destroy'd, and strew'd around
With Riders and their Steeds th' encumber'd ground
As when a Lyon from a Mountain's side
Has in the Vale a lowing Herd descry'd,
He stands, and turns his furious Eyes about,
The strongest, sowrest Bull to single out,
One worthy of his Rage, by all the Herd
Obey'd as Lord, and by each Rival fear'd:
Then having fixt his choice aloud he roars,
Proclaims the War, and to the Combate scowrs.
So Arthur keeping Arbel in his Eye,
Did to the sight with dreadful fury fly.
The Gaul observ'd the Monarch from afar,
And for the Combate did himself prepare.
High on his Steed the might Warriour sate,
Proud of his Strength, and fearless of his Fate.
Like a great Pine o'ershadowing all the Wood,
Or ancient Poplar reering by the Flood
His lofty head, the towring Pagan stood.
Well-pleas'd to undertake the noble Fight
He did aloud to Arms the King invite.
Who on his fiery Steed advancing near,
Projected thro' the Air his pondrous Spear.
The Frank to make his weapon's message vain
Stoop'd down, and lay upon his Courser's Main.
Th' eluded Weapon o'er his Shoulder flew,
And at great distance Caumont 's Courser slew.
Then did the Frank employing all his Strength
Discharge his Spear of formidable Length,
Hissing along the Air, the Weapon went,
But in the Hero's Shield its fury spent.
His second Spear the Pious Briton threw
Which like a flash of Lightning swiftly flew.
The wheeling Frank could not the Steel evade
Which thro' his Shield and Thigh its passage made;
Whence deep it sunk within the Courser's Chest,
And fixt the Rider to the wounded Beast.
From both their sever'd veins the reeking Blood
Gush'd out, and mingled in one Common Flood.
Then down they fell and prest the slipp'ry plain,
The Rider wounded, and the Courser slain.
The King with martial Ardor to the ground
Leap'd from his Steed to give the fatal wound.
His dreadful Fauchion glittering in his hand
He o'er the vanquish'd Frank did threatning stand.
The Frank in Anguish, Horrour, and Despair,
Did on the high rais'd Weapon wildly stare.
Then thus the Pious Prince bespoke the Gaul,
Think on thy Barb'rous Deeds, remember all
The Fatherless and Widdows thou hast made,
And Christian Martyrs to the Flames convey'd.
What numbers has thy single hand destroy'd?
What numbers more the Troops by thee Employ'd?
These Impious Deeds thou bloody Instrument
Of Clotar 's Cruelty at last Repent.
The Frank reply'd. No Sorrow can I own
For my just anger to the Christians shown.
Can he impiety to me object,
Who do's the Worship of the Gods neglect?
Whose sacrilegious hands their Temples raze
Destroy their Altars, and their Shrines deface?
Who do's the Gods, and Goddesses dethrone,
Denying all th' Immortal Powers, but one.
I grant I still pursu'd the Christian Sect,
And from just Heav'n I my Reward expect,
For sure th' Impartial Gods will ne'er condemn
A Zeal that springs from Reverence to them.
He said. The King reply'd, Remorseless Wretch,
Canst thou in Death such Consolation fetch,
From thy black Guilt, which should thy Conscience Scare,
And fill thy Breast with Terror and Despair?
Tho' thou with Guilt and Prejudice are blind
Thou in thy Torments wilt thy Error find.
This Hand shall send thee to the sad Reward
By Righteous Heav'n for Men of Blood prepar'd.
Then thro' the Frank, extended on the Dust,
His Spear, the King with Indignation thrust.
Thro' his Left Pap it did its passage make,
Transfixt his Breast and stuck within his Back.
He fetcht thick dying throbs, and double Sighs,
While endless Night seal'd up his swimming Eyes.
Soon as the Pagans saw their Champion dead,
From Arthur 's Arms the trembling Squadrons fled.
The Conquering King did eagerly pursue,
And in the Chace prodigious Numbers slew.
So when tempestuous Boreas stretches forth
His furious Wings, and leaves the frozen North;
Th' insulted Clouds dispers'd, and routed fly,
O'er all the liquid Desarts of the Sky.
The swift Pursuer hangs upon the Rear,
And drives the black Battalions thro' the Air.
While beauteous Celon with a loosen'd Rein,
Flew from the Conquering King across the Plain;
His Courser slipt, and fell by luckless Chance,
To take his Life the Monarch did advance.
When old Velino who together fled,
The Danger saw, he turn'd his Courser's Head;
Beneath the Victor's Feet himself he threw,
And for his Son Young Celon thus did sue.
O spare the Youth, and let, Victorious Prince,
Compassion joyn'd with Power, the World convince,
That by Heroic Enterprises you,
Laurels, but not with Cruelty, pursue.
The Gallic Forces to your Valour yield,
And with inglorious Rout o'erspread the Field.
If you in Pity give, as I entreat,
The Youth his Life, your Vict'ry's still compleat.
He's not a Frank sprung from Germanic Race,
But from the Gauls who first possest this place.
His Mother was to Christian Faith inclin'd,
And he was ever to the Christians Kind.
Three of his Brothers on the Field lie slain,
This Son of Nine do's now alone remain;
My only Comfort, and my only Hope,
Of my declining Age the single Prop.
Pity my hoary Head, his blooming years,
The Son's true Virtue, and the Father's Tears.
Pity, if you a Father are, express
To a sad Father in such vast distress:
At least the tender Passion you may know,
Thinking on that your Father show'd to you.
Avert, great Prince, from Celon 's Breast your Dart,
Strike rather than the Son's, the Father's Heart.
Velino ceas'd. And from his Eyes apace
The gushing Tears flow'd down his mournful Face.
The Pious King toucht with the moving Prayer,
Forbore the stroke, and did young Celon spare.
Old Man, he cry'd, your Tears your Son reprieve,
Thus twice a Father to him Life you give.
Orban a noble Velocassian Youth,
Who once profess'd the Heav'nly Christian Truth,
But that his Wealth and Life might be secur'd,
Renounc'd Religion, and his God abjur'd.
Now felt King Arthur 's Spear within his Reins,
And finding Death creep Cold along his Veins:
Mad with Despair aloud th' Apostate cry'd,
Curst be the hour when I my God deny'd.
The Ease, and Life, and Wealth I valu'd most,
Are by the ways I strove to save them lost.
Now must I Torments, Agonys, Despair,
And everlasting Throws of Conscience bear.
More had he said, but interposing Death
To form his Words deny'd Supplys of Breath.
The King continu'd his pursuit, and made
A dreadful Slaughter till the Evening Shade,
To stop the Victor's Course, did interpose
Between the Britons and their flying Foes.
Arthur return'd in Triumph to his Tent,
Where he to Heav'n, in solemn manner sent
Religious Praises, and his God ador'd,
Who once more, had with Conquest crown'd his Sword.
BOOK XI
When Lucifer observ'd the Pagans flee,
And the great Briton crown'd with Victory,
O'er-boiling Rage his lab'ring Mind possest,
And thoughts of deep Revenge o'erwhelm'd his Breast.
Then thus he to himself:
Must Europe still with Acclamations ring,
And loud Applauses of the British King?
Must he his glorious Triumphs still repeat,
All my Allies, and faithful Friends defeat?
Can no obstructions stay his rapid Course?
No Task unequal for the Briton 's Force?
Can I no Dangers, no fresh Plagues Invent?
Is Lucifer grown dull and impotent,
My Arts exhausted, and my Vigour spent?
Are all my Torments, all my Vengeance gone?
Must I the Briton 's Strength Superiour own?
Shall Hell's great Prince, and Monarch of the Air,
Sit tamely down, and languish in Despair,
Unable longer to support the War?
Would such a Deed become my high Degree,
My Station in th' Infernal Hierarchy?
I shall dishonour by th' inglorious Course,
Immortal Malice, and Immortal Force.
I shall debase our great and God-like Race,
And draw on Hell Indelible Disgrace.
Thus shall I shun insulting Michael 's scorn?
Thus the Seraphic Character adorn?
Hell's Sanhedrim my Weakness will proclaim,
And vulgar Demons will Affront my Name.
Can I endure to hear my Subjects say,
I did my Empire, and their Cause betray?
No Fellow Deitys you ne'er shall find,
Or Pains or Danger once by me declin'd
To serve the Int'rests of th' Infernal State;
No Disappointments shall my Zeal abate.
I'll still the Briton and his Friends pursue,
Shew him fresh Dangers, and the War renew.
He said. And strait his spacious Wings display'd
Which hid the Moon, and cast prodigious Shade;
Soaring he cut the liquid Region thro',
And to the Palace of King Clotar flew.
Arriving there th' Apostate took his way
To find th' Apartment where Palmida lay.
Palmida was a Priest, whose Hellish Rage,
And thirst of Blood, no Victims could asswage.
He o'er Lutetia 's Altars did preside,
Did Clotar 's Councils, and his Conscience guide.
By him inspir'd, he laid his Kingdom wast,
And from the Realm the peaceful Christian chas'd.
Then that th' Apostate Seraph might appear,
Ambitious Orgal to Palmida dear.
The late High Priest who did Lutetia guide
With equal Cruelty, and equal Pride.
He with Angelick skill did soon prepare
A priestly Shape, and Reverend Robes of Air.
He Orgal 's Looks and Presence did assume
Ent'ring with Pontificial Port the Room.
Then thus the Prince of Hell the Priest addrest.
Palmida from the Regions of the Blest,
From Gods, and God-like Heros I descend
To show the way Lutetia to defend.
With generous, open Arms you Hope in vain
King Arthur 's Strength, and Courage to sustain.
No Gallic Chiefs such mighty Arms can weild,
None such a Sword, or such a spacious Shield.
This day his Arms with Spoils and Heaps of Dead
Have all thy bloody Fields, Lutetia , spread.
Arbel in whom you chiefly did confide,
By Arthur 's Weapon much lamented dy'd.
The Gallic Troops to Conquest long inur'd
Are now dismaid, and dread the Briton 's Sword.
He will advance Lutetia to assail,
Will her strong Towers, and lofty Bulwarks scale.
And shall, Lutetia, be the Conqueror's Prey?
Shall Gallia 's Princes British Lords obey?
Shall all our Sacred Priests, and all our Gods
Chas'd from their Temples leave their rich abodes?
Shall their high Groves by Christians be prophan'd,
Their Shrines defil'd by an unhallow'd hand?
Shall our high Domes with wealthy Gifts adorn'd
Be all to Heaps of mingl'd Ruins turn'd?
Shall scoffing Christians spurn with impious Feet
Our scatter'd Images thro' every Street?
Shall Holy Fragments, Limbs, defac'd Remains,
And Trunks of Gods dismember'd spred the Plains?
Her Yoke on Gallia 's Neck shall Albion lay,
And make the Mistress of the World obey?
Must Gallia 's Youth of Empire long possest
Be led in Triumph, be with Chains opprest?
Must her great Chiefs and Princes be destroy'd,
Or in base tasks, as Captives, be employ'd?
With Ignominious Labour forc'd to groan
While drawing Water, Hewing Wood and Stone?
Shall these sweet Rivers, this delicious Soil
Enrich the pamper'd Briton with their Spoil?
Must Gallia 's Sons their Fields and Vineyards dress,
And their rich Wine for a proud Stranger press?
Yet this must be, this is the dismal Fate
Which now impends o'er high Lutetia 's State,
If from amidst her Sons she can't select
Some, who her Power and Greatness to protect,
Dare strike one noble Stroke, one Effort make
With secret Arms King Arthur to Attack.
Remove the British King at any rate,
One single Blow secures the Gallic state.
Such Deeds our Order always did commend,
This Maxim we as Sacred still defend,
That Means are hallow'd by their Pious End.
This only Means within your Power remains
To save Lutetia from Inglorious Chains.
Go then, Palmida, and the King prepare
To make on Arthur 's Person Secret War.
But time to gain, and Arthur to amuse,
First by an Ambassy demand a Truce:
If he agrees that Arms a while shall cease,
Commence a Treaty to concert a Peace.
Do you, with what the Briton offers, close,
Nor any Terms, tho' most unjust, oppose.
If this be manag'd right, and by Degrees
You all things yield that will the Briton please;
You will have time to form the great Design
And dress the Snare, which Arthur can't decline.
Then may the Ponyard in a valiant hand
From hostile Arms set free the Gallic Land.
No other Means you can securely trust,
What's Necessary is with Statesmen just.
Some may perhaps against the Deed declaim,
But all to save a State would do the same.
This said, the Prince of Hell without delay
Dissolv'd his Airy Form and flew away.
Palmida hence reviving Hopes conceiv'd,
And by the Counsel Orgal gave, believ'd
There ill affairs might be at last retriev'd.
The Barbarous Priest on his dire purpose bent
To find King Clotar, to his Palace went,
To whom the Priest the Project did impart
At which a Generous, Noble Mind would start.
Would be with Horror, and Amazement seiz'd,
And show how much the black Design displeas'd.
And yet without Reluctance he agreed
Without delay t' effect th' Atrocious Deed.
Palmida from the Gallic King withdrew,
The Bloody Undertaking to pursue.
Soon as Aurora with her dawning Ray
Began to smile, and propagate the Day.
Clotar five Lords to Albion 's Monarch sent,
Who to obey their King's Instructions went.
They with attending Heralds took their way
To the high Camp where Arthur 's Forces lay;
There they arriv'd, while he in Songs of Praise
And fervent Prayer did with his Captains raise
Th' Almighty's Power, and Providential Care
To which he ow'd his Laurels won in War.
The Solemn Worship ended, Arthur Sate
Within his Tent in his rich Chair of State;
The Franks advanc'd their Message to relate.
Then Orobac their Chief first silence broke,
And bowing low, the Monarch thus bespoke.
Clotar, great Prince, to put a happy end
To this destructive War do's condescend
To ask a Treaty may Commence for Peace,
Mean time that Arms on either Side may cease.
Blood to prevent our Monarch will withstand
No Terms which Arthur justly can demand.
You oft declare, that 'tis not War and Blood
Which you pursue, but Peace and Publick Good.
You would poor Captives from their Chains release,
And give afflicted Kingdoms Rest, and Ease.
You publish, that your Arms you hither brought,
These glorious Ends in Gallia to promote.
These Ends King Arthur quickly may enjoy,
And need no longer Force and Arms employ.
All publick Grievances shall be redrest,
Nor shall the Christians longer be Opprest.
He said. The British Monarch thus reply'd;
I yield that Arms shall cease on either side:
And to the Treaty which you ask, consent,
Th' Effects of hostile Fury to prevent.
I would to all in Suff'rings, Pity show,
I would remove, but not encrease their Woe.
My thoughts to Clotar 's Throne did ne'er aspire,
His injur'd Subjects Freedom I desire.
Let him his Empire undisturb'd enjoy,
But let him not his Arms, and Snares employ,
His Subjects, and his Neighbours to destroy.
Let all the Towns and Castles be restor'd,
Which he has forc'd unjustly by the Sword
From weaker Neighbours, to their Rightful Lord.
Let him his Christian Fugitives recall,
To all the Rights they once possest in Gaul .
And let him place for Caution in their hand,
The Towns and Forts they did before Command.
Let him the Gallic Liberty restore,
And vest the Senate in its ancient Power.
This done, the Britons shall repass the Seas,
And give this Kingdom Liberty and Peace.
For six days space I will my Arms suspend,
Your Prince's final Answer to attend.
He said; And rose from his high Chair of State:
The Franks return'd his Answer to relate.
Mean time Palmida labour'd to engage
Fit Instruments to execute his Rage.
Nor was it long before the Men were found,
For Clotar 's Guards with Murd'rers did abound.
Men who his Barb'rous Orders understood,
Stedfast in Guilt, and long inur'd to Blood:
Men who distinguish'd Cruelty had shown,
Men with Inhumane Tasks Familiar grown;
Ready to act the most Unnatural Deed,
From all Remorse, and all Reluctance freed.
Yet these th' Infernal Enterprise declin'd,
Until their Order was by Clotar sign'd.
Palmida left the Ruffians to project,
And fix the Means, their Purpose to effect.
These various Ways and Methods did debate,
How Arthur to Assault to Save their State.
Some Poison, some the Ponyard did suggest,
As what would gain their Bloody Purpose best.
Some warmly pleaded for an Ambuscade,
Whence issuing out they might the King invade.
Some gave Advice, that with a vast Reward,
They should attempt to gain King Arthur 's Guard.
Others of different Judgments did contend
That all, themselves Deserters should pretend,
That in the Camp they might a Season watch
In which the bloody Task they might dispatch.
These Ways rejected, 'twas at last agreed,
They would accomplish their Atrocious Deed,
When both the Monarchs from their Camps should go
To Ratify the Peace with Solemn Vow.
Then some as Heralds drest, and some as Priests,
Should wait on Clotar to the Publick Lists;
And all short Swords and Ponyards should prepare,
And hide beneath their Robes the Barb'rous War.
And while King Arthur did his God invoke
To bind the Treaty, they should strike the Stroke.
The Franks mean time who did the Peace promote,
Had their Transaction to an Issue brought.
All things the Briton ask'd the Franks agreed
That from his Arms Lutetia might be freed.
The Term which Clotar 's Orators desir'd
For Arms to be suspended was expir'd,
When a fixt Day the Monarchs did propose,
Wherein with sacred Rites, and Solemn Vows
They would themselves to strict observance bind
Of all things promis'd in the Treaty sign'd.
And now the Night approach'd which did precede
The Day appointed for the bloody Deed.
When Derodan who by his King's Command,
Before the Battel with a chosen Band
T' attack a British Convoy was detach'd,
His Expedition with Success dispatch'd;
Return'd, and with his Men rejoyn'd the Host,
Griev'd, and enrag'd to find the Battel lost.
He for his Stature, and his Strength was known,
And for his Courage oft in Combate shown.
None for the Gallic Int'rest did reveal
Or for the Pagan Altars warmer Zeal.
Palmida to the Valiant Man addrest,
And with the Language of a Crafty Priest,
His Rage against King Arthur did Excite,
And show'd it vain to meet his Arms in Fight.
Then by degrees Palmida did relate
How to compose the War, and save the State,
A brave Design was by a Party laid
With secret Arms King Arthur to invade.
The Reverend Ruffian then the Soldier prest
T'embark in this Design and lead the rest;
And promis'd for Reward he should not miss
Promotion here, hereafter Endless Bliss.
The generous Captain tho' amaz'd to hear
Such words from one of Holy Character,
Yet seemingly consented, and supprest
The generous Indignation in his Breast.
The Priest retir'd, and valiant Derodan
With horror seiz'd, thus to himself began.
In what dire Crimes will Sacerdotal Rage,
And eager Bigotry Mankind engage?
Shall I this desperate, black Design pursue,
And in a Monarch's Blood these hands embrue?
Hands that did ne'er Clandestine weapons Sway
Ne'er slew a Foe, but in a generous way:
That none but in the Field have e'er destroy'd,
Shall they in Murthering Princes be employ'd?
If so, what Vengeful Plagues must I expect?
Against this Head what Bolts will Heav'n direct?
To various Gods I offer up my Vows,
But Murther none of all those Gods allows.
Let Pontificial Biggots still contend
That we our State, and Altars to defend,
May any way, and any Weapon chuse,
May hallow'd Poyson, or Stilletto's use.
That we the Christians progress to arrest
May leave the Ponyard in their Monarchs Breast.
Such Priests, and such dire Maxims I abhor
Nor would the Gods pleas'd with such Deeds adore.
Th' Immortal Powers I always understood
Were Merciful, Beneficent, and Good;
Swift to relieve our wants, to punish slow,
Who perfect Justice in their Empire show.
Such Cruelty, and Treacherous Violence
Those pure and Righteous Beings must incense.
I'll for our Altars, and my Country weild
All honourable Arms in open Field.
To save this Realm undaunted I'll oppose
The greatest Dangers, and the Fiercest Foes:
But I detest this Ignominious Deed
No Prince by me Perfidiously shall bleed.
Then Uriel Heav'ns high Order to obey,
Did his Immortal Wings on high display,
And from th' Empyreal Turrets down the Sky
To valiant Derodan did swiftly fly.
The Radiant Envoy quickly did prepare
A youthful Shape, mild Eyes and Cheeks of Air.
Then did he Silence break, and thus began,
You bravely have exprest, undaunted Man,
Your just Abhorrence of the black Design
In which a Band of barb'rous Franks combine.
But from the Heav'nly Regions I descend
To let you know that here you must not end.
You must the dire Confed'racy disclose
To save the Monarch from Clandestine Foes.
If Arthur 's blood is by the Ruffians spilt
By not preventing it, you share the Guilt.
Heav'n has by valiant Derodan decreed,
To disappoint the black, Inhumane Deed.
Go then and let that Prince his Danger know,
Let him his Safety to thy Vertue owe.
That said, the Cherub from the place withdrew,
And to the Seats of Peace and Pleasure flew.
The Starry Stranger gone, the Frank revolv'd
The Message in his Mind and soon resolv'd
To pay obedience; then with eager Zeal
He went th' Important Secret to reveal.
Conducted by the Stars uncertain Light
He at the Briton 's Camp arriv'd by Night.
The watchful Out-guards who oppos'd his way
To the great Arthur did the Frank convey.
Admitted to his Presence Derodan,
First low Obeisance made, and then began.
Hither I come great Monarch to detect
A black Design that do's your Life respect.
A bloody Band with Hellish fury fir'd,
Against your Royal Person have conspir'd.
I Gallia 's Gods and Goddesses adore,
And with th' advancement of Lutetia 's power:
But can't believe that for Religion's sake,
I with the Ponyard may a Prince attack.
Th' Immortal Powers to serve Religion's Cause
Ne'er gave Command to break thro' Nature's Laws.
Perfidious Outrage, Murther, Violence,
Tho' us'd to serve the Gods, the Gods incense.
When therefore by Palmida prest to joyn
With bloody Men engag'd in this Design,
My Soul the barb'rous motion did detest,
And various Passions strove within my Breast.
While with my thoughts Opprest, a glorious God
Descended to me from his high abode.
He seem'd Apollo by his Beamy Face,
His blooming Beauty, and his Youthful Grace.
Then did the bright Divinity direct,
That hasting to your Camp I should detect
The horrid Plot against your Life design'd,
And now I must perform the task enjoyn'd.
Then did the valiant Frank the King instruct
Who were the Chiefs, that did th' Affair conduct.
And where, and how, and when they had agreed
To wreek their Malice by th' inhumane Deed.
Then said, do you, great Prince, due Caution take,
And for their hidden Arms enquiry make.
I, that my Message may Belief obtain,
Will under Guard within your Camp remain;
That if my Words are false your Vengeful hand
May Death inflict, such as my Crimes demand.
The pious Arthur prais'd the generous Zeal
Which mov'd the Frank this Treach'ry to reveal.
And gave Command he should Rewards receive
Such as great Kings do to great Merit give;
If the Succeeding Morn should clearly shew
The Plot discover'd by the Frank, was true.
Now had the Sun disclos'd the Mountains heads,
And pour'd warm glory on the reeking Meads.
Clotar arose, and soon with Eager speed
Came mounted on his Mauritanian Steed,
Attended with th' Assassins some as Priests,
Some habited as Heralds to the Lists.
Ensigns of Peace and Piety they bore,
But treach'rous Arms beneath their Vestments wore.
The Armys on the Plain drawn in Array
On either Side did at a distance stay.
Except the Troops who with their Shields reclin'd
And Spears erect the Palisado 's lin'd.
Next Albion 's King advanc'd with God-like Grace
Born on a Courser of Eborac Race.
The Franks with Wonder and with Fear behold
His Martial Port, and Arms adorn'd with Gold.
All by their Looks their inward Joy declare
That now he came for Peace, and not for War.
The Terror of Lutetia brightly shone
In Armour clad, so well in Battel known.
Advancing near to Clotar thus he cry'd,
Have I in vain on Clotar 's Vows rely'd?
'Tis hard, to think a Monarch should agree
T' Assault my Life by Barb'rous Treachery.
That with Assassins Clotar should combine,
Approve, Abet, and Aid their black Design.
This on a Prince so great a Stain would prove,
As Rivers cannot cleanse, or Time remove.
Yet, valiant Franks, and faithful Britons , know
That one who seems a brave and generous Foe,
Has unconstrain'd, unsought, unask'd, declar'd
That Clotar has Perfidious Arms prepar'd.
That these who Heralds and as Priests appear,
Beneath their Robes short Swords and Ponyards wear.
That these are Veteran Ruffians in disguise,
Intending to Assault me by Surprise
When I dismount, and to the Altar go,
To Ratify the Peace by solemn Vow.
I doubtful, neither wholly disbelieve
The Charge, nor to it wholly Credit give.
But if unjust these Accusations are,
Then let the Search their Innocence declare.
But if their Guilt will not the Search abide,
The Charge is then too plain to be deny'd.
He said. King Clotar all enrag'd to find,
That Arthur knew the Treachery design'd,
Exclaiming loud, to Franks and Britons cry'd,
To break the Treaty what mean Arts are try'd?
What wild Suggestions, what vile Shifts are these,
Which Arthur uses to retard the Peace?
And do's the Briton thus his Faith betray,
Yet by malicious Accusations lay
On us the Guilt, 'tis plain his hostile Mind
Is not to Peace, but to the Sword inclin'd.
Since Arthur still on Blood and Slaughter bent,
Eludes the Treaty, I to Arms consent.
The Guilt he has suggested I abhor,
No Prince to purge himself should offer more.
He said, and drawing off his Treacherous Band,
Rejoyn'd his Army, which at his Command
Did with Precipitation leave the Plain,
Lutetia 's Bulwarks and strong Walls to gain.
To line the Ramparts some Battalions flew,
The rest themselves within Lutetia threw,
Resolv'd the mighty City to defend,
On which the fate of Gallia did depend.
Mean time King Arthur did his Army head,
And to th' Attack the eager Britons led.
The Gallic Lords Lutetia 's Works to Guard,
Against th' Invader all things had prepar'd.
Bosar as Chief did in the Lines Command,
The Gallic King within the Town remain'd.
The British Youth advancing in Array
Their Ensigns o'er the Neighb'ring Fields display.
From their high Towers the Franks observe from far
The rising Storm, and rolling Tyde of War.
Before his Troops the mighty Briton rode
Glorious in Arms, like some Terrestrial God.
As when Britannia 's Trading Fleets, that run
For Indian Treasures to the rising Sun,
Beneath the Equinoctial Line have spy'd
A Spout ascending from the boiling Tyde,
Whose watry Obelisk do's threat'ning rise,
And thrusts his towring head amidst the Skies
The Sailors pale with Consternation, dread
Th' impending Tempest gathering o'er their head
With no less Terror did the trembling Gauls ,
See Albion 's King advancing to their Walls.
Then Cutar with his Monarch did prevail,
That he might first Lutetia 's Works Assail.
Onwards he march'd with a select Brigade,
Th' advanc'd Redoubts with Vigour to invade.
The Chief on Fame and Martial Glory bent,
To Storm the lofty Works with pleasure went.
He strove to be the foremost in the Fight,
For Danger was his Favorite Delight.
His Ardor, chearful Looks, and Martial Fire,
Did all his Troops with double Life inspire.
As when a Dolphin sports upon the Tyde,
Displays his Beautys, and his Scaly Pride
His various colour'd Arch adorns the Flood,
Like a bright Rain-bow in a watry Cloud:
He from the Billows leaps with gamesome strife,
Wanton with Vigour and Immoderate Life.
With so much Spirit swelling all his Veins,
The sprightly Briton fled along the Plains.
With more Delight he went to Charge the Foe,
Than eager Bridegrooms to their Nuptials go.
Approaching to the Works, the Warriour threw
His glitt'ring Dart, and great Orander slew:
Between the lower Ribs it pierc'd his Side,
And did the Midriff, as it pass'd, divide.
The Frank a while with labour drew his Breath,
Then fell, and posted to the Shades beneath.
Before Lutetia saw the British Arms,
Orander vanquish'd by Pulcrina 's Charms
Long Woed, and won at last the beauteous Maid
By promis'd Nuptials, but his Faith betray'd:
To shun th' entreatys of the injur'd Fair,
The Faithless Youth did to the Camp repair.
But when she found her Prayers and Tears deny'd,
Enrag'd Pulcrina thus despairing cry'd:
And can Orander thus unconstant prove,
Break all the Bonds of Vows, and those of Love?
Is he regardless of my Beauty grown?
Will he expose my Honour, and his own?
Will the wild Savage no Compassion show?
Will he forsake Pulcrina? will he go,
And leave me thus o'erwhelm'd with Shame and Woe?
Go, Perjur'd Wretch, but midst the fighting Throng,
May some insulting Foe revenge my Wrong.
May some just God direct his glitt'ring Dart,
And guide the point to thy Perfidious Heart:
Then think of me, and rack'd with Torment ly,
In pangs of Guilt, and Throws of Horror dy.
The fatal Curses flew around his Head,
And Cutar 's Dart aveng'd the injur'd Maid.
With like Success his second Dart he threw,
Which swiftly past, and strong Orellan slew.
It thro' his Windpipe and his Gullet made
Its fatal way, and in his Neckbone stay'd.
His Elder Brother Colon he destroy'd
By secret Poison, and his Lands enjoy'd.
Old Meda famous for her Art prepar'd
The deadly Draught, and had a great Reward.
He now by Cutar 's Arms of Life bereft
Fell, and his Wealth and great Possessions left.
Next Boser sprung from Solon 's noble Blood
In splendid Armour on the Rampart stood.
His Stature graceful, Courtly was his Air,
And costly Oyls perfum'd his Limbs and Hair.
He by the Dames was with Applauses crown'd,
Of all the Dancing Nation most renown'd.
He came, as if he did expect to fall
Embalm'd before-hand for his Funeral.
When Cutar saw him on the Works appear,
With great Disdain he threw his massy Spear.
Which thro' his Coat of Mail and Crimson Vest
His Bosom pierc'd, and lodg'd within his Breast.
The fragrant Warriour felt the fatal Wound,
Fell on the Rampart, and perfum'd the Ground.
Next on the Bulwark Zolon did advance,
Tho' void of Worth, of wondrous Arrogance.
Deform'd alike in Body and in Mind,
And more to scare, then Charge a Foe design'd.
His livid Eyes retreating from the Day
Deep in their hollow Orbits buried lay.
His Back-bone standing out, drew in his Breast,
This Shoulder elevated, that Deprest,
And his foul Chin his odious Bosom prest.
Long little Legs, such has the stalking Crane,
His short ill figur'd Body did sustain.
Still Mutinys he in the Army rais'd,
Bursting with Spleen to hear another prais'd.
Meager with Malice, with Ill nature worn,
And with th' envenom'd teeth of Envy torn
To vent his Spite he labour'd to defame
The Chiefs, whose Valour had advanc'd their Name.
His pois'nous Tongue did all great Heros wound,
Reviling those whom all with Honour crown'd.
Some envious Men his Calumnys approv'd,
And all who Merit hated, Zolon lov'd.
Cutar with Indignation at him cast
His mighty Spear, which thro' his Body past.
Down Zolon fell, and tortur'd with his Wound
In Rage and Anguish beat, and bit the Ground.
Now Cutar mounts the Works with Sword in hand
And that his Troops should follow gave Command.
The fearless Men the lofty Works ascend
Which with projected Arms the Foes defend.
Britons and Franks prodigious Courage show,
And crimson Rivers down the Bulwarks flow.
Arms meet with Arms, Fauchions with Fauchions clash,
And sparks of Fire struck out from Armour flash.
Thick clouds of Dust contending Warriours raise,
And hideous War o'er all the Region brays.
Tempests of Darts and showers of Arrows sing,
And all the Heav'ns with dreadful Clamour ring.
Mean time great Stannel with his valiant Band
Attacked the Works where Bofar did Command.
Nor Clouds of flying Darts, nor storms of Fire
Could force the Valiant Leader to retire.
Midst showers of Stones which fell like Summers Hail,
Th' undaunted Hero did the Foe Assail.
Mounting the Bulwark's brow, he forward prest,
And quickly with the Foe came Breast to Breast.
Here the brave Man Immortal Deeds perform'd,
And with resistless force the high Entrenchment storm'd.
First Baradan his fatal Weapon felt,
Who on the Banks of fair Matrona dwelt:
The mighty Fauchion passing thro' the Side
With its sharp edge the Liver did divide:
The blood gush'd out from the large hollow Vein
And mixt with Choler did the ground distain.
Then Ostacar a Bellovasian Lord
High lifted in the Air his flaming Sword.
Against the Foe he meant a mortal stroke,
But on his Shield th' unfaithful Weapon broke.
While for another Sword aloud he cry'd,
The Briton 's Fauchion did his Throat divide.
The gasping Wound pour'd forth a Crimson flood,
Down fell the Warriour Strangled in his Blood.
The Conquerour next Stellander did attack,
And drove his mighty Spear thro' Breast and Back:
For Astrologic Science he was fam'd,
By all that lov'd the Art with honour nam'd.
He oft Collected from the Conscious Stars
The Fall of Empires, and th' Event of Wars.
He could predict a rising Fav'rite's Fate,
The Death of Kings, and mighty Turns of State.
To him the Heav'nly Orbs had often shown
The fate of others, but conceal'd his own.
Nor Arms nor Science could his Life protect
Against the Spear the Briton did direct.
Then Soron, Harim , and Germander dy'd
By Stannel 's Arms, all three in Blood ally'd.
Thirsty of Glory and of Martial Fame
These from the Verdant Vale together came,
Where ling'ring Liger draws along the Plain
Thro' flowry Labyrinths his Silver train.
Next in his tortur'd Bowels Drapar felt
The Conquerour's Spear beneath his shining Belt.
The fainting Warriour fell, but from his Wound
His Entrails gushing out first reach'd the ground.
By this time Erla, at a third Attack
Had Storm'd the Works, and chas'd the Squadrons back.
He on the Foe with so much Fury prest,
That soon their high Entrenchments he possest.
With mighty Slaughter he pursu'd the Gauls ,
Who fled to save themselves within their Walls.
When Valiant Ansel saw his Friends retreat,
He made a Sally from the Eastern Gate,
And cry'd aloud, What means this shameful Flight?
Assert your Honour, and renew the Fight.
Hear from the Walls your Wives and Children cry,
Whither will these inglorious Cowards fly?
Will they expose us to th' invading Foe,
To all the Rage insulting Conquerours show?
Must we endure the haughty Briton 's scorn,
And his proud Triumphs led in Chains adorn?
Where are the Heros, where the Valiant Franks ,
Who on th' astonish'd Rhine, and Mosa 's Banks
By Martial Deeds acquir'd Immortal Fame,
And laden home with Spoils and Laurels came;
Who from the Field in Triumph still return'd,
And with their Trophys our high Domes adorn'd.
Do you your selves the Progeny pretend
Of these great Men, who did so well defend
Their Country, and so far their Power extend.
Ye Valiant Chiefs, so oft with Conquest crown'd,
Ye mighty Shades, who did our Empire found,
How will you all Despise, Disdain, Disown
Your Sons, so feeble, so degenerate grown?
Prevent, O Franks, their Grief, prevent your Shame,
You fight not now for Empire, and for Fame,
But for your Being, for your Gods, and all
Which you can either Dear, or Sacred call.
Advance then, Franks, your ancient Courage show,
I'll lead your Squadrons on to Charge the Foe.
He said, and burning with a Martial Rage,
The Chief march'd on th' Invaders to engage.
The Franks turn'd back, inspir'd by Ansel 's words,
And once more brandish'd their Refulgent Swords.
Then in a noble Fight their Strength they tr'd,
And many Heros fell on either side.
Lofel, Alduran ; Streban , Otho slew,
And Graman 's Javelin pierc'd Athleta thro'.
Orfaber 's Spear pierc'd great Elmondo 's Side,
Barnel by Humbert 's Arms, and Omar dy'd.
Then Valiant Erla, Loran did Attack,
The Spear transfixt his Stomach and his Back.
From the Vogesian Mountains Loran came,
To signalize his Arms, and raise his Fame:
His wealthy Father late of Life bereft,
Had to his Son four noble Mannors left.
His Mother lab'ring with Prophetic Fears,
With unsuccessful Prayers, and fruitless Tears,
Ev'n on her Knees long strove to overcome
His Martial Zeal, and keep the Youth at home.
Now in his dying Throws too late he said,
Would I my Mother's Counsel had obey'd.
Then Valiant Cubal, Arpan did invade,
But on his temper'd Buckler broke his Blade.
Cubal who midst the wresting Rings had won
In great Augusta 's Squares so much Renown,
Ran in, and with an unexpected War
Made Arpan 's Heels fly up amidst the Air.
Flat on his Back the Warriour prest the Sand,
Strait the Victorious Briton from his hand
Did with main Force the flaming Fauchion wrest
Then plung'd the Weapon deep into his Breast.
Vebba with Martial Rage, on Carlot prest,
And with his Back-Sword hop'd to cleave his Crest.
The Warriour's Head the erring Weapon mist,
But cut the Veins and Sinews of his Wrist.
The Frank unable more his Arms to weild,
Dropt on the ground his Sword and mighty Shield.
First, in his wounded Veins did Strabor feel
The fatal Edge of Ansel 's glitt'ring Steel.
Deep in his Sides between his Ribs it sunk,
And cut in two the large Arterial Trunk,
Thro' which the Heart throws up the Vital Flood,
The Briton fell, and delug'd lay in Blood.
Then Heban, who had left fair Deva 's Banks,
To make this great Campaign against the Franks ,
Who Gallic Power, and Gallic Faith abhorr'd,
Dy'd near Lutetia 's Walls by Ansel 's Sword.
His Fauchion next thro' Rollo 's Helmet broke,
And cut in sunder with the furious stroke
His Hairy Scalp, which hung below the Ear,
And left the Skull in ghastly manner bare.
Back to his Tent the wounded Hero came,
Where great Bernardo of Immortal Fame
For his Chirurgic Skill, gave quick Relief,
Stitcht up the gaping Lips, and heal'd the wounded Chief.
Toson, a noble, valiant, wondrous Boy,
His Father's Pride, and his fond Mother's Joy,
Who ne'er till now had grip'd a Shield or Lance,
To Charge the Frank, undaunted did advance.
The Frank despis'd him, and exclaiming cry'd,
I'll soon chastise your Arrogance and Pride;
Ambitious Youth, too soon the Field you take,
And for the Camp too soon the School forsake.
You should at home have with your Sisters play'd,
And her great Comfort with your Mother stay'd.
Heav'ns! that a Boy should Gallic Chiefs provoke,
Toson while thus th' insulting Warriour spoke,
Aim'd at his shining Helm a noble Stroke.
The prosperous Weapon thro' the Buckler past,
And Ansel 's Arm beneath the Shoulder raz'd.
From the divided Veins the Blood flew out,
The Britons gave a loud applauding Shout.
The Frank enrag'd, attack'd the Beardless Foe,
Threatning to take his Head off at a Blow.
Thro' the Youth' s Shield the Fauchion passage found,
Inflicting on his Neck a painful Wound.
The Britons strait rush'd in to give him Aid,
And to the Rear th' advent'rous Youth Convey'd.
Ansel retir'd, and Interposing Night
Parted the Warriours, and broke off the Fight.
The Britons kept the Outworks, and the Gauls
Retreating sav'd themselves within their Walls.
BOOK XII
Mean time the Gallic Monarch sore distrest;
With dreadful Thoughts and anxious Cares opprest
Sought rest in vain upon his downy Bed,
With Tyrian Purple and fine Linnen spred.
From side to side he did in Torment roll,
But turn'd in vain to Ease his restless Soul.
Short were his Slumbers, often would he start,
And wildly stare, while with her painful Dart,
Insulting Conscience stab'd him to the heart.
Ten thousand Horrours did his thoughts affright,
And ghastly Figures pass'd before his sight.
Distracting Agonys and wild Despair,
Did from their roots his guilty Heart-strings tear.
Sometimes he thought he heard the dismal cry
Of suff'ring Prisoners begging leave to dy.
He saw extended Martyrs on the Rack,
And thought he heard their tortur'd Members crack.
He saw poor Widdows delug'd in their tears,
And Crys of helpless Orphans fill'd his Ears:
Widdows and Orphans which the Ruffian's hand,
Had thro' all Gallia made at his command.
The Ghosts of those he murther'd fill'd the place,
And threatning stood, and star'd him in the Face.
Around his Bed dire Apparitions walk'd,
And Stygian Terrours thro' the Apartment stalk'd.
Then starting up and leaping from his Bed,
Thus to himself the restless Monarch said.
What Tragic Scenes before my eyes appear,
What inward Whips my tortur'd Bowels tear?
Fierce Vipers twist their Spires about my Heart,
And Bite, and Sting, and Wound with deadly smart
With more than Atlas weight my Soul's opprest,
And raging Tempests beat along my breast:
Corroding Flames eat thro' my burning veins,
And all within I feel Infernal Pains.
As oft as Arthur has my Troops assail'd,
His Arms by Heav'n assisted have prevail'd.
The Victor of our Out-works is possest,
He next Lutetia from our hands will wrest
Must Gallia 's Empire fall by Arthur 's Sword,
And Clotar 's house obey a British Lord?
Must Tributary Gallia be condemn'd
To serve a Prince which I so much contemn'd?
Forbid it all ye Gods, that such a Fate
Should e'er befall the high Lutetian State.
If Heav'n will not assist, I'll try if Hell,
But from these Gates the British King repel.
He said. And on his impious Purpose bent,
Attended only with Palmida went,
To find the fam'd Enchantress Maneton ,
His Dignity conceal'd, his Name unknown.
When they had found her, to the Sorceress,
Thus did the Gallic King himself express.
Wisest of Women, whose controuling sway,
The dark Dominions of the Dead obey:
Whose Charms can all the Nations move that dwell,
Thro' all the spacious Continent of Hell.
Who can departed Men restore to Light,
From the low Shades and dark Abyss of Night.
At your Command th' awaken'd Dead will rend
Their Tombs, and thro' the cleaving Ground ascend.
We may, if you with potent words are pleas'd
To bring them up, converse with Friends deceas'd.
Now mighty Woman, I your Aid implore,
You'll find me grateful, pray exert your Power.
Your Force let all th' Infernal Regions know,
And bring back hither from the Shades below
A faithful Friend, whose presence I desire,
Whose wise Advice, my pressing Wants require.
Then did th' Enchantress bid him name his Friend,
Whom he desir'd should from beneath ascend.
Bellcoran is the Man, the King reply'd,
Who did the Gallic Arms and Councils guide.
Then did th' Enchantress with accustom'd care,
Her noxious Herbs and Magic Drugs prepare.
She fetch'd white Poppys, Henbane, Aconite,
Bald Toad-stools, Savine Tops, all which by Night,
The wandring Sorceress was us'd to cull
In neighb'ring Mountains, when the Moon was Full.
All these she stampt, with more of Magic use,
And from the Mass prest out the potent Juice.
The green Enchantment in a Caldron flow'd,
To which she pour'd a Bowl of humane blood.
Then did the Sorc'ress in the Center stand,
And drew dire Circles with her Magic Wand:
She mutter'd with her Voice mysterious sounds,
And terms with which the Hellish Art abounds.
Nature molested, felt the powerful Charm,
And various Terrors did the World alarm.
The starting Planets from their Orbits flew,
The lab'ring Moon sick and uneasie grew,
And far from sight the wandring Stars withdrew.
Hoarse Thunder murmur'd with a hollow sound,
And heaving Tempests bellow'd under ground.
Contending Elements with horrid Fight,
Did vex the Air, and guilty Minds affright.
Clouds, Hurricanes, and Lightnings did conspire,
To pour down Floods of Rain, and Floods of Fire.
Dun, Dusky Demons troubled all the Air,
And Ghosts were heard to groan in deep Despair.
Around the house, tremendous to behold,
Vast Dragons flew, prodigious Serpents rowl'd,
And treble-headed Hell-hounds yell'd and howl'd.
The Pavement trembled, and the Dwelling shook,
And thro' the King a shiv'ring Horrour struck.
Then did th' Enchantress to the Monarch cry,
I from beneath a God ascending Spy.
Speak, said the King, what Aspect do's he wear,
And tell the Form in which he do's appear.
The Sorc'ress cry'd, he is in Armour clad,
His Mien is Martial, but his Eyes are sad.
Thro' th' opening Ground he do's Reluctant come,
Behold, he now appears within the Room.
Bellcoran then the Monarch thus bespoke;
Why do's King Clotar Magic Aids invoke?
Why have you thus compell'd me to arise,
And brought me back to these unwelcom Skies?
The King reply'd: With heavy Cares opprest,
I'm forc'd Bellcoran to disturb thy Rest.
When thou wert here, Success I always found,
And triumph'd o'er the vanquish'd Realms around.
Thou both my Champion and my wisest Friend,
Didst guide my Councils, and my Throne defend.
Thy Arms the Gallic Greatness did support,
And made Submissive States my Friendship court.
Since thy departure Gallia 's Empire shakes,
The mighty Fabrick unsupported, cracks.
Before Lutetia 's Gates the Britons ly,
Before their Arms our trembling Cohorts fly.
They by Assault have our high Bulwarks won,
And now lie ready to invade the Town.
With such resistless Fury they Attack,
In vain the Franks contend to drive them back.
So black a Storm o'er Gallia 's Realm impends,
So sad a Fate, Lutetia, thee attends!
And must King Arthur with a Victor's Pride,
Thro' high Lutetia 's Streets in Triumph ride?
Must great Lutetia from her Empire fall,
And Foreign Lords insult the Captive Gaul?
And shall the proud Oppressors mock our Crys,
And whom they fear'd and envy'd, now despise?
Shall British Masters to enrich their Isle,
Freight their proud Navys with Lutetia 's Spoil?
O Gallia , this! this is thy heavy doom!
Unless some unexpected Succours come.
In these extream Affairs, thus sore distrest,
In such a strait, and with such danger prest,
I am constrain'd to call thee from thy Rest.
My Prayers are fruitless to the Gods, in vain
I've Rams and Bullocks at their Altars slain.
The Gods are Deaf, their Oracles are Dumb,
No Powers invok'd to our Assistance come.
Of Heav'n forsaken, whither shall I go?
The Gods have all deserted to the Foe.
In this Distress, Bellcoran, Counsel give,
What means can Gallia 's sinking State retrieve?
By what sure Methods may the Gods be brought,
To fight for Gallia, who for Gallia fought?
He ceas'd: And thus Bellcoran did reply,
In vain, O Prince, to Magic Arts you fly,
To gain those Succours which the Gods deny.
In vain your Charms the Courts of Death invade,
Hell cannot give, if Heav'n refuses Aid.
Their Presence if Celestial Gods deny,
No friendly Helps their absence can supply.
Since Heav'n forsakes you, no Infernal Power,
No Humane Force your Empire can secure.
No means are left to prop your sinking State,
Your Doom's decreed by never changing Fate.
Lutetia 's Crimes which righteous Heav'n provoke,
Bow down her neck beneath the British Yoke.
Your Cruelty, O King, and thirst of Blood,
Your Persecution of the Just and Good,
Your Pride, Ambition, Breach of Solemn Vows
Are more destructive than your Foreign Foes.
These strong Domestic Enemys betray,
Lutetia 's Empire to the British sway.
These furious War with Gallia 's Monarch wage,
And angry Heav'n against your Arms engage.
Who can a Realm from Wrath Divine protect,
And save a Monarch whom the Gods reject?
Plainly I speak, the Dead will flatter none,
From thee the Kingdom's rent, the Scepter gone,
And Pious Clovis shall ascend thy Throne.
By Arthur rais'd, he Gallia shall command,
And Rule with just and equal Laws her Land.
Thus Heav'n Decrees thy Punishment at last,
This is thy Fate irrevocably past.
No more, O King, shall I arise to thee,
But thou to morrow shalt descend to me.
He said. And from the Apartment did retreat,
And thro' the Ground sunk to his Stygian seat.
The King, as if with Thunder struck, fell down,
And Breathless lay extended in a Swoon.
The Sorceress to whom the King appear'd
Greatly disturb'd and mov'd by what he heard,
Scream'd out, and fetch'd reviving Essences,
Rich Spirits, Od'rous Balsams, and with these
She rub'd his Nostrils, Temples, and his Neck,
Till he awaken'd, and began to speak.
Then Maneton the Monarch did constrain,
With Wine and Meat his Spirits to sustain.
That done the troubled King th' Enchantress left,
Of all his Hopes, and all support bereft.
He to his Palace came when dawning Day
Began to spring, and streak the Eastern way.
Wild was his Aspect, sad as Death his Air,
And on his Brows state Horrour and Despair.
Distracted Gestures, and deep Sighs confest,
The inward pangs and torment of his Breast.
Conscience enrag'd a fiercer Ravager,
Than ravening Vultures, Did his Bowels tear.
Around his Veins envenom'd Adders clung,
And to the Heart the tortur'd Monarch stung.
Vengeance Divine upon his Soul was pour'd,
And unextinguish'd Flames his Life devour'd.
Now on the Bed his restless Limbs he threw,
Now started up, and round th' Apartment flew.
Oft in a threatning Posture did he stand,
And on his mighty Fauchion lay'd his hand.
Sometimes he Curs'd, Blasphem'd, and Rav'd aloud,
Then on a suddain, Mute and Stupid stood.
At last he gave in these expressions vent
To the sad Thoughts, that did his Soul torment.
The Kingdom from me rent! the Scepter gone!
And Pious Clovis shall ascend the Throne!
Prevent it all ye Powers; this cannot be:
Can Henav'n to such unrighteous Deeds agree?
Belcoran says it, he must be believ'd,
A heavy Doom, and ne'er to be retriev'd.
And has his God sav'd Clovis from my Hand,
That he might Gallia in my stead Command?
Curst be the Fatal Inauspicious Day,
Which to my Eyes did the first Light convey.
Curst be the luckless Hour in which I broke
My Infant Fetters, and the Womb forsook.
O think it not, Celestial Powers, a Crime,
To raze that Day from the Records of Time.
Let it for ever perish, cut the Link
That fastens it to Time, and let it sink.
Let this unhappy Day return no more,
But let the Year in passing leap it o'er.
Let it be sunk, let it for ever Sleep
Swallow'd and lost in vast Duration's Deep.
But if this Day in turn must be restor'd,
Let it for Clouds and Darkness be abhor'd.
Let not a glimpse of Light, no chearful Ray
Distinguish from the Night this dismal Day.
Let it by no good Omen be endear'd,
Let no reviving Sounds of Joy be heard.
Let Lamentations, Groans and dreadful Crys,
With their sad Accents fill the troubled Skys.
By marks of Horror let it still be known,
And prove unprosprous, till 'tis hateful grown;
Till Men this Day, as some great Judgment mourn
And Pray, and With it never may return.
Oh! Why did ne'er a blest Abortion blast
This Life, that must expire in Shame at last?
Why was not Clotar strangled in the Birth,
Why had my Mother Strength to bring me forth?
Why did not fatal Pangs and Labour Throws,
Destroy, and save me from these mighty Woes?
On Gallia 's Throne must haughty Clovis sit?
Must she to take his Yoke her Neck submit?
Ye Powers why do's your Vengeance thus pursue
A Prince whose Guilt is Piety to you?
Push'd on by Zeal for Heav'n I first embru'd,
My reeking hands in Slaughter'd Christians Blood.
And is this wretched End the sad Reward,
Which you to Crown my Labours have prepar'd?
Against the Gods just is my discontent,
They either are Unjust, or Impotent;
Who leave me thus to an inglorious Fate,
And thus desert the Pious Gallic State.
Who will Devotion at their Altars pay?
Who will regard them, or their Priests obey?
Who on their Power and Favour will depend?
Who will their Groves and Shrines henceforth defend?
If they their Vot'ry thus desert at last,
Forget my Zeal, and pious Labours past?
Hereafter may the Franks revenge my Fate,
And to the Britons bear Immortal Hate.
May some great Man, or some great Woman rise,
T' assert Lutetia 's Gods and Liberties.
Who may the Britons from this Region chase,
And leave no Footsteps of the impious Race.
That may the Honour of our Arms restore,
Rebuild our Altars, and regain our Power.
Franks, think it just all methods to employ,
To spoil Britannia, and her Sons destroy.
By Wiles, and Frauds, or Force, th' advantage take,
And only to betray them Friendship make.
May Britons still your specious Words believe,
May you as oft th' uncautious Foe deceive.
In Peace and War let them be equal Foes,
And let your Int'rest rule your Faith and Vows.
Still let your Arts the Easy Race beguile,
And when they blame you, at their Folly smile.
Whate'er they win by Courage in the Field,
Let them by Treaty back to Gallia yield.
Where Power, and all perfidious Measures fail,
Let Gallia 's Women's stronger Arts prevail.
Let Albion 's Youth yield to their powerful Charms,
Dissolve in Pleasures, and neglect their Arms.
Let these soft Conquerours teach them to obey,
Enslave their Princes, and their State betray.
Let our Men's Malice, and our Women's Love,
To Albion 's Realm alike destructive prove.
This day before the Sun must Clotar set,
And in the Shades below Belcoran meet?
Must I my Empire and my Friends forsake,
Of Gallia my Eternal Farewel take?
But why do I thus idly vex the Air,
And vent in fruitless Accents my Despair?
Tho' my Complaints are just, yet 'tis in vain
To rave at Heav'n, and all the Gods arraign.
I am, 'tis true, by partial Powers opprest,
But how shall Heav'ns Injustice be redrest?
Complaining thus, fresh Sufferings I create,
But can't decline Irrevocable Fate.
While Life remains, 'tis better to employ
My utmost Power the Britons to destroy.
With Sword in Hand th' Invader I'll repel,
And at the dearest rate my Life will sell.
Since I must fall, let me incircled ly
With heaps of slaughter'd Christians, when I dy.
Since I these Regions must forsake, I'll go
Attended well to the Cold Shades below.
As a tall Oak do's with a mighty Sound,
Bring with its fall the Forest to the ground;
So would I lie with Spoils encompass'd round.
Oh that my Arms could both the Poles embrace,
And wrest the World's strong Pillars from their Base,
That all the cracking Frame might be dis-joyn'd,
And bury in its Ruins Humane Kind.
Thus would I fall in Vengeance, as 'tis said
An injur'd Champion of the Hebrews did.
He said. And raging did his Arms demand,
Then brandishing his Fauchion in his hand,
Onward the Monarch went to Head the Gauls ,
And led his Cohorts to defend the Walls.
Hopeless become he, therefore fearless grew,
And from Despair immoderate Courage drew.
He rav'd aloud, and boldly did invite
The British Monarch to renew the Fight.
So when a desp'rate Wretch in India bred,
To Death devotes his hot distemper'd Head,
The raging Murd'rer flys about the Streets,
And wounds with savage Outrage all he meets:
Till he himself receives a fatal Wound,
And weltring in his Blood distains the Ground.
Mean time, the Valiant Britons did prepare
Their Arms, and all their Instruments of War;
Resolv'd by Storm Lutetia 's Walls to gain,
And with this Triumph end the great Campaign.
Before the furious Onset did Commence,
The Franks prepar'd to make a brave Defence.
Thick on the Walls the Gallic Youth appear'd,
And War-like noise thro' every Street was heard.
Some brought long Spears, vast Bars of Iron some,
Part arm'd with Darts, and part with Arrows come.
Some raging ran with huge Herculean Clubs,
Some massy Balls of Brass, some mighty Tubs
Of Cynders, some great Pots of Sulphur bore,
And some the Stones up from the Pavement tore.
What Instruments of Death came next to hand,
The Franks caught up, the Britons to withstand.
So when the Foe invades the Fragrant Cells
In which the Bees industrious Nation dwells;
The watchful Centinels the Signal give,
To raise the whole Militia of the Hive.
Strait mighty Uproar, Tumult, War-like sound
Thro' all the Waxy Labyrinth rebound.
From their high Seats the noisy Youth descend
In raging Troops, their Fortress to defend.
The trembling Roof resounds with threatning Swarms,
With Captains Fury, and the Din of Arms.
Then Pious Arthur three Detachments made,
And gave Command Lutetia to invade
In three distinct Attacks; the Chiefs he nam'd
To lead the Troops, were all for Courage fam'd.
Cutar, to whom pale Fear was yet unknown,
With Death and Danger long familiar grown,
Was nam'd to lead the First, the Second Band
Talmar, the Third brave Maca did Command.
Boldly the Britons march'd to Storm the Walls,
And from their lofty Towers to chase the Gauls .
The Archers on the Foe their Arrows spent,
And their long Spears the raging Spearmen sent.
Some flaming Firebrands at the Turrets threw,
Here Oaken Trunchions, here bright Javelins flew.
Here glitt'ring Darts a bearded Tempest sung,
Here showers of Stones by skilful Hands were slung.
Part hurl'd up masly Balls of Iron, part
Threw Wild-fire temper'd with destructive Art;
Artillery more dreadful than the Sword,
Which Sodom 's Lake, and Ætna 's Caves afford
With Sulphur, Nitre, and Bitumen stor'd.
The Storm was dreadful, while prodigious Cries,
And War-like noise rang thro' th' astonish'd Skies.
Many brave Britons on the place expir'd,
And many Wounded from the Town retir'd.
Thus long th' undaunted Britons from beneath,
With missive Ruin, and projected Death,
Gaul'd the Lutetians, but in vain they strove,
From their strong Walls their Squadrons to remove.
Then Cutar hot with Martial Fury, cry'd,
Enough, brave Friends of this; and then apply'd
His Scaling Ladder to the Walls, the rest
Provok'd by his Example, onward prest.
To guard their Heads against the impending War,
They joyn'd their Shields, and held them in the Air,
Which with Contiguous Brims a Covering made;
And thus advanc'd Lutetia to invade.
Cutar with noble Ardor in his Eyes,
Clad in Refulgent Arms began to rise.
Profuse of Life he mounted from beneath,
With Danger pleas'd, and negligent of Death:
Of Death which thick descended from the Wall
In all its Shapes, and horrible in all.
Spears, Arrows, Darts stuck in his batter'd Shield,
Thick as the Canes which crown an Indian Field.
A thousand Deaths he on his Shield sustain'd,
And the high Battlements had almost gain'd:
At last the Warriour by a Javelin struck,
Which past his Shield, and in his in-step stuck,
He was oblig'd to quit the hot Attack,
And by his Spear supported, halted back.
Hobbesian (who with Honour do's not name
Hobbesian? his has rais'd Britannia 's Fame)
Apply'd his Balm with wondrous Art prepar'd,
The Hero heal'd, and had a great Reward.
Tho' from the Walls the Chief was forc'd to halt,
His Troops by Vebba led, renew'd th' Assault.
Beneath the brazen Canopy's high Roof,
Made by their Shields to beat the Tempest off,
They rais'd their Scaling Ladders to the Top
Of the high Battlements, and mounted up.
But still the Gallic Troops maintain'd their Post,
And many Valiant Chiefs the Britons lost.
Many were crush'd to pieces by the fall
Of Trees, and Rocks hurl'd from Lutetia 's Wall.
Some fell in Storms of Arrows, some in Showers
Of Darts projected from the lofty Towers.
Some were by massy Clubs of Life berest,
Some had their Heads by Battle-Axes cleft.
Part had their Brains dash'd out by Iron-Balls,
Which flying round bespatter'd all the Walls.
Some were with flaming Pitch or Sulphur burn'd,
Some from th' inclining Ladder headlong turn'd.
Some having gain'd the Battlement's high tops;
And leaping boldly midst the Gallic Troops,
Before their Shields were rais'd to ward the thrust,
Pierc'd with the Spear, fell Breathless to the Dust.
Mean time in Arms great Talmar glorious Shone,
And with a noble fire assail'd the Town.
Illustrious Ansel did the Troops Command
Which Talmar 's valiant Squadron did withstand.
The Briton did his usual Ardor show,
And with amazing Courage Charg'd the Foe.
He show'd a Mind for great Atchievements form'd,
And midst a thousand Deaths, Lutetia storm'd.
Now he retreated, now he onward flew,
Tho' still repuls'd, did still th' Assault renew.
When he at last receiv'd a fatal Blow,
From a vast Stone which once th' impending Brow
Of some high Rock, fell down with weather worn,
Or from it's Airy Seat with Thunder torn.
Great Astroban with both his hands did throw
The craggy heap to crush th' adventrous Foe.
It did his nerves above the Knee-pan wound,
The Briton fell, and strecht along the ground,
His Friends came round, and to the Army's Rear
Did from the Walls with grief the Hero bear.
Mean time, a Third Assault was carry'd on
By Maca, who Immortal Praises won.
Twice his Brigade with Vigour did Attack,
The lofty Walls, and twice was beaten back.
Maca enrag'd did the third time renew
The fierce Assault, and with his Ladder flew
To Scale the Town, boldly the Warriour rose,
And leap'd upon the Walls amidst the Foes.
He beat the Squadrons off, and leaping down
Maintain'd a noble Fight within the Town.
His Friends with wondrous Brav'ry strove to gain
The high rais'd Battlements, but strove in vain.
After a sharp Assault, the Walls at last
Lanar to follow Maca, only past.
So when the Sea urg'd by a furious Gale,
Musters his watry Squadrons to assail
A lofty Mound, that do's some Port defend,
In fruitless Insults they their Fury spend:
Yet some tall Waves that to the Storm advance
O'erlooking all the Ocean, may by chance
O'er the high Fence their liquid Mountain throw,
While all the rest defeated backward flow.
Soon, as great Maca saw his valiant Friend,
Let us, he cry'd, bravely our selves defend.
The Britons may a prosperous Onset make,
Bring us Relief, and Strong Lutetia take.
Let us howe'er the Gallic Troops defy,
Combate like Britons, and like Britons dy.
Let us such firm, unshaken Courage show,
As may at least intimidate the Foe:
Who when they see what Men the Town assail,
Will feel their Spirits sink, their Courage fail.
Thus by a great and honourable Fall
We shall dismay and help subdue the Gaul ,
And leave him heartless to defend the Wall.
Bravely the Chiefs th' invading Foe sustain'd,
And prest with whole Brigades, the Fight maintain'd.
Great numbers they destroy'd, and spread around
With sever'd Limbs, and gasping Heads the ground.
Long Back to Back th' unbroken Warriours stood,
Panting with Slaughter, red with hostile Blood.
Those of the Franks who hardier than the rest,
Close on the mighty Champions onward prest,
Did sure Destruction from the Fauchion meet,
And fell in heaps before the Conquerours feet.
Henceforth from every Side the Clamorous Foe,
Against the Chiefs, promiscous Weapons throw.
Spears, Javelins, Arrows, Darts across the Sky
In storms of bright Destruction round them fly.
A brave Defence they made, and each great Chief
Show'd Strength, and Courage which exceed Belief.
Their ample Orbs sustain'd a pondrous Wood
Of thick set Spears, that high and horrid stood.
Their Arms were blunted, and their Armour bruis'd,
And gaping Wounds their Blood around diffus'd.
Till faint with bloody Labour, Wounds and Pain
Lanar fell down and lay strecht out as slain.
Maca turn'd round, and o'er his Body stood
Bath' d in his Own, his Friends, and Gallic Blood.
With wondrous Constancy th' Intrepid Man
Beat off the thronging Troops, which on him ran.
Till Clotar hearing that the Walls were Scal'd,
Came to repel the Britons, and assail'd
With utmost Rage the Caledonian Chief,
Who bravely still maintain'd the War-like Strife.
At last, exhausted with expence of Blood,
Which from his gaping Wounds in Rivers flow'd,
He fell, and o'er his Friend expiring lay,
And gasp'd without a groan, his Life away.
So when strong Shipwrights fell a lofty Pine,
Which they a Mast for some tall Ship design,
With thick repeated Strokes, and frequent Wounds
The Mountain trembles, and the Wood resounds:
As yet th' unshaken Tree amidst the Skies,
Scarce nods his head, and the sharp Axe defies:
At last, his roots cut off, at every stroke,
He learns from side to side to roll and rock;
As he his fitness for the Work would shew,
Which when a Mast he must hereafter do.
Then on a suddain, with a mighty sound
He leaves the Heav'ns, and loads the groaning Ground.
Clotar rush'd in, and with the Fauchion's stroke,
Each Champion's Head from off his Shoulder took.
Which high amidst the Air on lofty Poles,
To daunt their Friends he planted on the Walls.
The Britons by the miserable Sight
Were not dismay'd; but more provok'd to Fight.
The Pious King by the sad Object mov'd,
For he the Warriors much esteem'd and lov'd;
Grasping a flaming Fir-Tree in his hand,
Flew to the Eastern Gate, and gave Command,
That his undaunted Troops should do the same,
And burn the Gate down with devouring Flame.
The British Youth their Valiant Prince obey'd,
And Trees and Timber to the Gate convey'd,
Where soon they rais'd a thick and lofty Wood,
Which, as thy Funeral Pile, Lutetia, stood.
Quickly the lighted Trees began to Choak
The Heav'ns around with tow'ring Flame, and Smoke.
Fast to the Gate th' incumbent Plague adher'd,
Which soon but one vast glowing Cole appear'd.
The ruddy Conq'rour with refulgent Arms
Climbs up the Towers, and all the Town alarms.
From the high Gate the melted Iron flow'd,
And on the ground a pond'rous Deluge glow'd.
The fierce Invader fasten'd on the Walls,
And from the cleaving Stones broke mighty Scales;
With ravening Teeth it tore vast pieces out,
And raging, threw the Fragments round about.
The Fire with such Success the Gate assail'd,
O'er Oaks, and Stones, and Bars of Brass prevail'd.
Some Franks, dismay'd to see the Burning spread,
Left the high Walls, and from its Terrour fled.
Some to the ground from the high Turrets came,
Smother'd with pitchy Smoke, and fry'd with Flame.
Some, who to quench the Burning, forward rush'd,
Were by the falling Heaps in pieces crush'd.
For the high Towers, the Gate, and shatter'd Wall,
In mingled Ruin now began to fall.
The cracking Structure, crackling Flames, and Cries
Dreadful to hear, distracted all the Skies.
Thus did the lofty Gate the Flames obey,
And on the ground in smoking Rubish lay.
The Streets were open to the Briton 's view,
To guard the Breach The Gallic Squadrons flew.
Then Pious Arthur Waving o'er his Head
High in the Air, broad Caliburno, said
Come, follow, Britons, where I lead the way,
These Walls no longer can your progress stay.
Then with an ardor wholly Arthur 's own,
Such as before was ne'er in Battel shown,
Up the high Breach the fearless Monarch rose,
Resolv'd to cut his passage thro' his Foes:
To whom his glorious Arms more dreadful shone,
Then all the impetuous Flames before had done.
He did with Ease o'er the high Ruins leap,
And strode with mighty strides from Heap to Heap.
The Briton thus advanc'd; on the other hand
The Franks drew up his fury to withstand.
Marac did first the Briton 's course resist,
Threw his bright Javelin, but the Warriour mist.
Then his vast Spear the mighty Monarch cast,
Which all the folds of the thick Buckler past.
Thence thro' his Skull it passage did obtain,
And pierc'd the inmost Marrow of the Brain;
Where the melodious Strings of Sense are found
Up to a due and just extension wound;
All tun'd for Life, and fitted to receive
Th' harmonious strokes which outward Objects give.
Great Stuffa next oppos'd the King who came,
From Alpine Mountains to advance his Fame.
The mighty Allobrog all swoln with rage,
Shook his long Ash preparing to engage.
A Breast, and Back, and Boots of Brass he wore,
Dreadful for Arms, but for his Aspect more.
High in the Air his polish'd Shield did glow,
As when a Wood burns on a Mountains brow.
Colossus like he on the Ruins stood
Verst in Destruction, and inur'd to Blood.
The haughty Chief resolv'd to guard the Breach,
And as the King advanc'd within the reach
Of his long Spear, the vast Helvetian threw,
Hoping to pierce th' invading Briton thro';
But o'er his Head the pond'rous Weapon flew.
Then at the hideous Allobrog, the King
Did with his usual Force and Fury fling
His Glitt'ring Javelin, whose impetuous Stroke
The Warriour's Shin-bone all in Splinters broke.
The Pagan fell, and did in Torment roar,
Curst all his Gods, but Curst King Arthur more.
He on the Breach did his vast Limbs extend,
And with his Bulk did still the Town defend.
Arthur came up, and with a single Blow
Struck off his Head, and then amidst the Foe
The ghastly heap with Indignation threw,
Which gnash'd its Teeth, and Curs'd ev'n as it flew.
Soon as th' Helvetian Champion fell, the rest
Forsook the Breach with pannic Fear possest.
The Conquering Briton march'd undaunted down,
And wav'd his flaming Sword within the Town.
The British Youth the King's Command obey'd,
Onward they came Lutetia to invade,
And o'er the Breach their Ensigns they convey'd.
Here did the Franks a stout Resistance make,
And boldly Charg'd the Foe, to beat them back.
Long did their Troops a bloody Fight maintain,
And many Chiefs were wounded, many slain.
While on the Foe the Pious Briton prest,
He struck his Javelin thro' Palmida 's Breast.
Next at his feet lay great Olcarden slain,
Thro' his right Eye the Weapon pierc'd his Brain.
Then Gyon, Bomont , and brave Harlam dy'd
By Arthur 's Arms, and many Chiefs beside.
Broad Caliburno mighty Slaughter made,
And high in heaps the Gallic Cohorts laid.
Limbs, sever'd Heads, dismember'd Trunks around
With Helms and Bucklers mixt, o'erspread the ground.
As when a loud Autumnal Tempest moves
Th' inclining Pines, and shakes the Golden Groves,
The Leaves and Fruit from bending boughs fall down
In yellow Showers, and all the mountains Crown.
So thick a long the Streets the Pagans lay,
Where the destroying Briton made his way.
Mean time King Clotar his Battalions brought,
From distant Parts where he before had fought.
Urg'd with resistless Fate, and wild with Rage,
He wav'd his Fauchion eager to engage.
King Arthur seeing Clotar from afar,
Advanc'd with martial Joy to meet the War.
The Franks and Britons did their Ranks divide,
And show'd a vast Concern on either side.
As when two Lyons eager to possess
The howling Empire of the Wilderness
Rush to decisive War on Lybia 's Plains,
They lash their Sides, and shake their Tawny Mains.
Then grin, and roar, and from their raging Eyes
Send out fierce streams of Fire amidst the Skys.
Death and Defyance in their looks appear,
And all the Forest seems to shake with Fear.
With no less deadly Looks, with such a Rage
The mighty Foes for Conquest did engage.
The Gallic King with Fury onward prest,
And aim'd a mortal stroke at Arthur 's Crest.
His faithful Shield the Fauchion's progress staid,
Which in the Plate a deep Impression made.
The Pious Prince enrag'd, against the Foe
From his strong Arm discharg'd a dreadful Blow.
It beat against his head his spacious Shield,
His Eyes grew dim, and back the Monarch reel'd.
But he recovering soon his Feet and Sight,
Return'd with Fury to renew the Fight.
The War was terrible, and either Foe
Did mighty skill in Arms and Courage show.
Lutetia 's Towers did with the Strokes resound
And the pale Cohorts trembling stood around.
So when two Eagles on the Airy Brow
Of some high Rock, their Strength and Courage show
In single Fight, the Feather'd Foes employ
Beaks, Pounces, Wings each other to destroy.
Woods, Valleys, Mountains, Shores, and ecchoing Rocks
Ring with the War, and feel the furious strokes.
The Frank observing that his Arm did weild
His Sword in vain against King Arthur 's Shield.
Retreating, to the ground did downward stoop,
And heav'd a mighty Rocky Fragment up.
Then did the furious Warriour forward step,
And hurl'd with both his hands the pondrous Heap.
The Britons trembled when they saw the Stone
With such a Force against their Monarch thrown.
O'er Arthur 's Shoulder flew the flinting Rock,
But as it past a craggy Corner struck
The Shoulder's point, and his bright Armour bruis'd,
Which in his Flesh a painful Wound produc'd.
His Friends grew pale to see that Shoulder hurt,
Which did their Empire, and their Hopes support.
The Pious Monarch did the Wound neglect,
And for one Mortal Stroke did all his might collect,
Like some Celestial Sword of temper'd Flame,
Down on the Frank keen Caliburno came.
It fell upon his Neck with vengeful Sway,
And thro' the shrinking Muscles made its way,
The Head re-clin'd, on the right Shoulder lay.
Down fell the Frank, disabled by the Wound,
Weltring in Gore, and raging, Bit the Ground.
The Pious Prince did o'er the Warriour stand,
Bright Caliburno flaming in his hand.
And thus the Frank bespoke: Ambitious Prince,
Justice Divine do's now Mankind convince,
That Heav'n, tho' patient, do's not still neglect
To crush Oppressors, and th' Opprest protect.
What Seas of Blood hast thou in pastime shed?
What Rapine has thy Lust of Empire fed?
How hast thou Ravag'd, Ruin'd, Spoil'd, Undone
The Realms of Neighbour Princes, and thy own?
Thy Friends thou hast betray'd, surpriz'd thy Foes,
And broke the Sacred Bonds of solemn Vows.
Europa 's wasted Realms proclaim aloud,
Thy Thirst of Empire, and thy Thirst of Blood.
Long have the Nations round addrest the Skies,
For Bolts and Vengeance, with Confederate Cries;
And Heav'n at last with the just Prayer complies.
This said, the Monarch with a second Blow
Struck off his Head, and spurn'd the Vanquish'd Foe.
The Britons rais'd to Heav'n a joyful Shout,
The Franks, dismay'd with Ignominious Rout,
Began to fly; the King their Squadrons chas'd,
And o'er their slaughter'd Heaps Victorious pass'd.
So when a Shoal of flying Fish have spy'd,
By the Reflection from his glitt'ring Side,
A swift Finn'd Dolphin stricking thro' the Tyde;
They fly with all the speed that deadly fear
Can give, to scape the glorious Ravager:
The noise of clashing Arms, amazing Cries,
And horrid Clamours, rend th' astonish'd Skies.
Anguish, Despair, Distraction, ghastly Fear,
In all their frightful Forms, and Looks appear.
Thro' every Street ran down a Sea of Blood,
Shields, Heads, and Helms lay mingled in the Flood.
The King prest onward with resistless Force,
Nor dar'd they make a Stand to stay his course.
As when to Plant some Island newly found,
Men Fire the Woods to free th' unwholsome Ground.
The lawless Flames born by Impetuous Winds,
Burn down the ancient Oaks, and lofty Pines.
They clear the Region, and enrich the Soil
With heaps of Ashes, and the Forest's spoil.
So did th' invading Monarch make his way,
So thick the Spoils behind the Conqueror lay.
The Franks at last, seeing Lutetia lost,
That nothing could resist the British Host,
By prudent Clodion 's Counsel made a stand,
Threw down their Arms, and did their Lives demand.
Then Clodion thus the British King bespoke:
We your Compassion, mighty Prince, invoke.
Lutetia 's yours, we your Imperial Sway
Will, as your Subjects, or your Slaves, obey.
Your raging Troops, Victorious King, restrain,
And save the Gallic Youth who yet remain.
Our Wives, our Maids, our Babes for Pity cry,
Your Justice will not let the Guiltless dy.
From the destroying Sword their Lives secure,
And let your Mercy Triumph o'er your Power.
He said. The King did with Compassion melt,
And in his Breast relenting Mercy felt.
Enough of Blood he cry'd, the Sword forbear,
Th' Oppressor's Slain, let us the Subject spare.
The British Youth the King's Command obey'd,
And Soon the progress of the Sword was stay'd.
Thus in despight of all th' Efforts that Hell
And Earth could make the Briton to repell,
With wondrous Toyl, and mighty Fortitude,
The valiant King the haughty Frank Subdu'd.
THE INDEX
ARTHUR IN AVALON
by
J. ARTHUR BLAIKIE
FROM THE PICTURE BY T. ARCHER, R.S.A.I.
STRICKEN of man, and sore beset of Fate,
He lies amid the groves of Avalon;
What comfort mete ye unto Uther's son,
O mournful Queens? What styptic to abate
Life's eager stream? Alas, not theirs to sate
His soul with earthly vision! he hath done
With mortal life, and chivalry's bright sun
Is darkened by the powers of hell and hate.
Lo! now, the garden of his agony
Is very sweet, though dread the hour, and drear
With utterless spell of horrid potency;
The barrèd east beyond the brightening sea,
Thick with portentous wraiths of phantom fear,
Is flushed with triumph, stirred with melody.
II.
"Glory of knighthood; that through Lyonesse
Was as a lamp, O selfless soul and pure,
What though thy visionary rule endure
So ill the assault of envy? Not the less
Thy victory, though failure thee oppress;
Not sterile thy example, and most sure
The seeded fruit; with might thou shalt allure
For evermore through life's embattled press
Thy spiritual sons to follow thee;"
The mystic Four their solemn vigil keep
Until day break, and eastward silently,
Over the kingless land and wailing deep,
The sacrificial symbol fire the sky;
Then they arise, no more to watch and weep.
THE WISDOM OF MERLYN
by
WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT
THESE are the time-words of Merlyn, the voice of his age recorded,
All his wisdom of life, the fruit of tears in his youth, of joy in his manhood hoarded,
All the wit of his years unsealed, to the witless alms awarded.
* * *
These are his time-gifts of song, his help to the heavy-laden,
Words of an expert of life, who has gathered its sins in his sack, its virtues to grieve and gladden,
Speaking aloud as one who is strong to the heart of man, wife and maiden.
* * *
For he is Merlyn of old, the once young, the still robed in glory,
Ancient of days though he be, with wisdom only for wealth and the crown of his locks grown hoary,
Yet with the rage of his soul untamed, the skill of his lips in story.
* * *
He dares not unhouselled die, who has seen, who has known, who has tasted
What of the splendours of Time, of the wise wild joys of the Earth, of the newness of pleasures quested,
All that is neither of then nor now, Truth's naked self clean-breasted,
* * *
Things of youth and of strength, the earth with its infinite pity,
Glories of moutain and plain, of streams that wind from the hills to the insolent human city,
Dark with its traders of human woe enthroned in the seats of the mighty.
* * *
Fair things nobler than Man before the day of his ruling,
Free in their ancient peace, ere he came to change, to destroy, to hinder with his schooling,
Asking naught that was his to give save freedom from his fooling.
* * *
Beautiful, wonderful, wise, a consonant law-ruled heaven,
Garden ungardened yet, in need yet hardly of God to walk there noon or even,
Beast and bird and flower in its place, Earth's wonders more than seven.
* * *
Of these he would speak and confess, to the young who regard not their heirship,
Of beauty to boys who are blind, of might to the impotent strong, to the women who crowd Time's fair ship,
Of pearls deep hid in Love's Indian seas, the name of the God they worship.
* * *
Thus let it be with Merlyn before his daylight is ended,
One last psalm of his life, the light of it lipped with laughter, the might of it mixed and blended
Still with the subtle sweet need of tears than Pleasure's self more splendid,
* * *
Psalm and hymn of the Earth expounding what Time teaches,
Creed no longer of wrath, of silent issueless hopes, of a thing which beyond Man's reach is,
Hope deferred till the heart grows sick, while the preacher vainly preaches.
* * *
Nay but a logic of life, which needeth no deferring,
Life with its birthright love, the sun the wind and the rain in multiple pleasure stirring
Under the summer leaves at noon, with no sad doubt of erring.
* * *
No sad legend of sin, since his an innocent Eden
Is, and a garden of grace, its gateway clear of the sword, its alleys not angel-ridden,
Its tree of life at the lips of all and never a fruit forbidden.
* * *
Merlyn is no vain singer to vex men's ears in the street,
Nay, nor a maid's unbidden. He importuneth none with his song, be it never so wild and sweet.
She that hath ears to hear, let her hear; he will not follow her feet.
* * *
Merlyn makes no petition. He asketh of no man alms.
Prince and prophet is he, a monarch, a giver of gifts, a lord of the open palms,
Sueth he naught, not at God's own hand, though he laudeth the Lord in psalms.
* * *
Merlyn would speak his message only to hearts that are strong,
To him that hath courage to climb, who would gather time's samphire flowers, who would venture the crags among.
To her who would lesson her soul to fear, with love for sermon and song.
* * *
Merlyn hath arms of pity, the weak he would hold to his soul,
Make them partakers of truth, of the ancient weal of the Earth, of the life-throb from Pole to Pole.
He would hold them close; he would dry their tears; with a kiss he would make them whole.
* * *
Thus would he sing and to thee, thou child with the eyes of passion
Watching his face in the dark, in the silent light of the stars, while he in his godlike fashion
Maketh his mock at the fears of men, nor spareth to lay the lash on.
* * *
Thus would thy Merlyn devise, ere the days of his years be numbered,
Now at threescore and ten. He would leave his word to the world, his soul of its load uncumbered.
Then would he lay his ear to the grave, and sleep as his childhood slumbered.
* * *
What is the fruit of Wisdom? To learn the proportion of things;
To know the ant from the lion, the whale from the crest of the wave, the ditty the grasshopper sings
From the chaunt of the full-fledged Paradise bird as he shakes the dew from his wings.
* * *
There is one thing more than knowledge, a harvest garnered by few:
To tutor the heart to achieve, to fashion the act to the hand, to do and not yearn to do,
To say to the wish of the soul "I will," to have gathered the flower where it grew.
* * *
I was young, and they told me "Tarry. The rash in the nets are taken.
If there be doubt of thy deed, abstain, lest the day of danger behold thee by these forsaken,
Lest thou lie in the lion's den thou hast roused, with the eyes thou hast dared to waken.
* * *
T hey spake, but I answered "Nay, who waiteth shall take no quarry.
Pleasure is fleet as the roe; in the vales he feedeth to-day, but at night when the eyes grow weary
Lo, he hath passed to the desolate hills; he is gone. Nay, he may not tarry."
* * *
For Joy too needeth a net. He cometh tame to thy hand,
Asketh an alms of thy life, to serve thee, thy jubilant slave, if thou wouldst but understand.
Then is thy moment, O Man, for the noose, be it steel or a silken band.
* * *
Therefore, where doubt is, do! Thou shalt stumble in thine endeavour
Ay, till thy knees be sore, thy back with the arrows of grief, and thou stand with an empty quiver.
Yet shall thy heart prevail through its pain, for pain is a mastering lever.
* * *
Wouldst thou be wise, O Man? At the knees of a woman begin.
Her eyes shall teach thee thy road, the worth of the thing called pleasure, the joy of the thing called sin.
Else shalt thou go to thy grave in pain for the folly that might have been.
* * *
For know, the knowledge of women the beginning of wisdom is.
Who had seven hundred wives and concubines hundreds three, as we read in the book of bliss?
Solomon, wisest of men and kings, and "all of them princesses."
* * *
Yet, be thou stronger than they. To be ruled of a woman is ill.
Life hath an hundred ways, beside the way of her arms, to give thee of joy thy fill.
Only is love of thy life the flower. Be thine the ultimate will.
* * *
A right way is to be happy, a wrong way too. Then beware.
Leave the colt in his stall, he shall grow to a thankless jade, be he never so fat and fair.
Sloth is a crime. Rise up, young fool, and grasp thy joy by the hair.
* * *
What is the motto of youth? There is only one. Be thou strong.
Do thy work and achieve, with thy brain, with thy hands, with thy heart, the deeds which to strength belong.
Strike each day thy blow for the right, or failing strike for the wrong.
* * *
He that would gain let him give. The shut hand hardly shall win.
Open thy palms to the poor, O thou of the indigent heart. There shall pleasure be poured therein.
Use thy soul to the cord of joy. If thou sin must, strongly sin.
* * *
Cast thy whole heart away. The Earth, philosophers tell,
Leaps to a pebble thrown, be it never so little; it moved to the bidding of that which fell.
Throw thy heart! Thou shalt move the world, though thou fall on the floor of Hell.
* * *
Few have the courage of loving. Faint hearts! The loss is theirs.
Few of their idlest whims. "I would win to Rome ere I die," one cried in his daily cares,
Yet plods on on 'Change to his grave, the slave of his stocks and shares.
* * *
Learn to appraise thy desires, to weigh the wares of thy heart.
If thou wouldst play with pleasure, avoid Love's passionate tides, its perilous Ocean chart,
Hug the shores of Love's inland seas, and buy thy joys in the mart.
* * *
Love lightly, but marry at leisure. Wild Love is a flower of the field
Waiting all hands to gather and ours. If we leave it another will win it and kneel where we kneeled.
Marriage is one tame garden rose in a garden fenced and sealed.
* * *
O thou who art sitting silent! Youth, with the eyelids of grief!
How shall I rouse thee to wit? Thou hast stolen the joy of our world. Thou scornest its vain relief.
Nay, she is here. Be thy tongue set free. Play up, thou eloquent thief.
* * *
Doubt not thy absolution, sinner, who darest to sin.
So thou prevail in the end, she shall hold thee guiltless of guile, a hero, a paladin.
The end in her eyes hath thee justified, whatever thy means have been.
* * *
Love is of body and body, the physical passion of joy;
The desire of the man for the maid, her nakedness strained to his own; the mother's who suckles her boy
With the passionate flow of her naked breast. All else is a fraudulent toy.
* * *
Of the house where Love is the master thy beauty may hold the key.
It shall open the hall-door wide, shout loud thy name to its lord. Yet, wouldst thou its full guest be,
Bring with thee other than beauty, wit. Then sit at the feast made free.
* * *
"To talk of love is to make love." Truly, a maxim of price.
Nathless the noblest soul, shouldst thou tell her of passionate things and fail to gaze in her eyes,
Shall hold thee cheap in her woman's pride, a clown for thy courtesies.
* * *
Love hath two mountain summits, the first where pleasure was born
Faint in the cloud-land of light, a vision of possible hope; the second a tempest-torn
Crag where passion is lord and king. Betwixt them what vales forlorn!
* * *
Happiness needs to be learned. In youth the ideal woman
Gazed at afar was a dream, a priceless untouchable prize, while she in your arms, too human,
Mocked you with love. 'Tis an art learned late; alas, and the whole by no man.
* * *
O! thou in the purple gendered. Thou needst pain for thy case.
Lose thy health or thy heart. Be bowed in thy soul's despond. Be whelmed in a world's disgrace.
So shall thy eyes be unsealed of pride and see Love face to face.
* * *
If thou wouldst win love, speak. She shall read the truth on thy lips.
Spoken vows shall prevail, the spell of thy eloquent hand, the flame of thy finger-tips.
Write? She is reading another's eyes while thy sad pen dips and dips.
* * *
Thou hast ventured a letter of passion, in ease of thy passionate heart?
Nay, be advised; there is fear, mischance in the written word, when lovers are far apart.
Pain is betrayed by the subtle pen where lips prevailed without art.
* * *
Love is fire. In the lighting, it raiseth a treacherous smoke,
Telling its tale to the world; but anon, growing clear in its flame, may be hid by an old wife's cloak,
And the world learn nothing more and forget the knowledge its smouldering woke.
* * *
Comes there a trouble upon thee? Be silent, nor own the debt.
Friendship kicks at the goad; thy naked state is its shame; thou hast angered these with thy fret.
Wait. The world shall forgive thy sin. It asks but leave to forget.
* * *
The world is an indolent house-shrew. It scolds but cares not to know
Whether in fancy or fact. What it thinks we have done, that it scourges; the true thing we did it lets go.
What matter? We fare less ill than our act, ay, all of us; more be our woe!
* * *
There were days when wisdom is witless, when folly is noble, sublime.
Let us thank the dear gods for our madness, the rush of the blood in our veins, the exuberant pulsings of Time,
And pray, while we sin the forbidden sin, we be spared our penance of crime.
* * *
There are habits and customs of passion. Long loves are a tyrannous debt.
But to some there is custom of change, the desire of the untrodden ways, with sunshine of days that were wet,
Of the four fair wives of love's kindly law by licence of Mahomet.
* * *
Experience all is of use, save one, to have angered a friend.
Break thy heart for a maid; another shall love thee anon. The gold shall return thou didst spend,
Ay, and thy beaten back grow whole. But friendship's grave is the end.
* * *
Why do I love thee, brother? We have shared what things in our youth,
Battle and siege and triumph, together, always together, in wanderings North and South.
But one thing shared binds nearer than all, the kisses of one sweet mouth.
* * *
He that hath loved the mother shall love the daughter no less,
Sister the younger sister. There are tones how sweet to his ear, gestures that plead and press,
Echoes fraught with remembered things that cry in the silences.
* * *
Fly from thy friend in his fortune, his first days of wealth, of fame;
Or, if thou needest to meet him, do thou as the children of Noah, walk backwards and guard thee from blame.
He who saw found forgiveness none. With thee it were haply the same.
* * *
Bridegroom, thy pride is unseemly. Thou boastest abroad, with a smile,
Thou hast read our humanity's riddle. Nay, wait yet a year with thy bride; she shall lesson thee wiser the while.
Then shalt thou blush for thy words to-day, the shame of thy innocent guile.
* * *
The love of a girl is a taper lit on a windy night.
Awhile it lightens our darkness, consoles with its pure sudden flame, and the shadows around it grow white.
Anon with a rain-gust of tears it is gone, and we blink more blind for the light.
* * *
Sage, thou art proud of thy knowledge, what mountains and marvels seen!
Thou hast loved how madly, how often! hast known what wiles of the heart, what ways of maid, wife and quean!
Yet shalt thou still be betrayed by love, befooled like a boy on the green.
* * *
Oh, there is honour in all love. Have lips once kissed thee, be dumb,
Save in their only praise. To cheapen the thing thou hast loved is to bite at thyself thy thumb,
To shout thy own fool's fault to the world, and beat thy shame on a drum.
* * *
Who hath dared mock at thy beauty, Lady? Who deemeth thee old?
If he had seen thee anon in the tender light of thine eyes, as I saw thee, what tales had he told
Of ruined kingdoms and kings for one, of misers spending their gold!
* * *
Friendship or Love? You ask it: which binds with the stronger tether?
Friendship? Thy comrade of youth, who laughed with thee on thy road? What ailed him in that rough weather,
When to thy bosom Love's angel crept, twin tragedies locked together?
* * *
Friendship is fostered with gifts. Be it so; little presents? Yes.
Friendship! But ah, not Love, since love is itself Love's gift and it angereth him to have less.
Woe to the lover who dares to bring more wealth than his tenderness.
* * *
This to the woman: Forbear his gifts, the man's thou wouldst hold.
Cheerfully he shall give and thou nothing guess, yet anon he shall weigh thee in scales of his gold.
Woe to thee then if the charge be more than a heartache's cost all told.
* * *
Thou art tempted, a passion unworthy? Long struggle hath dulled thy brain?
How shalt thou save thee, poor soul? How buy back the peace of thy days? If of rest thou be fain,
Oft is there virtue in yielding all; thou shalt not be tempted again.
* * *
Sacrifice truly is noble. Yet, Lady, ponder thy fate.
Many a victory, won in tears by her who forbore, hath ruined her soul's estate.
Virtue's prize was too dear a whim, the price agreed to too great.
* * *
Virtue or vice? Which, think you, should need more veil for her face?
Virtue hath little fear; she goeth in unchaste guise; she ventureth all disgrace.
Poor Vice hid in her shame sits dumb while a stranger taketh her place.
* * *
Chastity? Who is unchaste? The church-wed wife, without blame
Yielding her body nightly, a lack-love indolent prize, to the lord of her legal shame?
Or she, the outlawed passionate soul? Their carnal act is the same.
* * *
Whence is our fountain of tears? We weep in childhood for pain,
Anon for triumph in manhood, the sudden glory of praise, the giant mastered and slain.
Age weeps only for love renewed and pleasure come back again.
* * *
What is our personal self? A fading record of days
Held in our single brain, memory linked with memory back to our childhood's ways.
Beyond it what? A tradition blurred of gossip and nursemaid says.
* * *
Why dost thou plain of thine age, O thou with the beard that is thin?
Art thou alone in thy home? Is there none at thy side, not one, to deem thee a man among men?
Nay, thou art young while she holds thy hand, be thy years the threescore and ten.
* * *
The world is untimely contrived. It gives us our sunshine in summer,
Its laughing face in our youth, when we need it not to be gay, being each one his own best mummer.
All its frown is for life that goes, its smile for the last new comer.
* * *
Europe a horologe is, ill mounted and clogged with grime,
Asia a clock run down. Its hands on the dial are still; its hours are told by no chime.
Nathless, twice in the twenty-four, it shall tell thee exactly the time.
* * *
What is the profit of knowledge? Ah none, though to know not is pain!
We grieve like a child in the dark; we grope for a chink at the door, for a way of escape from the chain;
We beat on life's lock with our bleeding hands, till it opens. And where is the gain?
* * *
I have tried all pleasures but one, the last and sweetest; it waits.
Childhood, the childhood of age, to totter again on the lawns, to have done with the loves and the hates,
To gather the daisies, and drop them, and sleep on the nursing knees of Fates.
* * *
I asked of the wise man "Tell me, what age is the age of pleasure?
Twenty years have I lived. I have spread my meshes in vain. I have taken a paltry treasure.
Where is the heart of the gold?" And he, "I will tell thee anon at leisure."
* * *
I pleaded at thirty "Listen. I have played, I have lost, I have won.
I have loved in joy and sorrow. My life is a burden grown with the thought of its sands outrun.
Where is the joy of our years? At forty? "Say it is just begun."
* * *
At forty I made love's mourning. I stood alone with my foes,
Foot to fooot with my Fate, as a man at grips with a man, returning blows for blows
In the joy of battle "'Tis here" I cried. But the wise man, "Nay, who knows?"
* * *
At fifty I walked sedately. At sixty I took my rest.
I had learned the good with the evil. I troubled my soul no more, I had reached the Isles of the Blest.
The sage was dead who had warned my fears. I was wise, I too, with the best.
* * *
What do we know of Being? Our own? How short lived, how base!
That which is not our own? The eternal enrolment of stars, the voids and the silences!
The enormous might of the mindless globes whirling through infinite space!
* * *
The infinite Great overhead, the infinite Little beneath!
The turn of the cellular germ, the giddy evolving of life in the intricate struggle for breath,
The microbe, the mote alive in the blood, the eyeless atom of death!
* * *
Yet which is the greater Being? We have dreamed of a life-giving God,
Him, the mind of the Sun, the conscious brain-flower of Space, with a cosmic form and abode,
With thought and pity and power of will, Humanity's ethical code.
* * *
We have dreamed, but we do not believe. Be He here, be He not, 'tis as one.
His Godhead, how does it help? He is far. He is blind to our need. Nay, nay, He is less than the Sun,
Less than the least of the tremulous stars, than our old scorned idols of stone.
* * *
For He heareth not, nor seeth. As we to the motes in our blood,
So is He to our lives, a possible symbol of power, a formula half understood.
But the voice of Him, where? the hand grip, where? A child's cry lost in a wood.
* * *
Therefore is Matter monarch, the eternal the infinite Thing,
The "I that am" which reigneth, which showeth no shadow of change, while humanities wane and spring,
Which saith "Make no vain Gods before me, who only am Lord and King."
* * *
What then is Merlyn's message, his word to thee weary of pain,
Man, on thy desolate march, thy search for an adequate cause, for a thread, for a guiding rein,
Still in the maze of thy doubts and fears, to bring thee thy joy again?
* * *
Thou hast tried to climb to the sky; thou hast called it a firmament;
Thou hast found it a thing infirm, a heaven which is no haven, a bladder punctured and rent,
A mansion frail as the rainbow mist, as thy own soul impotent.
* * *
Thou hast clung to a dream in thy tears; thou hast stayed thy rage with a hope;
Thou hast anchored thy wreck to a reed, a cobweb spread for thy sail, with sand for thy salvage rope;
Thou hast made thy course with a compass marred, a toy for thy telescope.
* * *
What hast thou done with thy days? Bethink thee, Man, that alone,
Thou of all sentient things, hast learned to grieve in thy joy, hast earned thee the malison
Of going sad without cause of pain, a weeper and woe-begone.
* * *
Why? For the dream of a dream of another than this fair life
Joyous to all but thee, by every creature beloved in its spring-time of passion rife,
By every creature but only thee, sad husband with sadder wife,
* * *
Scared at thought of the end, at the simple logic of death,
Scared at the old Earth's arms outstretched to hold thee again, thou child of an hour, of a breath,
Seeking refuge with all but her, the mother that comforteth.
* * *
Merlyn's message is this: he would bid thee have done with pride.
What has it brought thee but grief, thy parentage with the Gods, thy kinship with beasts denied?
What thy lore of a life to come in a cloud-word deified?
* * *
O thou child which art Man, distraught with a shadow of ill!
O thou fool of thy dreams, thou gatherer rarely of flowers but of fungi of evil smell,
Poison growths of the autumn woods, rank mandrake and mort-morell!
* * *
Take thy joy with the rest, the bird, the beast of the field,
Each one wiser than thou, which frolic in no dismay, which seize what the seasons yield,
And lay thee down when thy day is done content with the unrevealed.
* * *
Take the thing which thou hast. Forget thy kingdom unseen.
Lean thy lips on the Earth; she shall bring new peace to thy eyes with her healing vesture green.
Drink once more at her fount of love, the one true hippocrene.
* * *
O thou child of thy fears! Nay, shame on thy childish part
Weeping when called to thy bed. Take cheer. When the shadows come, when the crowd is leaving the mart,
Then shalt thou learn that thou needest sleep, Death's kindly arms for thy heart.
THE END
TO NIMUE
by
WILDFRID SCAWEN BLUNT
I had clean forgotten all, her face who had caused my trouble.
Gone was she as a cloud, as a bird which passed in the wind, as a glittering stream-borne bubble,
As a shadow set by a ship on the sea, where the sail looks down on its double.
I had laid her face to the wall, on the shelf where my fancies sleep.
I had laid my pain in its grave, in its rose-leaf passionless grave, with the things I had dared not keep.
I had left it there. I had dried my tears. I had said, "Ah, why should I weep?"
I will not be fooled by her, by the spell of her fair child's face.
What is its meaning to me, who have seen, who have known, who have loved what miracle forms of grace?
What are its innocent wiles, its smiles, its idle sweet girlishness?
I will not love without love. I despise the ways of a fool.
Let me prevail as of old, as lover, as lord, as king, or have done with Love's tyrant rule.
I was born to command, not serve, not obey. No boy am I in Love's school.
I have fled to the fields, the plains, the desert places of rest,
To the forest's infinite smile, where the cushat calls from the trees and the yaffle has lined her nest,
To the purple hills with the spray of the sea, when the wind blows loud from the west.
I have done with her love and her, the wine-draughts of human pleasure.
The voice of nature is best, the cradle song of the trees which is hymned to Time's stateliest measure,
As once a boy in the woods I heard it and held it an exquisite treasure.
I had clean forgotten all. I had sung to the indolent hills
Songs of joy without grief, since grief is of human things the shadow of human ills.
I sang aloud in my pride of song to the chime of the answering rills.
And, behold, the whole world heard, the dull mad man-ridden Earth.
And they cried, "A prophet hath risen, a sage with the heart of a child, a bard of no human birth,
A soul that hath known nor pain, nor sin, a singer of infinite mirth."
And she too heard it and came. And she knew it was I grown wise.
And she stood from the rest apart, and I watched her with pitying scorn, and then with a sad surprise,
And last with a new sweet passionate joy, for I saw there were tears in her eyes.
And she came and sat at my feet, as in days ere our grief began.
And I saw her a woman grown. And I was a prophet no more, but a desolate voiceless man.
And I clasped her fast in my arms in joy and kissed her tears as they ran.
And I shall not be fooled by her, though her face is fair as a rose.
And I shall not live without love, though the world should forget my songs and I should forget its woes,
And the purple hills should forget the sea and the spray when the west wind blows.
THE LIBRETTO
THE
BIRTH OF ARTHUR
(UTHER AND IGRAINE )
CHORAL DRAMA
BY
R EGINALD R. B UCKLEY & R UTLAND B OUGHTON
THE MUSIC BEING COMPOSED
BY RUTLAND BOUGHTON
CHARACTERS.
UTHER ... ... ... ... King of Britain.
ULFIUS ... ... ... ... A Knight.
MERLIN ... ... ... ... Prophet of Britain.
BRASTIAS ... ... ... ... A Knight.
IGRAINE ... ... ... ... Queen of Cornwall.
The Will of the World.
THE BIRTH OF ARTHUR.
_____
ACT I.
S CENE I. --- A Wayside in Cornwall.
S CENE II. --- Merlin's Mount.
PRELUDE.
Deep in the shadow of forgotten things,
Rising like mountains round it,
Is a Lake.
White mists o'erwhelm it till its look is mourant.
Deep are its Shadows and its Silences,
But white the foam of its black waters,
When the breathless oars of ghostly rowers break its surface calm.
Its name is known of dead and dreaming Kings,
Whose folded purple lies behind the Night.
Its name is known to children,
While they freely walk mysterious glades.
Its name is known to dim and cloistered souls,
To those who kneel 'fore Altars,
And those whose souls ascend the gleaming pathway of the Secret Stair.
To those who toil 'tis known,
When great ascendant hopes
Goad on the body to the noble task!
'Tis called the Lake of Wonder ....
From him who drinks thereof all Doubt is driven.
There was a man, who walked in the Land of Forgotten Things,
And he passed to the Land of Oblivion ....
There was a man, who walked amid the Mists,
And he was swallowed up ....
There was a man, who bathed in the Lake of Wonder,
And his name was Merlin!
To him are the Wonders of the Deep,
The Mysteries of the Earth,
And the Magic of the Air.
Whence came he, O Waters?
Whence came he?
Deep are the Shadows and the Silences,
Deep as Merlin's heart,....
Deep as the pool where slept the Dragons, which he slew!
Who bore him? Who begat him?
Deep are the Shadows and the Silences of things remembered,
But not revealed ....
O Destiny, is he not thy comrade?
O Light and Darkness, is he not thy servant?
Look ye into the waters of the Lake of Wonder.
Is Love there?
Behold! There lie jewels in the Lake of Wonder.
All the Youth of the World may bathe there.
And they, who have bathed therein, take thence a jewel.
Twain and twain they quit the waters, and hasten to the Woods of Love.
And for those, who lose not the jewel of the Lake of Wonder, it is well.
But for those who lose the jewel it is ill ....
Merlin bathed in the Lake of Wonder .... alone he bathed there ....
And in the Waters came he upon a great jewel,
Which was the Stone of Enchantment.
When he came to the Wood, no woman brought her jewel,
But many, who had lost their jewels came to him, but he said them nay.
For the Children of Enchantment live only for Enchantment,
And, if they rebel, the jewel is ta'en away.
O Lake of Wonder, roll your Mists away!
Strike through the Mist, O Sun,
And give us Day!
Day by the wayside, day and foliage green ....
A Cornish lane, where Autumn's hand is seen.
Near Terrabyll, 'neath Gorlois, Cornwall's lord,
Who, 'gainst the King, hath raised a rebel sword.
As light steals through the branches,
The tints of the Autumn glow
Red like the elder passions
Of Loves of long ago!
Along the lane comes Uther,
Clad in the gear of War.
Sir Ulfius, the cautious, beside him walks ....
Together they tread the pathway,
Flanked by the shrubs and ferns,
Their weapons agleam in the sunray,
As the lordlier warrior turns ....
For he is Uther, the King,
Of stature great and stately,
With eyes of flame, and mighty brows for bastions!
In silence he walks, unheeding his man,
Who first the silence breaks:
Ulfius.
O Lord and mighty warrior, all deeds are done at thy desire.
Thyself hast laid a seige round Terrabyll, and spurring here,
I left Tintagel like to an otter with the dogs upon her.
Within Terrabyll Castle thou hast the Duke in ward,
And his white spouse within Tintagel Keep!
Uther.
Surely the Duke shall fall into my hands,
But think you, Ulfius,
Tintagel shall her keys surrender?
Ulfius .
I know not!
Uther.
And if I gain the keys of that proud castle,
Think you surely
That Igraine shall yield at last?
Ulfius.
Thou art a goodlier man than Gorlois.
Uther .
Ulfius, my men can batter down the gateways,
The men-at-arms may fly before the spear thrusts ....
The keep shall fall!
Of fire and flame shall be a triumph!
But shall the flames within my heart, O Ulfius,
Melt the white marble of Igraine?
Ulfius.
Never was wax so white, O King,
That flame should not o'ercome it.
Uther.
If the white marble turn to blackest ashes ....
If I have fought for damage, with no delight to crown it!
If, from the ruin, we reap but destruction.
The light steals through the branches.
The weapons and war-gear gleam,
But the eyes of Uther are dull as the gloom of gathering thunder
Sunken in the mood of a dream.
Ulfius.
The sunlight comes .... among the clouds it shineth!
Uther.
Thou know'st my sorrow from the first, O Ulfius ....
How at the banquet it began ....
How she a sudden flame of glory shone before me,
And wild within my breast the torrent rose!
The full, red wine in beakers lay before us,
As with Tintagel's lord we feasted, as a friend,
After the weary wars we'd waged upon him.
In peace, with merry hearts we supped together.
Gorlois was not my foe, yet was he husband of Igraine ....
In that wild hour, the flaming wine and torches fired me ....
And when we rose to leave the revel,
As King, I bade him yield Igraine to me.
Then was he wroth, and shame and anger reddened
Igraine's white face.
Though Gorlois was mine elder, yet had he full drunk,
And he did threaten me, the King of Britain!
I am resolved, as from that fateful hour it was written.
As I am King do I desire Igraine!
The eyes of Uther are gleaming with gathering storm.
No longer mine the fleeting hopes and dreams of passion!
O Ulfius, these eyes have seen all beauty.
These arms in amorous dream have beheld the fairest living!
My soul, with purple wings, has beaten upward
Till in the heaven has it fared ....
Whence is this flame that round me flares?
Whither or whence I care not, so that she be won!
I am a goodlier man than Gorlois ....
Yet Tintagel's lord is set before the King in her embraces!
And so my anger now is as the love-rage of my heart!
His death shall feed my hungry hate.
Igraine's fair body shall before the love-rage fall!
How long shall stand Tintagel?
Ulfius.
My lord, I know not, for it is exceeding strong.
These many years it hath withstood
The shock of storm and tempest and the sword,
Nor God, nor guile hath yet prevailed against it.
Uther.
O Ulfius, there's a sickness come upon me
Nought will cure save victory.
Can'st thou not help me?
Ulfius.
Maybe I can; if thou be patient.
Thou knowest Merlin?
Uther.
Him who was strangely born, half angel and half man?
Ulfius.
Or, so they say, begotten by a devil.
Perchance the Mage will help thee,
Perchance thy passion spurn.
For Merlin's will is moved by fancies,
Dark and wayward to other men.
Uther.
Thy word is good!
Seek out the Mage, and bring him unto me
At Terrabyll.
Thither I go now to lead my men in war.
Ulfius.
And I must seek the Mage alone?
Uther.
Art thou afeard? Speed on thy task,
For patience hath no home within my heart!
Boldly King Uther goes,
Out of sight along the way ....
As Ulfius watches after,
Behind him stalks a wayworn beggar,
Wearily limping, craftily cringing,
Waiting for arms.
Old Man.
Good day, Sir Ulfius.
Ulfius.
Old man, I've nothing for thee.
Leave me in peace!
Old Man
If I leave thee, Sir Ulfius,
Thy sorrow will not leave thee.
Ulfius.
Get hence, old man! Naught troubles me.
Old Man.
What of the King?
And Gorlois's wife?
Ulfius.
Art thou a spy?
In power and strength the beggar man is risen,
And Ulfius shrinks from him, and stands away.
Old Man.
On yonder Mount when Night's more fully fallen,
Bid the King come and hold communion with me!
For oft it haps that ill and sorry passions
Are but the pods for glorious seed and harvest.
Ulfius.
Who art thou ...?
Old Man.
Bid the King come, for even now I go toward yon mountain.
Let the King follow if he love Igraine.
Slowly the old man wends away ....
And Ulfius's gaze upon him rests awhile ....
Ulfius.
'Twas Merlin's self, who, if tales be true,
Once met two sprites upon the mountain yonder.
Once was a messenger of heaven,
The other, envoy of satanic hosts for mercy suing.
There he heard mystic converse,
And may overhear the councils of the highest and the deep.
He knows the ways of men, of beasts and trees,
The starry firmament, the sounding deeps,
And knows the language of the rushing winds.
So will I haste, and bid the King to follow.
Along the lane goes Ulfius,
And all grows bleak and grim.
Crashes the heavy thunder,
The droop of the clouds so dim.
All goes black and dull as the gloom of the thunder gathers,
As it booms in the distance, but ever closer comes.
Naught see we in the storm:
The wayside there no longer.
Keen are the blades of the Swords
That cleave the clamouring sky!
Loud is the boom of the thunder,
That ever cometh more near.
But the chaos and gloom reveal
A darkling form on a mountain.
Voice of the Storm.
All grows bleak and dim.
All goes black and dull
As the gloom with its Terror!
In the brooding spirit of the Storm
Works the soul of the World and the Will.
For here are revealed the wonders of the deep,
And the magic of the air.
Out of the storm and stress,
Out of the wizard working of the worlds,
Toiling 'mid the gloom,
'Mid the shattering boom of the thunder!
Striving to bring to birth
The son of Fire and Flame,
As from the flame of the lightning
The passion of thunder is risen,
So the godhead of storm
Wakens the world!
Merlin.
O Daranau, thou reinest in thy lightning and thy thunder
Like to a man with mighty passion molten!
Hold back thy blasting breath, while here I commune.
The King comes now for converse and communion,
His heart aflame for Gorlois's wife, Igraine.
O Daranau, thou god of thunder!
O fire and flame that now light up the gloom,
Give me your guidance!
Sharp are the fiery swords that cleave the clamouring sky.
Rising in fierce revolt, the untamed world of darkness!
From out the cauldron of Chaos,
The fire and gloom are come.
Voice of the storm.
Yearning to break through the wall of their world,
Cry the unborn for bodies to clothe them.
Merlin.
O god of heavenly conflict, thou hast spoken.
E'en as the greatest flash of lightning gives the loudest thunder,
And, as the loudest thunder moves the mountain,
So shall the greatest love give us the Hero!
O flame of Love, which courses through King Uther,
Surround Igraine that Britain may be saved!
Voice of the Storm.
Even as the greatest flash of lightning gives the loudest thunder,
And, as the loudest thunder moves the mountain,
So shall the greatest Love give us the Hero!
Two forms are rising from the murk and darkness.
Together climb they to the mound,
Whereon the Seer,
A King amid the storm, upstandeth.
The one a man of stature great and stately,
And one who fears the lightning, with the crashing thunder ....
Merlin.
All hail, O King, and welcome to Sir Ulfius,
Who sought to hide this sorrow.
Uther.
'Tis not a sorrow, but a mighty love, O Merlin,
Which hath brought me to thee!
Merlin.
There are two Gates to Sorrow's Garden, Uther.
The one is Birth, the other Death is hight.
All that from storm and travail springs
In restless stream shall flow,
And, in the ebb, shall pass with sobs and sighs.
Uther.
What gloom, O Merlin? Thou, who knowest the wonders of the world!
Merlin.
Ye rede me wrong, for know ye not
How Britain in sorrow lingers yet?
Half stand we in bestial Night,
Half reach we to the Dawn!
Knowest thou, Uther, how every sage looks for a glorious kingdom,
More kingly than the realm of kings?
What is conceived by Man, by mankind can be wrought!
What seek we from the King of Britain?
Uther.
Am I a penitent that thus thou pratest?
I come to thee because I love a woman,
That thou, by magic art, mayst do what baffles armies.
Merlin.
Thinkest thou that I will aid thee?
Uther.
I command it, by my sword!
The hand of Merlin rises, with prophetic power,
Upward toward the heavens.
Keen is the blade of the sword that cleaves the clamouring sky.
The sword of Uther 'neath the stroke is shattered!
Loud is the boom of the thunder, shaking the mountain.
Then Merlin turns unto the haughty King and paling Ulfius,
Taking the hilt of Uther's sword, unbroken.
Merlin.
Uther, I will aid thee,
If thou wilt swear one oath :
That, when Igraine is thine,
Thou wilt to me deliver her first-born son!
Uther.
By my sword I swear!
To thee I will deliver her first-born son.
Merlin.
Trust not thy sword o'ermuch.
But now ye must hasten! For the storm returneth,
And e'en to-night thine arms around her close!
Who will go with thee?
The arm of Uther toward pale Ulfius sweeps.
Merlin.
We parley further in Tintagel Castle.
Uther and Ulfius behind the mount go down,
And, by a pathway steep, in haste are gone.
Hear the mad music of the storming thunder
From Chaos's cauldron, where the powers hereunder
Rebel 'gainst heaven till the fires are quenched,
All the armed clouds to rend asunder,
Before the Light is victor, and the Dark outdriven.
Merlin.
The light upon the helm of Uther glances.
Go, thou unruly Torch, for Britain shalt thou burn!
And, in thy stead shall come a Light to Britain!
Igraine, fresh from her convent, Gorlois married.
No fatherhood nor destiny is his ....
She, the most beauteous in the land mated to Gorlois,
And yet our Britain waits
The coming of a King!
Within his heart unruly love upburneth ....
O proud, adulterous heart, thou shalt as incense burn before an Altar!
Daranau, loud voic'd and full of curses,
Thou shalt hear the Voice of Silence ....
Wodan, from thy couch of skins,
A wonder shalt thou see!
I follow thee, O Uther ....
E'en now, the spell is woven ....
Voice of the Storm.
Yearning to break through the wall of our world,
Cry the unborn for bodies to clothe them.
Down the steep path the warriors wend,
'Mid the mad music of the booming thunder ....
Like some wild prophet of the powers hereunder
Stands Merlin .... calm upon the mountain.
______________
ACT II.
S CENE I. --- The Chamber of Igraine, in Tintagel Castle.
PRELUDE.
Dark and stark and strong
Tintagel Castle stands!
The splash and the surge of the sea on the rocks of Tintagel,
The boom of the breakers,
The echoes in chasm and cave ....
O hear ye the song of the surges,
That beat in the caves of Tintagel,
The shrill of the pebbles,
The hiss of the backgathering waves.
The gloom of the dusk has been darkened,
And distant the thunder
That rang in the Castle of Gorlois,
And boomed in the caves.
The splash and the surge of the sea on the rocks of Tintagel ....
The boom of the breakers,
The echoes in castle and cave ....
The crests of the galloping waves,
The curvetting ocean,
The gloom of the dusk, and the hurrying cloud waves above.
And, on the headland,
Tintagel Castle stands!
Alone in his cavern, beneath the great headland,
Merlin is brooding ....
Dark is the soul of Merlin,
Dark with the doubt of Destiny,
While the Wisdom of the Ages
Slumbers in the womb.
The splash and the surge of the sea,
The dark will of Merlin,
Threaten the Castle of Gorlois!
The watchfires burn and glower,
Where Uther's army lies.
Like to the sea in its strength
Is the passion of Uther!
The surge of the sea, and the love-rage of Uther
Threaten the Castle of Gorlois!
Dark and stark and strong,
Besieged by land and sea,
By sea and sky,
By man and wind and wave beset,
The Castle strongly stands!
Within her chamber, gazing seaward,
In witchery of gleaming moonlight,
Igraine of Cornwall with Sir Brastias waits.
Igraine.
How calm the moon,
The white wave-crests how fair!
Can men wage war on such a night as this?
Brastias.
The wolfish fangs, my lady,
Seek out for flesh to tear.
Igraine.
He would not tear
Her whom he strives to win?
The wind just lifts her hair,
And on her ivory skin
The moonbeams shine.
Brastias.
Men are like wolves when they are ruled by passion.
Igraine.
How fierce his eyes,
And strange his look of longing!
When Gorlois wooed me,
Naught I knew of this.
Brastias.
What learned you, lady,
From false Uther's eyes?
Igraine.
O Brastias, how can I say?
Suppose I were a waxen candle,
Cold upon an altar standing ....
And a red flame started down upon me,
And the wax melted, burning up my soul!
Whence is the flame that round her soul is flaring?
Never was wax so white,
That flame should not o'ercome it.
Brastias.
Feel you thus to Uther?
O lady Igraine, I grieve for thee.
Igraine.
I know not whether it be Love
That doth fever all my soul.
But, O my friend, I am a lonely woman ....
Gorlois can find his life in war and manhood!
But I .... within my soul ....
My mother-love hath brought no babe to prove me.
Enough .... I weary thee.
Thy love is ever in the land of dreams!
Thou dost not know the yearning of the barren, lonely soul!
The eyes of Brastias turn
That all their tale be hid.
For some men love too well,
And hide within their heart
Those things that may not be.
Brastias.
I age, I age, my lady.
It boots not now, I ween ....
But there were days when, with the holy sisters,
There dwelt a maiden called, like thee, Igraine.
She was so beautiful that, in a song, I called her
"The White Igraine, the faery Queen of Cornwall."
In those far days my harp was alway with me,
And now it hangs above my narrow bed.
And a great lord who heard my song, came to me:
"Of whose fair beauty sing you, harper?"
I told him..... Days and weeks went by ....
Then knew I that my harp had lost her to me ....
My song had won for him a bride!
Then went I, and took service with him.
A knight was I. His trusty knight I've been,
And over her I've guarded till this day.
His head bowed down, Sir Brastias turns away.
Igraine.
Hadst thou no hate for Gorlois?
Brastias.
Nay, Lady, for Love is not unworthy.
The chosen bridegroom of Igraine was Gorlois,
And I thine elder was .... and poor.
Igraine.
But Gorlois was mine elder also--
Brastias.
But Gorlois was the lord of Cornwall.
Igraine.
Strange that one schooled by holy sisters
Should be beloved so many ways.
Some men are fierce,
And some are tender for me.
Say, O Brastias, if thou mayest,
Who in the end will hold me?
Brastias.
I am not Merlin,
And Love is deep to fathom
Sometimes to me it seemeth
That some strange Power,
Moving behind the deeds of men,
Mingles desires, choosing men and women,
Weaves and broiders like a cunning craftsman.
Igraine.
Can Uther gain the Castle?
Brasias.
The keep is strong, my lady.
Though men and storms rise up,
They fail to batter down the gateways.
Igraine.
And what of Gorlois?
Brastias.
'Tis said that Merlin weaveth spells against him.
Igraine.
Ha! Ha! Why will ye ever mistrust Merlin?
Brastias.
Why wilt thou ever trust him,
Whose magic is unholy?
Igraine.
What ye call magic is but greater knowledge.
Brastias.
From morn till eve last sennight
In the cave he sat.
What did he there?
No good man liveth thus.
Igraine.
The cave beneath the Castle?
Brastias.
Yea.
Will of the World.
Even now, beneath he broodeth,
While the Wisdom and Love of the Ages
Slumbers in the Womb.
Igraine.
And what of that unruly King,
Who with such lawless strength doth love me?
Brastias.
Full sick is he, and carried in a litter,
Like some Arabian infidel to battle.
Igraine.
And is he sick for Love?
Brastias.
Nay, not for Love! For lust and longing,
Half of the body, half of moody brooding!
Like to the king, who looked upon the stars,
And claimed them as the cattle of his pasture!
Uther loves not
As true men love.
Igraine.
Knows any man true Love?
Brastias.
Yea, even he who knows the rapture of which Taliesin sings,
A Love which like a star doth shine,
And, like a star, reveals a world beyond our sense.
Igraine.
'Tis well thou art not wed, O Brastias.
Thou art a dreamer.
Dreams without deeds
Will ne'er reveal that other world of thine.
Brastias.
Deeds without dreams reveal a world far worse.
Will of the World.
Up from the Lake of Wonder,
Rise the deeds that were dreams but yesterday,
The dreams that are to-morrow's deeds!
The knowledge that is magic ....
The magic of the air ....
The knowledge and the passion,
Whence all Creation comes.
O Wonder of Creation!
Loud clangs the postern bell,
A-clang, a-clang, impatient, clamorous ....
Igraine.
I feel it is not Gorlois.
Go, Brastias! Who cometh .... send him here!
Will of the World.
Hither, O Merlin, Wisdom's soul and Wonder's,
Unto Igraine, who waiteth for her hour
In moonlight's gleam and witchery of gloom.
Dark in the doorway stands the mighty Merlin,
Proud in the utter calm of Manhood.
Merlin.
Igraine, my child.
Thine hour is here.
Igraine.
Mine hour?
Merlin.
Thine hour,
And His who Shall Be!
Igraine.
His who Shall Be?
Will of the World.
She waiteth for her hour
In gleam of hope,
And witchery of Wonder.
Merlin.
Yearning to break through the wall of their world
Cry the unborn for bodies to clothe them.
In the soul of the world, striving for birth,
Are the Men of to-morrow!
Like to the cry of the homeless ....
Like to the wail of the children, who clamour for bread,
Yearn the unborn for their bodies,
Where worketh the spirit of Will and of Wonder.
Through the thoughts in the mind of mankind
Works the Will of the Power of Darkness.
Merlin.
That power hath been upon me,
And hitherward I come,
Even to thee!
Thou art the woman who shalt bear
A wondrous child.
The silence is alive with pulsing thought,
The brooding soul of Woman,
And the Mind of Man ....
The Soul of Wonder,
And the World's great Will.
Merlin.
Thou dost feel it!
Speak ....
Thou dost hear his call?
Hearken ....
Will of the World.
Like to the wail of the homeless ....
Like to the cry of the children, who clamour for bread,
Yearn the unborn for their bodies to clothe them.
Igraine.
For many years I've brooded o'er my longing ....
Merlin.
The bird that lightly lives
Broods but a season.
The Hero Child must needs be carried in the heart for ages,
E'er to flower he come!
Igraine.
But, as the years rolled on,
Gorlois's moody temper grew more sullen.
My soul did sicken!
Starved for lack of love!
Though I conceived not,
Yet did my heart outbear my body,
And, in my secret soul, a mother-love was kindled,
For a babe unknown .... unfathered.
And year by year .... within this lonely land
I live my life .... alone,
Brooding o'er my longing
Like a sea-bird o'er her nest.
But still he came not ....
Then did I come to thee for charm to bring me fruitage.
No charm thou gavest me .... but Knowledge ....
To know the stars, the mighty deep ....
All things thou taughtest me!
But one thing thou taughtest not,
E'en to stay the empty craving of my soul!
No more the moonbeams on Igraine are shed.
How very silent is the room become.
Fainter the splash on the rocks of the headland,
Softer the echoes beneath, in the cave.
Igraine.
Who shall his father be?
Merlin.
Speak to thine heart!
Igraine.
Full many a day in peace I've dwelt with Gorlois
Content and calm within his Castle.
But, when proud Uther claimed me at the banquet,
Then did a strange new joy arise within me,
And all my body burned with glad desire!
No shame I felt,
Though thus he read my face of fire.
His eyes of flame from brows of iron shone,
More kingly than the lord of Cornwall.
Great and shapely were his limbs ....
And all my mother-soul was quickened 'neath his gaze.
Will of the World.
In the bodily rapture and longing for love
The souls of the unborn are thronging.
The Love of the Woman,
The Love of the Hero,
And the Will of the World are as one!
In the bodily rapture and longing of mother-love,
The Hero-Child is waking to Life!
Yearning to break through the walls of their world,
Cry the unborn for bodies to clothe them.
In the Womb of the World, striving for birth,
Is the Man of To-morrow!
Igraine.
Merlin, thou hast no hate for Gorlois?
Merlin.
Hate have I for no man, but the fool!
Igraine.
A rumour is abroad that thou hast woven spells against him.
Merlin.
All knowledge is but empty magic to the fool.
Heed not this babble!
To thee, who knowest, Truth is but greater Mystery!
Igraine.
'Tis well, O Merlin,
I have ever trusted thee.
Merlin.
No hate have I for Gorlois,
Nor for Uther love.
'Tis only for the Future that I strive!
Thy son shall be both king and saviour to his people!
O fair Igraine, give all thy longing freedom,
And, by thy Love,
Chasten the King!
Burn from his soul the fleeting hopes and dreams of Passion,
So, by thy Love and Wisdom,
Our Britain shall be saved!
Will of the World.
Our Britain that in sorrow lingers yet ....
Merlin.
I go to the cave beneath thy chamber,
Nor come I thence
Till in the heavens 'tis written
That Arthur shall be born!
Will of the World.
O lovely mother-longing!
Deep within thy tender soul
The hero-child is trembling into life!
Cradled deep in mother-longing
Sleeps the unborn Hero ....
Igraine.
Arthur .... ! Arthur? .....
Then turneth Merlin ....
The splash and the surge of the sea
Sound out as he goeth in silence.
Will of the World.
Hither, O Uther, Passion's soul and Power's,
Unto Igraine, who waiteth for her hour
In mystery of midnight,
And mystery of Love!
The clash of mail and armèd clangour sounds,
Nearer .... with heavy tread ....
Igraine is filled with great foreboding
Like to thoughts in the mind of Mankind
Are the dooms of the power of darkness.
No power is hers, for the Will of the World,
Has gathered her soul in its bondage.
From out the moonlight to the shadow moving,
Behind the purple curtain,
To her secret chamber,
Igraine is gone.
Deep in the shadow .... slowly two warriors come.
The first a torch-bearer, in knightly armour,
Holding his flame that all in shadow lies ....
Behind, a man in all the pride of power ....
Very fearful in the lesser man,
The flame is all a-tremble .... near the door he shivers ....
Uther.
Go, Ulfius!
With my lady would I speak!
Hast thou an ague, man?
Ulfius.
No, sire .... but ....
Uther.
Go, .... and warm thee!
Will of the World.
Yearning to break through the walls of their world
Cry the unborn for bodies to clothe them.
Ulfius sets down the torch, high flaming,
Near to the purple curtain of the chamber,
Wherein Igraine awaits the fateful word.
Alone and trembling stands the King,
The torchlight flaming,
As though its flame of Love
Would burn all bonds away.
Deep are the shadows of forgotten things,
Deep amid dead and dreaming kings
Is Gorlois gone.
The curtain parts again,
And in the flaming light,
'Mid shadows cast,
Igraine ....
Igraine.
Thou dost tremble,
Like to thy man ....
Hast thou an ague?
Her smile like moonlight to his flame of Love ....
Uther.
Igraine!
His word, like some far cry of passion, comes ....
Igraine.
Speak on! O speak .... !
What would'st thou?
Uther.
Thee .... !
Igraine.
Speak yet again .... !
For many words must I now have with thee.
Uther.
First at the banquet did I love thee.
Thou, and the wine and torches burned in golden blaze!
Igraine.
Nay, Uther, 'twas thyself thou loved'st!
For me .... but full of longing.
Uther.
How know'st thou?
Igraine.
I know, and yet I care not.
As thou art King did'st thou desire Igraine!
As I am a woman, long I for my son .... !
And, in that longing,
All my soul is molten passion,
And my body fevered pain.
For my child shall have a hero for his father,
A mighty arm, a kingly will,
Of wisdom and of Woman unafraid!
Before Love's curtain they stand,
Beneath Love's light,
Passion, the King of the Land!
The Queen of the Night
Shines in Igraine,
Her beauty as white
As the candles that flame on an altar bedight,
For the bridal of King and of Queen.
Igraine.
Hungerest thou?
Uther.
Aye, for thy lips and for thy breast, I hunger!
Igraine.
Thirsteth thou, O King?
Uther.
For thine arms and for thy kisses,
As thirst the deer, when heated chase is done!
Within his arms
King Uther holds his loved one,
The white Igraine,
The faery Queen of Cornwall!
Uther.
And thou, Igraine?
Igraine.
I thirst as doth the dry and parchèd ground,
When rumours of rain come with the rush of winds.
Deep are the shadows and the silences,
Deep as Merlin's heart, whence sprang the dream.
Igraine.
I could linger with thine arms about me
Till all the stars should die.
Till all the heavenly host should melt away,
Like candles on an altar .... !
Uther.
And I, Igraine, thy waist would clasp,
Till mine eyes
Failed with looking on thy whiteness!
I would swoon within these arms till time should cease ... !
Time is no more with its throb,
In the light of the day,
The Ages are yearning to life,
And the sob of the sea,
Like the surge of their pulses is beating,
In the life that shall be.
His arms around her close ....
High flames the torch ....
Will of the World.
Go, unruly torch, for Britain shalt thou burn,
And, in thy stead, shall come a light to Britain!
Her head is droop'd .... upon his shoulder leaning,
The white Igraine, the faery Queen of Cornwall!
Uther parts the purple curtain,
And with her
Within the secret chamber of Igraine is come.
The curtain falls ....
Will of the World.
O starlit night, brood on!
O kindling flame of life, thine hour is here!
For Britain lies in darkness.
Love's fire and flame shall kindle
To-morrow's race of men!
The soul of the Hero alone shall save you,
He only smites the golden Dragon down!
He only into the Light shall lead you,
To show you Life,
And bring you to the Dawn!
Uther.
And if in lands unseen, I waken,
And thou art from me gone,
Again mine eyes shall close .... !
Deep are the shadows and the silences,
Deep as Merlin's heart,
Whence sprang the Dream!
Casting aside his cloak,
The Mage with Ulfius cometh.
Merlin.
Ho, Ulfius, dost thou hear?
Ulfius.
Like as the dry and parchèd ground ....
She .... thirsts for Uther ....
The earth is full of evil.
What of Gorlois?
Merlin.
Dead!
Ulfius.
Will not .... some ill befall?
Merlin.
Tush! Thou art afeard to walk,
Lest into some imagined pit thou shouldest fall.
Ulfius.
Walk we not in sin?
Merlin.
Sin is the fear of the soul, walking in darkness.
Sin is the death of the soul, that knoweth not love.
Like as the dry and parchèd ground.
The world a Hero waits.
Merlin.
And from this ground shall spring
The noblest sapling by Britain grown!
From Earth he springs,
But he shall tower to Heaven!
For earthly passions
Are but as pods for heavenly seed and harvest!
A spell I've woven, with the warp and woof of Fate,
That she may match the frenzy of the King,
Whose hero-blood goes swirling through his veins!
And till the wailing harps proclaim
That Uther unto Vortigern is gone,
Shall white Igraine be filled with Love.
Ulfius.
And is the potion of thy mixing, Merlin?
Merlin.
Nay, it is the wine within their veins,
By the Power behind the veil of darkness mingled!
Look through yon window!
Lo, the vault of heaven,
Where, in the hand of God,
All Fate is written.
Will of the World.
O starlit night, brood on!
O kindling flame of life, thine hour is here!
The splash of the sea on the rocks of the headland
Fainter is grown, and the storm is gone by!
But the waves are grown fresh, with the joy of their surge,
The air is grown keen with the salt of their spray!
Merlin.
See'st thou not a point of lurid fire,
Which o'er the sea is set?
Ulfius.
I see, O Merlin,
If but at the spell of thy deep art.
With arm on high,
With eyes in glory flaming,
The voice of Merlin grows,
Like to the battle-cry of kings,
As the prophetic Voice that sings aloud
The Will of God in Man!
Merlin.
Lurid grows the Star of Arthur, there .... !
Ulfius.
Arthur .... dost thou say?
Sound loud the trumpet note of flame,
Exultant in the glory of his name,
His, who shall be?
Merlin.
Arthur, of Britain, king and lord!
He, with a glorious rule, shall sway the people,
And to his knights shall Mystery be revealed!
But, as in Man there dwell two seeds,
The one of Death,
The other Life,
So shall he die ....
His glorious knigdom shall have end!
The Hand of God is come upon him!
In trancèd ecstacy he sways,
His soul between the Seen and Unseen trembles,
In spheral power his voice is raised!
Merlin.
Then shall the Seven Curses come upon the kingdom!
A curse upon the land,
Where the proud man shall herd his wild deer,
And the poor man have no field to give him bread!
Forth from the Unseen is it spoken,
And it shall burn within the soul of the free!
Merlin.
A curse shall come upon the eyes that they see no beauty,
Upon the lips that they sing no praise!
Truth from the Godhead hath been sounded,
And it shall blaze before the vision of the free!
Merlin.
A curse upon the body that its glory become unclean,
That the lust of the sun
Be as shame in the darkness!
Uther and his loved one hurl defiance
To an age that is sunken in the dust!
Merlin.
A curse upon those who are wedded and love not,
And a curse upon a people,
Come tired from the womb!
Hear, O ye people, in your weakness,
And ye shall live again the Life of the Strong!
Merlin.
When these curses are come upon the people,
Let them cry aloud
For the second coming of the King!
Ulfius.
All hail, red star! And royal herald, hail!
Merlin.
Arthur, king unborn,
Thus shalt thou rule:
Thy law shall be
To pluck the Flowers of Freedom!
Wield the passion of Uther,
And the calm thought of Igraine!
Free thy people
From the Dragon of fear
And the black brand of shame!
And then, perchance, once again the Grail may come among us;
Once again a Light may come from Heaven;
And, in the pure flame of Eternal Love,
Burn all our shame and sin away!
So far can Merlin go.
My spell is woven.
The bar of my power is here,
And all my deeds
Lie drifting on the deep!
The Mage's sun is set,
But when the wailing harps proclaim
That Uther unto Vortigern is gone,
That he, with fathers dead, doth lie,
The flower of all our sowing riseth!
So, to the Power behind the Veil of Darkness,
Where all my might and magic naught avail me,
To Thee I trust great Uther,
Fair Igraine,
And yon red Star .... !
Will of the World.
O starlit Night, brood on!
O kindling flame of Life,
Thine hour is here.
Love and the Night of Stars,
And the surge of the sea,
Sing the song of the spheres!
The world on the bosom of Night
Leans full of yearning and dreams;
The red flowers of sleep,
And the fire of stars,
And the breathing of Love,
Are as one.
Languid as love that is spent,
We lie in the darkness;
But now cometh longing
And new love to save us!
Fire of the waters that gleam in the moonlight!
Thine is the glory, O Love!
Fire of the starshine, at promise of Dawn!
Flame in the heavens above.
Like the sea in its raging strength
Is passion at midnight;
The billows are leaping,
Anger high,
With the tossing of spray
Spitting scorn at the moon's pale flame.
Now cometh longing and red fire to save us,
At the dawning of Day!
Leap high, O billows!
Spit scorn, O spray!
Rise on your passion,
And all the world,
In fiery glow
Shall burn its shame away!
At Dawn of the Hero
The world is newly wed;
And her lover lies upon her breast.
Come, O sky, and wrap around us,
Let thy stars grow pale and die;
Come, O sun, and flood our bodies
With thine awful purity.
No longer now
Shall passion hide in shame,
For our souls are glowing
With the promise of the day.
O Lake of Wonder,
Roll your mists away;
And in the shadow of thy waters clear,
Reveal the mystery of Life and Love!
* * * * * * *
A Far Vision.
Behold there lie jewels in the Lake of Wonder!
All the youth of the world may bathe there;
And they who have bathed therein
Take thence a jewel;
Twain and twain quit they the waters,
And hasten to the woods of love.
INTRODUCTION.
The following prefatory remarks appeared in the issue of this work in 1914, and are now inserted without alteration, although in some points the matter, through the lapse of time, has naturally become out of date.
__________________
PREFACE.
When "Music Drama of the Future" was published nearly three years ago it seemed unlikely that the ideal of a Temple Theatre, as we called it, could be realised in our time.
As I write this preface to a popular re-issue of the text of "The Birth of Arthur," arrangements are well in hand for the erection of a temporary building, adequate to its purpose, and the establishment of a Glastonbury Festival, at the town associated with the life and death of the hero. The foundation stone is to be laid this year.
Further, the scheme has received the recognition and open good wishes of Sir Edward Elgar, Sir Frederick Pollock, Sir Henry J. Wood, Granville Bantock, W.L. Courtney, Bernard Shaw and St. Loe Strachey, to mention only a few persons representative of different phases of life, while the names of Lena Ashwell and Lillah McCarthy emphasise the fact that it tends to no narrow hero-worship, but that Woman too shall have her part in this drama of Motherhood and Manhood.
The music of my collaborator, Rutland Boughton, is considered by Sir Edward Elgar to be "worthy of the great subject that you have chosen." Of the poem itself you can judge, remembering that only by performance can it become truly alive.
The artists who have shown themselves willing to appear include Frederic Austin, Francis Harford and Mrs. Tobias Matthay, while the problem of the chorus has been solved in a manner that should guarantee efficiency.
Meanwhile the musical part of the work has not been neglected. As long ago as 1909 an orchestral excerpt was played at a Leeds symphony concert under Mr. Fricker's direction.
Mr. Thomas Beecham's orchestra gave an excerpt from the second act at Birmingham last year, and a very generous offer of assistance from him is one of the pillars upon which the coming Glastonbury Festival rests.
In August (1913), at Bournemouth, Mr. Boughton, with the kind help of Mr. Dan Godfrey and his band, organised a scenic production of excerpts. This, largely owing to his use of "human staging," caused widespread notice, for which we thank the Press, which invariably shows interest when something is brought to pass in visible form.
At that juncture we gained the co-operation of Miss Margaret Morris, who is to be responsible for the Glastonbury production, jointly with the composer. This staging, together with the use of choral dance, is a success experimentally, and will be tried on a large scale for the first time. At Glastonbury itself the Mayor and a number of representative citizens have ensured the public nature of the scheme, and Miss Alice Buckton, author of "Eager Heart," has helped us.
We are not building for ourselves. The "Birth of Arthur" is to symbolise the birth of new hopes, new works and aims.
The Glastonbury Festival idea has been regarded in many quarters as a "British Bayreuth."
This is a convenient term, but not a correct one.
First, as regards our Arthurian cycle (four dramas, of which "The Birth of Arthur" is the first); it differs technically in several essentials from the "Ring": in staging; in choral treatment; and in poetic method.
Second, the people of the locality will find artistic scope in the productions.
Thirdly, the theatre will have quite a different kind of stage.
Here is the Word (or at least the "words").
At this season it would seem impious to doubt this hero birth for which the whole soul longs.
REGINALD R. BUCKLEY
.
February 14, 1914.
MERLIN'S PROPHECY
by
MELISSA
[pseudonym of Jane Brereton]
ROYAL FREDERICK! Britain' s Pride!
Prince , for future Safety giv'n;
For Thee 's decree'd a Virtuous Bride,
Choicest Gift of bounteous Heav'n.
To reward thy filial Duty,
To perpetuate Brunswick' s Race,
Wit, and Learning, Youth, and Beauty,
Heav'n prepares for thy Embrace.
No blust'ring Storms, affright the Fair,
No raging Billows, dare to rise;
Safe by Heav'n' s, and George' s Care,
May She bless our longing Eyes!
Neptune , sooth old Father Ocean ,
Mild Favonius , waft thy Gales;
May One repell each theat'ning Motion,
For Albion , t' other swell the Sails!
Behold! She comes, enrich'd with Charms,
Indulgent to thy plighted Love!
Receive the Blessing to thy Arms,
And Hymen' s hallow'd Rites approve.
Illustrious Pair! wou'd You in Story,
Thro' succeeding Ages shine?
Wou'd You tread the Paths to Glory?
Follow George , and Caroline .
And lo! I see a glorious Race,
Successive rising to Renown!
Decree'd Britannia 's Throne to grace;
And give new Lustre to a Crown.
Ordain'd, to wield the Sceptre Royal,
With righteous Pow'r, and gentle Sway;
And rule o'er Britons , Brave, and Loyal,
'Till Heavn, and Earth, shall melt away.
MERLIN: A POEM
by
MELISSA
[pseudonym of Jane Brereton]
Her MAJESTY QUEEN GUARDIAN .
ILLUSTRIOUS QUEEN !
The loyal Zeal excuse,
The fond Ambition, of a British Muse ,
Who wou'd, in Merlin's Praise, attempt to soar;
And in his Cave, Your Patronage implore:
Protection seek, beneath Your Royal Name ;
And borrow Strength to rise, from Merlin's Fame.
When Sol to distant Climes had giv'n the Day,
And shone on ours, with pale reflected Ray;
When Night with solemn pace, advanc'd her Head,
And o'er the Hemisphere her Mantle spread;
Yet thro' the fable Gloom, those Orbs reveal'd,
Which in a Flood of Light, the Day conceal'd:
I, to a Summit, mus'd along, to see
Unnumber'd Suns , which croud the Galaxy.
But Merlin's Cave , had such Impressions made,
And Royal Honours, to his Mem'ry pay'd;
Pleas'd with Reflection, and involv'd in Thought;
Creative Fancy , soon this Vision wrought.
Then, lo! beneath a venerable Oak ,
Which oft repell'd the Tempest's furious stroke;
Whose spreading Arms, a wide Circumf'rence show,
And from whose Trunk, springs sacred Misseltoe :
Methought, I saw an awful Shade arise;
(Fit object only, for Poetick Eyes.)
The Form Majestick, and the Front serene;
Angles , and Circles , on his Robe were seen.
The Northern Crown 1 , around his Temples shone,
And the Celestial Signs adorn'd his Zone.
The British Harp , seem'd to support one Hand;
While t'other, gently wav'd the sacred Wand.
The Manes of great Merlin stood confess'd;
And my enraptur'd Fancy, thus address'd:
"Why will Melissa , Merlin's praise decline,
"Distinguish'd now, by Royal CAROLINE ?
"Believe not such , as wou'd asperse my Name;
"But trust those Authors , who defend my Fame.
"You, to the Royal Grotto , touch'd the Lyre,
"And durst in God-like Newton's Praise aspire.
"Why shou'd not British Merlin , grace thy Page,
"In Mathematicks , once esteem'd a Sage?
"A well-try'd Genius , cou'd transmit to Fame
"My honour'd Modern Cave , and Ancient Name :
"Might to my ROYAL GUEST , re-touch the String,
And as he 2 sung the Saint , the Prophet sing.
"But since the Cambrian Bards , neglect the Muse;
" Melissa's humbler Strains, I'll not refuse.
"SIX Centuries, twice told, are now compleat,
"Since Merlin liv'd on this terrestrial Seat.
"Knowledge appear'd, but dawning to my Sight;
"She blaz'd on Newton with Meridian Light.
"Yet the faint Glimm'rings, which my Genius taught,
"Beyond the ken, of human Art, were thought.
"What I by meer mechanick Pow'rs atchiev'd,
"Th' Effects of Magick , then, by most believ'd.
"To Stone-henge , let the Sons of Art, repair,
"And View the Wonders, I, erected There.
"Try, if their Skill improv'd, Mine, e'er can foil;
"Restore the Giants-Dance t' Hibernian Soil.
"Nor in Geometry , excell'd alone;
"But other Sciences to me were known.
"I study'd Nature , through her various Ways;
"And chaunted to this Harp, prophetick Lays.
"To Cader Ydris 3 oft, I took my Way;
"Rose with the Sun , toil'd up th' Ascent all Day;
"But scarce could reach, the Mountains tow'ring height,
"E'er Radiant Vesper , usher'd in the Night.
"The Summit gain'd, I sought with naked Eye,
"To penetrate, the Wonders of the Sky.
"No Telescopic Glass known in that Age,
"To assist the Optics of the curious Sage.
"Though lov'd Astronomy oft charm'd my Mind,
"I now erroneous, all my Notions fined.
"I thought bright Sol, around our Globe had run;
"Nor knew Earth's Motion, nor the central Sun .
"And had I known; cou'd I Belief have gain'd,
"When Ignorance, and Superstition reign'd?
'Unseen by me, Attraction's mighty Force,
"And how fierce Comets , run their stated Course;
"Surprizing Scenes! by Heav'n reserv'd in store,
"For its own Fav'rite Newton , to explore.
"With Faculties enlarg'd, He 's gone to prove
"The Laws, and Motions of yon Worlds above;
"And the vast Circuits of th'Expanse survey,
"View Solar Systems in the Milky Way .
"My Spirit too through Ether wings its Flight,
"Discov'ring Truths , deny'd my mortal Sight.
"Transported hovers, o'er my native Isle,
"Where Arts improve, and Peace and Plenty smile.
"But lo! Boötes drives his radiant Car,
"High on its Course, around the Polar Star ,
"And fiery Draco , drops his starry Crest;
"'Tis time, though shouldst indulge thy needful Rest.
"Yet stay, Melissa! ---try this fav'rite Lyre;
"And Merlin will the grateful Song inspire.
"To Learning' s Patroness , my Thanks convey;
"And humbly at her Feet, present thy Lay.
"Conscious, how mean, and how unskill'd thy Hand,
"I see thee tremble, at my kind Command.
"Let my Persuasion, once, thy Fears beguile;
"The gracious QUEEN , will condescend to smile.
"For Merlin 's sake, will give Melissa leave,
"To touch the Strings, in my much-honour'd Cave .
"And Wallia 's gen'rous Prince, will not disdain
"What I foretell; ---tho' low, thy Lyrick Strain.
1 A Constellation so call'd.
2 Author of the L EEK , presented to her Majesty.
3 A Mountain in Merionethshire , accounted by some the Highest in Britain ; as an Argument for which they alledge, it bears Variety of Alpine Plants.
EXCALIBUR
by
SALLIE BRIDGES
For months it rested in the stone,
The sword Excalibur;
The noblest knights of England's realm
Strove hard the steel to stir;
For word had gone through all the land
That he who drew the blade
Should fill the sovereign's empty throne,
The rightful king be made.
The flower of island chivalry
Had come from far and near,
To try their skill at tournament
The first day of the year.
Mid the barons went Sir Ector,
His valiant son, Sir Kaye,
And his foster-child, young Arthur,
Forth to the courtly fray.
Unknown to all, dead Uther's son
Mix'd with the noble throng,
Who dream'd not that to stripling page
Could crown and throne belong.
"Now, grammercy," quoth Arthur,
In riding by Sir Kaye,
"Good brother mine, how came you out
Without a sword to-day?"
Sir Kaye look'd down, and paled to see
No weapon at his side:
Then back his comrade spurr'd his steed,
Across the meadows wide,
To where lay idle in its sheath
The knight's forgotten blade,
But found that not a single squire
Had in the castle stay'd.
Quoth Arthur then, with sudden wrath,
"From yonder mystic stone
I'll pluck the sword, that good Sir Kaye
May wield it as his own!"
So, lighting down from off his horse,
Towards the empty tent
In which was kept Excalibur
His eager footsteps bent.
In golden-letter'd hilt was bright,
Its knightly guards away;
And so, with brave and fearless heart,
He made his bold essay.
He grasp'd the handle in his hand,
Its point leap'd sharp and free.
"My brother shall not go unarm'd
To battle now!" cried he.
When old Sir Ector saw the blade
Flash in the morning light,
He knew it was the Sword of Fate
That met his wondering sight,
And ask'd of Arthur, "Whither came
The steel thou gavest Sir Kaye?"
"I bore it," was the plain reply,
"From stone and tent away."
"Then, by my faith," the gray knight swore,
"An' thou canst draw again
The sword from out the selfsame place,
A monarch thou shalt reign!"
And back within the marble stone
Prince Arthur thrust the blade,
While long in vain to pluck it thence
Both high and low essay'd.
"Come hither; strive again, my son!"
And quick on Ector's sight,
In Arthur's hand, the marvellous steel
Was flashing keen and bright.
Then kneel'd Sir Ector and Sir Kaye,
With every squire and lord,
To greet as lawful king the youth
Who lean'd upon the Sword!
Then spoke his aged foster-sire.
"Ye hail no child of mine!"
But wist not buried Uther's heir
Was king by right divine.
Thus Arthur through Excalibur
Received his father's crown;
And ever through Excalibur
He kept his high renown!
THE DEATH OF LANCEOR
by
SALLIE BRIDGES
The fight was over, and one shiver'd spear
Had dash'd to splinters 'gainst a coat of mail;
The other, crushing an opposing shield,
Had pierced the hauberk of a valiant knight
And let his brave life through a ghastly rent.
Upon the green hill-side Sir Lanceor fell,
No more in tournament or joust to strive;
And good Sir Balin gazed upon his foe,
And sadden'd that his hand had stretch'd him there,
Albeit in self-defence each blow was struck:
Yet well he knew he might not often meet,
In field or tourney, opponent so bold!
And while he lean'd upon his unsheathed sword,
Resting a moment after contest fierce,
Sudden from out the forest at his side
A fair, white palfrey, galloping with speed,
Bore to his feet a damsel full of grace,
Who, when she saw Sir Lanceor thus slain,
Alighted down, and made a tearful wail,
Clasping her arms about the stirless form,
Casting on Balin each upbraiding look,
Wounding his soul with frantic words of woe:
"Ah! not one life alone hast thou destroy'd,
Thou cruel knight that slew this love of mine!
Two hearts thy weapon shatter'd when it cast
This stalwart body on the trampled turf!"
She took the steel from out the dead man's hand,
And swoon'd in freeing thence the stiffen'd grasp;
And when she lifted up her pallid face,
All tear-bedew'd and framed in golden curls,
Sir Balin's thought was grieving passing sore
That thus his act should make a lady's dole.
He strove the slender fingers to untwine
From round the heavy hilt of Lanceor's blade;
But, lightly stepping from his careful hold,
Quickly she set the pommel on the ground,
And thrust her bosom on the shining point.
The ruby blood came gushing from her wound,
Like red wine spill'd from goblet made of pearl;
The gentle figure, white-enrobed, sank down,
Like to a stricken dove upon its nest;
The violet eyes reproach'd him for her death,
Then closed forever on her lover's breast.
Oh, matchless love of woman! Sure thou art
The only flower of Eden left to bloom
Amid the thorny thistles of real life,
Scenting the wayside with thy rich perfume,
Brightening with beauty common spots of earth!
"Alas!" said Balin, looking on the pair,
"Sorely repent I now this brave knight's death,
Because of her who loved him living so!
And yet methinks 'twere happiness to die,
In armor clad, doing one's right devoir,
With one we love to breathe their last, warm sigh
In sorrow out, surviving not our loss!"
While thus he mused aloud, on horseback came,
Riding apace, a dwarf from Camelot,
That wildly grieved above the lifeless twain.
Quoth good Sir Balin, "'Twas a sorry deed;
And yet himself gave challenge for the tilt!
No craven heart is mine to fly from foe,
And fate had will'd that one should linger here.
The damsel died for love of yon still knight,
And evermore I hold, for her sweet sake,
All womankind in highest, dear esteem!"
As thus they talk'd, King Mark of Cornwall rode
On gallant charger by the touching group,
And sorrow'd greatly for such true hearts dead,
Swearing with vows he would not stir from thence
Till he had raised above their dust a tomb.
Then, pitching his pavilion on the spot,
His squires sought through all the country round
To find a sepulchre would shrine them both;
And ere Sir Balin took his parting leave
Of Cornwall's generous sovereign, he had reared,
A monument right passing rich and fair,
Brought from some distant church, and rarely carved
And sculptured on the stone their name and fate:--
"Here lieth Lanceor, a valiant knight,
Prince Arthur's friend, and son of Ireland's king,
Kill'd by Sir Balin of the Table Round,
In lawful tilt upon the green hill-side;
And on his breast the ladye of his love
Sleepeth till judgment, slain by her own hand,
For very sorrow, with her lover's sword!
Pray for the souls, O gentle passer-by,
Of fair Colombe and brave Sir Lanceor!"
THE KING AND THE BARD
by
SALLIE BRIDGES
"Come, sing us a lay!" quoth Arthur,
"My Bard of the Table Round!
Some ballad of lofty courage,
That shall make our heart's-blood bound!"
And the monarch drain'd his goblet,
While the minstrel tuned his lyre,
And fill'd it again, that the singer
Might win from wine new fire.
"Now drink," said the generous sovereign,
"That, when thy song shall be o'er,
We may fill with bright gold pieces
And hand thee the cup once more."
But the minstrel's voice was silent,
And the ruby wine undrain'd,
While Arthur, impatient, wondered
Why the guerdon was not gain'd.
The bard from his seat rose slowly,
And spoke to the waiting king:
"Sire, to-day my soul is tuneless,
And no worthy lay can sing.
Not e'en or your tempting liquor,
Not e'en for your promised gold,
Will my inner voice yield music;
For true song cannot be sold!
"But when fitting words can utter
Dreams that stir my own deep heart,
In thine shall the chords re-echo,
Till it feels of mine a part.
Not till inspiration smiteth
On the rock of silent Thought,
Can be welcome living waters
To the king or people brought!"
"Thou art right!" the sovereign answer'd;
"'Tis a lesson nobly told:
Monarchs cannot rule men's spirits
By the might of law or gold!
Thou art first of all my minstrels,
Thou art best of Britain's boast;
But take now my brimming goblet,
And quaff it to Arthur's toast.
"Drink, gallant knights, to the minstrel
Who dreads neither prince nor peer, --
Who can speak the truth to power,
Nor flatters for price or fear, --
To the bard who freely renders
The gift he has been given,
And sings but when his strain exalts
His hearers nigher heaven!"
THE LOVE-DRINK
by
SALLIE BRIDGES
King Marke of Cornwall sent Sir Tristan forth,
With goodly company in grand array,
On embassy to Anguish, Ireland's king;
That there his nephew's eloquence might move
The father's heart to give his daughter's hand;
For Marke had heard the minstrels sing of her,
La Belle Isonde, until his throne had seem'd
Empty without a queen, and listen'd then
His people's murmuring that he did not wed;
And so he chose the princess for his bride.
But on the way Sir Tristan met a lord,
With many peers, that in the name of might
Truage of Cornwall did demand with swords!
And Tristan slew him, but did get himself
Such serious hurt, that those about him pray'd
For his soul's rest, and begg'd him but to stay
His journey's progress till his wound was heal'd.
But the brave knight bound up his gaping side,
And bade them onward: -- "Duty could not wait
Because man should bleed! He will'd to live
Until his errand was all done, and then --
Why, God's good pleasure should hear his Amen!"
And so he came at last to Ireland's court,
And in the audience-hall, before the throne,
Stood pale and leaning on his sheathéd sword,
And told his message to the king and queen,
Fainting, in ending, at the princess' feet,
Whose tender eyes dropp'd tears amid the blood
That gush'd afresh, as trembling she essay'd
To quench its flowing with her own warm scarf;
And, as she was well skill'd in surgery's art,
They gave him to her charge to try his cure.
And long she wrestled with the angel Death,
Conquering through prayer, and won him back to life.
And Tristan watch'd her from his couch, and wish'd
He might be ill forever, thus to keep
So fair a picture always in his sight!
And she would do for him, with quiet grace,
All offices that only women can,
When, smote by sickness, men will humbly lean
On the strong tenderness that never fails!
The little hand smooth'd pillows for his head,
Bathed his hot brow, and dress'd his healing wound,
And, when he seem'd to slumber mid his pain,
Plied silken threads to aid her silent watch.
And if sometimes it met his own, 'twas but
The leech's touch to learn the fever's height.
And all about, within her was such sense
Of maiden purity, that Tristan ne'er,
Even by thought of passion, would have stirr'd
Th'unconscious calm of that white, virgin breast!
So day by day he grew to perfect health,
And, sitting by her in the summer morns,
He taught her how to tune the lute, and sang
Old ditties, mostly battle-songs, or lays
Of sunny France, the harvest-hymns, or plaints
Of captive slaves, -- but never sang of love!
And if her changing cheek did flush and pale,
And her heart throb, she knew 'twas but the tunes,
The music shaking all her inner soul;
And if she did not laugh as she was wont,
But from the castle-terrace gazed long hours
Toward distant Cornwall, all her maids would say,
"She's sad because she leaves us: this quick change
From home to husband weighs her spirits down.
She wonders if he'll love her like her sire!
He must be noble, since the knights he sent
Are gentle, and his herald like a king.
She's worn with watching. Sure her lord may count
Upon the goodness that did patient nurse
The proxy for his sake will call her queen!"
And so they gossip'd on her alter'd ways,
And -- for they knew her all her girlhood up --
Did never link her name, by sneer or hint,
In thought or speech, with aught that was not true.
And thus, with this fine honor in them both,
That knew her pledged, they kept them safe through all;
And if perchance o'er Tristan's soul would come
A sudden tempting, when she stept anear,
To seize her in his arms, and kiss her eyes,
Mouth, hands, once strain her to his heart, and then
Tear open his old wound, and pitied die,
He sternly fought it down, and school'd his thought
To say, unshrinkingly, "My uncle's wife!"
And when their ship was ready, all the court
Did bear her company to the water's edge,
And the whole country mourn'd to see her go.
She wept to know how she was loved, -- to leave
Her childhood's happy home for stranger roof, --
To see no more, perchance, the early friends
That fill'd her memory; and all sights and sounds
Seem'd but to make her sadder as she went,
Until she look'd on Tristan, and her heart
Took a sweet sense of something undefined,
That made her think but of the voyage with him,
Forgetful of the king would crown its end!
And, ere they sail'd, her mother gave in charge
Secretly to Governale, Sir Tristan's squire,
A golden flask full of enchanted wine,
That, on the day when they should wed, King Marke
And her Isonde should drink the same, and so
Either should other love through all their life,
And find expression by its potent spell.
The August days were languid on the sea;
The vessel linger'd on the glassy calm
Of heaveless waves; and, as they silent sate,
Watching from cabin-window a lone bird
Skimming the surface of the waters blue,
Then, more to break the stillness than from need,
Isonde did murmur that she was athirst;
And Tristan rose to search for welcome draught,
And came back, smiling, with a golden flask,
And told her how he found it in the case
Where Governale did keep his master's helm;
And so -- for such rare liquor fitted not
For lackey's palate, howsoe'er or why
He got and kept it -- Tristan pour'd the wine,
And gave the goblet to the ladye's taste,
Who drank it, saying she would pay instead
To the sly squire a good broad piece or two.
And, partly that the odor was so rich,
And partly that his mouth might touch the rim
Whereon her dewy lip had press'd, he too
Drain'd from the goblet love's o'erwhelming power.
For, sitting at her feet, with sudden thrill,
Their long-averted looks did meet at last,
As, scarcely heeding, stole his eager hand
Anear to hers, that trembled to his palm,
The while his other arm about her form
Bow'd down her blushing face towards his own.
Love compass'd them with circumstance; for them
The sea, the sky, were not, nor aught but love,
In that enraptured space when scarce time seem'd
To move, so fast th' unnoted moments flew.
The world was in the circle of their arms,
And their souls mingled in the speechless bliss
That almost grows to pain, and floods the eyes
With causeless tears that break the lofty spell
Of love's pure exaltation, lest the breath
Of the divine in man should waft his soul
So far towards the source that he should pierce
The mysteries of God's secret Paradise.
And, as her bright drops rain'd upon his brow,
He snatch'd her to his heart, and broken words
Restored them unto life, -- "Tristan!" "Isonde!" --
And one long kiss seal'd their eternal troth!
THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL
by
SALLIE BRIDGES
When Merlin's wisdom for the king ordain'd
The Table Round in likeness of the world,
He placed therein the sieges for each knight
Should sit thereat, and prophesied that one
Who there broke bread the Sancgreal should achieve,
Should win the holy vessel that contain'd
The Saviour's blessed blood, that had been brought
To this far land, after that Christ had died,
By Joseph who had given Him his tomb,
And hid away from common sight of men,
Till he should come so worthy of this grace
That all would say but One e'er lived before
As pure from evil and so brave in deed.
And Merlin made a siege where he might sit,
And call'd the name of it "Siege Perilous,"
Marking it next to Launcelot's at the board,
And giving signs should show fulfillment near.
So, ever at the feasts King Arthur held,
They look'd to see a token of the time;
And more than once, elated by good cheer,
Some gallant sir essay'd that empty seat,
But none e'er sat therein but got a hurt;
And years went by, but still the mystic siege
Waited the coming guest for whom was laid
Trencher and goblet as for all the rest.
At Pentecost 'twas custom of the king
To know adventure ere they went to meat;
So, as they whiled away the lagging hours,
One Whitsuntide, upon the river's bank
That runs to Camelot, a marvel came.
For, lo! a great stone floated down the stream,
Wherin was upright stuck a fair, rich sword,
And golden letters in the marble taught
The best knight in the world to take it thence.
Then unto Launcelot spoke the courteous king,
"Brave sir, the blade is yours!" But Launcelot said,
"Not so, my liege: the best knight in the world,
You do forget, is he shall sit unharm'd
Beside me at the feast! And he that strives
To take that sword and fails shall get a wound
Full sore to heal; for, see, its name is writ
In precious stones upon the shining hilt."
And Arthur read, in rays of diamond light,
The one word "Justice," while Sir Gawaine strove,
And then Sir Percivale, to stir the sword;
But both their hands upon the weapon slipp'd,
And stain'd its edge with blood, until the prince
Forbade endeavor more. "For thus," he said,
"My own Excalibur defied all strength,
Until my destined grasp the handle siezed.
This too is fix'd by Fate, and he shall wield
Its keenness rightly will be worthy sure
To have us bow our heads to him. And now
Let's in to dine, and toast our unknown peer!"
And, ere each lord was served in his own place,
Came in an aged man, clothed all in white,
And with him a young knight in crimson robed,
Upon whose shoulders hung a mantle furr'd
With royal ermine, -- whose beardless visage bore
The smile of innocence, uplifted, calm
With the mild majesty of one who knows
None greater than his equal, yet who feels
His own soul humble in the sight of God.
And silent round the watching forms they walk'd
Until the elder lifted off the cloth
Laid o'er "Siege Perilous," wherein was writ,
In letters bright as stars, that all could see,
The name of "Galahad;" and that young knight
Sat down therein, and show'd no sign of harm,
The while his comrade bless'd him and went forth.
Then bow'd the king to him, and all the knights
Rose up, and gave him welcome with their hands;
And, after they had dined, the monarch spoke:
"Fair sir, I see the scabbard at thy side
Does lack a sword. Without, a marvel waits:
Wouldst win a weapon, and thy rare right prove
To fill that siege? for prophesy has rank'd
Him 'best knight in the world' should sit therein;
And so a stone proclaims that he shall take
The blade therefrom shall bear the same proud fame!"
Then Galahad and Arthur, side by side,
Went from the palace to the river's bank,
Where in his hand with ease the stranger held
The trial-sword, and slid it in the case
So smoothly that the good king, wondering, said,
"Surely those two were for each other made!"
And after jousting in the meadow's midst,
Whereat Sir Galahad exceeded all,
The court rode quiet back to Camelot;
And, as they sat at supper in a maze
Of listening wonder at this young knight's words,
A sudden thunder crash'd across his speech,
And shook the pillars of the hall; and sounds
Of rushing wings stirr'd through the darkness deep
That rested there an instant; when a light
Six times more clear than beams of noontide sun
Shone o'er them all, and glorified each face,
So that they all upon their neighbors look'd,
Struck dumb with awe, as through the silence rose
Angelic voices; then an odor rich
Fill'd their senses, and the taste of each
Knew that was long'd for most and liked the best;
While every soul felt such ecstatic joy
That love's great bliss seem'd but the barren type
Of this exceeding rapture; and then came
Their breath once more, and all things look'd the same.
Then whisper'd they into each other's ears
That there had been the Holy Greal of Christ;
Till Gawaine spoke aloud, and took a vow
That, as its blessing came in part to all,
Though fate ordain'd but one should fully win
The dangerous quest, that, just to know again
Such rare, high feeling, he would seek himself
The Sacred Vessel, which perchance if seen,
Its power might waft his soul so far from earth
That it might float into the gate of heaven,
Since but its unseen presence made them seem
Like olden gods at their ambrosial feasts!
Then rose they all, and with uplifted hands
Echoed Sir Gawaine's oath; and Arthur said,
"This promise smites my heart; for I do know
Such quest will rob me of my dearest friends,
And break the knightly fellowship we keep
So fair and true that all the world admires.
For never king has had such gallant peers;
And never more shall gather at my board
All those who leave me to my sorrow here!
For kings must fret on thrones, while crownless heads
Find Glory's laurel upon danger's field!"
And when the lords had arm'd themselves, they met
In the great court-yard, waiting by their steeds
Until the king had brought the weeping queen
To give their last farewell; and as the sun,
Slow sinking, cast o'er all a golden light,
They stood upon the palace-steps, both clad
In sparkling jewels and their royal robes;
And as, unhelmetted, with gauntlets off,
The knights came singly by to kiss their hands,
The quick sobs broke from Guinevere's fair breast,
And more than once the shining drops fell down
On some bow'd head; while Arthur, pale and sad,
Would take no homage, but with tender clasp
Press'd each to his full heart, and no one spoke.
And when at last Sir Launcelot came anear,
And held the ladye's palm within his own,
She sank, half fainting, on her husband's arm.
So Galahad but touch'd his maiden lips
To fingers cold as ice, that listless hung,
As wearied of the weight of their rich rings.
At last, when crested helmets were all donn'd
And bow'd in parting to the horses' manes,
The knights together through the gateway rode;
And Arthur watch'd them as their mail'd array
Wound down the path, until on burnish'd shields
The sun's last lingering rays no longer glanced,
Then with a sigh bore in the drooping queen.
And there was weeping of the rich and poor
As through the streets of Camelot they rode,
Where many a dame, with voice nigh choked with tears,
Did send her prayers with that gay cavalcade;
While ever and anon would leave the ranks
A favor'd sir, to catch upon his lance
Some scarf or token of his lady's grace,
Cast off from balconies where fair forms lean'd.
And so they journey'd to a castle's gates
Wherein the lord made cheer, till in the morn
They parted from each other, and all took,
In pairs or singly, their own different roads.
When many days had gone, Sir Gawaine met
Sir Ector in the way, and both reveal'd
That, after wandering long in beaten paths,
Neither had found adventure that had seem'd
To bring them nearer to the Holy Greal.
"In sooth," quoth Gawaine, "I am weary now
Of this new quest, and loath to follow it."
"And so," said Ector, "all the knights I saw
Upon my travels do complain the same.
Nor can I hear of Launcelot or Bors,
Or e'en of Galahad, the three we thought
Were sure to make the world ring with their deeds;
And truly, if they fail, not even we
Need strive in further search! Let's stop and rest."
And so they enter'd in an ancient church
That stood near by, and laid their bodies down
Upon the altar-steps, and thus there came
Into their sleep a marvellous dream to each.
First, Gawaine thought he saw into a field
Full strewn with herbs, wherein a rack of bulls
Stood proud and black, save one, all snowy white,
That ever kept its head bent down to graze;
But soon the rest went from the meadow forth,
To seek some pasture-ground they deem'd more rich,
And came back lean and weak, yet would not crop
The fresh, green grass their one wise comrade ate
And strove to lead them to and fully share!
But Ector dream'd that Launcelot and himself
Sprang from one chair upon two saddled steeds;
That one soon met Sir Launcelot on the way,
Who beat and spoil'd him, and then clothed him o'er
In knotted robes, and set him on an ass;
That thus he rode until he came, athirst,
To a fair well, and stoop'd him down to drink;
But always from his lips the waters sank,
Until at last he sadly journey'd on.
And when the knights awoke, they told their dreams,
And, as they talk'd, between them sudden rush'd,
Vanishing quick away, a hand that held
A clear light burning, and upon the wrist
A plain, strong bridle hung; and then they rose
To seek some hermit he could meaning give
To these their visions.
Ere they came anigh
To the lone cave where dwelt the holiest man
In all the realm, they met an arméd knight,
Who kept the road, and so they drew a lot
To joust with him to have their pathway clear;
And Gawaine won, and ran his sharp lance through
The stranger's breast, and bore him to the ground.
And when they raised his visor, Ector groan'd;
"For see," he spoke, "thy hasty hand has slain
Our own sworn brother of the Table Round,
That with ourselves set out on this same quest."
"'Tis sad," his comrade said; "but then he stood
So stubborn in our way: besides, his course
Was towards the points we just have left behind;
Thus turn'd, he never could have reach'd the goal!"
And, as his soul departed, they went on.
Then, as they came unto the mountain rough,
They tied their coursers to a rock, and strode
Across the stones afoot, until they reach'd
A garden-patch, wherein a hermit stoop'd
To pick the worts that served for his sole food.
And when he heard the ringing of their mail,
He turn'd his aged form and ask'd their need.
So Gawaine told his dream, and counsel ask'd
Of his great wisdom; and, without more words,
He answer'd thus: "The herbs that strew'd the field
Were Patience and Humility; the rack
Was the Round Table, and the bulls its knights;
The meadow was the world, and that white steer
Was he shall keep himself so pure in life
His eyes shall see the glory of the Lord!
Those black were dyed with sins; and, as their heads
Would stoop not down to taste the precious food,
They shall on waste lands enter, and find death!"
And as Sir Gawaine ponder'd on this speech,
The good seer read Sir Ector's vision too:
"The chair ye left was pride, and, as your steeds
Were higher, ye were so much prouder there.
Sir Launcelot has been cast adown, and clothed
In garments of repentance, and the ass
Betokeneth meekness; but that fair well
Was God's rich grace, that would not touch his soul:
So now he journeys lonely on his way,
Till in due time he shall go back, and quench
His eager thirst within those waters clear.
The hand ye saw was charity; the light
Was hope; the bridle, abstinence, which holds
The heart's desires and leads the will from sin.
And as ye were not touch'd by charity,
Nor long time lit by hope, and have not caught
The reins of passion, and not yet have chew'd
The cud of Patience, ye shall never meet
The Holy Greal until ye win all these.
Now go your ways! Ye neither yet have done
True service to your Maker. As ye gave
To folly all the leaves and fruit of youth,
See that ye yield the bare rind to the Lord."
And then he went from them into his cave;
And both the knights, with eyes bent low, slow paced,
Deep musing, down the stony steep, and loosed
Their restless horses, and rode swift away.
And all the peers that started on the quest
Met strange adventures, and some got sore falls,
Some fainted by the way, and many died.
And some went back to Camelot, and lived
In sloth and ease with lemans fair and false;
But these King Arthur would not see at court,
For, though he grieved at parting with his fréres,
He welcomed none that broke a knightly oath;
Albeit the queen in secret saw them oft,
To ask if e'er they heard of Launcelot aught.
Sir Galahad, the youngest of the knights,
A stranger, and unproved in gallant feats,
Rode by himself four days without a shield:
His heart was tender yet with dreams of youth,
And, as his life was nearer to his birth,
His soul was closer to his God than theirs
Who had forgotten heaven in the heat
Of earthly conflicts mid the light of fame.
He look'd on nature with such earnest love
His rapturous delight to worship soar'd.
His eyes grew gentler as he turn'd aside
His courser's hoofs lest they should heedless tread
To dust and death a daisy in the grass;
And when, unarm'd, he slept in some cool grove
At night beside his weary steed, the stars
Shed down through stirring leaves a sense of peace
Upon a spirit calm'd by trustful prayer.
He knew no fear, because his conscience lay
Like to a lake reflecting cloudless skies:
Not one dark thing o'ershadow'd its bright rest.
And if his mind dwelt oft on that high fate
The seers foretold for him, 'twas with the hope
That his high achievements might advance the cause
Of Right and Holiness within the world
He thought so fair, yet knew was foul'd by sin!
Once, after even-song, he came at last
To a white abbey, where he met a knight
Of Arthur's table, who reveal'd to him
That in this place was hung a wondrous shield,
Which none e'er bore in fight and kept unscathed.
"And yet," said Bagdemanus, "I will try,
Because my arm is strong, and sure can keep
By its own skill a shield before my breast!"
So in the morn he took it from its place
Behind the altar, and his comrade saw
'Twas all clear white, save in the midst was limn'd
A shining cross, red as if drawn in blood.
And then he started on adventure forth.
But, ere an hour, in haste his squire came back,
Pale with the tidings that his master lay
O'erthrown near by, and still beset by foes!
And Galahad went out with his bare sword
To where the wounded knight exhausted fell.
He seized the buckler from the feeble grasp,
And straightway was assail'd by countless shapes,
Giants and dwarfs, and bravely stood his ground,
Until at last he felt the storied shield
Slow slipping from his hold, while they who thrust
Their spears against it but the stronger grew
When he look'd faint: so his tried soul cried out
Aloud in anguish for God's gracious help;
And at the sacred Name they sudden sank
From his awed sight away; and then he saw
That a great angel, ray'd about with light,
Upheld his form, who bade him always use
The shield of Faith, since wielded with true Prayer
'Twould keep him ever from attacks of Doubts!
And afterwards, as Galahad went on,
He journey'd in a narrow path o'ergrown
With thorns and briers, where he oft was forced
To cut a way and lead his restless horse,--
Where poisonous vines with noxious smells made thick
The darken'd air, for branches interlaced
Barr'd light and progress, and from hidden lairs
Glared fiery eyes at him, and stagnant pools
Mock'd eager thirst. Yet still he onward toil'd;
For this, the monks had told him, was the road
Alone could forward him upon his quest.
Sometimes he long'd to throw aside his arms
And rest his weary limbs; but evermore
He saw some work to do, some goal to win
That brought him nearer to the end, nor dared
To slumber, lest he should be stung to death
By creeping creatures, or waste precious hours.
And, as he had such patience for himself,
He felt deep pity for his faithful steed,
And talk'd to him as tenderly as though
It were a woman that was hurt and worn, --
Oft stopping in his labor to smooth down
The ruffled mane, drawing the drooping head
Across his shoulder, and with gentle touch
Stroking the face, until the startled eyes
Grew wistful with a dumb, beseechful love;
And sometimes he would dip his shrinking hand
Into the slimy waters of black tarns,
To wet the bleeding limbs and panting sides.
And so at last they came unto a break
In one side of the road, where grandly stood
A lofty castle with wide-open gates;
And, more because his courser was so maim'd
Than that himself was tempted at the sight,
He enter'd there, and in the outer court
A damsel met, who led his tired steed
To a clean manger stored with straw and food,
The while across his senses faintly fell
Soft breezes of perfume, that wafted by
Delicious melodies, and drew him on
Through the broad portal to a hall, wherein
The only Presence was a leaping fount.
And, as his footsteps waken'd echoes there,
A hidden door flew wide, through which there danced
A troop of mirthful girls, with sandall'd feet,
To cadences of their own mellow strain,
In which their laughter mingled like the tone
Of silvery chorus threading all the tune.
And, as they forward floated where he stood
Entranced an instant by such lustrous eyes,
Their gauzy robes and loosen'd hair flew back,
And white, soft arms uncurved their wreathing grace
To stretch out rosy palms to meet his own;
He felt e'en through the links of his rough mail
The thrills of each light touch, as, group'd around,
They sang a song of greeting that ran thus: --
Enter in from toil and danger!
Ended here thy weary quest!
Now, no more to ease a stranger,
Thou shalt find reward and rest!
Love the Sancgreal! Love the blest!
Love's own heaven! it is here!
Hail! all hail! Love's happy guest,
Welcome here! welcome here!
Love shall fill thy soul with pleasure!
Love the Sancgreal! Love the dream!
Weaving joys for endless leisure,
Years will but like moments seem!
Love the Sancgreal! Love the blest!
Love's own heaven! it is here!
Hail! all hail! Love's happy guest,
Welcome here! welcome here!
While their bewildering voices fill'd his ear,
Their lithe, fair forms his sight, he, heedless then
Of aught beside, believed their siren words,
And willing follow'd them to fresh surprise.
For, lo! a chamber flooded with a light
Glowing in color without shade or glare,
Wherein were downy couches, spread with stuffs
Of gorgeous dyes deep fringed about with gold,
And poised between rich vases of all flowers
Can thrall the sense with fragrance and bright hues;
And in their midst a table heap'd with fruits
Luscious and ripe, nigh bursting with their juice,
'Mong dainty goblets sparkling with rare wine,
Whose fumes amid the scent of blossoms rose,
Like flames through incense, making warm his blood.
Athirst and hunger'd, wearied out and worn,
Sir Galahad sat not while women stood,
But lean'd with one arm on the board, while they
Gave ready service to allure his taste:
One brought him clusters of the purple grape,
One pour'd its amber essence, as a third
Stripp'd down the golden orange-rinds,
Or peel'd with jewell'd knife the rosy skin
Of mellow apples; while another broke
The brown stems from crisp, russet pears; he craved
The meat borne in upon its silver dish,
And once his hand crept towards the foaming cups;
But something -- either instinct in himself,
Or whisper of an unseen spirit near --
E'er warned him from them all, he knew not why:
So, with cool head and even pulse, he touch'd
No food but simple bread; and as he drain'd
Long draughts of water, while the damsels stared,
One quickly enter'd in their midst, who shone
Among the rest as might the noonday sun
Circled with twinkling stars; and Galahad
Thought for an instant that a minstrel's dream
Had taken shape, to thrill his throbbing heart
With timid wonder that aught out of heaven
Could be so fair. Form, face, voice, movement, dress,
Were all in harmony; and as she stood
Before him, with her vein'd lids droop'd adown,
Giving him welcome in her low, sweet tones,
There rush'd across his soul that one wild wave
Which whelms a proud man's reason, and makes weak
Earth's strongest Samsons. Suddenly he felt
How lone his life had been, how incomplete,
Half lived, divided as a perfect whole,
Ne'er to be rounded to entireness more
Until his being should absorb and blend
With this one woman's. Love, thus born full-grown,
The spirit's mystic Sancgreal seem'd indeed
That he sought outward sign of!
Days went by
As in a vision; hour in hour roll'd,
Till gliding time like flowing stream swept off
Th' unnoted marks of night and morn that show'd
Its course, and bore his life on rapid waves;
A helmless bark cast loose on unknown depths.
He kept mid luxury his simple ways,
Slept not on downy couches, drank no wine,
Wore still his sword and shield, as though might come
Some unexpected foe e'en to those halls;
He would not yield to sloth, or fire his blood,
For fear the fallen nature in his flesh
Should sully, e'en in thought, the image pure
He shrined for worship in his inmost soul.
Daily he touch'd her hand, sat at her feet,
Watching the changing beauty of her face;
His jealous envy mark'd when perfumed breeze
Lifted her golden hair; and if he felt
His breath come quick and fast, his youthful blood
Rushing in quicken'd beats, he stole away
To fight his passion till his lips could touch
Her garment's hem as if it were a saint's!
But once, as wearied of such homage high,
She threw aside the long restraint was worn
To win upon his nobleness, and deem'd
Her art had guided him, by slow degrees,
To point of her desire. Athwart his heart
A sharp pain like an arrow shot; a veil
Dropp'd from his charm'd sight; his bright dreams died!
Gravely and sadly he removed the arms
That clung about him, casting one last look
Of keen reproach upon the angry face,
Then rose and strode away with rapid steps,
Lest he should pause, and turn to love and sin and shame.
He found his waiting steed, and swiftly rode
Into the narrow way so full of thorns,
Oft hiding mid the briers, holding fast
His courser's mouth, lest he should gladly neigh
When groups of nymphs pass'd by in fruitless search.
He knew the Sancgreal must be farther on,
And took no heed of toil and danger now.
His soul was heavy with its broken trust;
And when he saw the idol he had rear'd
Upon his fancies of pure womanhood
Lie shatter'd by a breath, his sorrow left
His life no other aim save his old quest.
Anon Sir Launcelot, after striving long,
Did see on shore, while sailing on the sea,
A stately castle, and across the waves
A clear voice bade him enter there and find
Some part of his desire. He left the ship;
And, as he near'd the gates, he drew his sword,
Because of two fierce lions station'd close;
But something smote him sore upon the arm,
So that his weapon dropp'd; while the same tone
Accused his little faith, that trusted less
His Maker than his steel; then on his brow
He sign'd the cross, and harmless pass'd the beasts,
That crouch'd in homage. All the doors were wide
Of all the rooms, save one, whence music came;
And, as he vainly tried to stir its lock,
There stole across his soul the same deep sense
Of matchless joy had fill'd his peers that day
They took their oath to seek for it again.
Then on the threshold knelt Sir Launcelot down,
For well he wist the Sancgreal was within,
Praying, if ever he had pleased the Lord,
In spite of all his sins, that he might view
The holy thing he sought! And, lo! the door
Was open'd, and so great a light flow'd out
He scarce could see inside a silver stand,
That held the sacred vessel, cover'd o'er
With crimson samite, and bright angels round,
While hovering over with pierced hands and feet
The very Christ in glory ray'd!
He rose
To seize the Greal; but, ere he came anear,
A breath like burning smote him, that he fell,
And could not move or speak; when unseen hands
Lifted his form and bore him gently out.
He lay entranced for days, till time was ripe,
When other knights of his own fellowship,
Led there from different ways, his body found,
And tended him until his speech return'd;
And then he warn'd them, as they linger'd round
The portal closed they often strove to ope,
Lest they too should be smitten like himself
For over-boldness. "For now I know," he said,
"No man shall win the Sancgreal but the one
Whom Christ shall call! Alas! he call'd not me!"
And so they waited, till Sir Galahad,
After long journeys and adventures strange,
Came in their midst. They wonder'd much to see
His visage greatly changed, for all the youth
And bloom had gone from it, although it show'd
Rare beauty still, as from a grace within;
For he had lived with labor, sorrow, strife,
Yet ever meekly, patiently towards God,
And in true charity with men; his love,
His trial, and his grief, had only borne
His pure soul nigher heaven, and made him see
In other hearts the pain was in his own,
And kept him tender even when he smote.
And when they told him that within those walls
The Sancgreal was, he trembled, and his face
Was rapturous with joy; when, lo! a voice
Call'd three times "Galahad," and the closed door,
Barr'd 'gainst the rest, stood open unto him!
His comrades crowded in the hall, while he,
With timid steps, as doubting his own worth,
Went slowly in, and up the altar-steps,
Where stood the Holy Greal on silver stand.
He bow'd his head before it, as a choir
Of clustering angels sang exquisite strains;
While Christ's own self through circling lustre stretch'd
His wounded hand, when roll'd away the cloth
Of samite, and took up the sacred thing
And gave to him; then in sweet tones, that thrill'd
His listeners, bade him bear it o'er the land,
That all who saw it might be bless'd like him.
And then all vanish'd, save the vessel clasp'd
Close to the young knight's breast, who upward look'd
In praiseful ecstasy, while gather'd round
His peers, to gaze on it with solemn eyes,
And feel how lovely 'twas to draw so near
To aught just come from God; and Galahad
Took oath of them to travel as a guard
For their great gift, that all should help proclaim
Its power and good, that more might know delight.
Then journey'd they in company, save one,
Launcelot, who took the tidings to the king
Or ere he went to tell his own far realm.
And ever on their way the people flock'd
About the marvellous prize; the sick were heal'd,
The blind received their sight, and sinful lives
Grew purer, having known in part the bliss
That reigns in Paradise, and heard it said
Its joy would stay with them who merit proved;
The country's guilt was purged, and hope and love
Walk'd hand in hand, like seraphs, mid its homes!
Till they who humbly should have thank'd the Lord
That He had made them servants of His will,
Quarrell'd between themselves which one had done
The most to make the mighty Sancgreal known;
And at the last, in sooth, they question'd oft
The what it really was!
And Galahad,
Sore smitten, could not stay their angry tilts,
E'en when he went among them with his hands
Outholding the bless'd Greal! And then he pray'd
That Christ would take his spirit to Himself,
Where reign'd His peace. God's mercy heard his cry,
And, in full sight of all His angels, bore
The holy vessel from his dying arms
Up to the highest heaven. And only they
Have ever look'd upon the treasure since
Who pray and fast, and through repentant tears
Catch far-off glimpses of its glory's light.
And while he lay upon his couch and watch'd
The soaring messengers, the knights stood round,
E'en mid their mourning, all disputing still,
And asked him, ere he pass'd away, to tell
What he had deem'd the Sancgreal really was!
And Galahad uplifted his weak form,
And with his white face awed them, as his lips,
Quivering with death, spoke out his last, grand words:
"O Men! 'twas Truth! God's own Eternal Truth!"
CAMLAN
by
ROBERT BUCHANAN
I.
"I may not trust false Mordred,"
-- 'Twas thus did Arthur say, --
"He will not stint to treason do,
His uncle-King to slay;
So watch ye well when we are met,
And but ye chance to see
One sword unsheathed, upon them!
Be sure 'tis treachery!"
"I may not trust mine uncle,"
-- 'Twas thus did Mordred say, --
"This trick of truce and parleying
But hides some crooked play;
So watch ye well when we are met,
And but ye chance to see
One sword unsheathed, upon them!
Be sure 'tis treachery!"
II.
O gallant sight and goodly,
It was that morn, I ween,
To see these lords their barbed steeds
Rein proudly o'er the green!
Twelve knights on each attended,
Was each a knight renown'd,
Had Saxon slain, and Saracen,
And sat at Table Round.
III.
And kindly sped their parley,
And courteous was their cheer,
Nor sign was there from word or look
Betokened evil near;
But knight with knight of bye-gone times
Held converse blythe and free,
And passed the blood-red Gascon
In pledge of amity.
*****************************
IV.
The arrow shot at random
May reach a royal prey;
A wandering spark, in ashes hot,
May tower and temple lay;
The mole may set the torrent free
That sweeps o'er grove and glen,
And swamps the corn-green valley
Into a deadly fen!
******************************
V.
To search for toy or trinket
Dropped from his careless hand,
Amid the tufted heath alights
A knight of Mordred's band, --
An adder stung him fiercely,
In agony he drew
His sword, and severed sheerly
That evil worm in two.
VI.
But when they saw that faulchion's flash,
Burst one loud thunder yell
From either host! and on they dash
In deadly strife to mell.
"As easy bar the proud spring-tide
O'er Solway's sand to run,
Or back the lightning's volley,
As man his weird to shun."
Thus mused Sir Arthur as he turned
His horse's head, and sighed,
Then cheered his host and headlong plunged
Midmost the battle's tide!
Him followed knights three hundred,
Through Christentie renown'd,
The bravest knights in Logres-land, 1
And of the Table Round.
VII.
And thrice through Mordred's battle
A pass did Arthur clear
With Pridwin, and Escaliber, 2
And Rone, his deadly spear: --
No word was there of parley,
No thought was there to yield: --
Ere night a five-score thousand
Lay stark on Camlan's field.
*****************************
VIII.
A moment paused Sir Arthur
To cool his burning brow;
Three hundred knights had followed him --
How many follow now?
But only two! And wounded sore,
Beside a brook ran near,
He spied the false Sir Mordred,
Was leaning on his spear.
"Now pay me full, false traitor,
The debt thy treasons owe;
Would'st reive thine uncle's crown, and force
His Queen thy bed-fellowe!"
Then on the false Sir Mordred
Like wolf on fawn he flew,
And Rone his spear a full fathome
He thrust his body through.
IX.
Shrieked wild for pain that traitor knight,
And in his dying throe
On Arthur's helmet blindly strake
So furious fell a blow,
That blow nor bone nor basnet
Might stay its force nor stand:
Then dropped the shivered weapon
From Mordred's lifeless hand!
*****************************
X.
The moon is cold on Camlan,
And on its thousands slain,
Save but the pillers pille the dead,
None trode that silent plain!
To help Sir Arthur at his need
But only two were found,
Of all that brave three hundred
Sat at his Table Round!
His boteler and his chamberlain --
Sir Lucan and Bedwere --
And many a gash, and ghastly,
The fainting brothers bare.
Alas for good Sir Lucan!
His wound burst open wide,
And out thereat his bowels gushed,
He groaned aloud, and died!
XI.
And when Sir Arthur's trance was pass'd,
He gazed, and him beside,
Of all his many thousands, none
Save brave Bedwere espied.
And thus he spake -- "Sir Bedwere,
Go get thee haste, and take
My trusty sword Escaliber,
And cast in yonder lake;
And fling it far will all thy might,
What thereupon shall be
Observe it well, and speed thee
To truly tell it me."
XII.
That sword of worth and wonder,
Whose sweep in Arthur's hand
Nor shirt of mail, nor plate of brass,
Nor casque of steel might stand,
A priceless gift gave Merlin,
Won from his peerless make.
Within their bower of pleasure,
The Lady of the Lake.
XIII.
Embossed was hilt and handle
With gem and jewel rare,
And scrolled the blade with magic sign,
And mystic character.
"Ah pity were," -- Sir Bedwere thought, --
To fling in yonder lake
So goodly thing!" and hid it
Within hazle-brake.
XIV.
"What sawest thou, Sir Bedwere?"
"But wave and water free;"
"Nay, nay, thy vision wandered,
Go look more heedfully.
What sawest thou now?" "Nor token
Nor sign the water gave,
But silverly and softly
Did wap with wind and wave."
XV.
He looked a look of anger,
"Shame on the knight would say
A soothless tale twice over,
All for a sword's inlay!
But haste, my life is ebbing fast,
Thy fault and folly through --"
This time the charmed weapon
Far o'er the waters flew.
XVI.
But ere it reached the water,
A giant arm upreared,
And clutched it fast, and waved it thrice
On high, then disappeared;
And when Sir Bedwere told that sign,
"Must now no tarrying --
Haste, lay me down beside the lake,
They're nigh will succour bring."
*****************************
XVII.
And swift as arrow shoots from bow,
Shot barge of beauty rare,
Nor steerer had, nor rower,
That barge, but ladies fair:
And of these ladies crowns of gold
Upon their head had three,
And glittered in the moonlight
Their jewelled bravery!
XVIII.
Aloud she wept that queenliest seemed
That crowned three among --
"Alas! alas! my brother dear,
Why tarried'st thou so long?
Nor weeting gavest, nor warning.
Of thine so evil cheer,
Nor spedst that token sooner
When help was all so near!
Light task had been, and speedy,
Thy gashes green to close,
And by mine art, and with mine herbs
To work thy pain's repose;
But now long time and sorely
My leech's art 'twill strain,
And many a year must circle
Ere thou see earth again!"
XIX.
His fainting head they pillowed
That lady's lap upon;
"Now row ye, sisters, row ye
With speed for Avalon!"
As meteor shoots or moon-beam
Across the waters blue,
It shot, that bark of mystery,
Then melted from the view.
And long with fear and wonder
Looked Bedwere from the shore
Across that silent water,
But ne'er saw Arthur more!
NOTE. -- Though Sir Bedwere never saw Arthur more, it is unnecessary to inform the readers of the Morte Arthur , that, by accident or miracle, he eventually discovered his tomb in the chapel of an hermitage at Glastonbury (the Avalon of the Round-Table Romances); that he became forthwith a monk, and spent the residue of his days in praying for the soul of his royal master; that Queen Guinevere took the veil at Ambresbury, and made a good end; that Sir Launcelot, after finding out by chance the place of her retreat, being refused his earnest petition for one parting kiss, and being, moreover, lectured by the former partner of his guilt of the sinfulness of his past life, and admonished to repentance, went on his way sorrowing till he reached Glastonbury; where finding his old comrade-in-arms, Sir Bedwere, now turned monk, he joined his society, assumed the monastic habit, was in due time ordained a priest, and becoming as pre-eminent in piety as he had been in valour, died at a good old age in the odour of sanctity; his body being, at his dying request, removed to Joyous Garde for interment, while his soul was (as the bishop who in a vision had witnessed the whole transaction, with arithmetical fidelity testified) escorted to heaven by "thirty thousand and seven" attending angels!
Footnotes.
1. Logres is England, so named from Locrine (or Logrine), eldest son of the fabulous Brut or Brutus, to whom in the tripartite division of the island, it fell by inheritance.
2. Pridwin , the shield; Escalibur (or Kaliburn), the sword; and Rone , the spear of King Arthur.
GAWAYNE'S GHOST
by
ROBERT BUCHANAN
[During the expedition to France, which forms the subject of the preceding Fragment, Sir Mordred, the nephew of Arthur, and brother of Gawayne, had been left in England governor of the kingdom. In his uncle's absence Mordred usurps the crown. Having caused a false report of Arthur's death beyond the sea to be circulated, he procures himself to be proclaimed and crowned king in his stead. Queen Guinevere, whose person -- after she had with scorn rejected his unlawful addresses -- he attempted to seize, effects her escape to the Tower of London (Troynovant) which she fortifies strongly, and whence she sets Mordred and his power at defiance. On receiving intelligence of these events, Arthur suddenly raises the seige of Benwyk, and marching with all haste to Calais, crosses with his army to Dover. There he finds Mordred with a formidable army posted to dispute his landing. After a sanguinary contest the usurper is defeated; but in this action, in which he had borne a conspicuous part, Sir Gawayne was unfortunately slain, having been hit with an arrow on an unhealed wouund, received in one of his encounters with Sir Launcelot.
On his death-bed he indites an affecting letter to Launcelot, in which he laments the injustice he had done him by his vindictive and implacable persecution, implores his forgiveness, and adjures him by the memory of their ancient friendship to speed to the rescue of the king in this pressing extremity of his fortunes. Sir Launcelot hastens to obey this call; but he arrives too late -- the events detailed in the two Fragments following having occurred before he was able to set foot on the shores of England.
I.
To strength him for the morrow,
Sir Arthur's gone to sleep
Within his tent, at midnight,
And sunk in slumber deep;
For dight to deadly battle,
Near Sarisbury's town,
Is camped the false Sir Mordred
Would reive his uncle's crown.
II.
Were it a heavenly vision --
Or were it but his dream --
Him seemed Sir Gawayne suddenly
Into his chamber came;
His nephew, brave Sir Gawayne,
Had been at Dover slain.
And ladies fair to look upon
Were many in his train.
"O welcome! welcome, Gawayne!"
Cried Arthur joyfully --
"Where hast thou tarried all so long
When I had need of thee?
Methought that thou at Dover
Hadst been to surely slain;
And who be they, these maidens gay,
So many of thy train?"
III.
"These once on earth were ladies,
Belied, but chaste and true,
For whom, upon their slanderers,
My sword did battle do;
And they have won me grace on high,
By favour and by prayer,
To come this night to redd thee
To-morrow's fight beware.
Go buy thee truce from Mordred,
Whate'er the cost may be,
For month and day, till Launcelot
Bring help from 'yond the sea: --
For if be fought to-morrow,
From high this warning know,
Is doomed thee weird in battle --
Is doomed thy country wo!"
IV.
Upstarts, with fear and wonder,
Sir Arthur from his bed,
And wildly gazed him round the tent,
But found the vision fled.
Sir Lucan and Sir Bedwere
He's charged with haste repair
To Mordred's camp by break of morn,
Nor promise stint nor prayer,
But purchase peace, whate'er the cost,
And set with him a day
To meet in peaceful parley,
Between their host midway.
GAWAYNE'S REVENGE
by
ROBERT BUCHANAN
I.
With goodly lands and lordships
In Bearn and Britany,
Hath Launcelot freely dowered his knights
Had passed with him the sea;
A threescore knights had brothers been
All of the Table Round --
Were left no threescore braver,
I wot, on British ground.
Their wars an end, the sheathed sword
They dangle from the wall,
And feast them free, each bounteous lord,
In hospitable hall.
For trumpet's breath and clarion,
The minstrel's harp they hear;
And ladies' eyes make bosoms bleed,
Had bled to shaft and spear.
II.
Alas! that Hate's foul blossom
On Love's own tree will blow!
And friendship stranged, that friend will prove
To friend the fellest foe.
Across the deep, from Cardiff's keep,
A threescore thousand men
Have followed Arthur and Gawayne,
And camped in fair Guienne;
And terms of ransom they have laughed,
And truce to haughty scorn;
For dead to do Sir Launcelot
The fierce Gawayne hath sworn.
III.
But stout is Benwyk's castle,
And Benwyk's trench is deep;
Are gate and drawbridge massy-strong,
And Benwyk's walls are steep;
And on these walls are archers store
Handle their bows with skill,
And shaft for shaft, and shout for shout,
They render with good will.
IV.
Rode proudly on his coal-black steed
Sir Gawayne forth each morn,
And blew defy to Launcelot,
And hailed with names of scorn.
It shamed them sore that brave threescore,
Such knightly blot to bide;
And will, or nill, Sir Launcelot,
Must Bors to battle ride.
V.
Out gate, and over drawbridge,
In fell career he's flung;
But man and horse, in midway course,
To earth hath Gawayne dung.
Spurred to his brother's help at need,
Sir Lionel, in vain!
With shivered lance, in ghostly trance,
He stretches on the plain.
*****************************
VI.
And thus each morn rode Gawayne,
And mocked them day by day,
And evil fared the venturous knight
Would Gawayne's arm essay.
Till traitor thrice, and coward too,
Sir Launcelot he appealed;
He clenched his teeth, he clutched his spear,
And rushed into the field.
*****************************
VII.
"Or art thou man," thought Launcelot,
"Or art thou evil fiend?"
But pause or parley as they fought
For three hours an end.
And many a bruise and buffet,
On casque and coat he bore,
For as his strength was waning,
But waxed Sir Gawayne's more,
Sith unto him when shriven --
If sooth the story ran --
This wondrous gift of grace was given
On prayer of holy man,
That day by day, from morn to noon --
And by a twelve month's space --
His strength should go on waxing
For long three long hours apace.
But sooth or not, I nothing wot
That gift, as others say,
Was power from hell, and won by spell
Him taught his aunt Le Fay,
For spite she bore Queen Guinevere,
Led Arthur to her bower,
The when she lay in sinful play
Aclasp with paramour.
*****************************
VIII.
But now is passed the turn of noon,
Sir Gawayne's gift is shent;
He has no strength save but his own,
And that right sorely spent.
In stirrup stark stood Launcelot,
And swayed his sword amain, --
That stroke hath felled Sir Gawayne
Astound upon the plain.
"Now use thy vantage -- slay me,
As I would thee outright;"
"I slay me ne'er," said Launcelot,
"On field a fallen knight."
Then proudly turned, and slowly
To Benwyk took his way;
Was loud rejoice in Benwyk,
In Arthur's host dismay.
On litter low that wounded knight
To Arthur's tent they bore.
The where on weary bed he lay
A long three weeks and more.
*****************************
IX.
"Go saddle me my starkest steed --
Go fetch my stoutest spear --
And bring me speed," cried Launcelot --
"My trustiest battle-gear."
Like thunder-clouds they clash, they crash,
Their staves a'flinter flee;
That furious course dashed man and horse
To earth right heavily.
And foot to foot they counter,
And cross them shield with shield;
More stern or stout in bloody bout
I wot ne'er strove on field.
X.
But ever this time Sir Launcelot
His buckler's fence below
With patient art traced warily,
And traversed to and fro: --
And long on casque and corslet
Full grievous dint he bore,
And many a fountain spirted
Its crimson jet of gore!
XI.
But when three hours were ended,
By token sure he knew
Sir Gawayne's strength was ebbing fast,
His blows fell faint and few: --
And shouting loud his battle-cry,
He smote with main and might
So fast, so fell, Sir Gawayne
Swooned on the field outright.
*****************************
XII.
A wounded man, on sore sick-bed
For weary months he lay,
Till false Sir Mordred's treason
Called Arthur's host away.
JOYOUS GARDE
by
ROBERT BUCHANAN
I.
'Mid fragrant flowers and fairest
The scorpion oft will bide,
And ripest fruits and rarest
The vengeful hornet hide.
O'er Sodom's lake in beauty
The tempting clusters hung;
But plucked, like soot that baleful fruit
It mocked the loathing tongue!
The summer cloud rains fastest
When rainbows brightest shine;
The deadliest draught is couched and quaffed
In cups of choicest wine:
And lawless love, with ecstacy,
Though snatched in bed or bower,
Hath in its honey poison,
A scorpion in its flower!
*****************************
II.
So thought, I ween, Sir Launcelot,
So thought Queen Guinevere,
When Arthur camped round Garde Joyeuse
To seek his wrong's repair,
And banner broad and banderol
Streamed thick o'er the array
Of knight, and squire, and yeoman,
Beseiged it night and day.
The walls are stout -- the garners
Are full -- and week by week,
In vain by force or famine
To win that tower they seek:
But day by day Sir Launcelot
With gibe and jeer they taunt --
And traitor hail, and bordeller ,
And hoot him recreant !
III.
"Now Christ me save, Sir Uncle!
This may no more be borne;
But let us out, and yonder rout,
We'll soon abate their scorn!
Like fox that skulks in cover
It shames me here to shield,"
Cried fierce Sir Bors -- "To-morrow
We'll ride us forth a'field --
So redd ye well that crow so loud,
Look to your battle-gear,
For we will stir your slumbers
With prick of lance and spear!"
*****************************
IV.
And fair it rose that morrow,
Brought in a doleful day;
On braird and bent the blobs besprent
Like drops of diamond lay:
Like darkling sea, the mountains
Heaved in their misty screen,
And Tweed sang soft his morning song
Beneath his shroud unseen.
But when that cloudy curtain rose,
Brave sight it was to see
On plain apost, Sir Arthur's host
Drawn out in battles three:
And on their hinges shrieking
The heavy gates are swung,
And forth thereout, with clang and shout,
Three gallant armies flung!
V.
Their banners wapped and wavered
O'er streams of rushing steel;
And hoarsely brayed the trumpet's blast
Their onset's deadly peal.
Rose shout and cheer, and laughter wild,
And shriek and frenzy-curse,
The glint of glaive, the dint of mace,
The thud of falling horse.
Are helm and hauberk ringing
To swords are smiting keen;
Are battered casque, and cloven shield,
And showers of arrows sheen: --
Now backward, and now forward,
Now swells, now sinks the fray;
Like forest heaves and hollows
Beneath the tempest's sway.
Sir Blamor, and Sir Lionel,
Sir Bors, and Palamede,
That day in battle bore the bell
For deeds of doughtyhede:
For Arthur still, and fierce Gawayne,
Nor heed nor hinder not,
But keep their swords undinted
For only Launcelot.
*****************************
VI.
And they have pressed him hot and sore,
All round the battle-field;
But ever he their feud forbore,
And kept him with his shield.
Then upspake Lavayne angrily,
Sir Launcelot, think thee well,
Thy nephews twain, are nigh to slain,
Sir Bors and Lionel,
And yet thy most thou sparest still,
Nor slayest them that slay;
But skulk'st like hunted badger,
Or stand'st like boar at bay.
To see thee braved and baited thus,
Puts thine to evil cheer;
The foe but mocks thy mercy,
And counts it all of fear."
*****************************
VII.
He led him where on sward aswoon
Sir Bors lay bleeding fast;
All pale for rage grew Launcelot,
And tears for anger brast --
He cheered his steed -- he set his teeth --
He raised his battle-cry --
And where the death-drift fierceliest drove,
Flashed there his sword on high!
With shout and cheer hath followed him
His gallant chivalry; --
Lavayne, Safyr, and Bellangere,
And Urre of Hungary.
Fought yeoman stout, fought burgher bold,
Each man as he were wood;
Ere even-song, Sir Launcelot
Rode fetlock-deep in blood!
MERLIN'S TOMB
by
ROBERT BUCHANAN
PART FIRST.
Ah fatal thirst -- Ah fond aspire
Forbidden things to know!
Dis-Edener thou of our first sire!
Well-spring of all our woe!
The first device the tempter tried,
Thou art his favourite still,
Dost woo and win him, his witch-bride,
Soul-pledged to work his will.
*****************************
King Arthur weeps in Carduel,
His Merlin's mystic doom --
Sir Gawayne rides o'er down and dell
In search of Merlin's tomb.
But vain the quest. Betrayed by thee,
With sinful love to aid,
In airy tower that none may see
Is mighty Merlin laid.
*****************************
"Sir Merlin, thou hast taught me long,
And taught me wondrous well,
The magic power of sign and song,
And necromantic spell."
(Thus spake the Lady Viviane,
It is peerless paramoure,
As they in dalliance fond and fain
Lay in their forest bower.)
"And I can bid the bright noontide
Turn to a midnight gloom,
And toothless crone seem bonny bride
To mock the gay bridegroom.
"And I can tame the proudest knight,
And change to hart or hare,
And crowd with keep and castled height
The void abyme of air.
"And I can bridge the ocean-stream;
On moorland waste and wild,
Bid forest wave, or palace gleam
By silver lake in-isled.
"And I can wake ærial strain,
The moping mood to cheer,
As viol, lute, orpherien,
Did mix sweet music near.
"And I can bid with hound and horn
The mimic huntsman ride
With shout o'er fell and forest borne,
Athwart the welkin wide.
"And I can make knight, countering knight,
Career with levelled lance,
Or dames and squires to bevy bright
In masque or merry dance.
"But there's one thing I cannot do;
I pray thee teach it me --"
(And round his neck her arms she threw,
And kissed him coaxingly.)
"How might a lady have her still
Her lord in loving bower,
Whence he could not, save at her will,
Without or wall or tower?
"Can magic build me bower like this?
O sweet methinks it were
In such a bower in life-long bliss
To hold thee prisoner!
"A happy bondman shouldst thou be --
A gentle jailer I --
When thou would'st forth, mine only fee
A kiss -- thy ransom high."
Sir Merlin frowned -- Sir Merlin sighed,
But as entranced he lay
On that fair breast, his purpose died,
He could not say her nay.
Ne'er loved the Lady Viviane,
It seemed so fondly well,
And long I ween ere morning dawn,
She learned that fatal spell!
PART SECOND.
In May, when flowers are springing fair,
And woods are bourgeoning,
And lustly love in earth and air
Lordeth each living thing,
Sir Merlin and his peerless make
Are wandering hand in hand
By flowery dell and forest brake
Through fair Broceliande
They drank them of that magic fount
Renowned in minstrel song,
That gusheth from his stony mount --
Enchanted Berenton!
As by the wizard well they stood
-- To prove the legend true --
Against the rock in sportive mood
Some sprinkled drops they threw.
Amain, aloud, from shivered cloud
It dashed the drenching shower,
Beneath a linden's leafy shroud
The laughing lovers cower.
Then gaily on their way they wend
Thorough that forest fair,
In ferny glade, and briery bend,
Startling the hind and hare.
With linked arm in amorous talk
They stroll the forest through,
And clasp and kiss in lone wood-walk,
As loving pair will do.
Anon they reached the fairest nook
In that fair wood, a bower
O'er which a hoary hawthorn shook
Odorous its blossoms' shower.
The spot was fair, the lovers fain;
Beneath that hawthorn tree
Sir Merlin and fair Viviane
Disport them lovingly.
*****************************
But summer's ray, and lover's play,
Will medicine kindly sleep;
On Viviane's lap Sir Merlin lay
And sunk in slumber deep.
The lady looked -- "He slumbers well,"
(She thought -- ah wo the hour!)
"Now is the time to prove my spell --
My spell of wondrous power!"
Gently Sir Merlin's head she's placed,
And slowly, on the ground;
Then muttering, with her wimple traced
A ring the hawthorn round.
Nine times that magic ring she made --
Nine times that spell she spoke,
Then on her lap the slumberer laid;
But when Sir Merlin woke,
He looked a wild, he looked a long
Upon his prison-bower;
It seemed a castle fair and strong,
Begirt with trench and tower.
Sir Merlin frown'd, Sir Merlin sigh'd,
Fair Viviane laughed the while;
"Such fortune still must fool betide
Will trust a woman's wile!
"The fatal coil thine art hath wove
Thine art can ne'er undo!"
And long with mightiest spell she strove,
But ah! she found it true.
And there that lady fond and fair --
The Lady of the Lake --
By day, by night, will oft repair
Her sweet solace to take.
But Arthur weeps in Carduel
His Merlin's mystic doom;
And Gawayne seeks, by down and dell,
In vain for Merlin's tomb!
NOTE. -- The above is the account which the Romance of Merlin gives of the final disappearance of the great enchanter. Other versions of his story, differing altogether in the circumstances from that adopted in the text, will be found in Drayton's Poly-Olbion, (Song v.); in Spenser's Fairy Queen, (Book iii.); in the Morte Arthur, (Book iv.); and in Ariosto's Orlando, Furioso, (Book iii.)
The Forest of Broceliand (or Brecheliant), the scene of so many of the adventures recorded in the Round Table Romances was in Britany; and in the Twelfth Century it comprehended -- as Chateaubriand in his Auto-biography informs us -- the districts composing the cantons of Fougeres, Rennes, Becherel, Dinan, St Malo, and Dol. In it was situated the famous Well of Berenton (or Belenton), which possessed the rare virtue of procuring for the neighbourhood, whenever needed, a seasonable supply of rain, all that was necessary in order to this, being, that any one who drank of it should, when he had done so, sprinkle some of the water on the rock whence the fountain issued.
The loss of Merlin, his counsel and his art, was deeply felt by King Arthur. As his disappearance had been sudden and mysterious, Sir Gawayne, and other knights of the Round Table, volunteered their services to go in quest of him. Why their search proved unsuccessful, the preceding poem will explain.
THE RENDERING
by
ROBERT BUCHANAN
I.
Our lord the Pope bears Peter's key,
And sits in Peter's chair,
It vexed him in his Christendie
Such sinful doings were:
A learned clerk to Garde Joyeuse,
He's bid with haste repair,
Should warn Sir Launcelot, on his curse,
Restore Queen Guinevere:
And charge her lord, as loyal knight,
But anger or arraign,
To have his lady scatheless
Into his grace again.
*****************************
II.
And first of knights an hundred,
In gallant graith rode by;
Waved from each helm, in sign of peace,
An olive-branch on high,
An hundred knights of prowess,
That deadly stroke could deal; --
Their steeds with velvet and with gold,
Were trapped from head to heel.
And next, in costly mantles
Of golden tissue rare,
Full stately rode Sir Launcelot,
And lovely Guinevere.
A matchless pair! like bridgegroom
They looked, I ween, and bride:
"Ah! pity," whispered ladies,
"Their love was sin!" and sigh'd.
A four-and-twenty maidens,
On milk-white palfrey borne,
Behind the Queen rode daintily,
Fresh as that April morn.
With scarf and plume, in boyhood's bloom,
Behind Sir Launcelot,
Of gentle strain, twelve pages rein
Their curving coursers hot.
*****************************
III.
They cross'd the presence-chamber,
And knelt them duteously;
And lords and ladies many a'wept
For joy that sight to see.
But sternly cold Sir Arthur looked
Upon that kneeling pair;
Nor word he spake to Launcelot,
Nor word to Guinevere!
*****************************
Flashed then his eye for anger,
And flushed his brow for shame;
And proudly rose Sir Launcelot,
And raised that royal dame --
"My lord the king! this lady
Have to thy grace again,
And love her true, and cherish her,
So doth the Pope ordain.
And be there lord, or be there knight,
Save but thyself, shall dare
By sign or say, to counter-nay,
That she is true and fair --
For liar, and for libeller,
I brand him on the spot;
And in the trial deadly
Will prove it in his throat.
When thou, by false hearts lied on,
Did'st foul suspect thy Queen,
This arm ere now, with Heaven to help,
Hath proved her clear and clean.
And when the traitor, Aggravayne" --
"'Tis thou the traitor art,"
Shouted Sir Gawayne, hoarse for rage, --
"A traitor to the heart!
Thy lief lord thou hast dearly wronged,
And slain me brothers three;
And two unarmed -- nor hurt nor harm
Had compassed thine or thee!"
IV.
"My lord! laments me sorely
That twain my lovers true;
But well thou wot'st 'twas blindly done,
Unweeting whom I slew.
And for atonement, hear thou now,
The penance I intend --
To Sandwich town, in sackcloth gown,
To barefoot pilgrim wend:
And whereso'er I rest by night,
To found me convent fair,
Where holy men, the live year long,
Shall for their souls do prayer."
V.
O then, on Launcelot kindly
Sir Arthur turned his eye;
But hastily, and haughtily,
Sir Gawayne made reply --
"My lord the king, so listeth him,
But anger or arraign,
May take that lady to his grace,
Or if he list, refrain:
But peace or pardon pledge he thee,
Or seat at Table Round,
Shall never more Sir Gawayne
Be seen on British ground.
So speed thee hence in safety,
As safely thou art come:
But tarry not, beyond the sea
To harbour find and home,
Ere fifteen days be come and gone;
Or wete thou well ere long,
Our trumpets from thy morning-sleep
Shall wake thee with their song."
*****************************
VI.
"Ah, noble realm!" sighed Launcelot,
And must we part us so?
For bield or biding here is none,
While Gawayne is my foe!
Alas! that land or lordship,
I wan or knightly name,
In this fair isle, like felon vile,
To be cast forth with shame!
O broad art thou, and beautiful,
The Briton's isle to see,
With mead, and mere, and mountain,
And strath and forest free!
For trench thou hast the ocean-stream,
And rocks for rampart-wall;
Thou rearest steed for knightly need,
And steer for festive hall.
For brand, for bow, to ride, to row,
Or battle-axe to wield.
So stalworth arm, so fearless heart,
No hand on earth may yield,
Or dames so true, or maidens
So witch with beauty's smile, --
A happy-doled that man I hold
Doth home the Briton's isle!
But false and fickle lover
Is fortune well I know;
Her wheel a'roll, who loftiest rise
Do ever fall most low.
A banished man and branded
From land I loved so long,
Most noble dame! speak fair my name
Against maligner's wrong.
And come defame or danger,
Then lightly send me word;
And doubt thou ne'er Sir Launcelot
Shall right thee with his sword!"
*****************************
VII.
He kissed her ivory forehead,
Her trembling hand he took,
And round that presence-chamber
He looked a lofty look --
"Stands here the man shall say it,
Or shall uphold it said,
She is untrue this lady
To Arthur's bond or bed?"
Then to her lord he led her,
And reverently he bent
Before them both in silence,
And forth for ever went!
THE RESCUE
by
ROBERT BUCHANAN
I.
The sun shines fair on holm and hill,
On wood and waving corn,
But there is wail in Carleil
On that fair summer's morn.
The noblest lady in the land
Is doomed, ah, wo the while!
To shameful death, with lighted brand,
At yonder fatal pile.
*****************************
II.
And hark, the dede-bell's dolesome sound!
And pacing sad and slow,
Two score were knights of Table Round
Compass that place of wo.
Sir Gareth and Sir Gaherys 1
Are of that knightly band,
But loth I ween, and weaponless,
To do the king's command.
And helm'ed heads adown are hung
For pity and for pain;
And sobs are shrieked, and hands are wrung,
And tears like summer-rain
From gentle eyes are showering fast,
To see that lady fair,
Like Beauty's ghost, walk palely past
With feet and tresses bare.
Diskirtled to her snowy shift,
She's reached that fatal spot,
Then knelt her down and made her shrift --
Ah! where was Launcelot?
As up she rose, one hurried look
To east, and then to west --
Then mournfully her head she shook,
And to her death address'd.
O ne'er did sculptor's hand, I ween,
Shape marble half so fair,
As stood on green that matchless queen,
Unkirtled Guinevere.
And maidens swooned and warriors wept,
As slowly to the stake,
All in her smock, that lady stept
Her doleful doom to take.
III.
They've lit the brand -- they've bound her fast;
But hark! blown long and loud
From far a blast! and all aghast
Disparts the flying crowd!
"A Launcelot! A Launcelot!"
It nears their battle-cry --
And man and horse all reeking hot
Dash in that chivalry!
All armèd knights of gallant strain,
And of the Table Round;
Sir Bors, Sir Blamor, Sir Lavayne,
Sir Palamede renown'd:
Sir Ector, and Sir Lionel,
Sir Urre of Hungarie,
And others more it needs not tell,
A twenty knights and three.
IV.
O madly right and madly left
Sir Launcelot blindly strake,
And helms and heads in sunder cleft,
To reach that deadly stake.
Nor wist not in that maddening press
Two knights unarmed he slew,
Sir Gareth and Sir Gaherys,
And both his lovers true.
That evil chance hath bred him pain,
I ween, and meikle wo;
For it hath made the brave Gawayne
His fierce for ever foe.
V.
With lance a'rest and sword a'sweep,
So fell onslaught they made
Of that two score, in mortal sleep
A thirty knights are laid.
And onward dashed Sir Launcelot
To save his lady fair;
With bloody brand the cords he cut --
Joy, joy, for Guinevere!
With haste his mantle's screen he wound
To hap his lady's charms;
She sobbed her thanks to Heaven, and swoon'd
Within his clasping arms.
Gently he's placed her on his selle,
Then leapt him light afore,
And spurred his steed o'er flood and fell --
A precious freight he bore.
And blythe that lady was I wot,
And oft her circling arm
Caressed her loving Launcelot,
Nor foe she drad nor harm.
And oft his ladye-love he cheered,
And oft his gallant steed;
Nor drew his rein until he neared
His castle-bower on Tweed --
His castle fair of Joyous Garde,
Whereat a live-long year
In worship, and in loving ward,
Abode Queen Guinevere!
Footnotes
1. Gareth and Gaherys were brothers of Sir Gawayne, and consequently nephews of King Arthur, their mother (wife of King Lot) being his half-sister. Sir Gawayne had protested against the act of putting the Queen to death, and refused to be present at the execution of the sentence.
THE TRYSTE
by
ROBERT BUCHANAN
I.
Ah, lawless love -- Ah reinless lust,
The evil ye have done!
Ye laid proud Priam's domes in dust,
And Priam's glorious son.
The giant judge of Israel,
By you the Ethnic's scorn,
In blindness and in bondage fell,
And ground Philistian corn.
Through you nigh lost in impious war
A brother's race hath been,
At Gibeah, and Baal-Tamar --
The seed of Benjamin.
And ye have soiled with sinful blood
A peerless knight renown'd,
And wrecked the noble brotherhood
Of Arthur's Table Round!
*****************************
II.
King Arthur, on the peep of morn,
Hath rode with gallant cheer
From Carleil, with hound and horn,
To chase the forest deer.
"Two days and nights in forest free,"
He thus bespake his Queen.
"A merry hunter will I be,
And couch in coppice green."
Ah, wo the wile! Ah, wo the hour!
'Twas Fay Morgana's plot: 1
The Queen bids to her midnight bower
Her lover Launcelot.
Him redd his brave nevèwe in vain,
Sir Bors, to well beware
Sir Mordred and Sir Aggravayne,
And doubt some deadly snare.
His blood was high, his heart was bold,
And at love's genial hour
He wrapped him in his mantle's fold,
And sought his lady's bower.
III.
I may not ween, I may not wot,
Within that chamber fair,
What did the loving Launcelot
And lovely Guinevere --
But wrought they sin, or wrought they no,
Short time had they, I ween,
When shouts were heard, "False traitor, ho!
And ho, thou harlot-queen!"
Sir Mordred and Sir Aggravayne
Sprang forth from hiding near,
And twelve good knights were armed amain
With sword, and shield, and spear.
IV.
"Alas! alas!" the lady wept,
"Our love hath cruel end,
Thou shalt be slain, and I be stripp'd
At shameful stake and brenned!"
"Jhesu forbid!" cried Launcelot,
"Had I some harness here" --
"There's none, there's none, too well I wot,"
Sobbed Lady Guinevere.
And crash! against the chamber's door
The knights drive might and main --
"Come forth! come forth, base bordellour,"
Shouted Sir Aggravayne.
V.
Then proud and high flashed Launcelot's eye
"I may no longer brook
So foul defame, so foul defye"
And in his arms he took
His ladye-love--"But lady fair,
As I have loved thee long,
And loved thee true, nor failed thee, were
Thy quarrel right or wrong,
Pray for my soul when I am slain --
But fear thou nought of ill,
For at thy need, my nephews twain
Shall be thy champions still:
And on my lands, and in my seat,
For dead Sir Launcelot's sake,
Among my kin, in queenly state,
Thy life-long pleasure take."
VI.
The lady sobbed, the lady swoon'd,
He kissed her o'er and o'er,
Then round his arm his mantle wound,
And slant the chamber's door
Unfolded half -- a weirded man
Is he shall first advance --
With bourde and ban he leads their van,
Burly Sir Colgrevaunce.
One buffet -- on the chamber's floor
He dunts with deadly moan;
Swiftly Sir Launcelot steiked the door,
And did his harness on
With lady's help. Then lightily
He forth that chamber sprung,
And knightily and mightily
He strode his foes among.
He dealt him left, he dealt him right,
Full many a stalworth stroke;
Ah! wo was him, wanchancy wight,
On whom his buffet broke!
And stiffening stark, by dead of dark.
Beside Sir Aggravayne,
Are twelve good knights of might and mark --
Sir Mordred fled amain.
*****************************
VII.
"Now lady fair! now lady mine!
Away to bower with me!
For evermore my foe and thine
Needs must Sir Arthur be."
"Alas! that were to worse thy plight --
But be I doomed to die,
I wot me well my loyal knight
Will to the rescue fly.
So speed thee gone!" -- one long embrace --
With haste and heavy cheer
He hied him from that fatal place,
And from his lady dear.
Footnotes
1. Morgana, or Morgaine le fay, was half-sister to King Arthur. She was a powerful enchantress, scarcely inferior to the Lady of the Lake herself, but otherwise a lady of a very indifferent character, "born of fire and lasciviousness," as Merlin more correctly than courteously describes her. In the present instance, however, it must be stated in mitigation of her offence, that in laying a trap for the virtue of her sister-in-law, she was but repaying Queen Guinevere in kind. For we learn from the Table-Round Romances, that on a former occasion the Queen had maliciously conducted Arthur to Morgana's bower, at a critical conjuncture in a love-tryste, similar to that into which she here inveigles Launcelot and Guinevere.
SIR GALAHAD: A CALL TO THE HEROIC
by
JAMES BURNS, M.A.
"My strength is as the strength of ten
Because my heart is pure"
Dedicated
BY SPECIAL PERMISSION TO
FIELD-MARSHAL SIR JOHN D.P. FRENCH, G.C.B., O.M., G.C.V.O., K.C.M.G.
AND THE GALLANT SOLDIERS OF THE KING
The Vow
"I made them lay their hands in mine and swear
To reverence the King, as if he were
Their conscience, and their conscience as their King,
To break the heathen and uphold the Christ,
To ride abroad redressing human wrongs,
To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it,
To honour his own words as if his God's,
To lead sweet lives in purest chastity,
To love one maiden only, cleave to her,
And worship her by years of noble deeds."
TENNYSON: "Idylls of the King"
This picture was presented by G.F. Watts to Eton College. The purpose of the gift was not to increase the wealth of the college by putting it in possession of a valuable work of art; it was that the picture might be a challenge to its youth. The authorities, realising this, appropriately placed it in the College Chapel, so that generation after generation of the youth of England might have before them the image of the stainless knight, and be inspired to follow him.
The moment Watts has chosen to depict Sir Galahad is that moment of vision, so nobly expressed by Tennyson in the "Idylls of the King," when the young knight beholds the Holy Grail, and makes his deathless choice. According to the old legend this "Holy Grail" was the sacred Cup used by our Lord in the Last Supper, which in some way passed into the hands of Joseph of Arimathæa, who, it was said, carried it with him to Calvary on the awful day of the Cross, and caught in it the last drops of blood which fell from the Saviour's side. This possession of the Redeemer's blood was found to have endued the Cup or Grail with miraculous spiritual potency, so that it became in the world a blessed channel of mystic and divine grace to all who looked upon it. But, alas!
"The timesThough snatched from earth because of man's unworthiness it was yet believed that to the pure in heart, and to those whose eyes had been purged by tears and prayer, a vision of the sacred chalice would still be vouchsafed. Nay, more, that some day, when sin had been driven from the world, and love had gained conquest of the human heart, the holy chalice would return. So-
Grew to such an evil, that the holy cup
Was caught away to heaven, and disappeared."
"when Arthur madeFired with this enthusiasm, in the spirit of chivalric adventure mixed with spiritual longing, the Knights of the Round Table set out in the Holy Quest. But alas! they had not counted the cost, or realised aright the nature of their endeavour. The majority through inconstancy and lack of inner sincerity failed, their enthusiasms too quickly waned, and they returned disenchanted and disillusioned to Arthur's court. Many followed "wandering fires;" some saw only the trailing light which followed the Cup as it flashed upward, while Sir Launcelot, the bravest of the brave, because of his sinful love for Guinivere, and because he clung to his sin, saw the cup as holy wrath and fire, as swift and stern retribution. Only to Sir Galahad did the mystic chalice disclose itself in all its uplifting spiritual glory-to Sir Galahad the stainless knight, sans peur et sans reproche , who was "of purer eyes than to behold iniquity." In the strength of this vision, he says,
His table round, and all men's hearts became
Clean for a season, surely he had thought
That now the Holy Grail would come again."
"I rode,The "Quest of the Holy Grail," we now can see symbolises the immortal striving after perfection, and in that quest Sir Galahad becomes the ideal type of youthful courage sustained by spiritual purity and consecration.
Shattering all evil customs everywhere,
And passed thro' Pagan realms, and made them mine,
And clash'd thro' Pagan hordes, and bore them down,
And broke thro' all, and in the strength of this
Came Victor."
This will help us now to understand the picture. The young knight, we see, has left behind him the splendours of court and hall, of jousts and tournaments. Far into the tangled forests he has ridden contending with its lurking dangers; he has cut his way through fierce entanglements, and turned from the bewitching and sensuous forms which, with their soft blandishments and languishing endearments, have sought to arrest his progress, and turn him from the quest. And now the supreme moment has come, the moment of revelation and self-consecration. Descending from his horse he has hung his casque at the saddle bow, for the stately avenues of the forest have suddenly become to him the pylons and pillars of a House not made with hands. A white cloud arrested in the sky forms an aureole around his head; he folds his hands in the attitude of devotion; his face, uplifted, is refined and purified from all base desire; his eyes gaze into that supra-sensual world from which the visions come. With subtle spiritual insight Watts makes even the horse appear conscious of the presence of things unseen. Though it cannot behold, nor fully comprehend the things that are spiritual, some dim instinct moves it to bow its head; it seems to worship too, the artist has endowed it with an emotion almost human. Nor is Nature herself unaffected. The atmosphere of the picture suggests an intense stillness-the stillness of a drawn suspense, when air and trees and clouds are held motionless, hardly daring to breathe, all spell-bound, as it were, by a sense of awe and impending glory. At this very moment, as Sir Galahad stands there with straining eyes and beating heart, the vision of the Holy Grail flashes before his startled gaze, and with the vision comes the call, the call to devote his life to God, to follow the blameless King; and with the call comes his answer, his instant response, his glad and willing self-surrender. Then Nature, the spell broken, the tension relaxed, breaks the fetters which bind it, and with its myriad voices, bursts into a gladsome song of praise and jubilation:-
"The clouds are broken in the sky,Let us turn now from this main theme of the picture to a detail which is full of spiritual suggestion, and which is evidently part of the artist's purpose. The knight as Watts depicts him, we notice, is slim and even frail. He seems ill-fitted for the task to which he has consecrated his life, namely to contend with the relentless and implacable forces of evil at work in the world. An artist of duller vision than Watts would doubtless have thought it necessary to give the young warrior a frame less fragile, and more suggestive of robust physical energy. But what Watts means that fragile figure to indicate is that the mighty things of life are not the physical but spiritual. Even in war it is the "élan vital" that counts. "Fervour," said Napoleon, "counts against numbers on the field of battle as three to one." But there is something which, when the human heart possesses it, more than trebles that ratio. It is the pure heart, flaming with a lofty ideal, and conscious of the righteousness of its cause. Nothing in this world can compare with the impetuous valour of men thus possessed.
And through the mountain walls
A rolling organ harmony
Swells up and shakes and falls.
Then move the trees, the copses nod,
Wings flutter, voices hover clear;
O just and faithful knight of God,
Ride on! the prize is near."
"My strength is as the strength of ten,cries Sir Galahad with radiant joy, and right at the entrenched forces of evil he hurls himself, fearing God and knowing no other fear. And at the flash of his sword the legions of darkness roll back, for no cohorts, however consolidated, can stand against the impetuous rush of those whose hearts are set on fire by God, who have seen the Vision, and whose spears are levelled against iniquity. So the Sir Galahad whom Watts with such spiritual insight depicts is youthful and frail, he stands there, no type of massive physical force, but the possessor of a fire within which burns up all fear of wounds or pain or death, and which girds the weakest arm with the might of the irresistible.
Because my heart is pure,"
It should not be difficult for us now to understand the purpose of the great artist, whose sole aim in art was to impress us with spiritual realities, in presenting this picture to Eton College. For there are gathered many of the youth of our great Empire who in coming generations are to guide its destinies. In these early and formative days young eyes look out upon life with wistful questionings, and young hearts receive their lasting spiritual impressions. It is then that the great decisions are made, and it is upon the nature of those decisions that the future character and stability of our Empire depend.
Nor can we fail to appreciate the purpose of the authorities when on receiving the picture they determined to place it on the Chapel walls.
They placed it there in the sanctuary of God in the earnest expectation that with hearts chastened and uplifted by the solemn chants and litanies, many might be led to make the great decision: that resting their young eyes upon the peerless knight, and remembering all that he was and did, they too might make the deathless choice, and say:-"I also shall follow the Quest! I too shall serve the blameless King."
And oh! how great a moment this is, how full of splendour and hope! It is not too much surely to believe, as Watts suggests, that the thrill of it is communicated in some dim way to Nature herself, or that the very heart-beat of God's universe is quickened by the joy of it. "When we see a young life openly dedicating itself to God we rejoice in the courage, the hope, and the inspiration of the beginning. The young soldier comes like a flame to the darkened world, and a hope to the hopeless years."
"Girt with the fragile armour of youth,We see, then, the purpose Watts had in painting this picture; he sought by it to awaken the heroic in the hearts of the youth of our great Empire, he put before them an ideal of honour and chivalry which if followed would keep their hearts unsullied by the base things of the world, and which would lift them into companionship with Christ and all high manhood. This was its meaning to the young men of yesterday, but to the young men of to-day it contains a message far more urgent, and of intensest poignancy. The picture was painted by Watts, let it be remembered, in the piping days of peace when lowered ideals and the love of material things threatened to corrupt the national life, and to enfeeble its youth. Suddenly there has been heard throughout our far-flung Empire the call "TO ARMS!" The drums have been beating in the streets, the beacons have been flaring on the hills, and through the mountain passes and the glens men have been rushing bearing the fiery cross, and passing it from hand to hand. This is the hour which tests a nation to its depths, and above all which tests the character of its youth. In the tumult of this agitation multitudes of young men, flushed by the intoxication of war, and swept away by its glamour, have heard the tocsin and obeyed. But what of the Galahads? Something more than glory in the field is required to flame their hearts. Is this a war which appeals to them? Is it for a righteous cause? Can they hear in the loud call "To Arms!" the inner call also of the Spirit? Or is it only the savage lust for battle to which men must respond? Can they draw the sword, and at the same time call upon the name of God? It is a terrible thing to unite with the awful horrors of war the blessed name of the Prince of Peace, and yet there are causes in which for righteousness' sake, and for the sake of all that is holy, to draw the sword is the bitter but only resort. Is this one of these? Who can doubt it? Who can doubt that there is that in the call which should make every true knight buckle on his armour, and unsheath his sword, and fight to the death? For the fight is not for national existence alone, but for the cause of God, for righteousness as between nations, and for humanity. Who does not hear, to-day, the moan of the defenceless, the wail of homeless children, the cry of the innocent for protection against a brutal army that has reeled back to barbarism and the beast? Who does not see in vision cities and homesteads laid desolate by a ruthless host which knows no law but force, and which has flung every civilizing instinct aside in its lust for power and conquest? And who, hearing these things, and seeing these things, can stand inert, unimpassioned, uncommitted? Who that is a man could bear to think that when the fight is over men would point the finger of scorn at him and say:-"In this righteous cause thou didst prove thyself a coward and a recreant knight?" Oh! not the Galahads at least. Not the youths who listen to the voice within, and who are of the pure in heart. To them the call comes as a challenge to all that is most sacred in life. With hearts that are undismayed, and with faces aglow they enter the field; their strength is as the strength of ten; for they fight not for love of conquest, but for love of God, for the eternal rights of man, and for the precious things of peace.
Child, you must ride into endless wars,
With the sword of protest, the buckler of truth,
And a banner of love to sweep the stars."
"Oh! 'tis great to be out when the fight is strong,Before you, then, the gallant soldiers of the king, who have responded to the call of your country, we hold up this picture of the young knight consecrating himself to God as the ideal to be followed. To be a Sir Galahad, remember, means first to slay the enemy within. It means in the camp, and amid a thousand new temptations, to wear the white flower of a blameless life. It means to win the trust and respect of your comrades by that greatest of all tests of valour-by showing that you are not ashamed openly to confess Him whom you love and whom you serve. Let your sword be to you the symbol of the cross, which form it has, and remember though it be strong to smite, its purpose is to save.
To be where the heaviest troops belong,
And to fight for man and God.
"Oh! it seams the face, and it dries the brain,
It strains the arm till one's friend is pain,
In the fight for man and God.
But it's great to be out where the fight is strong."
Greatly as your country needs you on the field to-day not less will it need you on that blessed morrow when peace shall be proclaimed, and when our beloved land shall turn to heal the cruel wounds which have drained her life. In that day when we shall be called to rebuild the waste places, and to repair the former desolations, we shall look to you who have proved yourselves as God's men to come to our aid. These months of war, alas, have shown us how far as a nation we have wandered, how deep seated has been our apostasy, how cruel are the wrongs we have left unredressed, and the injustices which we have left unheeded. Much will have been shaken, and with hearts purged by sorrow and loss we shall be called to build up a better England, to lay the foundations of a nobler Empire, and of a world-wide and enduring peace. To this great purpose you will be called. Think not, then, to lay aside the sword; a more cruel and implacable enemy has yet to be vanquished. Return with this fiery purpose in your heart, and with these noble words of Blake's burning in your brain:-
"Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold:
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land."
GUINEVERE TO LANCELOT
by
H. C. C.
The night is here, and thou art with me still,
Loved one, although beyond the reach of hands
Eager to clasp thee; and I long to fill
Again this soul more dry than desert sands
Now thou art gone, with the deep-flowing streams
Of thy most gracious prescence. Soon it will
Return all life-like in the land of dreams.
How shall our struggling hearts, so many years
As may perchance be thine and mine, sweet Love,
Out-face this ceaseless storm of hopes and fears,
For aye within us, round, below, above?
Oh ask me not; for whether joy or tears
Remain for us, we must bear silently,
Dearest, and with a love that cannot die.
How do the angels reason of our love?
And those blest spirits that are gone before,
Who, now rejoicing in their place above,
Walked with us on this melancoly shore
Of life, years, years ago; will they forgive
In us such earth-born folly? Or once more
Could we with such as they are choose to live?
Ah weary hearts, encrusted o'er with dross
Caught up from this vile world! Can we be sure,
When of this lower life we suffer loss,
They will beat freely in an air so pure,
Fit for the souls who enter into light?
Such dross is in the grain; it must endure
Our own, unchanging still, in death's despite.
But come what will, to the last agony,
My choice is made; I cannot yield thee up.
Dross or pure gold, I give it all to thee.
The pearls of all my life shall in thy cup
Be thrown and melted; they are nought to me,
Save as they make some bubbling sparkle rise
To see itself one instant in thine eyes.
AN EPIGRAM
by
THOMAS CAMPION
Merlin, the great King Arthur being slaine,
Foretould that he should come to life againe,
And long time after weild great Brittaines state
More powerfull ten-fould, and more fortunate.
Prophet, 'tis true, and well we find the same,
Save onely that thou didst mistake the name.
THE TRAGEDY OF ETARRE
by
RHYS CARPENTER
CHARACTERS OF THE POEM
PELLEAS
GAWAINE, knight of the Table Round
FERGUS, attendant on PELLEAS
ETARRE
AILEEN, maid to ETARRE
AVRAN
BALARIN } knights of ETARRE
MARIS
The scene is laid in the COUNTRY OF ETARRE
THE TRAGEDY OF ETARRE
PROLOGUE
SCENE: The curtain rises upon shifting fog-clouds
which drive across the stage in ceaseless unrest.
GAWAINE is half visible, struggling against
the grey drift.
GAWAINE
Is this the dawn whose fingers strive so weak
To pluck away the clinging shroud of night,
Or is this some unlightened, sullen land
Fallen between the darkness and the day?
Back from me, shrouded phantoms, misty sprites!
This is no time to whirl your shadow-dance:
Seek out the flooded marshes of the North
If ye would revel; seek the sunless heights
And laugh along their chasms and dark ravines,
Or frown and lower on plain of gloomy lakes,
Or battle with the giants of the hills.
[ He unsheathes his sword .]
Since ye have shape and substance, fear this blade.
Shifting and mocking though ye vex mine eyes,
Yet are ye more than breath of mindless air,
For here I see your bodies' countenance
That leers against me, stupid mouth ajar,
And there I see your clutching hands which stretch
With boneless fingers, snatching at the wind.
[ He strikes. ]
Lo, how I cleft thee, shuddering breast and waist
From formless nether-limbs! Thy silly strength
Is thistle-down that's harried by the storm,
Or rain-drop's airy bubble threatening
With tiny voice the clarion-mouthèd sea.
Give way, weak phantom-thoughts of impotence,
Less real than clouded dreams that fall and break
In splintered crystals of awakening.
Grey-blooded, mirthless things that toss and fret,
I drive you back before me, void and vain.
[ He disappears in the fog, cleaving with his sword
the clouds which press in on every side. From
the unseen background are heard three voices
singing. ]
SONG
Children of the misty plain,
Creatures wrought of cloud and rain,
Shadowed phantoms of the brain
Of the dreaming earth,
Fade and vanish! in the sun
All your magic is undone,
All your charmèd webs unspun,
Tangles little worth,
Tattered shreds and wisps of grey
By the breezes swept away,
Smitten by the swords of day.
[ During the song the fog has begun to clear. ]
Fade and vanish, take you hence,
Loose your revel, break your spell,
Crush the heaven's lightless shell;
Hidden in the magic well,
Held enfettered by our thrall,
Move no wing and stir no sense,
Bide imprisoned till we call.
[ The fog has entirely cleared. ]
SCENE: A woodland pool, about which stand three
maidens, the first of whom is young, the second
in the mid of life, the third old, with grey-
streaked hair. The trees show autumn leafage.
Early morning.
GAWAINE
What sprites are ye that weave a riddled song
Whereby the very forces of the sky
Are held enmeshed in sure obedience?
THE YOUNGEST
Draw near and hearken to our speech,
For we have wonders on our lips
And work strange magic with our tongue.
THE SECOND
On sable reef and golden beach
By will of us sea-things and ships
In wrack of wind and wave are flung.
THE ELDEST
The fingers of our fortune reach
From moon to sun and work eclipse
Whereby dead stars are fashioned young.
GAWAINE
What wild black speech is this of sun and star,
And what have ye to do with ruined ships?
Are ye the devil's handmaids working grief
Against the sunlit ways of God?
THE ELDEST
We guard:
Ours is a sacred heritage.
THE SECOND
We wait:
Ours is a dark fulfillment.
THE YOUNGEST
We attain:
For we are one with all that moves and is.
GAWAINE
What ye attain I know not, why ye wait
Is hidden till the waiting hour be done,
And what ye guard I see not, yet am fain
To snatch this knowledge from your flying speech
As feather stricken from a fleeing bird.
[ He approaches the three ]
THE SECOND
The plume that flutters down the tired wind
Is not more idly grasped, nor with less toil
Attained, than is the secret of our word.
GAWAINE
Is this a spring wherein the fair water lies,
Or but illusion's round, some silver gleam
Caught up and pent within the hoop of night,
A mirror wrought of nothing? Nay, but here
Is water welcome to the thirsty mouth!
I pray you by all holy thoughts and names
Give me to drink! Three days of wandering
Have parched my lips and snapped my strength in twain.
THE YOUNGEST
The well of strange adventure: whoso drinks
Shall fill the changing pages of his deeds
With words of written wonder.
GAWAINE
And the king
Has nought of higher praise to give his knights
Than this: "They sought adventure and attained."
Give me to drink. Alone and without steed,
Wearied with hunger, stricken with fatigue,
I take upon me danger, toil, and strife,
And drink adventure with an eager mouth;
For I am Gawaine, and of Arthur's court!
THE ELDEST
Before that hour when over stony ways
Thy steed was broken, never in the lists
To run against the wind with nostrils wide
Or stand again the shock of breaking spears,
Before, alone in wood and tangled glade,
Thy feet strove sadly, seeking hermitage,
We knew of Gawaine, dreaming he would come
And beg a draught to quench his bitter thirst.
GAWAINE
What tale is this? Ye knew that I should come?
THE ELDEST
Yea, 'twas our knowledge that this thing should be.
GAWAINE
Beneath gold raiment lurks deceptive heart
And too-great knowledge is a mask for ill.
I fear you that are fair of face, and wise
Beyond all proper wisdom of mankind.
God and the devil's workers are alone
In such foreknowledge.
THE ELDEST
Find no fear of us.
This was a dream: we are beset with dreams.
What faults of ours if they be always true?
We cannot guide our dreams, they are of God.
THE SECOND
We are the warders of a deathless source.
Draw near and drink, and have no further fear.
THE YOUNGEST
We give, yet give not save for gift's return.
GAWAINE
What will ye of me?
THE SECOND
That which all must give,
Judgement between us of his true desire.
GAWAINE
The shrouds of clinging words are yet undrawn,
And deep enfolded lies the inner wish:
I know not what ye say, nor what ye will.
THE YOUNGEST
No colours of strange magic hide our speech.
The well of strange adventure: whoso drinks
Shall choose between us whom his true desire
Would make companion in the day of deeds.
GAWAINE
Is this the price wherewith a draught is paid?
Small price and quickly given. Yet to choose
Vexes the spirit with a running doubt
That will not rest.
THE YOUNGEST
Nay, drink thy draught,
And when the clamour of the hounds of thirst
Has ceased above its quarry, and thy lips
Are drinking in their long-sought sustenance,
Perchance thy spirit's fire shall rise again
Until the lamp of judgement shall be light
Within thy mind, to cast its faultless shine
Upon our waiting and release thy doubt.
THE SECOND
Loosen thy helm and make of it thy bowl,
Thy silver goblet dipping crystal wine.
GAWAINE
The subtle threads of water twist and spin
And will not be contained within a helm.
THE SECOND
Nay, make thy trial.
GAWAINE
If there be magic here,
Perchance the helm will hold the dwindling weight;
Else is it vain. Yet let my hands essay
What soul and body thirst for; and ye streams
Of shadowed water, lend your kindly aid.
[ He looses his helmet and dips it into the well until it
is filled to the brim. He raises it to his lips,
and, stooping above it, drinks long. ]
Through all the barren chambers of my soul
There went the sound of music and a voice
That woke the silence with a song of life;
And my own spirit sang. Through open doors
Came breath of springtime, earth's awakening,
The resurrection from the graves of sleep.
Look down, look down; the water at thy feet
Is troubled with the coming of a dream.
GAWAINE
[ Gawaine bends over the well and stares into its depths. ]
What world of changing pageants here is hid?
Across the mirrored passage of the well
Move bright processions, glittering array
Of bannered knights and charging battle-fields.
The shift like oil on silent rivers borne
And blend quick colours caught from rainbow heights
With gold and silver pride of broidered silks
Precious beyond all treasured count of wealth.
[ He remains, staring spellbound. ]
The armies pass, and now again the sky
Lies here reflected, and the shaded trees
Bring silence with their canopy of green.
There sped a swallow like a gleam of grey,
And here the wind went laughing through the leaves.
The magic show has passed.
THE YOUNGEST
It will renew.
Some fuller vision draws across the depths.
THE ELDEST
What seest thou, O Gawaine? for mine eyes
Are not as are my sister's, keen to mark
From farthest bounds the uttermost approach,
And in quick vision versed; yet mine retain
Their memories, unfaded for all time.
GAWAINE
An armoured knight in shameful wise is borne
Bound to the belly of a drooping steed;
Three sorry knaves of little stature drag
Th' unwilling bridle. Now the dream is passed.
What sight was this? what riddle of a world
Where men are pictures on the water's shield,
And things go by without our minds' control
Like scattered dreams when body's maladies
Assail the brain and make of it their toy?
THE YOUNGEST
This is thy future: time's processional
Moves ever through the water's mirrored depth,
And he who drinks may gain a broken glimpse
Within the endless change of shape and form
Wherewith the false, illusive world of sense
Doth clothe itself in unreality.
GAWAINE
Am I that knight, in wretched manner bound?
Shall others drag me at their bridle's will?
Would I were slain in battle, ere such fate
Had darkened all the splendour of my deeds
And over all the glory of great wars
And broken fields of battle cast a pall.
THE YOUNGEST
My knight he is and loyally he serves.
But let thine eyes and not thy lips demand
Response: lean forth above the crystal flood
And with keen search from visioned future pluck
A present knowledge; in those depths there lie
The figures, shapes, and fashions of all things.
Call forth again its magic pageantry,
And seek thy answer there.
GAWAINE
The depths are stirred,
Light leaps from shadow, figures move and sway
And gather into outline fraught with life. . .
Unbound he lies, the horse with feet unmoved
Crops short the herbage, triple caitiff knights
Have laid their hands beneath him; now they toil
Across the gorse; his helpless body hangs
With legs and arms that strike against the ground
In mimic eagerness and mock embrace.
And here they move beyond the mirror's rim,
And lo, myself, approaching on the hill! . . .
Dark! . . . dark! . . . more quick than sun before the storm,
Or moon cloud-ridden, sped the light away.
This water, gleaming with the shapes of men,
Is now but water --
THE SECOND
And therewith fulfils
Thy thirst, and calls upon thee for thy word,
That pledged reward, that choice between our lives.
GAWAINE
How ran your saying? "Whoso drinks
Shall choose among us her whom true desire
Would make companion in the day of deeds."
Fair are ye all: here lies no price to pay,
But some reward, heav'n-sent to quench desire.
Fair are ye all, and therein lurks the doubt:
I choose the one, and straight the other two
Neglected rankle, till a gaping wound
Across my memory cries out regret,
And lo, I know not whom my choice approves.
Yet often, when our brains are still at fault,
Still measuring confusion, weighing doubts,
There wakens in our heart a sudden fire
To guide the will and light the darkened thought.
I pray you, therefore, be compassionate
And find no evil in my words; their fault,
If fault they hold, set not against my charge,
But lay their burden at the doors of Them
Who fashioned men and gave them their desires.
THE ELDEST
To him that cries my name, I bring a gift
Of wisdom greater than the strength of kings.
Mine eyes have seen, through many a changing year,
The circles of men's life revolve, return,
Through birth and childhood unto age and death.
My lips can tell thee tales and mysteries
Of olden days when dragons held the earth
And creatures of the slime were on the sea,
When men did battle in fierce, brutish wise
And lived in hollow caverns of the hills.
GAWAINE
The past I love not: 'tis a murdered life,
A corpse wherein the worms of memory cling.
I like not tales, they haunt the present deed
And make the sword-edge tremble with their dreams,
The faltering spear-shaft snap within our hands.
THE YOUNGEST
But I am one who never felt the past
Blow like the bitter wind from winter seas.
For me the world is yet a dream unheard,
A flower whose cup has never held the sun.
Turn unto me and love me; thou and I
Shall guide anew the world, restore the right,
And make of men a goodlier, nobler race.
GAWAINE
There is nought certain in this world of change
Save what our hands can grasp, our eyes behold;
All else is mockery of chance and time,
A golden bauble, a deceptive lure,
A sunlit rainbow seen across the clouds, --
Draw nearer, there is nothing: mist and rain.
And thou, fair maid upon the threshold caught
With eager feet half ventured, half afraid,
Thy promise is not yet fulfillment grown,
Thine eyes are mirrors of a future world,
Foreboders of enchantment, giving view
On womanhood and sweet matured delights,
Still hidden, now, in virginal reserve.
[ He turns towards the SECOND MAIDEN.]
But thou whose gaze is neither sad nor gay,
Not sad for years behind thee taken flight,
Nor gay with hope of pleasant days unseen,
But full with knowledge of a present grace,
Demanding not from future or from past,
Secure within the fastness of thy ways,
Thou art to me a token and a sign
Of perfect womanhood's unyielding charm,
For matchless adoration set apart.
I choose thee for the mistress whom my spear
Shall champion against the warring earth;
My sword shall bear thy name through cloven steel
Of foeman's helm and reeling battle-shield;
And like a beacon shalt thou blaze and burn
Above the lists, through cries of fallen men,
To light me into battle, till I grasp,
With victor's hand, th' unsteady plume of fame.
THE SECOND
The choice is made, the choosing spirit bound;
The reed is cut, the spoken word is writ;
Closed lies the book; already, many hands
Are fashioning the unrelenting seal.
The hour is here wherein thou shalt depart.
In form invisible I come to guide
Thy shifting purpose and uncertain will.
Go forth and seek fulfillment from thy choice:
Beyond this wood there lies the waiting world
And many deeds therein, to do or spurn.
Across the shifting picture of thy fate
Lie sun and shadow of incessant change
And nought of steadfast purpose under all
Save me, in guise unseen, to lead thy hand
From fortune into favour, love, and strife.
Farewell, and fare as best such spirits may
That choose my counsel; theirs is but a life
That mocks its own attainment, wrought in vain.
[ She bends over the well and speaks in incantation. ]
Veil the light:
Hide the day!
Shadow and silence!
Dreamless sleep!
Spirits hidden in the well,
Bound beneath a magic spell,
Stirring neither limb nor sense
In an idle impotence,
Rise against the glaring day,
Spreading sable shrouds and dun,
Cover earth and sky with grey;
Cast your veils against the sun!
[ As she speaks, the light gradually wanes. From the well
a fine mist begins to rise. ]
GAWAINE
By sorcery accursed I stand agape
Nor stretch a thwarting hand to break the spell.
Were I a cliff, a thousand ages old,
Or gnarlèd pine deep-rooted in the rock,
I could not stand more idly, nor endure
More helpless in the surging front of ill.
[ The mist grows ever heavier, until a dense fog, rising
from the well, has covered the entire stage. ]
THE THREE MAIDENS [ singing ]
Damp and mist and heavy vapour,
Shrouded fog and dripping cold,
Quench the sunlight's fallen taper,
Hide away the flame of gold.
Out of pond and becken cool,
Out of well and fountain head,
Out of tree-enshadowed pool
Where the autumn leaves lie dead,
Where no deer with frightened feet
Ever leapt in terror fleet,
Out of marshy river bed
Where no forest creature drank,
Out of swamp and fen arisen,
Break your bonds and loose your prison,
Water vapours, grey and dank!
[ The fog has completely hidden everything. The
singing voices have drifted ever further and
further away, until at last the song dies in the
distance. A long silence follows. For several
minutes the stage remains grey and void. At
last the fog begins to clear. ]
ACT ONE
SCENE: A wild upland open to the sky. Hill-
slopes with scattered firs. The ground is
covered with gorse-bushes; knee-high, in golden
bloom. The last shreds of fog drift off over the
moors to the left and vanish, reevaeling far-away
the gleaming towers of the Castle of ETARRE.
Full morning. AVRAN, BALARIN, and MARIS
stand above the helpless body of PELLEAS.
AVRAN
Enough of drudge and drag: here let him lie.
The pricking gorse has played an eager bride
And clapped him welcome in her unwelcome arms.
BALARIN
A weary work fulfilling punishment!
Too often in the scourger's thankless toil
The swinging lash flies back, and with shrewd blow
Assails th' inflicting hand: so is't with us,
Who strain against yon living weight of mail
With bloodless fingers, and with stumbling feet
Through country-side accurst scarce feel our way;
Small glory have we got us therewithal.
This is our fame: to counter with a knight
Who will not lift his spear against our shields,
A mad-cap creature in whose brain there sits
The bird of folly. Truth, a mighty task.
AVRAN
And here, within the growing heat of morn,
We come like serfs in secret burial,
Dragging a living corpse beneath the sky.
Enough, enough! this is no food for knights;
Our very horses would revolt the taste
And eye their masters with a keen disdain.
MARIS
There is a feast which no knight may refuse
If he be bid to a table; all that owe
Allegiance to an overlord must eat
The meat of service, drink the willing wine
Of fealty, whereby true knighthood lives.
You know from whom you draw your honour's strength;
She laid upon us bond of her commands
And bade us from the belly of his steed
Unbind this knight and over briar and thorn
Drag out his body till the breath be faint:
So should his courage vanish like a dream,
And that mad frequency of his desire
Be staid to abstinence. Up! drag him on.
AVRAN
Then snare the sun and strangle out its heat.
Go, draw cool shadows out of distant trees
And wake the winds that sleep upon the hills.
Call back our bodies' breath that's taken flight
At sight of labour, like a bonded wretch.
MARIS
Then let him lie, and heaven rest his soul.
BALARIN
The mighty Pelleas, the rumoured knight
Well proven in the midmost toil of war,
How fares he now, the hero of the lance,
The champion such as men have never seen?
AVRAN
In curious wise beneath the open sun
He dreams of battle, while the springing gorse
Grows up unheard around his silent helm.
BALARIN
But when his bruisèd limbs have found the balm
Of first recovery, he'll rise and seek
To draw the shattered ships of his emprise
To greater battles over windier deeps.
AVRAN
'Twere well to slay him here and quench his soul.
Else will the spirit that indwells his breast
Grow wings once more and fly above our heads
Like loosened hawk against the fleeing hare.
MARIS
We may not slay him, tho' 'twere mercy's hand
Which dealt that stroke.
AVRAN
Then will he, like a midge,
In vast persistence make our lives a curse
Of tiny wounds and quick annoyances.
MARIS
'Twill prove him small avail to prick and sting:
The midge, if he return too often, learns
That wings so small can yet be clipped and crushed
And tiny body caught and buffeted.
AVRAN
'Twere well to hold it longer to its cage;
Yet here it has its freedom and the world
Wherein to fly abroad, and lo, it lies
Ungrateful, without sign of thanks or praise.
Fly warrior, we salute thee! Noisy gnat,
Midge of the marshes, fare thee well!
BALARIN
All hail,
Chit-sparrow; sit i' the bush and braggart sing;
O valiant bird! O wren with eagle's soul!
An owl that flies in daytime without eyes.
[BALARIN and AVRAN depart across the hill. MARIS
follows, but hesitates and turns back. ]
MARIS [ standing above the body of PELLEAS]
Too many times, far, far too many times
In this same outcome of the selfsame deed
Have we prevailed above you, dragged you off,
Railed over you and spoken out our curse
Of bitterness against your foolish ways
And ears forever thirsting for abuse.
Too many times our lips have brewed this draught
And mixed the gall of laughter with farewell,
A honeyed mead in truth, a stirrup cup
To speed you in your folly. Change your ways!
But if you fall once more within our hands,
Expect no better fare from us, nor yet
From her that sent us, whom your seeking eyes
Shall never look upon again.
[PELLEAS moves slightly. ]
PELLEAS
Etarre!
MARIS
Yes, 'tis Etarre! the one sweet word forlorn
That lies upon your lips like magic seal,
Like stroke of sorcery and mystic spell
Awak'ning fever in your blood and brain
That iron may not chill, nor dungeon tame!
[ He goes off. Silence. ]
PELLEAS [ moaning ]
O world! O disillusion!
[ In a sudden passionate outburst ]
Black despair,
Come, cover me with all the shrouds of night!
[ Silence. FERGUS, attendant on Pelleas, comes over the hill to the right. ]
FERGUS
I marked them how they stood upon this hill
In final converse of an evil deed,
Here, here upon these trackless, silent slopes
Within the yellow reaches of the gorse
Lies Pelleas on prison-bed of thorns,
Bound with the glowing fetters of the sun.
O misery, that in his mind should dwell
Submission unto knaves, the lowered shaft,
The sunken sword, the battle void and thin.
Alas the name that rang in other days!
The knight whose deeds dwelt ever on the lips
Of others' praises -- how with single hand
He smote the robbers of the woods and hills
With keen destruction -- how within the lists
His spear was fire, a gathered shaft of light,
His battle-cry the voices of the storm.
And now his name is overset with growth
Of dark abuse and shameful calumny,
And those that should have reeled and sunk to earth
In red disaster and dark swoon of sense,
These, even these, mean varlets, thieves, and rogues,
Drag Pelleas through upland gorse and way
And throw him like a carcase for the birds!
[ He casts about him in the gorse. ]
In vain: in vain. Oh, would that eyes were made
To pierce the barriers which hide their goal,
Or cleave like lightning in a darkened sky,
Bringing their own fierce strength wherewith to see.
Here, somewhere here, he lies in bitterness
With broken mail and battered helmet thrown,
A useless tool discarded from the hands
Of little workers fashioning misdeeds.
Etarre! Etarre! accursèd beauteous face
That shines like fire of madness in his eyes
And makes his courage falter like a flame;
Etarre! Etarre! from heaven's utmost height
May God's unfailing anger strike you down
And burn that body like a blackened tree!
May you be fire engulfed with water-floods,
May you be embers smouldered into death,
May you be ashes blown across the air!
I hate you! who are poison in my lips;
Within my mouth your name runs like a curse,
A thing to rail against with tongue and teeth.
[ He comes upon PELLEAS.]
O mighty master -- fallen, fallen, fallen,
See, I am here, your servant, nigh at hand
To raise you up, to loose your helm and mail
And with fresh water lave your sunken eyes
And wet your thirsty lips and cheeks and hair.
[PELLEAS moves slightly, groaning. ]
Midway between the waking sense he swoons.
Ah, master, fallen master, turn and speak!
PELLEAS
Leave me. Depart. I have no wish for you.
Go, bring me death to minister my needs.
FERGUS
Death's a false friend, a thief within your tents;
He'll stab you in your slumber. Cast him out!
[FERGUS has been busy stooping above Pelleas. He
busies himself in loosening the armour while he
speaks. ]
PELLEAS
I'll have no other servant: bring me death.
FERGUS [ loosening the helmet ]
Death's a grim army laying endless siege
Against the living fortress of the soul.
Endure, endure; beat back the pressing foe,
Lift up again your shield above the walls
In stern defiance. See, I raise you up.
PELLEAS [ in FERGUS' arms ]
Leave me, ah, leave me here. My broken strength
Is fainter than a sunset wind, my mind
Is dry and empty. -- Do not make me live,
But leave me, leave me here; Etarre --
I saw her not, nor heard her voice, nor felt
Her anger go across me like a rain.
God knows, such rain were welcome to my lips!
Her anger is more sweet than other's praise,
Her voice is like a wind within the grain,
A moving swell of wave-like melody.
FERGUS [ raising PELLEAS to his feet ]
Her voice is like the winter moon half seen
Across the other shoulder, magical -- a curse!
PELLEAS
Have you come hither mocking at my grief,
To cry before me words against Etarre
And prick my sorrow into festered rage?
No, leave me, leave me: what avails your heed?
I may not look upon her eyes again!
She will not see me, will not grant me speech;
Her wretched knights perform her word afar,
And cast me from her. Oh, world, world,
What cruelty there lies within your breast
To poison all the milk whereat we suck!
We are the children of your hate, conceived
In some dark moment of false passion, born
In anguish of repentance, things accursed
For whom you have no mother-love, no care,
No joy if we be happy, no regret
If we be clothed in sorrow and in grief.
FERGUS
Each man, if he be strong, can take the world
Within the grasping hollows of his hand
And shape anew the image of his will.
There is no knight of all this country wide
Can sit his steed unshaken in the lists
Against your onset, none that can maintain
A helm unshorn, and armour unassailed.
What runes are carven by an evil hand
Within the iron of your spirit? Wake,
Throw off the clutch of sleep, the grasp of dreams,
And blow the wraith of magic into mist
Of idle vapour. Ah, if I were you,
My lance should smite the laughter of your foes,
My wrath should strike them like an angry sea,
My vengeance scatter them like autumn leaves!
Ride, ride against them! Snap their strength in twain!
Go like a curse across this evil land
And leave behind you weeping in the halls
And wail of women seeking 'mid the slain
For their departed lords: and she, the shining snake
That sits enfolded in your changèd heart,
She, even she, whose castle holds these lands,
Etarre, the witch of evil, let her die.
PELLEAS
What, is your service changed to blackest gall?
Is all your heart tormented like your speech
With envious canker? O ungrateful task
To lift from earth the children of the dust
And give the toiling creatures of the plough
High freedom in a servitude of love.
Nay, who shall give the oxen of the field
The battle-steed's high temper, who shall place
A soul within the body of a slave,
And waken knighthood stifled in the serf?
FERGUS
With no sweet ointment of forgiving love
Will I anoint the heads of those that feed
Their starving wits on hatred and foul thoughts.
To them that do you wrong I bear one love,
The love to see their naked bodies hang
From windy branches, and their vulture necks
Engirdled with the swaying, clinging noose.
PELLEAS
God grant you never set your feet within
The holy circle of knighthood! -- Take me hence.
For I will wait until my body's harm
Be grown to match my soul's serenity,
The high security of my resolve.
Then shall I find me other ways to seek
My lady's favour, win her angry heart
To softer mood of loving.
FERGUS
Yet your words
Are greater than your strength. How would you walk
Through upland gorse and rough unlevelled way?
I cannot bear you far, tho' I am fain
My back would seek the burden.
PELLEAS
Search and say
If with your eyes you mark my loosened steed
Among the heather ranging; for they came
And bore me bound thereto. You see him not?
Go, search the distance with quick feet and bring
Him hither straight; he has not wandered far.
FERGUS
Rest here in quiet till I come again
And wait in patience for my sure return.
[ He departs. ]
[PELLEAS stands staring before him in silence. ]
PELLEAS
I would I were as changeless as the sun
Who sinks each day into the nether-mist
And on the morrow mounts above the dawn
In light undimmed; but I with shaken soul
Survey the darkness, and with faltering step
Go down into the countries of the night,
Not knowing if within another East
My eyes shall look upon the risen day.
All, all is dark: the hell-pits of despair
Gape ever at my feet. Where leads the way
That brings me to the daylight of her eyes,
The dawn which is her presence, and the world
Which is her body's grace, her beauty's orb
Of circled wonder? Barred and double barred!
There is no oaken shaft can break this port,
No twisted hook to catch the bolt aside.
[ Silence .]
O sérene sun, alone and pitiless,
How mocking is the glitter of thy beams!
Meseems thou art the laughter of the world
Made visible, contemptuous disdain
Wherewith all nature frames the race of man.
O shadow stretched before me on the ground,
What thing art thou, with what fidelity
Art thou my steadfast comrade? Is't thy wish
That binds thee, or a dread necessity?
Art thou my soul, an unsubstantial thing
Knit to me while the sun of life shall last?
The sun's a mockery, and life a lure!
Go! I release thee from thy servitude;
Thou canst not love me who am no man's friend.
Here in the world I stand alone. Go forth,
My soul, my shadow; seek a happier land
And leave this wretched body to fulfil
Unequal combat with a grudging fate
And so go down to death, all purposeless.
[ He becomes aware of GAWAINE approaching. ]
What knight is this that stands upon the hill?
Is this some foe to plague my restless life,
Some novel torment wrought against my love?
He moves alone, an armoured knight, afoot
Within these reaches of untrodden wild.
How came he here? Why moves he without steed
In painful toil beneath his armour's press?
[GAWAINE enters. ]
GAWAINE
Long have I sought you, wayfaring alone.
In visionary speech with three, I gained
Strange knowledge and strange biddings to fulfil.
PELLEAS
Knight, if on wrathful deed your steps be turned,
Let not your pride so wander from its ways
That it o'erstride itself and seek the dark
Of high self-confidence and vaunting word.
Fulfil your bidding, add your little stroke
Of evil action, yet at heart know well
By no necessity of fallen strength
I yield my honour to your lesser sword.
GAWAINE
You shall not find the hungry bird of hate
Upon my shield engraven, with fierce claws
Tearing the world asunder.
PELLEAS
Are you not
Of them that loathe me at my lady's will
And their own coward hearts' high jealousy?
GAWAINE
I am of Arthur's court. I come in need
To succour knighthood, as our king enjoins
Upon the glorious order of his knights.
I know not who you are nor with what wrong
Pent up by men's ill-will and jealous hate.
Yet three there were who spoke in visioned speech
And by their power on heaven's high elements
Conveyed my hither.
PELLEAS
O belovèd sound,
The speech of knighthood in this wretched land,
The light of honour risen in the dark
Of shameless men and unrepentant deeds!
Pelleas I am: my spear has held the prize
In many tourneys made in many lands.
Much have I heard and loved your noble king.
The name of Arthur is a silver star
Of truth and equity; in faultless strength
The sword of chivalry gleams there aloft,
A vision unto men, a creed for faith.
GAWAINE
And I am Gawaine, of the king's high court,
Come hither from the walls of Camelot.
The fame of Pelleas has pierced the dark
Of distance, with the light of far renown
For tourney's wreath, and battle's blameless meed.
Our noble order knows no nobler knight.
What fateful force of men iniquitous
Or deed self-willed has brought you, armed and lone,
To stand upon the broom's flower-gilded heights
And gaze across the stretch of wind and sun
On warring wastes where no man's hand is set
Compulsive o'er the unwilling growth of fields?
PELLEAS
Alas, this tale runs back among the years
And far beyond the present sight attains
Its first awakening.
GAWAINE
Yet would I hear.
I seek adventure and I strive to bring
Knighthood's redemption into creedless lands.
PELLEAS
On word there is, which shuts and opens wide
The doors of all my deeds and all my thoughts:
It is a sign wherewith to clothe my soul
In courage linked from bright security;
It is a charmèd ring, a circled rune,
A treasure-stone of wizardry -- Etarre!
GAWAINE
The name I know not, but am fain to hear
This mystic potency, enfolded deep
Within a word's soft-sounding innocence.
PELLEAS
If you would hear, and track the winding speech
Through courts of men and castles set anigh,
I have no need to hide on lying lips
The truth wherefrom my knighthood gets its shame.
So hearken: -- in the eager days long since,
I know not how far back, for memory stands
In helpless failure at the count of time
So wretched and so slow to drag away,
Perhaps ten years are flown, enough to fill
A stripling youth's advance to manly state, --
Long time, long time, how long ago it seems --
GAWAINE
Nay, well I know the adverse wind of fate
Clouds all the backward years and hides the sun
Of memory in a grey forgetfulness;
The past becomes a lost and distant land
Where once we moved and shall not move again.
But for your story. -- Speak, and tell the tale.
PELLEAS
Magic of forge and steel and crucible
Had wrought a sword; by whose hand, no one knew;
'Twas thought the workers of the hills had steeped
Their fires in incantation and had made
This sword to be a gift to mortal child,
A king's son of the western isles, who died.
Golden the hilt, alight with ruddy glow;
Thereon engraved, in token of its gift,
"The son of Ork. Be strong and hold me fast."
Now, when the king's son died, his father called
A mighty tourney in the land and set
This sword as guerdon to the winning arm.
And many came and made their name be cried
Within the tourney, and King Arthur's knights
Were gathered, ten or twelve, and Kay was there
(Him whom they call the Seneschal), Sir Tor,
And many others. So the joust was made.
Great ladies, queens and nobly born, beheld;
And one there was whose eyes were like a fire
Within my heart, and ever as I strove
Her beauty shone about me like a star,
And in mine ears I heard a crying voice,
And felt a throbbing of unmeasured strength
Which of my body made its minister
To triumph in the tourney. So I fought,
And over all prevailed.
GAWAINE
Then you are grown
A giant from the strength of lesser men;
The hard-wrought prowess of each vanquished name
Like hound that changes master comes to you
To aid you in the quest for fame, and swell
The cry of hunting.
PELLEAS
In my hands they set
The tourney's meed, the gleaming hilt of gold
That clasped the flash of steel; upon my head
The golden circlet clung. And I, forthwith,
Rode down the lists, and passed with heedless eyes
The rangèd queens, and at the shining feet
Of one more fair than kingly daughter cast
The golden circle, royal crown of love
And adoration; but with mocking hands
She flung it from her, high above the heads
Of those who sat about her, that it fell
Within the dust and turmoil of the lists.
And many there cried out with jealous speech
And wrought her shame, until I made be known
That I would prove her every act and word
Against their gathered spears: thereat they ceased.
GAWAINE
Strange tale it is, yet not too hard to read.
She loved a lesser knight and with sure strength
Spurned proffered homage of his vanquisher.
PELLEAS
Nay, in that quiet heart of hers there beats
No blood of passion. Dark indifference
With sluggish stream mounts ever in her veins.
GAWAINE
What came of this?
PELLEAS
Into her rightful land
I followed her; and there I still abide.
Against the sky of my desires and deeds
There stands, with distant battlements agleam,
The castle of Etarre, undimmed, unchanged,
While over me the seasons spend their wrath
And men work out their hate; yet I prevail.
GAWAINE
What brought you here alone and without steed?
PELLEAS
The hands of men across the thorny wild.
GAWAINE
In anger, or by your own spoken wish?
PELLEAS
In anger done, yet by another's will.
GAWAINE
Why seek to hide the need? Within a glass
I saw a knight whom other three unbound
From belly of a steed, and with rude strength
Dragged far across the barren fields of gold.
PELLEAS
Ah, I am shamed forever in your sight.
GAWAINE
True knighthood never sleeps with naked shame,
And though he share her hovel leaves therein
No children of ill fame. Your courage shines
Through all the shrouds of dark ignóminy.
Pure spirits cannot err.
PELLEAS
O noble creed,
That brings the eye to witness, not to judge
Ask what you will.
GAWAINE
I ask your present need,
And give you service of my sword and spear.
PELLEAS
Strength will not ease the tightened cord of hate,
'Tis drawn too high above an earthly reach.
GAWAINE
The sword of courage and the spear of truth
May yet avail. Who were these wretched three
And by what order moved?
PELLEAS
The self-same word:
It is a light for knowledge.
GAWAINE
Speak! Etarre?
And is it she who brings you into wrong?
PELLEAS
Because I may not live sans sight of her
I ride against her knights in mimic fray
And suffer them to make me prisoner
That I may come before my lady's eyes
To look upon her countenance and hear
The wonder of her speech. In wrath alway
She cries against me and commands her knights
To cast me into dungeon or to set
The brand of shame across my fallen shield
GAWAINE
Were those her men that wrought you this despite?
PELLEAS
Her will through others moving, cast me here.
And now the last sweet flower of hope is dead,
Trod under by her foot. The autumn grows
And winter creeps along the leafless cold,
With mortal fingers plucking branch and twig
And blowing harsh against the feeble strength
Which is the life of man and beast and flower.
My hope is dead; I shall not see it more.
GAWAINE
If hope through snow and chill of winter love
Has ever blossomed in your heart, and spread
Its balm of perfume through your wounded soul,
'Twill reach its flower once more against the sky
To catch the sunlight in its chaliced cup
And nurture trustless sorrow into confidence.
PELLEAS
This is the last; beyond this utmost bound
Nought further lies: love, life, all, all at end!
She will not suffer me her presence' grace,
But strikes me from afar with other hands.
To-day, I saw her not; her worthless knaves
Fulfilled her final anger, bringing word
More bitter than their curses and their blows.
"O fool," they said, "our lady whom we serve
Bids us to tell you that until she die
She will not look upon your loathèd form
Nor hear your wretched pleading." So they spoke,
And dragged me hither with full jest and jeer.
Accurst be all the forces in me pent
That out of shattered nody, darkened brain,
Build up anew the empery of life,
The realm with I must rule, unwilling king
Of citizens that hold me prisoner
Within the palace of my self. Have end,
O dreadful powers working in the dark;
Have end, and let me die!
GAWAINE
Nay, live, and love!
Or if you may not love, then hate; but live!
Life is a present moment, a shifting point
That moves from nothing into nothing; where it is,
There is the world, the beating pulsing world
With all its marvel of a felt design.
Stretch out your hand and snare the fleeting point;
Then have you all the world within your grasp.
Live, live, and I will aid you in your quest.
PELLEAS
What can you do? For many a month and year
I dreamed that love would waken in her breast.
A fool, I dreamed that mortal will could guide
Love the immortal, Love the uncompelled, --
From impious effort gaining due reward,
Sadness of heart, bruised limbs, and shattered faith.
GAWAINE
Is there no gentler word which I may speak?
May I not plead before her, win her heart
To softer ways and kindlier moods?
PELLEAS
In vain.
GAWAINE
May I not say she has misjudged, has scorned
That which no queen may purchase with her crown,
A lover's worship, gift of gifts?
PELLEAS
In vain.
GAWAINE
Then let us find some subtler web to catch
Her fleeting love and bring it to your lips.
If she be mortal, she shall yet be yours;
If pity stir within her, let us make
A staff of pity; if within her dwell
A woman's worship of high deeds and thoughts,
Then let us make high thoughts and deeds our scrip
To help us in our quest; if fear of death
Live in her body, death shall be our shoon
Wherewith to walk; if dreams of love
E'er stir the curtains of her sleep, then love
Shall be a cloak and clothe us from the rain.
Pity, high deeds, and love, and fear of death,
Shall be to us cloak, shoon, and scrip, and staff,
And from her we'll get alms.
PELLEAS
In vain! in vain!
You would with naked strength and covered wiles
Beget from hatred tears, from loathing love.
I tell you, not with open pomp and power
Love enters in. There is a world unseen
Wherein our passions live, and come and go
When no eye marks them. In the world of sense
Our words and deeds have puissance, and the earth
Trembles before our coming; blown with pride
We stretch our sceptres toward that other world
And lo, the wand whereat earth's kingdoms shook
Stands idle in our hand, a gilded stem.
GAWAINE
And yet Etarre shall love you; grief and fear
Are masters of the soul, and work their will.
Love is their servant; they but clap their hands
And he appears. Give me your knighthood's trust
And by my knighthood's faith I swear to you,
Etarre shall love you.
PELLEAS
O mistaken creed!
Is love a hound that walks within the leash?
Too long, too long in folly I maintained,
Seeking to win her love. Love comes not thus.
We know not when nor wherefore, we have seen
No shadow fall across our steps, nor heard
His mystic footfall; yet we raise our eyes
And lo, he stands before us, garbed in white,
Triumphant, with a light upon his brows.
GAWAINE
Nay, call him and he'll come, a willing slave.
God gave him unto men, that men might be.
Hearken and heed: your shield and helm and sword
Shall change with mine. So armed, and with a steed,
Will I approach the castle where Etarre
Holds state aloof.
PELLEAS
What then? She'll love me more
Because you hold my arms?
GAWAINE
Nay, hate you less.
Death breaks in twain the stubborn plant of wrath
And treads to earth its growth and jealous fruit;
He lays his finger on the lips of hate,
And anger stands with saddened eyes downcast
Before his presence. In the camps of war
He binds proud nations with a chain of tears,
And with a mound of earth builds emperies.
Etarre shall hear my words of bitter weal
And think you dead. Thereat her brow will change
And all her nature be suffused with grief;
Th' unshaken headland of her wrath shall sink
Within a sea of tears. With sudden ray
Illumined, she shall see life's large expanse
Move like a landless ocean, vast and void.
So will her heart be caught with sudden love
And she shall hate me, and against my name
Cry murderer. Her body's burning light
Shall languish in the sable cloth of grief,
Affliction's gloomy cloak; her cheeck shall pale
With wan reflection, like the moon that broods
Too much upon the splendour of the sun.
Then will I cry her pardon of my fault,
Confess you living, till the glad blood leap
Through all her veins and mantle in her brow.
She shall give thanks to Heaven's holy power
That held you safe; to all, she shall proclaim
You loved and dear; and she shall bid me go
To seek you out and bring you to her arms.
PELLEAS
So, with the breath of falsehood you would blow
Love, like a wooden vane that points the wind?
The gust of truth will veer it straight once more!
GAWAINE
The winds must change; the north must yield to south,
The breath of snow be melted by the spring,
And hate must falter at undoubting love.
Give me your shield and sword, and let me fare.
PELLEAS
Shall love's high course be furthered by deceit,
Blessed by false words and hastened by false wiles,
And crooked path lead straighter to the goal?
GAWAINE
Yet paths that cannot scale a naked cliff
May find soft slopes to guide a sure ascent
On other sides. What matter for the turn?
Give me your shield and sword, and let me fare.
PELLEAS
I will not. 'Tis by other ways I seek
To win her pure truth and faultless love.
GAWAINE
Are you a fisher who with straining net
Enmeshes ocean prey, and at the last
When silver fishes struggle in his grasp
Throws back his booty to the waiting sea?
The years with eyes of pity have looked down
Upon you, and in restless flight o'erhead
Paused for a moment with a prophecy
Of other years to come.
PELLEAS
And now?
GAWAINE
And now
The time is here with open-handed gift,
And you would spurn it! Oh, how vain are thoughts!
They have no more reality than mist
Which sunlight scatters: 'tis the deed that is .
Three days, and you shall lie within the clasp
Of golden arms and hear from burning lips
Love's true confessional, the marriage night.
Will you then doubt she loves you? Will you smite
Her mouth and call her lips a liar's tool
And cast her from you? What shall matter then
The means whereby we strove and wrought, and gained
This loved reality, this goal of all your thoughts?
If she be brought to love you, then she loves,
And on it there's no doubt.
PELLEAS
But in my heart
Doubt raises tumult like an angry sea.
GAWAINE
A stormless sky shall lay its waves at rest.
Etarre shall love you, by my word and truth!
PELLEAS
O fond belief, that wings the heart
As feather to a bird new-born
Wherewith to leave the nest of pain
And seek the lands of gold!
Give me your oath of knightly faith
That you are herald in this act,
Not wooer.
GAWAINE
For that jealous word
I give you pardon.
[ He stretches out his hands and touches PELLEAS'
sword .]
Hilt and bar and blade
Be record of my oath; sunlight and wind
Maintain it; honour keep it fast. I swear
By Arthur's knighthood shining in the skies
Of false enchantment and black cowardice,
If I be found unfaithful, changeful, false,
May my bare through feel this unsheathèd blade,
May I be cast for ever from the light!
PELLEAS
Across despair's black-vaulted firmament
Your words have moved refulgent like a star
Which angels hurl from heaven to guide men's steps
On stormy nights through treacherous foul ways.
Words lie too lightly on the lips of man
That I with words could thank you.
[ He loosens his helm. ]
Take my helm,
And here my shield.
GAWAINE
The sword--?
PELLEAS
I cannot give.
"Be strong and hold me fast," so runs the rune.
Through dungeon keep, through false defeat, foul hands,
And knaves' dark roguery, the rhyme has wrought;
Unharmed the sword abides. Take shield and helm,
Therefrom the tale has evidence enough.
[FERGUS appears over the hill. ]
And here at time's full flood my servant comes,
Called by the present need, -- and yet, alone;
Wherein our need is desolate. He went
To seek a mount, yet comes with empty zeal.
[FERGUS at sight of GAWAINE stops, alarmed. Reassured
by GAWAINE'S attitude and bearing, he advances. ]
GAWAINE
Armed and afoot, I cannot far proceed.
Yon castle on the deep horizon's rim
Beckons and nods with greeting from afar
In vain civility. Stands nowhere nigh
Some hermitage whence I may find a steed?
PELLEAS
My man-at-arms knows well this waste of land.
He shall inform us. [ To FERGUS] So, in idle quest
You sought?
FERGUS
Sir Pelleas, the steed I found.
He waits beyond the slant of yonder rise.
PELLEAS
What mock of service have you hid herein?
I bade you lead him hither.
FERGUS
How? with wings?
He cannot mount the sudden sheer ascent;
But thither I can bear you, where he waits.
PELLEAS
Then thither lead Sir Gawaine.
FERGUS
Shall he ride
And you remain?
GAWAINE
Shall squires-at-arms protest
When knights hold counsel?
FERGUS
Good sir knight, oft time
The fool's hid wisdom guides the king aright,
The jester's bells sit steadier than the crown.
I guard my lord and master from deceit.
PELLEAS
I pray you pardon him, a faithful servant,
Who errs too much in serving and in faith.
[ To FERGUS]
Sir Gawaine goes to plead before Etarre,
And win me favour.
FERGUS
Favour in love's cause
Is not a ring to slip on other's hand.
The pleader pleads but for himself.
GAWAINE
O vile,
O base earth-born, were you my serving man
Red stripes should leap across your quivering back;
The dogs should laugh at you and loll their tongues
To see you lower fallen than themselves!
PELLEAS
Sir Gawaine, pardon. Much adversity,
On me descended, has made dark his mind.
He probes forever in suspicious depths,
And where he thinks to find an enemy,
His very soul drips poison and his words
Are but the distillations of his thoughts,
The gathered fumes and acids of his brain.
He shall repent and serve you loyally.
GAWAINE
Then let me go forthwith and seek the steed,
And so depart. My helm and shield I leave
In pledged exchange. When twice the sun has set
And twice arisen, messenger shall come
And big you to the castle of Etarre.
Till then, farewell.
PELLEAS
God speed the ventured aim.
FERGUS
And you, O master, what of you alone,
Wearied and hungered on the shadeless hills?
PELLEAS
Go seek for me from distant hermitage
Another steed. By sun-down be returned
And bear my hence at last.
GAWAINE
Farewell.
PELLEAS
Farewell.
[FERGUS and GAWAINE depart. ]
PELLEAS
[ alone, watching the two move across the brow of the hill ]
So fare, my heart's adventure, so fare well.
CURTAIN
ACT TWO
SCENE: A room in the Castle of ETARRE.
Tapestries upon the walls. The late afternoon
sun streams in through a solitary window. Its
shaft of light falls full upon ETARRE, who sits
before a loom set in a recess. She is working
at a tapestry, now nearly finished. A maid,
AILEEN, attends her.
ETARRE
And one more colour to enrich his crest.
Shall it be scarlet?
AILEEN
Would not blue lie well?
ETARRE
It shall be scarlet. He shall flash and burn
Like dew sun-kindled with a thousand sheens.
Where hangs the scarlet thread?
AILEEN
Here at the wing
From this last dripping stain.
ETARRE
The sun a-mist
On autumn afternoons so stains the world;
A noble colour for a crested plume.
AILEEN
Yet blue were softer.
ETARRE
You are bitten deep
With this sea-madness; in your own blue eyes
Nought's fair that is not blue.
AILEEN
The world's a-drip
With red and crimson, or you like it not.
ETARRE
But, look you, I have reason in my choice,
For red's the fairer colour. There is nought so brave
As scarlet banners or a crimson sky.
AILEEN
For them that like it. But the blue of streams
On summer afternoons 'neath summer skies
Gladdens my heart with deep and pure content.
ETARRE
And one lone spray of hooded red in flower
Cries louder than the murmur of your streams,
The quiet of your skies. They are fancy-poor
Who love not red.
AILEEN
And false of heart
Who love not blue.
[ Sings. ]
Love came to me in kirtle red,
(Honour's false and Faith is dead);
Came again in kirtle blue
(Honour's fair and Faith is true).
ETARRE
You're quick in mocking me with children's rhyme.
Make me a rhyme to mock this rainbow bird
Whose crest is finished. How he sweeps and flies!
Come, I'll begin it.
[ Sings ]
On the wind there flies a bird;
He is come from distant shores,
From the dawn's unopened doors
To the western gates unstirred.
In his wingèd flight there run
Colours of the setting sun.
Do you end the song.
AILEEN [ singing ]
Eyes and lips and sweet desires
Are but feathers for his wings,
Burning love the song he sings;
All thy hope and thought are fires
Giving light unto his eyes;
Life and youth,
Beauty, truth,
Are the strength wherewith he flies.
Snowy breast and golden hair
Are but plumes for him to wear.
He shall sing a summer's day,
Clap his wings, away, away.
ETARRE
Ill caught. You've made your bird too like to Time,
The raven dark who speeds across the world,
And dressed him in fine colours like a daw
Which steals strange ornament.
AILEEN [ singing ]
Silken raiment wherein dressed
Beauty shimmers half divine,
Glint of jewels, rare and fine,
Are but colours for his crest,
Crimson colours for his wings;
Hark! 'tis love whereof he sings!
Brave and gay, a summer's day,
Ere he flies away, away.
ETARRE
I like it not.
It troubles me with some half-dreamed lament,
An unknown broken promise, I know not
To whom, nor for what purpose, made. Poor bird
Here woven on the loom, thou are maligned!
Thou art pure fancy of mine inmost dreams,
Not touched with these gross images of earth.
Thy colours are imperishable light
Caught from the steadfast sun and held secure.
Thou'lt never fly away, but here remain
To be mine eye's interpreter of joy,
To hang upon my castle walls, and sing
Thy crimson colours in sheer ecstasy.
AILEEN
Ay, let him live in silken thread and woof;
There is a bird which flies from mortal grasp.
Most fair he is, to perch upon our wrist
With flashing colours, and from sunlit throat
Pour forth his flooding heart's high melodies.
In every word you speak, he trills and sings;
In every motion of your hand, he moves
With wings aflutter; in your brightening eyes
He lives triumphant: oh, beware, beware;
Too soon he's gone, and in the dusk and chill
No nightingale shall waken into song.
ETARRE
What mean you? Life and Youth and Happiness?
I have them in sweet surfeit.
AILEEN
And of love?
ETARRE
How many times did I forbid his name
And cast him from my highest battlement?
With subtle track you turn upon my words
And lead me toward that monstrous loathing, hid
In all your thoughts. Shall I not be content
With golden solitude, that I must bind
Love's naked body to my car of dreams?
AILEEN
A maiden's eyes, a maiden's wise,
The open gates of paradise.
ETARRE
What mask of rhyme holds revel in your brain
That you make mock of me?
AILEEN
A loveless fate, and Eden's gate
Is barred with double sword of hate.
ETARRE
Have done! have done!
AILEEN
Flame that burns not, stream that flows not,
Maid that loves not, Eden knows not.
ETARRE
This is an old wives' song, a ragged cloth
With halting stitches sewn in knotted thread,
And you would clothe me with it like a queen!
I am content with life; you'd stir the stream
To waters turbid as the floods in spring.
AILEEN
I pray for love's awakening, to end
This dream that hides its own poor solitude
In deep illusion of a soulless life.
My heart can do no more.
ETARRE
Not more, yet less,
And cease to weary me with hopes and tears.
Your tongue moves ever in the wells of speech
Drawing new wonders to the light of day;
And chief there-mid ther curling snake of love
Winds envious through all your words. Have done.
[MARIS enters. ]
AILEEN
And here comes one to guide you in your ways,
To steep your heart in cold indifference,
And marble every living pulse and vein.
MARIS
I pray you, give me a moment's grace, to cross
Your silken fancy with rough thread of care.
I have been troubled with much thought of late;
Our silent halls have heard my pacing step
And stared in dark displeasure, matching frown
Of sullen stone to sullen brow of thought.
ETARRE
Has Care thrown nets within my castle-yard
Or brought us siege? We'll catch him prisoner
And show him forth. Speak on, lay bare his haunt;
Pull down his hiding place and hale him out.
MARIS
Your eyes have seen him, many a day that's past.
He will not be gainsayed, but comes again
With unstilled clamour to our quiet walls.
He carries armour like a knight, has shield,
A spear, a sword, yet will no battle bear;
We drag him out and cast him to the wilds,
Where nature tends him with her healing dew
And dries him with the sunshine and the wind.
ETARRE
Pelleas.
MARIS
The orbed and golden fire of day
With no more steadfast pace in heaven's track
Returns to us: yet one gives light and warmth,
The other is a flame within our fields
That must be quenched.
AILEEN
Flame quenches flame, but sword
Can cut it not.
MARIS
Here's parable enough
To quench the very sun in ignorance
And cloud the light of reason in our brains.
ETARRE
Her idle speech yields up its idle tale:
To all her riddles waits a single key,
A key which I have dropped in blackest moat.
MARIS
You've carved a rune to clear a parable.
Your words are like a flight of wingèd birds
Crossing from sea to sea above my head;
I watch them pass, yet know not where they go.
But as for Pelleas, we'll speak of him;
He has a malady which eats his life
Like rain upon a sword-blade, turning steel
From flash and splendour into edgeless rust;
Deeper and deeper sinks the water-drop
Till all's corroded and the biting teeth
Of slow destruction meet from either side.
And such a sword is worthless unto men,
Fit for quick burial. In short word and brief,
For Pelleas I come, to counsel death.
ETARRE
You'd have me slay him!
AILEEN
Overstepped indeed!
He runs with too great fury.
ETARRE
Shall my name
Be joined with murder's most ignoble rout
And brought to silence?
MARIS
Not in cruelty
I come. There are some souls so weighed with life,
So deep in sorrow, so oppressed with ill,
That death comes like a prison-keeper kind
To strike away the chains of their captivity.
The holy Church's covenant of hell and heaven
Is but a prophecy of that unmeasured dark
Wherein the dead find sustenance and life;
And men in their last hour come down unto the strand
With all earth's hills behind them, and the level sea
Ready for new emprise unknown and unexplored.
Death is the hand that sends them from the shore,
And death the wind that swells within their sails.
And unto them that walk with leaden eyes
Viewless and vacant as the staring blind
Through life's harsh country, weary and despaired,
To them, you call it cruelty and hate
To give them vision of th' eternal sea
Which leads into th' unknown? Oh, be assured
That Mercy, queen of heaven, with backward grasp
Beneath her grey-starred gown holds fast a sword,
And unto some poor souls, in gift of gifts,
Brings not fine balsam, but the edge of death.
ETARRE
What charge is this; am I then merciful?
Did mercy move me through the days and weeks
Of his imprisonment, when he was cast
To sleep among the nettled dungeon-holds
And pray for sunbeams in a lightless pit?
Did mercy move me when with jest and jeer
You dragged him in the dust of horses' hoofs
Or cast him in the sight of beast and bird
To be their mockery? Freedom I sought.
Slaves can be cruel, and I was worse than slave,
Tormented with the thought that I was strong
And he was weak, yet he with all his cries
Made day a nightmare, and within my breast
Dried up the wells of pity. Idle hope
That I should turn against myself, and walk
On paths of mercy!
MARIS
Slay him and be free.
ETARRE
Slay him, and hear the owl at nightfall cry,
And watch the rooks, wind-blown above the towers,
Circle and caw, while all with self-same voice
Say "Murderer?" Slay him, and think the dew
Is born of lamentation, and the wind
Is come on wings funereal and wild
To scream for vengeance from the fiends of hell?
Slay him, you say, and watch the lips of men
Curdle against me, till my frenzied hands
Are clapped above mine ears to hide the sound
Of spoken evil? O unhappy, I,
Laden with unpremeditated wrong
Which will not alter. Oh, unhappy grief!
AILEEN
How changed is your contentment, torn aside
To bare the inner sorrow of unrest.
Oh, leave these false pursuings; be at ease
With woven pictures and imagined scenes
And make not real the dreams of tragedy.
ETARRE
Dreams, dreams, false shadows, phantoms thoughts,
How I am wearied of their flapping wings
Across the twilight of imagined worlds!
There is a change within me of new hours
And other suns; I could be kind or cruel
With unsuspected tenderness and hate.
There's something born within me, great and strange,
A child of impulse, wakened in my veins.
I'll have no more of dreams; come take this loom
And set it forth to other hands. And now
We'll hearken, Maris, to your deathly plaint.
AILEEN
I wish you were not wrought of changeful mood.
But late, you spoke of solitude's content
And wove yourself a golden web of dreams,
And now you're torn it like a tangled fly
Within a spider's mesh that's spun too weak.
ETARRE
Too weak it was; I've torn it with a word.
AILEEN
And with a word rebuilt it many a time.
ETARRE
The spider's dead; he'll weave no more. And now
We'll listen, Maris, to your plea of hate.
MARIS
'Tis not in hate I urge it. Well you know
I bear no hate to mightier knights than I.
ETARRE
And well you know I loathe your Pelleas
And turn all praise of him to darker speech.
MARIS
Still darker speech has gone abroad, to stain
The honour of Etarre and all her knights.
There is a tale now told in other halls,
And false it rings, and yet, alas, is true.
It tells of one lone knight who puts to scorn
Dungeon and steel, a foe who will not fight
Yet always conquers. Men speak hard of you
And call you vampire, sucking might and power
From lovelorn men. If this continues on,
Before the year's end Camelot will hear,
For Arthur's knights ride fast through all this land.
If you would keep untarnished light of fame,
This Pelleas must vanish from the land,
And mouths of men gape empty of ill words.
ETARRE
And if they know I slew him?
MARIS
Not by guile;
By open battle in the sight of men.
ETARRE
And who is there in all this land of mine
To battle with Sir Pelleas?
MARIS
Even I.
For he is fallen from his ancient strength
Till I and he are grown one force in arms.
ETARRE
And if he slay you?
MARIS
Then my cause is lost;
I bear the sorrow.
ETARRE
If he will not fight?
MARIS
We'll give him open choice to fight or die
And love of you will guide him in his choice.
ETARRE
And then he'd slay you! I have seen his spear
Go down the lists and ravish charging steeds
Of their proud burden. I have seen his sword
Shear crest and helm, and leap through buckled steel.
He'd slay you, slay you, and with eager cry
Come throw himself before me, plead for love.
No; other ways there are wherein men die,
And I, the vampire of the strength of men,
Shall know a better counsel.
[ A horn is heard. ]
Hark, a horn!
Go bring me news. Return with every speed.
[MARIS goes out. ]
Look from the window; is there aught to see?
AILEEN
The sinking light of day on field and moor,
A flight of birds, the moving heads of grain,
The leaves ashiver on the trees; nought else.
ETARRE
What meant that horn? Is Pelleas returned
And have my knights brought me but empty words,
Boasting completion of the unfulfilled?
AILEEN
It cannot be. Some other danger calls;
For Pelleas is cast upon the hills
And comes not riding with imperious haste
Of new adventure.
ETARRE
Year and threefold year
Unvisited of danger, I have held
Communion with the change of day and night;
Wrapped in the quiet of a warless land
I have forgotten ravaging and death,
As one who inland dwelling on the hills
Forgets the loud-tongued clamour of the sea
And thinks to measure fierceness of all storms
By that weak wind that plays upon the moor,
Forgetting all the wrack and thund'rous surge
Which sweeps to ruin: on a sudden day
He comes unto the cliffs and hears the sea,
The menace of the waters holding guard
Before the portals of the earth. So I.
And here is war with brazen throat and strong
Come crying at my door, and I have slept.
AILEEN
Here is no tramping of the hoofs of war;
Some messenger on peaceful journey bent
Craves food and shelter, giving in return
The last hot news of joust at Camelot
And feast of Arthur's knights, the noble tales
Of battle unto giant and to dwarf
In magic wood and isle snake-habited;
Fen-dwelling sorcerers and craggy fiends;
The last sad word of knights no more returned;
Court-news and scandal, like a spider's thread
That waves in th' wind, seeking whereon to build.
ETARRE
Whate'er it be, my warders stand at guard
In quick restraint lest any enter in,
And unexpected come, and unannounced.
Where's Maris that he waits so long?
[GAWAINE enters, with helm and shield of PELLEAS.
The visor is down. ]
Who's here?
Pelleas? Quick, help me! call for Maris! help!
Help, Balarin and Avran, Erse, and Dane!
Is no one here to help me, none to come?
O treachery outdark'ning all belief!
What! none, not one, -- one man to bring me help?
AILEEN
He dare not so assail you! If he come,
I'll cast myself against him, break his path,
And hamper him till you be fled.
[GAWAINE stands unmoved, leaning upon his shield. ]
ETARRE
What! still?
No motion, no advance to pluck me hence?
You're harrier and I the song-bird caught,
And you leave sheathed your claws? What, great of heart,
You dare so come, and offer me, not death, --
No! that's too little for your hungry soul! --
But kindness and a sword that holds its sheath?
You dare so stand before me, raise no hand
To bring me hurt? You dare humility?
O impudence that mocks my woman's strength
And spurns all vengeance, every stroke of sword!
You've slain my knights or caught them with some trick,
You've made me here defenceless to your might,
And now you stand before me dumb and still
And speak no word and raise no awful hand.
AILEEN
Shall I bring aid, go search the battlements,
Call every serf from labour, strip the fields?
He will not dare assail you.
ETARRE
Here abide.
I need not man's assistance; woman's will
And woman's word borrow an unknown strength
When wrong's at issue. Here, in last defence,
You stand on trial, plead a mortal cause
Before an unrelenting judge. Have care
Of every moving word and springing phrase
Lest they o'ertip the balance with false weight.
Much have I found of blame and heavy fault:
A restless spirit walking in the night,
His mantle blown by gust of unseen winds
Across the darkness toward the home of storms
Where stars and sun are hidden; so he moves,
Wild-eyed with some new vision drawn aghast;
And this is he who makes my life a curse,
Pelleas, the knight; for him make your defence!
What! not an outburst of an injured love?
Are not those furnaces of passion stirred
That shone so ruddy in the dark of hate,
That burned upon the hill-tops of abuse
Like beacon fires, those furnaces of love
That once consumed your soul to ashen drift
And made you like a coal that's burnt to th' end?
What! not a word? no, not a single word?
Is all your life's endeavour stricken dumb?
Then hark; for them that will not plead their cause
Judgement is given. You have sinned too much
To keep the water's surface; lead, and more than lead,
Drags at your body, and the stream's quick flood
Closes above you, who are judged and damned.
A thousand ways you've found in your offence:
Your shadow has been dark on all my paths,
A fiery shadow burning grass and herb.
You've eaten out the petals of my life
And strewn my happiness like withered leaves
On autumn walks; you've been the wind and rain
To hold me prisoner beneath my roof
Longing in vain for sunlight and clear skies.
You've sinned too much against me, you have moved
A hundred feet beneath my castle walls
And with huge shoulders shaken keep and tower;
You've caught the lightning on the barren wild
And driven it against me like a hound;
For like the stroke of earthquake underground
Or bolt of errant flame across the night,
So have you shaken me and burned my sight,
So have you cast my life in monstrous ruin
And blackened all the walls of strength and love.
For this you have no penitence, no grief,
But are returned like hawk upon his flight
To seek anew the victim you have struck;
But I am changed to poison-throated snake
With deadly venom poised upon my tongue
And all my body tense in gathered coil;
No harmless serpent of the fens am I,
But an undreamed and deadly throat of pain;
I call you to that sombre house of rest
Wherein all men must while eternally.
I have been bitter; drunken deep in words
I have assailed you; now I speak no more.
Prepare you for your death. I seek my knights.
[GAWAINE raises the bar of his helmet. ETARRE starts aghast. ]
GAWAINE
There is no need. I am not Pelleas.
ETARRE
What knight are you? Oh, speak, how came you here?
What dark intent of silence led you in?
What will you of me? Are you rapine's hand
Or stroke of vengeance, war's untimely sword,
Some miracle of quick disaster sprung
From seed unplanted? Speak!
GAWAINE
Gawaine am I,
Knight of King Arthur's Court, of royal kith.
Deception's mask no guiltier purpose hides
Than from your love and anger to extort
A knowledge in each mood of praise of blame
And learn if I win favour for my deed.
ETARRE
What deed? You've slain my knights?
GAWAINE
They are unharmed.
ETARRE
Are they not stricken and not captive bound?
Do men-at-arms still hold their watch and guard?
How came you here? Were all my servants false?
GAWAINE
Smooth words and promise of high recompense,
An oath of loyalty unto your cause,
A servitor of yours that knew my face
In other days and other lands -- no more;
These were enough to gain my entrance here.
Your servants sought to serve you as they could,
Thinking to win new favour through my aid.
Deal not too harshly with them, but on me
Turn all the passion of your fit rebuke.
ETARRE
I have no heart to child a noble knight
Well known in Caerleon's court. But answer me,
This shield so quartered, see, I know it well,
Yon helm with the green plume half caught aside,
These are of Pelleas.
GAWAINE
From him I took them.
ETARRE
You've slain him or made him prisoner?
GAWAINE
Not made him prisoner.
ETARRE
Then slain?
GAWAINE
Yea, slain.
In battle smitten to the final breath.
ETARRE
Dead, Pelleas! Now let the hooded sun
Break forth in splendour, let the golden moors
Proclaim thanksgiving from a thousand flowers!
Oh, I am as the earth, with winter bowed,
Who sudden feels the weight of snow and frost
With one great stroke from his twain shoulders cast,
And leaps unto his feet, and calls for Spring.
For I had taken resolution dread,
And death was all about me, lithe and dark,
To haunt my footsteps and in silent halls
Afflict my purpose with the nightmare forms
Which Horror views with shuddering lidless eyes
Or with fixed stare pursues. Join exultation
And be aroused to song, my silent heart;
We are of much relieved, our troubled days
That were as night's dark pall of mist and cloud,
Are turned to smoke upcurling in the sun,
And vanish in the clear expanse of light.
GAWAINE
Have you no pity, are you carved of stone?
This is unholy so to cry and sing,
To whet rejoicing on the steel of death.
ETARRE
Is it unholy for the wanderer
Through night's black pitfalls and most secret lures
To hail the sunrise with a joyful song,
Knowing he walks securely on his way?
GAWAINE
I could not slay a man with such a wild heart!
ETARRE
It is not I who slew him! Oh, be glad.
Look you, I am most merciful and kind;
You know not all my history of grief,
You know not how he came across my life,
Black thread within the weaving of my joys!
GAWAINE
Noble he was, and glorious in strength.
ETARRE
Whereof I had much cause of bitterness.
We thrust the dwarf aside, spurn him the path;
The giant brings us terror in our knees.
Oh, had he not so noble been, so strong,
So burning on the lips of man and maid,
So high redoubted in all mighty arms,
I would have pitied him, not hated to the last.
GAWAINE
Have you no sorrow now, that he is dead;
Have you no word of praise?
ETARRE
Oh, ask me not;
But unto you who brought me into peace,
All gratefulness of heart, all kindly words.
Be welcome to our halls, and bide with us.
AILEEN
Shall I prepare a chamber for our guest?
ETARRE
With every speed. Let Avran know of this.
GAWAINE
I cannot here abide. My journey calls.
I was on idle mission sent and vain.
I must go hence again in haste.
[AILEEN, at a sign from ETARRE, goes out. ]
ETARRE
Oh, stay!
It is unkindness to defeat all thanks
And set true praise at loss; you render base
Her whom your kindness most has cherishèd,
Most nurtured into grateful ways. You spurn
The springing blade of recompense, and flee
Before its growth has quickened into leaf.
GAWAINE
A truer deed, that is not done for gain.
ETARRE
Those purposes were never truly sown
Which no man bides to reap; but like the wind
You've scattered bounty with a careless strength
And run abroad intent on other joys.
The harvest threshers mock with plundered chaff
The wind that sowed and knew not how to reap;
Be more advised and with more human grace
Glean recompense and store the golden grain.
GAWAINE
With how persuasive touch you lull asleep
The serpent-heads of honour. 'Tis too late,
For they have set their fangs within me deep,
And I must go.
ETARRE
For honour? Is it honour
To trample welcome underfoot, and turn
With angry frown from greeting to farewell?
Does honour quarrel with hospitality
And virtue with all kindness?
GAWAINE
Ask my Wish
And learn it does not with my Will accord;
Prove Inclination, and 'twill here abide,
But speak to Duty, Knighthood, Self-resolve,
And they will cry "To horse!" and ride away.
ETARRE
It is Ill-will that plucks you by the sleeve,
A servant in high banquet come to call
His master forth on other needs?
GAWAINE
Ah, no;
For admiration pours me heavy wine
Of looks and words persuasive to the sense.
I pray your pardon if I seem unkind:
There is a vow which bids me hence.
ETARRE
A vow?
Of fasting and of shelterless advance
Through rainy ways and dripping nights a-cold?
GAWAINE
A vow most recent to impatient lips,
To further love's advantage.
ETARRE
Then remain;
Tell me the tale and I with woman's heart
Can find a surer way than quickest wit
Of man's device. Thus shall you hold the vow
And further love's advantage.
GAWAINE
'Twere in vain;
For she is hard of heart and loves him not.
ETARRE
Is he of manner lovable and kind,
In birth accepted and on courtly ways?
GAWAINE
All these he is, noble and great and true.
Knighthood he honours, and the halls of men
Which feel his stately presence. Such an one
Is like a crown upon the head of kings,
Adorning them with beauty. He is strong
As mountain elm or heaven-cresting pine,
Yet in his deeds more gentle than a child
And in his thought as pure.
ETARRE
'Tis you that love.
Could she with such enamoured eyes behold,
The earth would shrink to nothing at her feet
And he would stand alone against the stars,
A hero, crowned with passion, as with light.
In other guise she knows him, be assured,
And finds some deadly fault whose clinging tooth
Tears at his virtues and with venomed drop
Discolours those fair tints wherein he shines.
Can you not say with what quick wrong estranged
She holds him from her?
GAWAINE
By a wilful mood,
A child's unreasoned passion of dislike.
ETARRE
There is an eye more deep than reason set.
False-shadowed forms deceive the fleshly sight,
False words with reason dally, lead astray
The wisest thought; but this is undeceived.
Have you not marked how the untutored wild
With thoughtless vision of pure sense discern
Their friends or enemies in humankind?
And so with woman when she loves or hates.
Ask why the leaf unfolds to April rain
But lies close-hidden from the winds of March.
GAWAINE
Did I not say, "In vain"? My mind forbode
A fruitless mission. Therefore, let me go.
ETARRE
Is this a snare of wisdom curling round
Into unreason? You go forth in vain:
"Therefore," you say, "make haste!" Nay, therefore bide;
If you are so persuaded, that your words
Can never waken love in this Unknown,
This obdurate and loveless Beautiful
Who spurns this knight of yours and will not heed,
Then bide with me, and feast with me, and dream
Of more successful loves, more gracious toils,
More sweet acceptance. You are welcome here,
For you have freed me from a deep distress
Which boded worse disaster, drawing on
With monstrous shapes and dreams of murdered men:
For with my own weak hands and woman's strength,
Goaded by anger, driven by despair
I should have bartered Pelleas with death,
And sold him to the fearful hands of night
To be their captive, gaining in return
From that grim changers'-table quick release
And freedom from the bonds of hate.
GAWAINE
In vain!
Did I not say, "In vain"? -- This murdered knight,
This Pelleas, was noble-souled and great
And women loved him.
ETARRE
Like a strangling noose
He clung about my heart; through pulse and vein
A clogging hatred thickened, and my mouth
Grew dry with anger and unbidden rage.
But tell me why you slew him; not in hate,
For praise you speak; and not in rivalry,
For great you name him.
GAWAINE
'Twas a slanderous tale
Against your beauty and your name. To him
I told it; and in sudden fire he shone
And with his sword and spear proclaimed you true.
ETARRE
Who bade him praise me? let my word and deed
Be their own champion, dress their shields alone
And ride to battle! Was my hate in vain
That he should hound me with remorseless love?
GAWAINE
For you he died.
ETARRE
And I shall bury him
And on his mound set an ungraven stone,
That I may cast him alway from my mind
As life has cast him from her herald's scroll.
But you who from the one have purged his name
Shall never from the other be effaced.
GAWAINE
I pray you let me now depart in peace.
ETARRE
By all the sacred bonds of gratitude
I fetter you and hold you now in thrall.
By courtesy of knighthood, by the grace
Of man to feebler woman, by the strength
Of that great company of Arthur's knights,
By creed of chivalry and law of faith
I conjure you, remain!
GAWAINE
Accursed vow,
What evil have you brought me! Will you come
And cry fulfilment of your darkest word?
For I must bide and to the utmost proof
Display that broken embassy of love
Whose hopes are all in vain!
ETARRE
Like stricken priest
Who sees temptation writ on every wall,
Wide-eyed for sustenance you murmur prayer.
Am I a creature wrought in deadly shape
Of mortal passion, that with quivering fear
You dare not here abide and with me feast
Holding high converse of adventured deed?
You do offend me with ungracious thoughts
And with unworthy shaft suspicion point.
Yet shall you be forgiven with full heart
If you from stern intention draw aside
And turn to kindness. For three nights and days
Let helm and breastplate join with greave and spur
Unstirred in idleness.
GAWAINE
With eager hands
I lay aside the heavy press of mail.
ETARRE
My knights shall swift disarm you. Here remain;
My servants shall attend you.
[ She leaves the room .]
GAWAINE
Fatal vow,
For thee I am assailed. How hard of heart,
How cold to pity is that glorious form,
That haunting presence! Yet, what body's grace
Here shone about me! with what subtle charm
Of pleading voice and of unveiled desire
She bade me welcome! Nay, not ice and stone
That lovely breast, though it be white as snow
And like unsullied marble carven out.
O honour, bide with me, unshaken, strong;
O knighthood, watch above me. Deep events
Have wrought me danger. O thrice wretched vow
That makes my path a journey through the dark
And spreads disaster wide on every hand!
CURTAIN
ACT THREE
SCENE: Three richly bedecked pavilions, the
central one in the foreground, the others set
further back. Draperies and silk hangings.
The curtain of the central pavilion is drawn
aside to reveal the decorated interior. Within,
and near the entrance, are seated GAWAINE and
ETARRE . To the left, through the branching trees
and above their summits, the walls of the Castle
of ETARRE are dimly visible. Toward the
right, a gentle slope descends to a thicket which
shuts off the view. The last colours of sunset
are in the sky.
ETARRE
Now sinks the day beneath the western rim.
Night's hooded shepherd gathers-in the light
And drives the crimson and the purple hues
From highest heav'n unto their twilight fold;
There shall they sleep till morn upwakes anew
And sends them forth on eastern pasturage.
O golden cloud, farewell; and yonder, too,
Which like a billowed sea upon the West
Heaves ruddy flame. Farewell, sweet colours all;
That night makes shut the heavy doors of sleep
And seals the portals with a silver star.
GAWAINE
Dim silence flings its misty veil abroad.
Hark! how the birds are stilled, and one by one
Drop off to slumber.
ETARRE
Soon the hornèd bat,
Shy lover of the twilight, soft of flight,
With ribbèd wings in noiseless here-and-there
Will weave the darkness; and the searching owl
Will be a shadow-phantom clothed with sight.
GAWAINE
Gone is the day, and now another sun,
Another taper in th' eternal halls,
Is quenched for ever.
ETARRE
So the breath of night
Moves down the long expanse of kindled flames
And one by one makes dark the future days,
Until the last weak taper is blown out
And night unending rules the sunless world.
GAWAINE
Let not the sadness of departed day
Weigh present joy with far fore-boded grief.
Night robs us not of vision, though her hands
Pluck down the light from heav'n and bind our eyes.
Night clothes herself in beauty like a queen
And robes her naked body with soft folds
Whose half-concealment makes more rapturous
The deep allurement of her charms. The day
Is but a meadow garlanded with flowers;
The darkness is a forest, deep and far,
Where wonders move in every rustling leaf,
And every footfall of the wind foretells
Some mystic presence. In the noonday sun
We see too well, and thence see not at all;
But in the night our very spirit wakes,
And with more gleaming power than day-lit eyes
Reads deep the world's enchanted rune. 'Tis Night
Who unto our most sacred thought and word
In birth brings for the beauty of the soul.
ETARRE
With quiet hands she lights her waiting stars
And sends them forth to wander in the skies.
O Night, sweet mother of eternal calm,
I owe thee penance. Thy bright brother, Day,
Has lured me with his colours.
GAWAINE
See, the East
Is spreading silver cloth of woven light.
ETARRE
The little people of the hills and meads
Now hold their gathering at full of moon,
With grave debate enacting law and will
Whereby to rule. In angry conclave set,
They gird their resolution unto war,
Till beast and bird are stricken by their wrath
And cry full penitence.
GAWAINE
This is a tale;
Yet in this land are wonders strange enow
Which I myself have witnessed.
ETARRE
There be three
Who hold this land in power, and with strange skill
Ordain the deeds of men. They oft appear
To travellers intent on distant ways
And by gift of favour bind their will.
These three have you encountered?
GAWAINE
Even they.
What shall their craft portend?
ETARRE
Nor good nor ill.
My knights in journey unto other courts,
My men from field returning at the dusk
Have met these three and for some trifling grace,
A draught of water or a sprig of thorn,
Been bound to choice, but having mid the three
To one assented are unharmed released.
[ The moon rises. ]
GAWAINE
Whence are they, and with what malign intent
Draw toll from men?
ETARRE
This no man knows or deems.
They are of mist and water, and their ways
Are as the air phantastic or the clouds
Which change their shape to every wilful mood.
But this adventure comes from many lips
And I would hear some deed of sword and spear
Wrough by your hand alone, and from your lips
Alone recounted. Were you not of they
Who sought the Grail through lands beyond the sea
And wrought adventure such as none had dreamed?
GAWAINE
A future quest, forever unfulfilled;
A lure across the rainbow to the sun!
'Tis present always and yet never here.
May I not be of them who make this life
A great To-be, a vision and a dream.
Has earth no riches, that we ride aquest
To find the silver path beyond the moon?
Are there no flowers save those which other walls
Enclose for ever from us, and no streams
Save those beyond the trackless rocks, no sun
In our own heav'n and no portentous start
Save those which others see? O wretched souls
That spurn the wine of life, and drain the cup
Into the basin which is never filled,
Where all the lees of mad desire run down, --
The Unattainable, the great In Vain!
It is enough for me that here to-night
I feel the soft sweet air and view the stars
And hear your voice beside me. 'Tis enough
That love is beautiful, that life is great,
That old age is not come, nor winter bleak.
ETARRE
The year looks backward with half-wistful face
This autumn night; the air is soft with spring
And lulls the sense to a sweet repose.
So is it on the first warm eve of May
When earth, expectant of an unseen grace,
Awaits it knows not what, all awed and still,
And thinks to hear across the sleeping hills
The footsteps of divinity returned.
GAWAINE
And not in vain; for God, each Spring, descends
In guise unseen to shape the world anew
To plant desire in every fleshly form
And resurrect the world from winter sleep.
Meseems, to-night He is returned to earth
And with soft wand of vernal sorcery
Brought back the Spring, and in our sleeping souls
Awakened voices singing through the dark
Like birds beneath the stars, to fill the night
With rapt enchantment.
ETARRE
Mystical delight!
Awake, awake, O sleeping birds of song!
AWake within my heart, O silent birds,
And fill the night with music till the stars
Tremble in adoration! Have I lived and breathed
These many years, these sombre silent years,
Or was I numbered with the dreamless dead,
Encharnelled in a palace, deep entombed
In empty vault of daily thought and deed?
Like them that walk within a sleep wide-eyed
And deem themselves awake, so have I lived, --
Nay, so been dead, and deemd myself alive.
GAWAINE
Do you not feel a pulse of eager blood
Through every vein, striving with beat and throb
To rouse the broken armies of the spring,
And hear the stamping of the hoofs, the cries
Of mounted knights to battle riding down?
They are reclaiming to their empery
The autumn year, and winter's pagan horde
Falls back before them.
ETARRE
Not in earth and air
Alone they conquer, but in human mind
They set their banners and in human heart
Stir high their beacons.
GAWAINE
Yea, in thine and mine,
Held captive to them here beneath the stars.
ETARRE
The flames leap heavenward with growing beam
Of kindled passion. O mad heart, wild heart,
Why do you beat so fast, why leap and strive
Like a wild thing netted, caught within a snare
That leaves it free to struggle? O sweet heart,
Be still, be still!
GAWAINE
O sweeter lips, speak on;
Or better, speak no more; but unto mine
Make harmony of silence and desire.
[ They kiss. ]
[ From the pavilions in the background is heard a voice singing. ]
SONG
When bleak December bares the hills
And snowflakes curl in air,
When hoary January chills
Young hearts with old despair,
When February plucks the day
And plumes the stormy night,
When March winds prowl in quest of prey
And battle with the light,
By river marge and reedless lake
Love makes her weary moan,
"O April sun, awake, awake!"
She sings alone, alone.
O hearts of men, make penance due
When April draws anear,
For life is false, but love is true,
And Spring is here, is here!
GAWAINE
O singing voice, the year is old and grey,
Unto the tomb totters her shaking step.
September has from April stolen dress
And you by quick illusion are deceived.
ETARRE
One day, one night, one shift of moon and sun,
Each year are stolen from the hoard of Spring
And unto Autumn given. On that eve
All flowers, unknown to sleep-enchanted eyes,
Break into blossom from a withered stem,
The trees are clothed in leaf, the faded stars
Put on new splendour, and the drowsy earth
With glow-worm hangs each branch and dewy bower.
It is the year's farewell festivity
Ere love be quenched and winter cold return,
Ere bird fly southward under warmer skies
And fourfoot beast to sunless lair retire.
GAWAINE
But we unharmed through rainy nights and chill
Shall hear the storm about the towered walls,
And in security close-wrapped shall laugh
When winter's frosty fingers pierce and pry
At every stone and corner, and the wind
Cries like a beast unsheltered through the night.
Yea, thou and I, caught in each other's arms,
Shall dream of stormy battle overhead
When winter with the giants of the north
Sweeps down across the hills and smites the plain
With desolation, when above the dead
The whirling snow in burial descends,
When waters are bound captive in strong chains,
When wells are sealed, and rivers turned to stone.
And I will tell thee many a tale and strange
Of dark enchantment wrought in waking dreams,
Of magic lawns, and flowers that backward draw,
Of shields that burn in flame, and helms that raise
Quick serpents clutching the unwarded blow.
So shall we hold the icy fiend at scorn
And waken endless summer in our breast,
With love to sing to us, and love to clothe
Our souls with gladness and our hearts with peace.
ETARRE
How many times I love thee, whom three days
Have scarcely crowned, whom speech and look and thought
Have scarce revealed! And yet a thousand suns
Could with no lordlier radiance bind thy brows
Nor with more light illumine.
GAWAINE
Thou are dear
As pearl deep-hidden in the lightless sea
Which careless net a-search for other prey
By chance drags upward to th' astounded light.
One glance alone, one beam of shafted day,
The wretched fisher clutches priceless wealth
And needs no knowledge wrought of week and year
To teach his fortune. So art thou to me,
Revealed and perfect in an instant sight.
ETARRE
Hold me yet closer, let the living world
Sink from me like wild stars that seek the night
And downward vanish in the vast obscure.
Quench yonder gleams that hold the dark in power,
And ban yon moving shield of argent beam;
Veil moon and stars, and draw me to thy own.
GAWAINE
O best endeared and sweet belovèd form,
Thou art the earth's most precious heritage.
A thousand years, she fashioned in the dark
With labour and sad toil, and brought thee forth
To be her fairest marvel all unstained.
Thou art of summer nutured, light-enwrought,
Cradled in southern flame.
ETARRE
The silent years
In their dim fastness of forgotten days
With virgin toil unrecompensed and lone
Have fashioned me and brought me to thy lips.
GAWAINE
And now like shrouded mantles of the dawn
Soft falling from the shoulders of the sun,
They do reveal thee, girt and crowned with love,
Thine inmost self, for utmost worship meet.
ETARRE
They have deserted me, like startled birds
Rising from nook and deep recess of rock
And wheeling, wheeling higher overhead,
Till with a sudden impulse they depart
And leave the watcher on the silent shore
Alone and marvelling. So have they fled,
My years of childhood and of maiden thought,
My lonely years of growing womanhood,
And I am left alone with love and thee,
While at my feet the waters smite the shore,
Wave after wave, in-coming from the deep.
GAWAINE
Of that great time-swept ocean have no fear.
The future is a snare to lead the eye
Toward far horizons clouding the unknown.
It is the present which our feet must tread
And there our vision is the most unsheathed
And we with least illusion can behold.
Think not of years, but grasp the present day,
And adamantine make the fleeting phase,
Arrested and in memory's stone held fast,
Carved with rich wonder, traced with strange design.
ETARRE
Ah would that Time thus stayed his course, or clipped
The present hour and left it shorn of wings
To be our prisoner! For evermore
Should I so cling to thee, my lips upheld
For thy sweet ardour and enkindled mouth,
For ever so be clasped within thine arms,
And dure eternity in thine embrace.
GAWAINE
All things save this can might of love fulfil.
Love can of dew makes pearls and emeralds
And build a palace of a ruined moat,
From deepest forest charm the wingèd bird
To minstrelsy and hymeneal song,
And from the mountains draw the sullen wild
To serve in quick attendance at the feast.
With power of shadowed dreams and quickening thought
Love is endowed: she chains eternal things
To be her servant, binds th' unwilling moon,
And draws the silver-threaded stars which weave
The tapestries of heav'n. The golden sun,
Which like a shuttle moves across the sky
With strands alternate of the day and night,
Becomes her slave and lives but for her word.
For they that love are rulers of the earth
And in their hands the future ages lie.
[ A nightingale sings close at hand. ]
ETARRE
Did I not say this night was caught from Spring?
Hark April's nightingale who turns the dark
To music, and with radiant voice proclaims
That summer is not fled, nor autumn here.
To bed! to bed! sweet bird; with weary eyes
You'll see the dawn if he o'ertake you singing.
GAWAINE
And unto us that selfsame counsel turns
And bids us sleep. Good night, sweet love, good night.
ETARRE
Kiss me once more, till love be bared indeed
And I in sweet communion with thy thoughts
Be drawn into thy life and be a dream
Within thy mind, a pulse within thy heart. --
Kiss me once more, till life forsake his toil
Of mystic alchemy and hidden consonance
Of soul with body, till he break his glass
Wherein he visions that processional
Of generation unto generation matched,
That sequence of mankind and beast and bird
Which marks his handicraft: kiss me once more,
Until he merge my soul in deathless bond
To thine, and in eternal union join
Our mind and thought and will. -- Kiss me once more,
Till heav'n and earth be reft of all their veils
And robbed of their mysterious dark conceit,
Till I behold the circles of the sun
And see the pulsing of the day and night,
Hear time upon his anvil forge the stars,
And be at one with universal might. --
Kiss me once more, and shatter earth and sky
Hurl all to dissolution, and with stroke
Of vast desire still that gigantic heart
Whose beating is the living, moving world.
Leave me alone with thee, set round with night,
In universal dark of boundless space,
Alone, alone. -- Kiss me, and so good night!
[ She rises and comes forward to the entrance of the
pavilion, where she stands gazing out. ]
How silent treads the night, how soft and still,
With finger at her lips to hush each sound,
That none of those who bide beneath her care
Shall with uneasy dreams be stirred, and wake.
Sleep soft, ye woods and meadow-lands,
Ye silent leaves and sleeping flowers.
Pale primroses, and daisies, ye sweet eyes
With which the earth looks out on heaven,
Be still; all, all, be still.
Farewell, ye stars which overhead
Drift by with distant song.
Moon wide-eyed, watch well;
Watch well until the dawn.
[ She lets fall the curtain across the entrance of the
pavilion, thus shrouding GAWAINE and her-
self from sight. The moon has now risen
high above the trees and bathes the stage in silver
light. A soft wind stirs the leaves. Their
rustling is taken up and transformed to music,
-- at first scarcely audible, but gradually grow-
ing in intensity,-- representing the sounds
of a late summer night. ]
[ The music stills. PELLEAS and FERGUS emerge
from the thicket on the right. ]
PELLEAS
Stay still: no further move. Our question here
Shall find its answer.
FERGUS
Know you what this means?
PELLEAS
Rejoicing and festivity.
FERGUS
The rite
Of burial.
PELLEAS
What mean you?
FERGUS
That the dead
From battle ride not home. You are betrayed.
This is rejoicing for your death, festivity
To honour him who slew you. For she holds
That Gawaine with true victor's right and might
Carries your shield and helm. You are betrayed.
PELLEAS
Though mine own eyes beheld, I scarce should hold
That such a knight to such a vow were false.
'Tis Gawaine, born of Caerleon's royal blood,
Whom you, low-born, attaint. With deadly vow
He swore him faithful, and in utmost pledge
Bound life and body to fulfil my love.
These were his words upon my sword-hilt sworn:
"If I be found unfaithful, changeful, false,
May my bare throat feel this unsheathèd blade,
May I be cast for ever from the light!"
FERGUS
The vow is forfeit. Go! reclaim the oath.
They have no fear of you and set no guard.
Etarre believes you dead, and Gawaine laughs.
She shall remember that the dead arise
To wreak their vengeance. In these tents are hid
Sure proofs and testimony.
PELLEAS
There remain,
Within yon thicket hidden, till I come.
[FERGUS draws back out of sight. PELLEAS advances
up the slope toward the central pavilion. ]
PELLEAS
Is this the timid prey which ran to earth
Close harried, and like mole which dreads the light
Drew shut her portals? This is she who feared
My least approach, who with armed battlement
Greeted my coming and with moat unbridged
Bade welcome. These soft silks and drooping fanes
Point mockery, as though they scorned to hide
That which they cannot guard.
[ He has approached the curtain of the pavilion. ]
So comes the thief
At dead of night on foul endeavour bent,
So peers to left and right with fearing eye,
And so on tip-toe to his booty draws.
O watching powers of darkness and deceit,
Grant that I be the very thief and true,
And not myself the stolen-from, the robbed,
The injured one down-tracking to his lair
The plucking knave and claiming back his own!
[ He raises the curtain and peers in. After a moment
he suddenly starts back. ]
O sight too horrible for mortal eyes,
Burning the eye-ball with a blackened scar
Of infamy and loathing! Oh, be blind,
Twice injured eyes. Look not again on light.
Clothe yourselves round with darkness, and forget
This fatal gift of seeing! O accursed,
O nest of shame breeding repugnant brood
Of broken oaths and false virginity!
Now is the scroll of knighthood ended; fame
Forsakes her ancient stronghold of renown.
The days of chivalry are past, and knights
With plea insidious of inviolate oath
Work treason and adultery. This was Etarre,
The maiden ivory in her chastity,
With eyes downcast for fear of shame; and now
Her lips are drawn apart with hungry sin
And like a serpent feast on evil fruit.
O night, how canst thou sleep so still? Up! Wake!
With hundred voices clamour at this deed,
And loose the hell-hounds of your winds and storms
To sweep into destruction's cloven pit
This treachery and crime! O bitterness of man,
To see his life down-trodden and the dust
Of wild despair heap charnel mounds and whirl
In mockery, while Heaven lifts no hand,
The oceans are unmoved, the river-floods
Within their channels tarry, wind and fire
Their ancient office elsewhere do perform,
And moon and star smile in serenity!
Forsaken, thrice forsaken, with his grief
Man wrings no pity. The great world is stone;
God holds himself aloof, cold, passionless,
Wrapt in designs of far eternities.
Spurning the race which shudders at his feet,
He fashions future kingdoms. Weak, alone,
From death unsheltered, bearing wounds and ill
In life upgathered, man cries out in vain
For judge of evil, champion 'gainst the wrong.
But I, though I be so forsaken, scorned of God,
Unheard of earth and Heaven, yet shall I
Fulfil my vengeance, with unaided hand,
And right the wrong and champion the true!
False Nature, cry farewell to children twain
Whom hast thou nurtured into infamy;
Thou canst not save them! here, against thy will,
I slay them, and in mockery of thee.
[ Lifting the curtain of the pavilion with one hand,
and with the other holding his drawn sword,
he enters and disappears from view. He
re-emerges. ]
And is it manhood so to halt and fail,
To hide the sword of vengeance in the sheath
Of pity? Thought and deed wage mutual war,
And deed is conquered; the weak thought prevails.
So let them sleep; I cannot slay them now. --
[ He turns to go, but halts suddenly. ]
What, let that injury to all my hopes
So slumber on, so let that shameless word
Sleep unavenged? --
Ah me, how still they lay!
Gawaine at peace, half god-like in his dreams,
And she like carven statue motionless,
Her lips half-smiling, her dark-lidded eyes
Soft closed, and one white hand against her breast
As though her lover still within her clasp
Lay sleeping. --
O deep misery accursed
To find Etarre at last, and find her so!
Am I by craft of wizardry encharmed
That all my thoughts are shades and fleshless dreams?
With maiden weakness here I stand and weep
As though I had no strength of hand, no sword
To bring me vengeance, and no warrior's will
To punish proved deceit and oath forsworn.
Unto my mercy's prayer I cast Etarre
For pittance, but my anger's deadly curse
Shall Gawaine take, and with the stroke of death
Drive out his soul from earthly dwelling place
And ban for ever from the living world.
[ He re-enters the pavilion. After a little, he re-emerges. ]
Sleep on, sleep on, I cannot slay you here.
On field of battle, waking and full-armed,
I'll slay you; but not here, not now, asleep,
Unarmed, defenceless. Though you traitor be,
Of knighthood's stroke unworthy, yet am I
A knight, and with that sacred oath am bound
To slay no sleeping man nor foe unarmed,
To battle with the sword and not, as they
Who slay their sheep for feasting, to approach
With sharpened knife the victim's helpless throat.
Not so in cowardice was knighthood framed,
Not so adorned for valour. Nay, sleep on.
You've wronged me more than thousand deaths could pay;
To take a single life so wretchedly
Were but a mockery of payment. Nay, sleep on,
And if your dreams affright you, be at ease;
For that grim shadow, standing at your bed
And with malign intent upon your life
Down-gazing, is departed and returns
No more to vex you. Ay, sleep on, sleep on.
[ He proceeds down the slope. At the foot of the
slope he is met by FERGUS.]
FERGUS
And was it other than I said?
PELLEAS
Full well
Your heart's malignity foretold me truth.
FERGUS
Gawaine is false?
PELLEAS
The night with darkling robe
No falser thing conceals.
FERGUS
Where are they hid?
PELLEAS
Yonder pavilion holds the twain as one.
FERGUS
Then have you slain them, meted that reward
Alone sufficient and well-earned?
PELLEAS
They live.
FERGUS
You had not power, not opportunity
To fall upon them; they were held in guard
Or otherway from you removed?
PELLEAS
Unwatched
Their couch, unarmed they sleep and lone.
FERGUS
And are not dead! Are you of honour reft,
Of resolution shorn, of anger void!
Unmoved you know yourself betrayed and spurned,
Laughed at and mocked, your prize of ten long years
Snatched from you in a day, and all your life
O'ercast with sorrow. Have you not a sword?
Do swords not slay? Alas, suspicion grows;
This is not Pelleas who held the field
Of armoured knights at nought! This is a shade,
And Pelleas by years of pining love
Is grown too frail for manhood, and too weak
For anger. Quick, take sword, and slay;
Set seal of blood on this foul testament.
Match deed to deed. Send me with hungry knife
And I will slay, and take the fault, the shame,
If you have found a fault in such a right,
A shame in such a work of injured honour.
PELLEAS
I cannot slay a sleeping knight, nor turn
The pointed sword against a woman's breast.
Let us depart this most unhallowed spot
Lest quick contagion which is here abroad
Should with its ill infect us.
FERGUS
Unavenged
You would depart, and leave no trace behind,
No proof of anger, no memorial
To that dishonourable union set,
As though you were the spirit of the wind
Across the moors, trailing nor track nor sign
To mark your presence? Shall they wake at dawn
And fill another day with wretched love,
And deem themselves secure and laugh at thought
Of Pelleas?
PELLEAS
Well said, a sign, a sign
That I am not a shadow, but a man,
A fleshly thing with mortal strength of arm,
A threat of punishment, a deadly fear
Unsilenced in their hearts.
FERGUS
Ay, still their hearts.
This is the sign I meant, the sign of death,
That all men may take knowledge to themselves
And learn what thing it is thus to forswear
All honour, and in treason to be false
To Pelleas. These two together slain
Shall be a history to all mankind,
A legend and a saying.
PELLEAS
Here remain
Yet once again until the deed be done.
I shall exact his oath.
[ He ascends toward the pavilion. ]
FERGUS
Praise be to Heaven!
The ancient valour is returned, to swell
High flood of vengeance and exact the oath.
How ran the words wherewith he pledged his life?
"May my bare throat feel this unsheathèd blade,
May I be cast for ever from the light!"
Then is he slain.
[PELLEAS enters the pavilion. ]
And yet his temper burns
Like sudden sun upon an April day,
Hot for the moment but too soon o'ercast.
Let me go up and strengthen his resolve
Lest at the last he weaken.
[ He moves toward the pavilion. PELLEAS comes out. ]
Ah, returned,
So soon returned. He had not time to fail.
PELLEAS
It is fulfilled. Across his naked throat
My sword has gone.
FERGUS
And he is slain in truth!
PELLEAS
Slain? Nay, not slain, but sleeping as before.
So let them sleep until the morning comes
To waken them and they behold my sword
Across their breasts, close drawn beneath their throats,
A sign, in symbol of a broken oath.
Comes, let us go; the night draws on apace.
FERGUS
O idle hope to dream that he was dead,
By vengeance over taken! No! return;
Not so that oath was sworn, not such th' intent;
With death he bargained. Let him death receive.
PELLEAS
What I have done is with full purpose wrought.
Come, let us go; the night draws on apace.
[ They disappear into the thicket. A cloud crosses
the moon, and a sudden gust of wind shakes the trees. ]
CURTAIN
ACT FOUR
SCENE: In the Castle of ETARRE. A hall, with
windows overlooking a central court. Early
morning of a gloomy day.
ETARRE
Find me some counsel, for with wrath and hate
My senses are disordered. Let me turn
And hide myself for ever; here close-walled
Within my castle, let me sit and brood
On man's dishonour and my fallen pride.
Let me no more be seen of foreign eye
Lest memory's brand draw fire across my cheek
And I turn hot with shame. Ah, so deceived
And in deception so displayed to him
Who most was wronged! Speak! is there no escape?
Do all the paths draw close their hedgèd walks
And bar the way? And you who sang of love,
For day and night unwearied in your rhyme,
Know you no counsel?
AILEEN
None of wrath and hate.
ETARRE
Shall I be loving? with corruptive name
Call falsehood truth and welcome all deceit?
AILEEN
You are not stricken so beyond all health
That you must turn to death for comfort, -- ay,
Keep house with grief and marry with despair.
ETARRE
Then on my sickness lay some remedy;
Pluck me some healing herb of sweet advice.
AILEEN
Forgive, forget. These are most heav'nly sounds
Which to discordant actions concord bring
And work harmonious union. Gawaine sleeps
And of th' event knows nothing. Be as he:
Know not of broken slumber and a sword.
Nurture no counsel of unquiet mind
Against his fault; he loves you well and true
And there no falsehood lies.
ETARRE
Forgive! forget!
Forget that to these walls came Gawaine riding,
With victor's helm and plume, and with false word
Cried Pelleas dead? Forget my joyful praise,
My love which was but thankfulness of heart
Upraised in gratitude? Forgive the lie
Wherewith he lured my thanks and bought my love,
The lie wherewith he sealed my lips and eyes
And to deep slumber bound me, while another,
Him whom he boasted slain, within my tent
In musing stood and saw me in my shame
And with a naked sword cursed me and him
With whom I slept? Forgive, you say? forget?
Not till the mated wolf forget his lair
Shall I forget, nor till the son forgive
The slayer of his sire, shall I forgive.
AILEEN
You judge too harshly, with a view too near,
Like them who hillocks into mountains raise
Because they stand beneath them, head thrown back
And eyes upcast, unknown that from afar
These hillocks merge into the level plain.
No deadly work of ancient kingdoms lost,
Armed hosts betrayed and knights in prison slain,
Has Gawaine wrought. He lied? nay, what of that?
With false pretence won favour? 'tis no crime.
He was with love intentioned: men are fain
To overstep the fettered pace of honour
When love's the goal. And do you think him base
Claiming another's death, thereby to gain
Your love, when to have held the ways of truth
Led to a loveless issue?
ETARRE
You would make
Fair winds from stormy quarters blow, and set
The northern sun in winter skies. With words
False-founded on the marsh of shifting thought
You'll not persuade me.
AILEEN
But by surer proof,
Rock-built and firm, which never wind of doubt
Can shake to earth. Though Gawaine falsely wrought
And with dishonour entered covenant,
Let past be past, and mingle not its gall
With present mead, lest bitter be the draught.
Gawaine you love; and for that love's fair sake
Rouse not the past against him.
ETARRE
Love and hate
Hang not on every moment's fleeting lure,
But from dead hours and withered years depend.
Past thoughts do act upon our present mood
And get new children; men are fools, who think
This deathless creature, time, was ever held
Within the coffin: there's no hour o' the day
But lives for ever in unlessened strength;
No mightier love in earth or ocean dwells
Than that between the present and the past,
And none more fruitful. Ay, forget the past?
Forget the dark which quenches every fire
Within my heart, and in unmindful bliss
Call Gawaine pure, a knight without a stain?
AILEEN
And is he so dishonoured?
ETARRE
Let me speak,
Let me be herald and proclaim his deed;
For now I mind me of a word he said,
A truthful tale for lying purpose told.
His was a quest to win a lady's love,
Not for himself, he said, -- O guileful claim! --
But for another. I, with idle wit,
Knew not 'twas Pelleas of whom he spoke
And mine the heart which he was sent to win.
'Twas thus that with another's helm and shield
He came disguised; but not as conqueror, --
As servant bearing message to my halls.
And like a servant to his master false
He decked himself with borrowed finery
And played a stolen part.
AILEEN
'Twas not a slave
Who played the master, but the royal lord
In servile garb demeaned. You are unkind
To make comparison with things unlike
And thence draw profit.
ETARRE
He has cast aside
The cloak of honour, thrown the sceptre down,
The kingly staff of faith, whereby we rule
Ourselves and others. Perjured and forsworn,
To knighthood false, to fellow-knight untrue,
He wrought upon me with unrighteous deed
Which to his oath proved mortal and betrayed
His embassy.
AILEEN
It is himself he harms,
Not others. Pelleas whom you never loved
Is not of love defrauded. What, forget?
You say to heav'n, you cannot so forget?
You have forgotten in an hour's short span
Ten years of hatred.
ETARRE
Nay! I love him not!
Yet, when I see a knight so wronged, the tears
Of pity well unbidden to mine eyes
In quick compassion; when I think on him,
Betrayed by Gawaine and from hope exiled,
Spurning revenge and to his sleeping foe
Soft pity granting, can I nourish hate
Against a grief so nobly self-endured,
Knighthood so proven?
AILEEN
What of grief he bore
Through ten cruel years, knighthood so nobly shown
In joust and battle, dungeon and disgrace?
Well, let him stand forgiven: light the fires
Of your resentment, kindle torture-flames,
And unto Gawaine turn your restless hate.
Let him like purest ore be doubly proved
In midmost heat of anger, till the dross
Of foolish pride and guileful deed be shed
And golden faith emerge. He will repent
And with contrition turn to them he wronged,
Suing for pardon.
ETARRE
He shall sue in vain
If unto me he turn.
AILEEN [ at the window ]
Within the court
Rain-drops begin to fall; the western wind
From stormy ocean journeys, with the net
Wherewith he dragged the sea for water-drops
Across his shoulders flung, dripping with rain.
His cloak upcast, he hides the morning sun
And with his fisher's hat throws giant shade
On all the hills. Look well upon his ways,
For in your soul there strides a shadow vast
Hiding the sunlight of clear thought and love
With clouds of anger, fraught with fall of tears.
ETARRE
'Twas but a phantom sun at midnight sent,
A wisp o' the marshes, caught among the stars.
AILEEN
'Twas the great sun in heav'n, and you have spurned
God's utmost gift, the light wherewith men see.
For love is as a light within the eyes,
And with it vision enters, bird and beast
Wax cunning, the fierce eagle's sight is bared
Where like a drifting point against the clouds
He holds his guard; swallows and singing birds
Gather their tribe and nation, and unvexed
Go pilgrimage; who guides them on their way?
Who taught the thrush to build his nest, the mole
To dig his halls and chambers? Well you know
Desire of life, desire of love, alone
Give these their knowledge; river-fish depart
On distant journey to the ocean stream
And yet return; the woodland deer with fawn
Sees huntsman while the hounds are yet in leash;
And arrows miss their prey in summer months.
ETARRE
Fine threads of fancy, airy webs of thought;
They touch me not.
AILEEN
Then hear a grosser tale.
It is not well that woman's hand should rule
By man unaided, for in weaker mould
Her body's strength is fashioned, and her mind
Trembles before assault. Bright fortune's star
Has watched above you, for the hounds of war
Have never drawn their trail across your land,
And that grim huntsman, who with double stroke
Slays foe and friend, has passed these regions by;
'Twas far away we heard the clamorous tongues
Of questing hounds, and cry of men a-chase.
But war returns: one quarry run to earth
And slain in bloody moil, his hounds find scent
Of other prey. Across the harvest-fields
He spurs the hunt, through villages asleep,
By moat and grange, through breadth of all the land.
And when beneath your walls his bugles blow
And you with woman's strength of arm and will
Must bold confront him, you will shrink afraid;
The walls with stroke of iron-girded beam,
The shaken portals, towers down-ravening,
Shall with disaster terrify your sense.
Yield unto man his heritage of power;
His is the crown of courage, his the strength
Which bides unmoved the deadly front of war.
To man, but yesternight, you gave your love
And to his passion yielded sense and soul;
To-day you cry release and would reclaim
Th' irrevocable compact. -- Let me speak!
You wrong me with your anger! At your gates
A wanderer stands, with staff and laden scrip;
Upon his brow is written peace, his hands
A scroll upraise; he bears the hidden sword
Of safety, and the cup of heart's content.
You turn him from your gates, because his feet
Are travel-stained, because he wears a cloak
From others taken, and the scroll reads false.
Be well advised; this pilgrim comes but once;
Throw wide your doors, cry Welcome, he is here!
ETARRE
I close my portals to him; from the walls
I herald him be gone. You fan the flame
Of anger in me.
[GAWAINE enters .]
ETARRE [ to AILEEN]
Let me be alone.
[AILEEN goes out while GAWAINE is speaking .]
GAWAINE
Must love at touch of dawn his dreams dispel
And from his kingdom flee? Through empty halls
I've sought in vain.
ETARRE
With scrutiny more keen
Instruct your failing eyes. I am not she
For whom you search.
GAWAINE
Why, you are changed indeed.
Are you some flower that blossoms in the night
And in the day with envious stalk of thorns
Enfolds its chalice? With unfriendly mien
You look upon me, warn me with set frown,
Chill me with loveless words. Are you not she
Who yesternight beneath the flaming stars
Vowed me eternal love? You are not she!
The day has raised its sword and cleft apart
That union of our souls. What have I wrought
Amiss, what deed to love untrue?
ETARRE
Demand
Of your own heart.
GAWAINE
'Tis dark, pierced with no light
Of knowledge.
ETARRE
Nought is to you better known.
It is forever in your waking mind;
The day has written it in thousand hues
Across your vision; wheresoe'er you turn
'Tis burnt and carven in your inmost thought;
The cocks have crowed it in their morning song,
And every word men speak points thumb to it.
You cannot sleep but in your deepest dream
It shows its pattern.
GAWAINE
What is this you know?
Have I with slumb'ring spirit's drowsy sense
Some foolish tale unfolded? Men believe
The waking words and not th' illusive dream.
ETARRE
Your lips betrayed you not: they are too well
In silence schooled.
GAWAINE
Then is some message come,
Some lying tale from sland'rous lips of men?
ETARRE
Nor spoken word, nor written.
GAWAINE
From the walls
You saw some vision to affright your mind
Against me?
ETARRE
Ay, the golden king of day
Held prisoner in gloomy halls: nought else.
GAWAINE
Why, then rejoice, and laugh at wind and rain.
Come, kiss me; and confess you penitent
That dawn should wake me in an empty world
And rob me of the fairest jewel of day.
ETARRE
Plant flowers to close the grave where murder lies,
With golden portal seal the beggar's hut,
But this you cannot hide.
[ From behind a curtain she drags out the sword of PELLEAS.]
Know you this sword?
GAWAINE
'Tis but a sword: I know it not.
ETARRE
The hilt
Has graven letters: hearken their device,
"The son of Ork; be strong and hold me fast."
GAWAINE
Pelleas! the sword! Tell me, whence came the sword?
Who brought it to your hands?
ETARRE
Who else but he?
Pelleas the slain, the dead knight from his grave!
GAWAINE
Through shadows of the early day he crept
And in your ear dropped poison? told you all,
With bitter words probed deep his injury,
And searched the vitals of his hate!
ETARRE
I know
But this, that Pelleas lives and can avenge,
That you have dealt with perjury and shame.
GAWAINE
You know that I have falsely wrought, have lied,
Worked with untruth: these things you know full well.
You know not that I was by Pelleas sent,
By him enarmed, trusted with tale of death.
You think not of the strife within my soul,
Unbodied forces in contention thrown
For mastery within me. Do you mind
How you with praise assailed me, with soft word
And glance? Not I, not I, who played me false,
But you who brought me ruin. 'Twas a vow,
Upon this very hilt 'twas given oath,
And now it is betrayed. It was a knight,
Who in great tourney won this very sword,
And now he is betrayed. You ask me, Why?
With Wherefore vex me -- you who know so well!
Your eyes, your lips, your body's silver form,
These are the Wherefore, these the cunning cause,
So deadly, so corruptive to the mind,
That were the deed undone, and I to choose,
I'd choose against all honour, and with you
Blind out this pallid ghost of knighthood, drown
Reproach, and strangle recompense.
ETARRE
Away!
Mine eyes are stricken with the sight of you
And inward turn, praying for some release
From this most bitter vision. You have dared
To wed me with the broken ring of faith
Forsworn; you've snapped in twain the lute of joy,
And Happiness, bright minister of God,
That solitary hermit who descends
But once a year from his eternal rocks
Into the market-place of men, you've crowned
With crown of thorns, dealt stripes and buffeting
And sent him back into the desert heights
To weep forlorn. You've brought me grief and hate,
And now 'tis I who wronged you, I who led
Your helpless honour to dishonour's grave!
Away! and come not ever to these halls
Lest I forget my woman's heritage
And like a man avenge me.
GAWAINE
Give me word,
And let me speak. For much pleads with my cause
And with me makes defence.
ETARRE
The very night,
Which shelters crime and to the deeds of sin
Accords its refuge and unhallowed screen,
Betrayed you. I have heard and seen and judged,
Yea, judged too kindly, leaned too much aside
To mercy. Go! And if you here remain,
You idly wait: here shall I not set foot
Until within the court I know the hoofs
Of your departing steed bear from my life
Its cruelest injury.
GAWAINE
No steed have I
Who am alone in all the land.
ETARRE
Then take
From out my stables. Quick! make haste and go.
[ She turns abruptly and leaves the room .]
GAWAINE
So shatters that mysterious glass of love
Wherein delight was mirrored; so departs
That glorious ray, and so the night returns
With all its solitude. Lo, I am cast
For ever from the light! Farewell, Etarre;
You were unkind, and with a passion's storm
Brought devastation to the garden-close
Wherein love blossomed. Wrath and fiercest hate
Were never of a speedier onset borne,
And the red flight of hell was never stirred
To such a fury. On the mound which marks
Your love's decease, my thought shall plant a spray
Of budding thorn for memory. Mighty Heaven,
That on our thought and action holdest count,
Bear witness in thy universal scroll,
I am misjudged! [ pausing suddenly ] Or am I judged aright?
To quick repentance should I turn, or hate?
Be scornful or be sad?
[ He turns to go .]
What's done is done.
Close meditation's gloomy book of fears;
I'll read no more in it.
[FERGUS enters .]
Who's here?
FERGUS
I came
With other hopes than these, not thought to find
Gawaine within the land.
GAWAINE
Yes, you are he
Who on the moors thought every wind which blew
Christened the serf with knighthood, equal made
Low born and high.
FERGUS
And of false wooers spake
A word not unfulfilled.
GAWAINE
That rankling tongue
Has learned no better trade than erst it knew.
FERGUS
No better trade than truth.
GAWAINE
Nor lighter curb
Than that which silences for ever.
FERGUS
Knight,
If knight you be, who so with knighthood deal,
Ill taught am I in that mysterious lore
Whereof my master speaks; 'tis honour called.
It bids us spare the foe when at our feet
He crumpled lies; when prison doors spring wide,
It spurns escape; when fortune to our hands
Has brought, unarmed and sleeping, our revenge,
It falters in its anger. 'Tis a staff
Which leads us into regions insecure
And robber-haunted ways. It is a lance
Which backward wounds, a double-toothèd sword.
I am not learned in this subtle craft;
For me a single law sufficient rules, --
To help my friend and slay mine enemy.
And when I hear this speech of low and high,
Base-born and noble, I am much perplexed --
GAWAINE
As all men are, with what they cannot grasp.
FERGUS
One truth I know, one truth I grasp secure.
You have betrayed my master, worked him wrong
As only death can pay. He has released
That mortal payment, left you all unharmed;
And you, who know how great a debt is here,
Unmoved remain within these halls. Take horse
And ride with all the cudgels of the wind
To speed your flight! Or else on bended knee
Cry his forgiveness; praise that noble heart
Which unto anger turns not; to all men
Bear forth the shield of his tranquillity,
Recount his deed in every festival
And at the door of kings proclaim his worth.
Go forth in penance. You have worked a deed
Which I, low born, of honour all untaught,
Should hold too black for doing.
GAWAINE
May the fiends
In cauldron's brazen darkness thrust you down!
Such taunts with th' sword are answered, not with words.
FERGUS
Such taunts are written in the book of deeds
Where every word is truth. You dare not slay,
Who with a guilty eye stare out on me
And with fear's ague tremble to behold
Your deed confronted.
GAWAINE
Then, false deed, be still,
And never more between those lips be cast
To work me slander.
[ He draws his sword against FERGUS.]
FERGUS
You have slain enough.
First 'twas your honour which you stabbed to heart
And with that stroke to Pelleas' happiness
Dealt mortal blow; then 'twas a virgin name
Which you from life despatched with lusting hand;
And now on pardon's messenger you turn
Your deadly blade.
GAWAINE
Unclothe that mystery,
And let me look on naked form of thought,
Not on these wordy veils. What message comes?
What is this pardon you are sent to bring?
FERGUS
'Tis dead. Lest it should fall between your hands,
I've slain it. Go, and dream that mad revenge
With dripping foam upon her speechless lips
Is on your track, pursuing with red feet
In murder dabbled, and with rabble-rout
Of demons plucking at your fleeing hair.
GAWAINE
So have you driven the last bolt and bar
Across your tomb.
[ He strides with drawn sword against FERGUS.]
FERGUS
And so with blade drawn bare
Stood Pelleas above your sleeping couch
And at your throat set hate's envenomed point;
Yet spared you, spared you in your marriage sleep
Which was to his lone love the sleep of death.
Have you from mercy's high example learned
No lowly creed?
GAWAINE
Within our tent, you say?
Above our couch? What? found me lain with her
And took no vengeance?
[ After a pause .]
Verily, 'tis here,
Knighthood's most glorious pattern to all time
Mercy's most perfect counterpart. Be sheathed,
Mad sword of hate; be still, and strive no more;
In other lands we'll seek a nobler crown
And bear this emblem of bright chivalry
Blazoned within our heart.
[ He turns and leaves the room. Through the opposite
door AVRAN enters .]
AVRAN
High words were here, and wrangle of dispute.
Are you alone? Whence came that sound of strife
Which from the rampart drew me?
FERGUS
'Twas a tale
Which I to me recounted, of a knight.
Who did foul deeds with fairest countenance.
AVRAN
Two voices quarrelled. Who was here with you?
And how within these halls came you alone?
FERGUS
'Twas Gawaine bringing me a last farewell;
And as for me I seek some knight-at-arms
To carry urgent message to Etarre.
AVRAN
Whence come you?
FERGUS
From the hill and open moors
Where we inhabit.
AVRAN
Whom is it you serve?
FERGUS
The greatest knight in all the western land.
AVRAN
Has he a name, that I may know of him?
FERGUS
A name that to your hearing rings not strange.
AVRAN
Then let me know it.
FERGUS
Pelleas is the name.
AVRAN
Are you his servant?
FERGUS
With a message here
That Pelleas with Etarre would speak.
AVRAN
You come
On venture profitless. From open door
You'll see dismissal beckoning your flight.
Etarre has only hatred. Get you gone.
FERGUS
Do you not know, the sparrows in the rain
Of early morning hold another speech
Than that of sunlight and clear day?
AVRAN
And what
Portends that saying?
FERGUS
Do you tell Etarre
That Pelleas is at hand, and would be heard.
There is a change come over heaven's demean
And other forces rule; this message bear
While I in search of Pelleas am departed.
[ He goes out .]
AVRAN
How insolent he stares; his vaunting tongue
Bristles with pride. Yet shall it soon be dulled,
And like the thistle's head lie low, cut short
By all the scythes of anger.
[ETARRE enters .]
ETARRE
He is fled.
AVRAN
This very moment gone.
ETARRE
I marked his step
Some minute since within the court; how say you
This very moment gone?
AVRAN
But, as you entered
He did depart. How know you of him?
ETARRE
Whom?
Of Gawaine?
AVRAN
No; this knavish messenger
Who plumes himself with dappled tints of pride,
And like a mating bird struts high.
ETARRE
Whom mean you?
AVRAN
'Twas one from Pelleas come --
ETARRE
What, come from Pelleas?
Good fortune works communion with my wish.
What said he? Is he yet within the land?
AVRAN
Are you so eager, where I looked for scorn's
Fierce speech of hatred; nor for such a tone --
ETARRE
Will you destroy me with impatience? Quick,
What said he?
AVRAN
Word most insolent and vile;
That Pelleas with Etarre demanded speech.
Here is affront o'ertopping all offence.
ETARRE
Where is he?
AVRAN
Near at hand. His servant went
To fetch him hither.
ETARRE
Then take haste to wife
And with all speed bring Pelleas to my sigh.
[AVRAN goes out .]
ETARRE
How wretched are the dead, to whom remains
No holy power in reparation's wand
Transmuting into gold their baser deeds.
Within the narrow channels of the grave
They think upon their sins, and with no word
Can alter that which erst they wrought amiss.
The past cries out against them with its wrongs,
And mem'ry presses for revenge. They writhe
In all the torments of contrition's wheel
And backward gace upon their crooked years
Which nought can straighten. Happiest are they
Who in this life their evil ways discover
And with repentant eyes trace out anew
The virtue whence they strayed. O holy stream
Of penitence, wash out this wretched stain
Of passion false and unrestrained desire.
Give me the love which I have spurned, lead back
My life to those remoter happier days
And let my changèd heart atone to Pelleas.
[PELLEAS enters .]
PELLEAS
It much repents me, this unhappy night
Wherein I brought dissension's toothèd fiends
To tear your love asunder. Anger's spur
Too wanton played, and hate's distempered hand
Caught from me that soft robe of gentle thought
Which from barbaric nakedness enclothes
Our wretched souls. That golden crown I lost
And with unworthy passion rode afield.
If words can gain forgiveness to a deed,
Forgive me.
ETARRE
Nay; for how shall I forgive,
Nurse others into virtue, and myself
Be sick with every vice? 'Tis not the poor,
The starveling beggar of the street, who gives
Unto the rich.
PELLEAS
The leper gives his blessing
And 'tis as holy as the touch of kings.
But you who are in mercy rich, forgive.
ETARRE
Have I been merciful and set the bowl
Of pity at my gates? I am a fiend
From heav'nly sorrow shut; the very stones
Within these walls are with more mercy fraught.
Ten years of wrong have left you still as pure
In your forgiveness as a youth who dreams
All wrong illusive, all the world of gold.
I come before you, penitent and shamed,
Before your stainless honour throw me down
And clasp the knees of mercy. In the house
Of your long-garnered misery and ill
Can you yet find the grains of pity stored
And uncorrupted?
PELLEAS
I have wrongly done.
Ten years I have assailed you, made your life
Most bitter to your lips, and at the last,
When love before your castle held his steed,
At dead of night across his sleeping eyes
Set fire of deadly vision. Let me go,
To death and danger my atonement make,
And seek in new adventure novel crown
To bind my fading glory. I forgive,
If aught there be whereon forgiveness waits.
Take Gawaine to you; from his erring throat
Draw back the sword which I have laid athwart,
And let that curse be broken in your heart
As in my heart it now long shattered lies.
My sword, the hilt of Ork, the tourney's meed,
Return to me. "Be strong and hold me fast,"
So is it written.
[ETARRE gives him the sword .]
ETARRE
Leave me not alone!
Look, I am changed; this mouth at breast of hate
No more draws milk, these eyes no more seek light
From wells of angry fire. Oh, leave me not!
PELLEAS
Through break of dawn I heard the distant horns
Of wild adventure from new countries blowing.
Let me forget as I have now forgiven.
Be still, dead years, and let me seek the world
Where battles break like ocean's stormy surge,
Where glory hides beneath the passing leaf
And fame upon her highroad journeys far.
ETARRE
O dread event, and is thy vision true?
Last night within my fairest dreams appeared
The warders of the haunted well, and stretched
Their hands in supplication. "Choose," they said.
And I unto that ancient crone replied,
And knew that she should comfort me, not stir
My heart to the wild dreams of youth. "You choose
The past," they said, and vanished from my sight.
And I awoke, and cold against my throat
The sword of anger pressed. Gawaine is fled;
I drove him from me with contemptuous word
And unto you with sudden passion turned
Who so have loved me. Do not you depart.
Make me your helpmate, teach me your great faith,
And let me live as you have lived and wrought.
PELLEAS
I cannot love you now. This naked sword
Has cloven us for ever. Hark, the horns!
ETARRE
I hear no sound.
PELLEAS
The horns! hark, how they ring!
The horns of wild adventure in my heart
Calling to battle! calling. . . .
ETARRE
Give me love!
PELLEAS
Now are the seas of pity troubled deep
Within my breast. I cannot love. Love comes
Unheard, unseen; in silence so departs.
Our ears are not attuned to melody
Of his sweet progress. Those ethereal sounds
Vanish within us in a dust of sense.
For who has heard the fingers of the sun
That sweep across the lyre-strings of the rain?
What mortal ear with sweet enchantment's touch
Has heard the moving stars at play, or caught
The magic silver song of floating moon
Whereby the waves like charmèd birds are drawn?
We are too grossly fashioned. Who has heard
The midnight hammer of the winter frost
Spanning the rivers with an icy bridge,
Or caught the ringing of his chisels keen
Cutting the tracery of fern and flower
In wayside rut and frozen marsh and pool?
We cannot hear the footfalls of the Spring,
Nor answering cry of blossoms underneath
In winter darkness waiting for the sun.
And Love we cannot hear. He comes and goes,
And no man sees him. Think me not unkind
So passionless to answer. Love is fled,
Unheard in silence. But the horns of war,
These ring and cry within my ears. Farewell!
There is some madness caught upon my life
And drawing me away. Hark, hark, the horns!
Farewell, and live in peace for all your days.
[ He suddenly stoops to kiss her forehead; then without
a word departs .]
ETARRE
Stay, stay! You are betraying me to death!
O life! O life! Broken the empty shell,
Withered the kernel. Naught remains. The night
Closes upon me with its memories;
The curtain of my life descends to veil
All happiness for ever from mine eyes.
[ She turns to the window .]
Lo, he departs: and from my spirit flee
All present joys, all future ecstasies,
And nought remains save only thought withheld
Upon the visions of adventured days.
[ A pause .]
Meseems that I have always loved the past,
And now within those halls, so drear and pale,
My habitation taken for all time.
O memory, live within me; with your hand
Lay cooling touch upon my fevered brow
And draw my spirit toward the hills of peace.
[ Alone in the room, she bows her head within her
hands, and weeps .]
CURTAIN
KING ARTHUR
A DRAMA
IN
A PROLOGUE AND FOUR ACTS
by
J. COMYNS CARR
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
KING ARTHUR
SIR LANCELOT
SIR MORDRED
SIR KAY
SIR GAWAINE
SIR BEDEVERE
SIR AGRAVAINE
SIR PERCIVAL
SIR LAVAINE
SIR DAGONET
MERLIN
MESSENGER
GAOLER
GUINEVERE
ELAINE
MORGAN LE FAY
CLARISSANT
SPIRIT OF THE LAKE
KNIGHTS, SQUIRES, LADIES OF THE COURT, ETC., ETC.
PROLOGUE
EXCALIBUR.
SCENE--THE MAGIC MERE.
ACT I
THE HOLY GRAIL.
SCENE--THE GREAT HALL AT CAMELOT.
ACT II
THE QUEEN'S MAYING.
SCENE--THE WHITETHORN WOOD.
ACT III
THE BLACK BARGE.
SCENE--THE TOWER ABOVE THE RIVER AT CAMELOT.
ACT IV
THE PASSING OF ARTHUR.
SCENE 1--THE QUEEN'S PRISON AT CAMELOT.
SCENE 2--THE GREAT HALL AT CAMELOT.
THE PROLOGUE
EXCALIBUR
SCENE:-- The Magic mere. A wide lake with a rocky path descending to the shore. As the curtain rises there is a faint glimmer on the horizon, which gradually spreads over the water to an effect of dawn.
CHORUS OF LAKE SPIRITS [ singing ].
Dawn and daytime turn to night,
Darkness wakes to morning light;
All the uncounted hours go by
Swift as clouds across the sky,
While we maidens of the mere,
Heedless of the changing year,
Guard the sword Excalibur.
During the concluding bars of the chorus, Arthur, accompanied by Merlin,
appears on the summit of the rocky path.
ARTHUR. What shore is this, haunted by mystic sounds
That are not earthly?
MERLIN. 'Tis no earthly shore,
Nor, till this hour, have mortal eyes beheld
These fairy sands.
ARTHUR. Then thou shalt go alone;
For here, perchance, thy magic arts have power
To lure my soul.
MERLIN. Nay, Arthur, have no fear.
A mightier power than mine had led thy feet
There where I found thee sleeping by the lake:
For whilst I watched a star fell in the sky,
And, from the vacant space of Heaven, there came
A voice that cried "Awake! the hour hath struck:
Now guide him, Merlin, to that caverned home
Where dwells the sacred sword Excalibur."
ARTHUR. What is this sword?
MERLIN. Look well and thou shalt see.
As he speaks an arm rises from the Lake holding aloft a jewelled sword
set in its scabbard, which gleams with supernatural light.
CHORUS OF LAKE SPIRITS
Sword, no mortal shall withstand,
Fashioned by no mortal hand,
Long we wait the hour shall bring
England's sword to England's King;
He shall wield Excalibur.
MERLIN. What think'st thou, Arthur?
ARTHUR. Nay, I have no word.
Whence comes this sword?
MERLIN. Long time, ere Time began,
'Twas forged beneath the sea; its glittering blade,
Was tempered by the waves; sea-maidens wrought
Its jewelled scabbard, and that warrior king,
Whose arm is strong to wield it in the fight,
Shall rule a kingdom that shall rule the sea.
ARTHUR [ musing ] . For such a sword 'twere well to give the world,
With such a sword 'twere well to rule the world.
Who is this king?
MERLIN. Nay, list, and thou shalt hear.
CHORUS OF LAKE SPIRITS
Warrior knight, into thy hand,
Monarch of a mighty land
That, in unborn years, shall be
Monarch of the mightier sea;
Great Pendragon's son, to thee
We shall yield Excalibur.
The sword again slowly sinks into the Lake.
ARTHUR. Who is Pendragon's son?
MERLIN. Thou art the man;
Pendragon's son, albeit thou know'st it not;
For at thy birth I took thee from the Court;
Deep in the woods--a flower amid the flowers,--
I watched beside thee, heard thine infant tongue
First lisp responsive to the woodland birds,
And by thy cradle, swung beneath the stars,
Taught thee the wisdom that should fit a throne.
Now art thou called! Stand forth and take thy sword
Whose might alone can stay these wasting wars,
Whose might alone shall bring the realm of peace.
ARTHUR [ rising ]. Then was my dream no dream; for while I slept,
I heard the noise of battle, and I saw
The flashing of innumerable spears
Lightening the dark of Heaven; then I rose
And rode into the strife, and, where I led,
The mightiest fell before me, and men cried,
"It is the King." Yet did I heed them not,
For in mine ears there rang a clarion voice
Which said, "Nay, stay not till the end is won!
Fight on, thine arm is mightier than theirs,
Fight on, an unborn empire claims thy sword,
Fight on, they strike for glory, thou for peace!"
Long time the battle lasted, and the end
Seemed afar off; yet at the end it came,
And, ere my arm grew weary, I could hear
A hush upon the thunder; and the noise
And cry of war grew fainter, till it fell
To echoing silence. Then far off I saw,
Set in a redd'ning sky of blood and fire,
A face most fair that wore an angel smile;
And down the unending avenue of spears
It drew towards me, seeming as it came
Like a white rose leaf borne upon the tide
Of crimson war. Whereat I knelt and said,
"I have fought for thee, thou hast the smile of peace;"
Yet answer made she none, and I awoke.
Ah, thou who know'st the secrets of the stars,
Tell me whose face I saw!--
MERLIN. Nay, ask not that.
ARTHUR. I will be answered! all the world to me
Dwells in that smile.
MERLIN. Then look upon thy fate.
As he speaks a vision of Guinevere appears. Arthur kneels.
ARTHUR. Who art thou? Speak!
MERLIN. Listen, and thou shalt hear.
At this a chorus of unseen spirits is heard.
CHORUS
Fairest form of all the earth!
Joy and sorrow at one birth;
Love and beauty, hope and fear,
Wait for thee in Guinevere.
MERLIN.
Love and beauty, hope and fear,
Wait for thee in Guinevere.
Thou hearest, Arthur?
ARTHUR. Nay, I do but see
A form too fair for this rough world's embrace,
Fit for a kingdom that no sword can win;
Yet would I win thee, take thee for my Queen.
Ah, say she shall be mine!
MERLIN. Fate answers thee,
Yet in that gift of beauty lurks thy doom.
ECHOING CHORUS
Love and beauty, hope and fear,
Wait for thee in Guinevere.
ARTHUR. These fairy tongues are false, for, see, she bears
The emblems of the spring: all the new world
Leaps into flower about her; and the may
Trails its white blossom round those stainless brows.
MERLIN. Yet thou shouldst know full many a poisonous weed
Grows rank amid the blossoms of the may.
CHORUS
Love and Hate are born in May;
Love, the bird upon the wing,
Hate, the worm devouring
All Love's flowers of yesterday,
Wait for thee in Guinevere.
The vision fades.
MERLIN.
All Love's flowers of yesterday,
Wait for thee in Guinevere.
ARTHUR. Thou wilt not stay! then I will seek for thee,
And through the world, if thou art of the world,
I'll find thee, crown thee, Guinevere, my Queen!
ECHOING CHORUS
All Love's flowers of yesterday,
Wait for thee in Guinevere.
ARTHUR. And yet those mystic voices chaunt of doom!
Ah, thou whose vision spans futurity,
Hath not thy magic art all power to stay
The hand of Fate?
MERLIN. Our knowledge is not power.
Who knows the end of Life hath reached the end,
His wisdom is but Death; while ye, who stand
Eager to thread the winding maze o' the world,
Led on by faith, do more than angels dare.
Such destiny is thine: for thy right arm,
Out of this mound of earth, shall raise a throne
Whose glory echoes through unacted time--
Wherefore I charge thee ask no more of Fate.
The hand of doom is patient, and the sword
That flashes in the glimmering light of dawn,
Falls not till night-fall: thou shalt rule thy day.
ARTHUR. I'll ask no more; I do but crave my sword.
The Spirit of the Lake appears,and at the same time the
sword rises again from the Lake .
MERLIN. Thy prayer is answered, she will give it thee.
THE SPIRIT OF THE LAKE
Arthur, England's chosen lord,
Fear not Fate but take thy sword;
Thou the first whose mortal hand
E'er hath touched that mystic brand.
Sword and scabbard both are thine,
Sword and scabbard both divine:
Guard them well and use them well,
So that aftertime shall tell
Of thy kingdom in the sea,
Blazoned on whose shield shall be,
"Right and Might and Liberty."
[ Arthur makes a movement toward the sword. ]
Yet beware! Time's beating wing,
Restless and untiring,
Speeds along Time's endless way.
Bravely thou shalt rule thy day,
And at last, when Day is done,
Those three Queens of Avalon,
Rulers of the night, who keep
In their charge the keys of sleep,
Far across this mystic mere
Silently thy barge shall steer,
Till thy wearied eyes have won
Endless sleep in Avalon.
ARTHUR. He who would rule the day must greet the dawn,
There is no hour to lose; give me my sword,
For, echoing through the night, I too can hear,
The voice of England, like a sobbing child
That longs for day; and, gathering in night's sky,
I see that throng of England's unborn sons,
Whose glory is her glory: prisoned souls
With faces pressed against the bars of Time,
Waiting their destined hour. Give me my sword
That I may loose Time's bonds and set them free.
The chorus is heard, and the picture
is held till the fall of the curtain.
CHORUS
Great Pendragon's greater son,
Arthur, ere thy race be run,
Thou shalt rule from sea to sea
England that is yet to be:
Great Pendragon's son, to thee
Here we yield Excalibur.
ACT I
THE HOLY GRAIL.SCENE:-- The Great Hall at Camelot. A wide opening breast high at the back, flanked by marble columns, through which is seen a view of blue hills against a sunset sky.
Sir Kay, Sir Agravaine, and Sir Bedevere, to whom enters
Sir Lancelot.
KAY. Sir Lancelot, this falls well: of late our King
Hath ofttimes asked for thee, and thou shalt learn
The noise of thy great deeds hath far outstripped
Thy good steed's swiftest course: waiting thee here
To swell love's welcome home. What news from Wales?
LANCELOT. In Wales men speak in whispers; yet 'tis known
That Ryons, lately joined in secret league
With Mark of Cornwall, doth but wait the hour
To strike at Arthur's throne.
AGRAVAINE. This news comes pat;
Not three days past, deep in the belt of wood
That circles round Caerleon's clustering towers,
Sir Gawaine's huntsmen chanced upon two spies,
Who now lie fast in chains.
KAY. And at this hour
The King holds council, and shall straight declare
If they may live or die.
AGRAVAINE. Should Gawaine speak
And Arthur listen they were dead ere night.
GAWAINE. That is most sure.
LANCELOT. Which way doth Mordred tend?
AGRAVAINE. Truth, that were hard to tell! his subtle tongue
Still weaves a web to catch the thought of others
And hide his own.
LANCELOT. And what then saith the King?
KAY. He waits upon the word of Guinevere.
GAWAINE. I dare be sworn this thing hath troubled him.
KAY. What should he fear though Mark and Ryons, joined
With all the hosts of Cornwall and of Wales,
Knocked at our gates.
LANCELOT. Nay, sirs, he knows not fear,
Whose warrior heart was bred where spears have grown
Thick as the river reeds. Yet in that heart
Dwells a fond nursling hope this news will slay;
For since the coming of Queen Guinevere
The sword Excalibur hath hung at rest
Within its jewelled scabbard, and he dreamed
The lust of blood was past.
KAY. Would that were all!
King Arthur grieves, but 'tis with graver cause.
LANCELOT. What cause?
KAY. What cause!
GAWAINE. In truth we do forget.
Sir Lancelot knows not that at vesper time
A hundred knights of Arthur's fellowship
Take a long leave of Camelot and the King.
LANCELOT. Bound on what quest?
KAY. No earthly quest is theirs
Who've ta'en a vow to seek the Holy Grail.
LANCELOT. To seek the Grail! now, sirs, you mock at me!
For who, of mortal born, shall hope to find,
Searching through all the world, that holy cup
Charged with Christ's blood? That cup no eye hath seen
Since long ago to this White Isle 'twas borne
By Joseph, who had filled it at the Cross.
What Heaven hath hid no man may dare to seek,
Save by a sign from Heaven.
KAY. Heaven's sign hath come
In miracle and wonder: three nights past--
When all our company were sat at meat--
Above the murmur of the feast there leapt
The crack and cry of thunder, and the roof
Was cloven as with a sword: then down the hall,
Aslant upon a bar of light that gleamed
As though the sun were turned to molten gold,
Passed a white angel, bearing in her hands
The sacred vision of the cup of Christ.
LANCELOT. What like was it to see?
During the following speech the hall darkens.
KAY. That none may tell,
For, dimly veilèd in a cloth of white,
It went as it had come, unseen of all.
Yet while it passed it left, though none knew how,
The witness of its presence in men's eyes:
And, dumbly gazing, each in other found
The stamp of some new glory; then uprose
Our youngest knight, Sir Percival, and cried:
"Now thanks for what hath been and what shall be!
For here I vow to rest not till these eyes
Have openly beheld the cup itself!"
And, as one note at dawn will wake the woods,
Voice after voice re-echoed Percival's,
Till, one by one, a hundred of our knights
Had joined themselves unto this holy quest.
LANCELOT. If this be so--
GAWAINE. Why, sir, 'twas in this hall!
KAY. And close upon this hour.
A peal of thunder is heard, followed by a lightning flash.
LANCELOT. What cry was that?
KAY. Nay, see, 'tis here again.
As he speaks, a slanting ray of light falls through the hall,
enfolding the form of a maiden bearing the cup, from the centre
of which a red light strikes like a star through the transparent
veil that covers it. Sir Lancelot kneels as the vision passes and
disappears.
LANCELOT. Ah, go not yet!
'Tis gone! and did mine eyes not vouch 'twas here,
I'd say it was a dream; for never yet
Hath mortal vision gazed on aught so fair!
Didst thou not note how all the air was filled
With sweetest odours?
GAWAINE. So it was before.
KAY. Said we not truth?
LANCELOT [ rising ] . Ay, and by this I know
That age of marvels, long ago foretold
By Merlin, when he built our Table Round,
Hath come at last; and we who live to-day
Shall witness wonders great and terrible
Shaking the earth, until that happier hour
When he whom God hath chosen of us all
With mortal eyes shall pierce Heaven's mystery,
And see the Grail itself.
GAWAINE. 'Twas said last night,
That he alone shall win this saving grace,
Whose heart stands clean of sin.
LANCELOT. Ay, sir, 'tis so.
And he alone who wills it so can pierce
The secrets of our hearts! Not all may win,
Yet straining at the goal there's none can lose
The grace that comes of strife.
Mordred has entered unseen during the last speech, carrying
a scroll in his hand.
MORDRED. How now, Sir Knights,
Ye do forget the hour! Have ye not heard
That they whose names are duly here enrolled,
Bound by their vows to seek the Holy Grail,
Within a breathing space shall take their leave
Of Arthur and his Court?
LANCELOT. I pray you, sir,
Of your good grace add my name to the roll.
MORDRED. Hast thou considered well?
LANCELOT. My lord, I have,
And shall be ready when the list is called.
Exit Lancelot.
MORDRED [ half to himself ] . So Lancelot goes!
KAY. I dare be sworn he will not,
Nay, though his oath were loudest of them all,
Yet Arthur's love will hold.
MORDRED [ turning fiercely upon Kay ] . Who dares speak
So gross a treason 'gainst our lord the King?
In truth, Sir Kay, I thought thee worthier
Of Arthur's love.
KAY. Nay, sir, I did but think
That Lancelot, who is worthier than us all,
Would go or stay as that same love commands.
MORDRED. And thou! and thou! yet think ye that the King
Who loves him best and knows him worthiest,
Would bid him break his vow? Now, hark'e, sirs:
Ye know not him ye worship, and your praise
Is but a vapour that doth hide the sun,
But ye shall know him! Nay, sirs, tarry not,
But see that all is ready for the King.
KAY. Be sure, my lord, we shall not fail the King.
Exeunt Kay and other Knights .
MORDRED [ alone ] . Yea, Arthur's love would hold him, but it shall not.
Lancelot shall go, and, in that vacant seat
Where now his heart sits guardian to the King,
Envenomed hate shall keep a closer watch.
Lancelot shall go.
Enter Morgan.
Ah! mother, thou art here.
What saith the Queen?
MORGAN. She doth attend the council.
MORDRED. And her voice?
MORGAN. Is tuned to plead for mercy.
MORDRED. 'Tis well, for Arthur heeds no voice save hers.
These dogs whose tongues I feared will now go free.
MORGAN. Then tell me, boy, what tidings did they bear?
MORDRED. The gathered hosts of Cornwall and of Wales
Wait but my sign.
MORGAN. They shall not wait for long.
The year grows green, and May-day comes again--
Day of thy birth, and day of Arthur's doom.
MORDRED. Of Arthur's doom?
MORGAN. Ay, for 'twas so foretold,
Ere yet thine eyes had opened on the world,
That he whose hand should strike at Arthur's heart
On May-day must be born. And thou art he,
For in thy veins an avenging poison flows,
Distilled in that dark hour when Merlin's lips
Hailed Arthur as Pendragon's rightful heir,
And left me bastard.
MORDRED. Ay, yet one thing lacks:
Think you, will Lancelot join this holy quest?
MORGAN. What should you fear, though Lancelot go or stay?
MORDRED. I fear, yet know not what--his loyal love
Twines around Arthur like a coil of steel
That turns the keenest edge. Yea, well I know
That while Sir Lancelot stays, the King is safe.
MORGAN. Thou fool! the King were safer if he went.
MORDRED. What dost thou say?
MORGAN. I say what thou shouldst know:
The King doth love Sir Lancelot?
MORDRED. Ay, too well!
MORGAN. Too well, in truth, for next the King stands one
Who loves him more than well.
MORDRED. Not Guinevere?
MORGAN. Ay, she!
MORDRED. This is thy malice.
MORGAN. Think'st thou so?
Trust me, 'tis true--a woman hath no wiles
To hide her secret from a woman's gaze,
Whose eyes are never blindfold. Dost forget
When the news came of Lancelot's heavy wound
How she did weep and wail?
MORDRED. So did the King.
MORGAN. Ay, truth, so did the King, yet that's not all,
For later, when the happier tidings came
That, tended by Elaine, his wound was whole,
Hadst thou but seen her then! The King made glad,
But Guinevere's white lips could shape no smile.
Her jealous heart was torn.
MORDRED. If this be so,
And Lancelot loves her too, then all are trapped!
MORGAN. Nay, take it not from me, look for thyself.
Herald's trumpet heard without.
But see she comes, take heed and guard thy tongue.
Enter Guinevere.
MORDRED. Madam, what saith the King?
GUINEVERE. Hast thou not heard?
Thy mother's prayer for mercy hath prevailed.
The spies are pardoned.
MORDRED. Madam, 'tis to thee
They owe their right to live.
GUINEVERE. Nay, to the King!
Who knowing naught of fear, fears naught to spare
Where weaker hearts would slay. To-day at eve
Our knights ride forth upon a Holy Quest,
At such a season then it was not fit
That on their spotless banners there should rest
The smirch of hireling blood.
MORGAN. Madam, the King!
Enter Arthur, with Knights attending.
ARTHUR. Our faithful knights do know th' appointed hour.
MORDRED. My lord, they wait your call.
ARTHUR. Give me the roll.
Mordred hands scroll to the King.
Is all complete?
MORDRED. Nay, truth, I had forgot,
One name is lacking there.
ARTHUR. Whose name is that?
Stand there not here enough of goodly knights
That I must lose from our great fellowship,
But ye would cry for more?
MORDRED. Your pardon, Sire,
I did but learn it now, within the hour:
Sir Lancelot hath returned.
ARTHUR. Well, sir, what then?
GUINEVERE [ starting ] . Sir Lancelot home!
MORGAN [ approaching her ] . Ay, Madam, he is here.
ARTHUR. Lancelot is welcome home.
MORDRED. Yet 'tis to fear
He comes but to depart.
ARTHUR. What mean you, sir?
MORDRED. He, too, my lord, would join this Holy Quest.
ARTHUR. Sir Lancelot? Nay, you jest! this shall not be.
Go straight and send him here.
MORDRED. My lord, I will. [ Exit Mordred.
GUINEVERE. Morgan, thou hast our leave.
Exeunt Morgan, Ladies of the Court, and Knights.
Nay, good my lord,
This troubles thee.
ARTHUR. It would an it were true;
For, as each added name summed up the list,
Methought though all should go yet one remains,
Flower of all knighthood, Lancelot, thou at least
Shalt stand beside thy King!
GUINEVERE. Yet should he go
Thou still hast that which serves thee more than all,
Thy sword Excalibur, whose mystic blade
Hath carved this Island Empire from the sea,--
Thou hast thy goodly sword.
ARTHUR. Ay, and my Queen,
Whose dear commands are set as Heaven's high voice,
Lifting me nearer Heaven.
GUINEVERE. Nay, trust thy sword,
'Twill serve thee better far.
ARTHUR. Long time gone by,
When this same sword by magic hands was given,
Old Merlin said, take heed and guard it well,
Yet guard the scabbard too, for that is more
E'en than the blade it sheathes. I knew not then
If he spoke false or true: I know it now.
For at thy coming, Guinevere, my Queen,
The havoc turned to harvest at thy feet;
From out the bellowing throat of war there came
A sweeter, softer music, and the earth,
New christened by thy smile, broke forth in flower.
Thou art our scabbard, and in thy pure soul,
Where only peace may dwell, our sword lies sheathed!
Yet that rich dower thy father gave with thee,
That image of the world, our Table Round,
A kingdom's heart set in a rim of steel
Forged of the spears of all the goodliest knights
Of all the earth; that too must count for much,
And if he now should fail that out of all
Hast shown himself the mightiest, then I think
Our day draws to its end.
Enter Lancelot.
Most welcome home!
It was but now I learned from Mordred's lips
Thou too wouldst join this quest.
LANCELOT. 'Tis so, my lord.
ARTHUR. If that same word by other lips were spoken
I'd say 'twas false. Dost thou so lightly count
Our long-tried love, that, without word or sign,
Thou'dst quit our side? Nay, but I wrong thee there,
For we are one, and haply thou hast told
Thy purpose to the Queen.
GUINEVERE. Not so, indeed.
I heard it not till now.
LANCELOT. Nay, hear me, Arthur.
I have no life, no soul that is not thine,
No heart but waits some fitting hour to bleed
In thy great cause; yet, couldst thou see that heart
And know its present sickness, thou wouldst say:
Lancelot, ride forth, thou hast our willing leave.
ARTHUR. Thinkest thou so? We'll speak of this again.
LANCELOT. Thy voice alone shall bid me go or stay.
Exit Lancelot.
ARTHUR. And thou shalt stay, for now I do divine
This sickness at thy heart. [ Turning to Guinevere. ]
Canst thou not guess?
GUINEVERE. Indeed I cannot.
ARTHUR. 'Tis some cause of love
That bids him go.
GUINEVERE [ starting ] . Of love?
ARTHUR. Ay, dear, of love!
Didst think that our two hearts had drained love's springs?
Thou hast not heard, but, ere thy coming hither,
'Twas known that Lancelot wooed the fair Elaine.
GUINEVERE. 'Twas she that nursed him when his wound was sore?
ARTHUR. Ay, true, 'twas she; but even then their loves
Had drifted wide asunder, and of late
He has not breathed her name.
GUINEVERE. Why then 'tis sure
He loves her not.
ARTHUR. In love there's naught that's sure.
Yet is he framed in such a constant mould
That truly I believe he loves her still.
Some little knot hath ravelled up the skein
That links their hearts. There needs a woman's wit
To set the tangle straight.
GUINEVERE. A woman's wit?
ARTHUR. Ay, dear, and thine.
GUINEVERE. Indeed, I think not so.
ARTHUR. Indeed 'tis so, bid Lancelot come to thee.
Thy tongue will find a charm that may unlock
The guarded secret of his chafing heart.
Guinevere does not move.
Nay, thou wilt do't? if our all happy love
Hath known no jar, then must we search the more
To find the missing note for those whose souls
Are not so finely tuned.
GUINEVERE. Then thou art sure
Thou art all happy?
ARTHUR. Nay, how canst thou ask?
GUINEVERE. A little field-flower, lighted by a star,
Stands but a tiny speck beneath that lamp
Which shines o'er half the world: yet once it dreamed
That this great beacon light was all its own.
'Tis long since thou hast spoken of thy love,
Dost know how long?
ARTHUR. That is the fate of kings,
Whose lives are as a picture for the world,
Not for their own content. When we were wed,
I dreamed of many an hour when we would sit,
Thy hand in mine, recalling that sweet day
When, like a flash of sunlight through the trees,
I saw thy face at Cameliard; but now
The busy hours slip by, each new day brings
Its burden of new duty, and our loves
Are too long silent. Yet full well thou know'st--
Approaching her.
GUINEVERE [ interrupting him and making away ] . Yes, yes, I know,
heed not my idle words.
It was a foolish thought that slipped my tongue.
I'll do thy bidding straight.
Enter Morgan.
MORGAN. Your pardon, Madam, but the fair Elaine
Is newly come from Astolat, and craves
An audience with the Queen.
ARTHUR. Now this falls well.
So you shall plead for both.
GUINEVERE [ to Morgan ] . I'll see her here.
Go tell Sir Lancelot I would speak with him.
Exit Morgan.
ARTHUR. And later, when Sir Lancelot's name is called,
'Tis thou shalt bid him stay. Till then, farewell!
Exit Arthur.
GUINEVERE. Farewell! [ Guinevere is left alone.
Am I so weak that every random word
Can shake my heart? When Arthur said but now
"It is some cause of love bids Lancelot go,"
I trembled like a thief that's trapped at night.
For, in his god-like gaze, I thought I saw
The searching eyes of God; piercing my soul
Where lurks the shameful secret of my love
That none must know. Ah me, if Lancelot knew!
How he would spurn me! But he shall not know,
Wherefore 'twere better he should go away;
For while he was away, within my heart
His image dwelt securely, like a star
Hung high above me in a stainless sky--
A lamp illumined with a fireless flame
That wrought no ill,--but now, when he is by,
The light grows blinding, and its fiercer rays
Consume my very soul.
She stands wrapt in thought as enter Elaine.
ELAINE. Thy pardon, madam. Morgan bade me come.
She kneels as Guinevere turns to her.
GUINEVERE [ aside ] . Indeed, but she is fair!
[ Aloud. ] Nay, do not kneel.
[ Elaine rises.
What wouldst thou with me?
ELAINE. 'Twas but yester eve,
Within thy garden by the castle wall,
For the first time I saw thee with thy maids,
Where, 'midst them all, thy prouder beauty seemed
To wear the gentlest smile: 'twas then I thought:
"Could I but see the Queen, I'd tell my heart
And win her favour." Now methinks I erred.
GUINEVERE. Has, then, my face so changed?
ELAINE. Sweet lady, no.
Yet in thy presence my poor lips are dumb.
GUINEVERE. Then I must speak for thee: sit near me here.
Elaine sits at her feet.
So, thou art she our great Sir Lancelot loves?
I do not wonder.
ELAINE. I did think so once.
GUINEVERE. Be sure he loves thee still.
ELAINE. Ah, would 'twere so!
GUINEVERE. Was then his love so sweet? tell me how sweet.
ELAINE. I scarce knew then: for all the uncounted joys
Of that brief time seemed but an earnest paid
From Love's unbounded store. Now, when all's lost,
Remembrance feeds my grief and, drowned in tears,
Brings back each little token of his love
That passed unheeded then.
GUINEVERE. There's joy in that--
He loved thee once; methinks I know some hearts
Would take thy sorrow's burden but to win
What thou dost still possess: but tell me more.
Such love, if love it were, could not so end
Without a cause--perchance the fault was thine.
ELAINE. I think so too, and yet I know not how.
The end came all so swiftly: on that day
When he rode forth I do remember well
I scarce was sad, our parting was so sweet.
But, when he came again, it was as though
The night had fallen at noontide; all was changed.
GUINEVERE. What time was that?
ELAINE. Ah, madam, thou canst date
My sorrow with thy joy.
GUINEVERE [ rising suddenly ] . What dost thou say?
ELAINE. Nay, be not angered: so it chanced to fall,
In that same hour when thou, new crowned a Queen,
Didst come from Cameliard as Arthur's bride--
My love was lost. 'Twas Lancelot brought thee here.
GUINEVERE. Ay, was it so? In truth I had forgot.
Yes, sure, 'twas he. And now thou think'st that I
Can win thy love again! How shall that be?
ELAINE. Hold Lancelot to thy side, I ask but that!
Let him not go to-day upon this quest,
Whence none, perchance, shall live to win his way
Back to King Arthur's court. Ah, bind him here,
That so my love, by some sweet chance, may find
The path it missed before, and creep again
Back to that heart that once did seem its home!
Thou dost not answer?
GUINEVERE. Hush, what sound is that?
CHAUNT OF THE KNIGHTS [ without ]
Look not to thy sword,
Fame is but a breath,
That, for all reward,
Brings thee only death.
Rise, and go forth with us who seek the Grail,
Winning for reward
Fame that shall not fail.
ELAINE [ who has gone to the back ]. It is the chaunt of those who
seek the Grail. See, they make ready. Lancelot is not there!
GUINEVERE. Go, leave me now, for I must speak with him,
And think what I may do to serve thee best.
ELAINE [ kissing her hand ] . Ah, would I owned thy crown that
may command, Or thou my love, that so he needs must yield.
Exit Elaine.
GUINEVERE. And would I ne'er had seen thee, for thy words
Have set my heart on fire! Can it be so?
That then when first we met his love did change?
It is not so, and his own lips shall speak
And say 'tis false, or else I shall go mad.
Enter Lancelot.
Ah, thou art here. Why is thy mind so bent
To leave the court? The King would know the cause.
Think'st thou, because thy favour stands so high
In fame of earthly deeds, that thou shalt win
This heavenly crown?
LANCELOT. Indeed, I think not so.
His eyes alone shall see that holy cup,
Whose soul stands clear of sin.
GUINEVERE. What boots it then
To adventure all upon a hopeless quest?
LANCELOT. Ay, hopeless, for I may not touch the goal.
Yet once, when I lay stricken nigh to death,
By this same vessel of the Sangrael
My hurt was cured; now, when my heart is pierced,
Though by no mortal stroke of sword or spear,
Perchance again that same sweet miracle
May heal my deeper wound.
GUINEVERE. I know thy wound.
LANCELOT. If that were so I should be shamed indeed!
GUINEVERE. Indeed, 'tis so. Elaine was here but now.
I did not dream that all the world could show
So fair a maid. No marvel that thy heart
Is sick with love.
LANCELOT. Madam, I love her not!
GUINEVERE. Nay, that is false: think it no shame to own
What, in some angry fit, thy tongue denied.
LANCELOT. My shame lies deeper, seeing I once vowed
A love that now lies dead.
GUINEVERE. Elaine's soft eyes
Will find Love's tomb, and charm it back to life.
Go to her now, and plead thy suit again;
I'll warrant you will find her not too hard,
Your wooing is half done.
LANCELOT. Urge me no more,
For here, by Heaven, I swear I love her not.
GUINEVERE. Then wherefore wouldst thou enter on this quest?
LANCELOT. Nay, madam, in thy pity, spare me that!
GUINEVERE. I will be answered. Am I not thy Queen?
LANCELOT. Thou art indeed, and therefore hast thy will!
I had thought to pass away and leave behind
The dear remembrance of thy loyal love
I once deserved. But now that too has gone,
For thou wouldst wring the secret from my lips,
That brands me traitor.
GUINEVERE. Traitor!
LANCELOT. Aye! 'Tis true,
And thou hast known it, else thy gracious heart
Were not so pitiless: 'twas for this I've seen
Those veiled eyes cloak the hate they scorned to tell,
When, by some evil chance, their gaze met mine;
For this thy gentle smile took sudden flight
When I passed by.
GUINEVERE. No! no! no more, no more!
LANCELOT. Nay, madam, drink thy vengeance to the fill.
I leave the court because I love its Queen!
Flings himself at her feet.
GUINEVERE. I did not hear thee; speak that word again.
LANCELOT. Ay, once again, I love thee; all my shame
Lies naked at thy feet; I do but crave
That here my life may end.
GUINEVERE. Nay, do not rise.
There's something I would say, yet know not how;
For if thy life must end, then so must mine.
You cannot guess my shame.
LANCELOT. Thou hast no shame,
Save that which my base love hath laid on thee!
GUINEVERE. Indeed I have: oft when we kneel and pray,
Before God's image bleeding on the Cross,
We cheat our souls, for our vain hearts still seek
The manhood not the God: 'twas so with me.
That hour when Arthur came, it seemed as though
Christ's hand had beckoned, and I knelt to him,
And, in the mist of worship, thought I saw,
The wingèd heart of love. But when you came,
His great ambassador from Camelot,
I saw Love's heart indeed, and knew I loved--
But not the King.
LANCELOT. What sayest thou? Not the King?
Wouldst make me mad?
GUINEVERE. Ah me, that home-coming
When we two rode in silence side by side,
And all my heart was hungry for a word!
The blossoms of the springtime turned to flame--
And yet you spoke not; now it is too late.
She moves away.
LANCELOT [ rising ] . No, not too late, unless those
lips are false. Ah, hear me now--thou wouldst have heard me then--
My lonely love I could have borne alone,
Counting this mortal life too short a term
Of exile for my sin: but now that's past,
And, through the darkness, like a sudden star,
Thy heart stands clear, lighting our sweeter way.
Nay, do not turn thy face, thou knowest 'tis so.
Love speaks at last--and Love will be obeyed.
He moves towards her, and she turns as if to yield to his
embrace when the chaunt of the Knights breaks forth again,
and the movement is arrested.
Look not to thy love,
Love that lives an hour;
Heaven's voice above
Calls thee from her bower.
Rise, and go forth, with us who seek the Grail,
Winning from above
Love that shall not fail.
GUINEVERE. Yea, truth, 'tis love that speaks! But not our love,
The love of Heaven, of honour, and of--him.
Rise, and go forth, with us who seek the Grail,
Winning from above
Love that shall not fail.
It is their voice that calls, and thou wilt go.
I thought to hold thee here--I may not now.
LANCELOT. My shame is dumb; yet, in thy purer heart,
I may find grace to save what still remains
Of my wrecked soul: my trust stands all in thee.
GUINEVERE. Nay, trust thyself.
LANCELOT. Thy words must be my law.
GUINEVERE. Wait not for that, a woman is too weak
To guard what's best in what she loves the best.
We shall not speak again. [ Exit Guinevere.
LANCELOT. Ay, once again,
When from thy lips shall come the dread command
That sends me hence; and like a flaming sword
Love bars the gate of this new paradise
Which love hath won; yet through the desert night
Of life's long pilgrimage, one star shall stay,
And when death comes at last, to end our quest,
My fainting heart shall quicken at the thought,
'Twas thou didst bid me go.
Enter a Squire.
Ah, thou art here.
Put on my sword.
The trumpet sounds as Arthur enters, preceded by
a procession of Priests and Choristers chaunting the song
of the Grail, while the hall fills with a throng of Knights.
Arthur and Guinevere take their places on the throne, on
the steps of which stands Elaine next the Queen.
THE CHAUNT OF THE GRAIL
Look not to thy sword,
Fame is but a breath,
That, for all reward,
Brings thee only death.
Rise, and go forth with us who seek the Grail,
Winning for reward
Fame that shall not fail.
At the close of the chaunt Percival comes forward from
the group of the Knights of the Grail and kneels before Arthur.
PERCIVAL. Here, at thy feet, for all whose vows are sworn,
I kneel and crave thy favour ere we go.
What strange new ways our wandering feet will press,
What dread adventures wait us, none can tell.
Yet this we know, our fealty to thee
Shall stand unbroken, and through all the world
We bear the spotless blazon of thy fame!
ARTHUR. Rise, Percival, and ye who kneel with him,
Take your new way; ye have our leave to go;
Which yet, if that might be, we could withhold.
The magic circle of our Table Round,
Is broken here: wherefore, in truth, my heart
Is sore within me, and my lips hold back
The message of Farewell. Yet must it be;
For well I know your vows are sworn to Him
Whose voice outbids the mandate of a king.
Therefore ride forth--we wait your glad return!
Percival passes out, followed by the other Knights of the Grail,
who kneel as they pass the throne. At the last comes Lancelot.
Arthur stops him.
ARTHUR. Nay, Lancelot, what is this?
LANCELOT. My lord, I too
Would take those vows that bind me to this quest.
ARTHUR [ to Guinevere ] . Didst thou not speak with him?
GUINEVERE. I did, my lord.
ARTHUR. Then had thy voice no power?
GUINEVERE. In truth, I think
Some mightier voice than mine doth bid him go.
ARTHUR. Then I must speak: this quest is not for thee.
For thy rich manhood hath a holier task--
Here, by thy King, to fight for this poor world
Till that last call which sheathes our swords in sleep.
LANCELOT. My lord, thou knowest me not. I am not fit
To stand by thee.
ARTHUR. Nay, Lancelot, it is thou
That dost not know thyself for what thou art!
This crippled realm, how shall it find the goal,
If thou, the strongest, who hast been our staff,
If thou, the mightiest, who hast been our shield,
And thou, the gentlest, that art now our guide,
Seek thine own way towards Heaven; and so dost steal
The sun's bright rays wherewith to seek the sun,
Leaving this lonely world to grope its way
In darkness to the end? Thou shalt not go!
LANCELOT. My lord, did I but know myself as strong
As is the weakest of these knights whose vows
Were sworn but now, it would not need thy voice
To bid me stay.
ARTHUR. Still thy resolve stands firm?
Then thou shalt hear a sager voice than ours.
Old Merlin, by whose mystic craft we read
The unturned page of Time, stand forth and speak!
Merlin steps forward.
MERLIN.
All shall seek the Holy Grail,
All and all save one shall fail.
ARTHUR. Nay, leave thy riddles; shall he go or stay?
MERLIN.
Fate doth not answer yea or nay.
Love shall bid him go or stay!
Love the best, or love the worst,
Holiest love, or love accurst.
ARTHUR. Say on. What is this love that bids him go?
MERLIN. I can but read the words that Fate hath writ.
ARTHUR. Then we have done with Fate. Go, get thee hence,
And never more shall that dark face of thine
Pass, like a withered shadow, through these halls!
MERLIN.
I go hence, yet Fate shall stay,
Till the dawn of that dread day;
He Pendragon's son shall slay
That is born with the May!
As Merlin goes out the hall grows darker, and the sunset
at the back gleams more brightly.
GUINEVERE. My lord, I pray you call him back again!
ARTHUR. Nay, heed him not, my Queen--nor, Lancelot, thou!
For if indeed Love speaks with double voice,
One base, one noble, then be sure my lips
Do bear the nobler message; for the world
Tells of no higher, purer love than that
Of brother unto brother. Such in truth
Is my great love for thee, that bids thee stay!
LANCELOT. I know not how to answer for myself!
Yet, once before, when we were at debate
The verdict of our Queen did end all strife.
I crave it now, her word shall be my law!
ARTHUR. Then thou shalt stay: for she and I are one,
With but one voice, one tongue, one heart, one soul!
Now, Guinevere, declare thy will.
GUINEVERE. My lord,
A woman is too weak to rule men's hearts.
ARTHUR. Not so, my Queen. Hath not thy purer heart,
Sole ruler over him who rules this realm,
Won, from rude wars, that sweeter crown of peace
That smiles upon our land from sea to sea?
And wouldst thou fail me now? when on thy word
The welfare of a kingdom waits in doubt--
Wouldst thou be dumb?
GUINEVERE. Indeed, indeed I would.
ARTHUR. Nay, I command thee--speak as I would speak!
ELAINE. Ay, madam, speak! My life lies in thy word.
GUINEVERE [ after a pause, and without looking at Lancelot ].
My lord, I do thy bidding--Lancelot, stay!
The Knights of the Grail file past, singing as they go.
Ere those lips be dumb
That would bid thee stay;
Ere the night be come,
Rise, and come away!
We, who go forth to seek the Holy Grail,
Win, ere night be come,
Light that shall not fail.
ACT II
THE QUEEN'S MAYING.SCENE:-- The slope of a hill in spring-time studded with bushes of whitethorn. A company of Maidens, garlanded with white may, descend the slope. They are followed by Guinevere and her Ladies.
THE MAY SONG
Ere upon its snowy bed
Lies the firstborn of the spring,
Ere the crocus lifts its head,
Or the swallow finds its wing,
Love is here:
Say ye then Earth's flowers shall fade?
We shall tell ye nay:
Love, the first of all flowers made,
Lives from May to May.
He beneath whose sun-kissed feet
Daisies rise to kiss the sun,
Lily, rose, and meadow-sweet,--
Love, that is all flowers in one,
Love is here.
Heed not then the blooms that fall,
Dying with the day,
Love, the sweetest flower of all,
Lives from May to May.
GUINEVERE. Here, on the verge of this untravelled wood,
Beneath Love's flowering banner, we have set
Our camp of war. For, know ye, ladies all,
That dread adventure whereunto ye are called
Is no poor mockery of a tournament
Such as our lords love, jousting for a prize!
Our cause is mortal; and those unseen swords
We women wield, are forged to pierce men's hearts.
Whereat, if any cheek grow white with fear,
Let its poor owner straightway quit the field.
Nay, all are brave? 'tis well. Ere day had dawned
Our scouts and spies, which are the wingèd birds,
Reported that a band of swaggering knights
Did challenge our approach; 'gainst them we war.
Yet hear me--not like timorous men who find
Their courage grow from fellowship in fear,
Wherefore in serried ranks they face their foe.
Our greater strength hath ever best been proved
In single combat: so we fight to-day;
Nor need these fairer faces be encased
In casques of steel; that never was our plan--
For so indeed we should but hide from view
All Love's bright armoury that lodges there.
But, truth, I waste my breath where all are skilled
In these same arts of war. Therefore set forth,
Each on her chosen way, for in this wood
Lurks many a pleasant bower o'er-roofed with green,
Where moss and harebells weave a patterned floor
With shifting tracery of added gold,
Shot from the sun's eyes, peeping through the boughs
Of flowering thorn. There should each lady lead
Her conquered knight, that so, by gentler arts,
Her love may cure the wounds that Love hath made.
So, fare we all till sunset. Haste, away!
As they move towards the wood, Dagonet rushes in
and falls on his knees before the Queen. He bears a
large rough garland of flowers hanging about his neck
like a horse-collar.
DAGONET [ who is trembling with mock fear ] . Sweet ladies,
save me though ye love me not! I am sore pressed.
GUINEVERE. What, hath some beast pursued thee?
DAGONET. Ay, truth, a most sweet beast, yet fearsome, too.
CLARISSANT. I pray you, madam, let us call these knights.
We are in danger else.
GUINEVERE. Is this your valour,
That so you quake at shadows? Shame on ye!
DAGONET. Ay, shame, for here is a beast that will harm no
lady, though at this budding season 'tis very fatal to man.
GUINEVERE. I would hear more of this beast. What form hath it?
DAGONET. Well, to be plain yet modest withal, and not too
curious, it is in all things shaped like a woman.
GUINEVERE. Truly, a very monstrous woman that would so pursue
a fool.
DAGONET. Faith, there be many such, though 'tis only your sage
fool that fears them.
GUINEVERE. Rise, Dagonet, and tell us how it chanced.
DAGONET. Then stiffen your sinews, for 'tis a heart-shaking
legend. Hither came I through the wood, thinking of naught, and
so counting myself wise beyond my years, when of a sudden I espied
a maid who tended a herd of swine; whereat, I do confess it, I
fell a-weeping bitterly, for surely never was mortal woman so fitly
employed.
CLARISSANT. You hear him, madam.
GUINEVERE. Nay, let him run on.
DAGONET. Ay, 'tis the finish that will cause ye to quake. For
this same maid, not content with her most righteous calling, and
haply moved by my tears, most artfully flung this halter about my
neck, and swore a most villainous oath that she loved me well.
Whereat I, being, as 'tis known, only half a fool, slipped from her
embrace, and fled incontinently.
GUINEVERE. Now thou art half a man, and therefore a most complete
fool, that could so dread to be loved.
DAGONET. Wherein thou art wrong, for I have a leaning that way,
being very tenderly fashioned, and with a taste for red lips. But
alack, I am troubled with a most constant heart that goes not with love!
GUINEVERE. How say you? Is it so wise to rail against constancy?
DAGONET. Nay, I would question thee. Canst tell me now what is
most like to a river that drains to the sea?
GUINEVERE. Faith, I cannot.
DAGONET. Why, a maiden who weeps in the rain.
GUINEVERE. Where hast thou seen that?
DAGONET. Last night, where I sheltered from the storm, there passed
a lady sobbing as she rode, and with her tears the rain kept even tune;
'twas a sweet contest, yet I'll warrant her eyes outstayed the drippings
of the sky.
GUINEVERE. Knew you her face?
DAGONET. 'Twas laid so low upon her palfrey's neck I saw it not.
GUINEVERE. Go, fool, on your way.
DAGONET. Ay, madam, by your leave, for I must seek the King, who
comes from hunting. In May-time your King and your fool were ever very
prettily assorted.
He goes up the hill singing.
The cuckoo's note doth haunt the May,
And some are glad,
And some grow mad,
But the fool goes singing on his way.
Exit Dagonet. As he goes the Queen stands wrapt in thought.
CLARISSANT. Nay, madam, see, 'tis noon, we waste our day.
GUINEVERE [ rousing herself ]. Truly; lift up your voices, let us on.
MAY SONG
Dreaming 'neath a whitened thorn,
Like a rose-leaf on the snow,
Lovers! ere the day be worn,
Ye shall find him and shall know,
Love is here.
And, at nightfall when ye part,
Whispering shall say:
Love is lord of every heart,
Love is lord of May.
The Ladies wander off through the wood preceded by the company
of singing maidens, whose voices grow gradually fainter as they are
lost in the distance, and at the last Guinevere follows slowly, and
as she goes off, Morgan enters, and stands gazing after her, while
at the same time Merlin appears on the rising path above.
MORGAN. March on, my Queen, in all thy bravery!
He that is lord of May and of thy heart,
Blind leader of the blind, shall draw thee on,
Where Lancelot waits for thee, love's slave and ours.
MERLIN.
The scabbard's gone, but England's lord
Holds till death the naked sword.
MORGAN [ seeing him. ] What wouldst thou now whose work is wellnigh done?
May-day is here, and we, thy ministers,
Need no fresh spur to hasten Fate's decree.
MERLIN [ approaching her ] . At dawn I heard the splashing of the mere,
And saw that jewelled scabbard sink and sink
Till, like a glittering rainbow, down the deep
It vanished, and the shuddering tide grew still.
Dost thou know aught of this?
MORGAN. Not I, forsooth!
MERLIN. Thou liest, for I tracked thee in thy theft,
And saw thee creep beside the sleeping King,
Whose hand held fast that naked blade which gleamed,
A bar of quivering moonlight, by his side.
Thou hast stolen the scabbard, but no mortal hand
Shall take the sword.
MORGAN. What then? thyself didst say--
The scabbard's worth doth far outweigh the sword.
MERLIN. To him, but not to thee. 'Tis naught to thee:
Who steals the scabbard doth but draw the sword,
Who holds the sword, holds all save life, and wins,
Though life be spent, a deathless crown from death.
MORGAN. Whose hand shall take it then, when death draws near?
MERLIN.
When those Queens of Night shall steer
Arthur's barge across the mere,
She who long ago did bring
England's sword to England's King,
She shall claim Excalibur!
Exit Merlin.
MORGAN. Croak on, let Death but come; we'll chance the rest!
Enter Mordred.
MORDRED. Whose voice was that?
MORGAN. 'Twas Merlin's, who grows old,
And babbles like a child. What is thy news?
MORDRED. Beyond our hope; Ryons and Mark are joined
In equal strength of war, and, by this hour,
Their glittering squadrons, like a serpent, coil
Around Caerleon's walls.
MORGAN. Whence got you this?
MORDRED. Sir Morys from Caerleon rode post haste
To warn our Master. He will ride no more. [ Touching his sword.
MORGAN. 'Tis well; your men keep watch on every road?
MORDRED. Ay, all are guarded, let but this day pass
With no unwelcome note to wake the King,
Then war may shriek its loudest; all is sure.
MORGAN. Hast thou forgotten Lancelot?
MORDRED [ in alarm ] . What of him?
MORGAN. Nay, track him through the wood, and thou shalt learn.
Come hither, see where, trembling, hand to hand,
With speechless answering eyes, they woo the spring.
Love sets the snare, but the caged bird is ours.
For ere night's dusky arms enfold the sun,
Lancelot shall be thy partner and thy slave.
Exeunt Morgan and Mordred. The May Song is heard
faintly in the distance.
Enter Sir Lavaine and Clarissant.
LAVAINE. Dost think our love will live from May to May?
CLARISSANT. Nay, ask me that when May-day comes again.
LAVAINE. Ah, tell me now!
CLARISSANT. I'll tell thee all I know.
If thou dost woo me well, I'll love thee well,--
Should no one woo me better!
LAVAINE. Wouldst thou be wooed
That art already won?
CLARISSANT. Most surely, sir!
Who holds my heart must win it every day;
And when 'tis won, 'tis then it must be wooed
And won again.
LAVAINE. Why, 'twas but yesterday
That thou didst swear thy love would last till death.
CLARISSANT. Ay, that was yesterday.
LAVAINE. And shall thine oath
Live but an hour?
CLARISSANT. What is there in these oaths
That you poor men so fondly cherish them?
Perchance they fit your duller brains, which seek,
With empty words, to bind the unborn hours.
But we do wrong to humour you in this.
We should not swear at all, knowing full well
There's no to-morrow in a woman's heart,
Which hath its yesterday of joy or pain
Whose savour, lingering on our lips to-day,
Makes all the present half a memory--
The future all a blank. Then ask me not
If I shall love thee when the year is worn;
I loved thee yesterday: so be content.
LAVAINE. Ah, but thou lovest to-day?
CLARISSANT. To-day is young;
Ask me at sundown, I will tell thee then.
Exit laughing, and he following her.
Enter Guinevere and Lancelot.
GUINEVERE. The wood is dark. Let us be in the sun.
LANCELOT. 'Twas dark ere yet the glory of thy face
Came, like a golden message from the sun.
And now, beneath this open vault of day,
'Twould change again to night wert thou not here.
GUINEVERE. I had a foolish fear I should not find thee.
LANCELOT. Nay, Guinevere, thou knowest that could not be.
GUINEVERE. Indeed, 'tis true, for wandering alone
Across the leafy screen that hedged my way,
From every side I heard the echoing laugh
Of Love's encounter. Then the wood grew still,
And, softer than the silence, came the sound
Of whispered vows from lips but newly met;
And then, beneath an opening arch of green,
Two lovers passed, with hand in hand locked close.
Ah, Lancelot! I was lonely as a child
Locked in a darkened room. I called thee then;
Didst thou not hear me?
LANCELOT. Ay, and saw thee, too.
GUINEVERE. Thou didst not answer?
LANCELOT. Nay, forgive me, sweet!
I could but watch thee.
GUINEVERE. That was cruel, sir.
LANCELOT. 'Twas but an instant.
GUINEVERE. No, it was a year!
And in that year a thousand thronging fears
With devil faces perched amid the boughs.
LANCELOT. What were thy fears?
GUINEVERE. So many all in one:
That I should lose thee.
Lancelot putting his arms round her.
LANCELOT. Never, until death.
GUINEVERE. Ah, speak not so of death! I have seen a face
That frighted me like death.
LANCELOT [ starting ] . Whose face and where?
GUINEVERE. Within the wood. 'Twas Merlin's, but so old,
Lancelot, so old and worn I knew it not.
LANCELOT. Those empty words of his do haunt thee still.
I wonder at thy fears.
GUINEVERE. Nay, scold me not.
There's nothing haunts me when I have thee near.
Love shuts the door on all things save itself,
On all that's past and all that is to come
When thou art by! Tell me, 'tis so with thee?
LANCELOT. Ay, sweet, 'tis so.
GUINEVERE. Ah, say it once again!
I could not live, Lancelot, if in thy heart
There lurked the tiniest little ache or pain
Love might not cure.
LANCELOT. Thou knowest all my heart;
And in my love, which knows no law but love,
The future and the past are drowning straws
Caught in the full tide of our present joy,
That neither ebbs nor flows.
He holds her in a close embrace as Morgan and
Mordred enter stealthily; at the same time is heard
the sound of distant thunder, and the scene darkens.
MORGAN. Dost mark them well?
LANCELOT. Ambition, honour, duty, all that life
Once held most dear, by thy sweet will subdued,
Now wear Love's livery and would serve Love's Queen.
The thunder is heard again and nearer.
GUINEVERE [ starting ] . What sound was that? See, it grows dark again!
LANCELOT. 'Tis but a cloud.
GUINEVERE. It came like sudden night.
Let us go in. [ Thunder again. ] Ah, 'tis the thunder's bolt
That cracks the sky!
LANCELOT. Nay, tremble not; 'twill pass
And leave Heaven's deeper blue. What shouldst thou fear?
GUINEVERE. I know not. Hold me closer, closer still,
That so my heart may catch the fearless tune
Of thy heart's steadfast music. Now I am brave,
And could be always, wert thou always here,
So let us on. Yet tell me o'er again--
Ah, I do tease thee; 'tis but this once more--
Tell me, whate'er befall, that thou art mine!
LANCELOT. For ever and for ever I am thine.
A crash of thunder and a lightning flash.
MORDRED [ looking after them ]. He lies, my Queen;
not thine, but mine till death!
ACT III
THE BLACK BARGE.As the curtain draws up enter Sir Lancelot, followed by Sir Kay, Sir
Gawaine, and Sir Agravaine.
LANCELOT. Sir Morys slain?
GAWAINE. Ay, murdered.
LANCELOT. But by whom?
KAY. That's still to find. Know you from whence he came?
LANCELOT. Straight from Caerleon, whither, as I heard,
He rode with sealed advices for the King.
KAY. Said I not well? Arthur has been forestalled.
LANCELOT. Why, 'twas but yesterday the King did note
His long delay.
GAWAINE. It was but yesternight
We found him murdered.
LANCELOT. Sirs, if this be so
There's something more than murder.
KAY. More, in truth!
Lancelot, some traitor lurking near the throne,
In secret league with Arthur's enemies,
By this same villainous act now stands possessed
Of what the King should know.
AGRAVAINE. What must be done?
GAWAINE. Let Lancelot speak.
LANCELOT. I'll straightway to the King
And tell him all. Then, should we win his leave,
At nightfall we'll to horse, nor draw the rein
Until Caerleon's towers cut the sky.
Exeunt Kay, Agravaine, and Gawaine.
During the next speech Mordred enters.
Whose hand is here? Of all our knights but one
In my most secret heart dare stand accused
Of this foul deed. [ Turns and sees Mordred. ] Mordred! Morys is slain!
MORDRED. Sir Morys slain! Nay, 'tis some idle jest.
LANCELOT. That is not all; the advices that he bore--
Are stolen.
MORDRED. Stolen? Is it possible?
LANCELOT. Ay, sir, and true; which news must to the King.
MORDRED. Most surely: yet not now; he is fatigued,
And would not be disturbed. To-morrow, sir.
LANCELOT. Nay, sir, to-day; an hour's delay may risk
The safety of his throne, perchance his life.
MORDRED. Well, sir, what then?
LANCELOT [ in amazement ] . What then?
MORDRED. Nay, spare thy skill,
'Tis aptly feigned, in faith I'd say 'twas true
Did I not hold a key that locks thy heart.
LANCELOT. What dost thou mean?
MORDRED. I mean, should Arthur pass
He leaves behind a kingdom, and a Queen
Who loves him not.
LANCELOT. Who says so foully lies.
MORDRED. Lancelot, throw off this mask, it fits thee not,
Be what thou art, nor fear what thou wouldst be.
Let candour answer candour. It was I
Who slew this messenger. His papers here
Bring the rich news that ere a week be past
Caerleon's gates must yield to the assault
Of Ryon's siege, whose vengeance stays not there;
The King himself is doomed; and, the King dead,
His throne is mine, and thine his widowed Queen.
LANCELOT. Traitor! I knew it. Thou shalt to the King,
In whose dread presence, from that villain's throat,
I'll force those words again.
MORDRED. I dare thy worst!
Yet breathe one word and I will tell a tale
Shall make thee cower like a beaten hound.
LANCELOT. Thou'st naught to tell.
MORDRED. What! are her kisses naught?
Fie, sir, for shame. So then thou didst not guess
I lurked so near, and saw thee lip to lip,
Cuddling beneath the may; that is love's trick,
Who blindfold deems that all the world is blind.
Now to the King! See, sir, the way is clear.
What! Wouldst thou pause? Hast thou no heart to win
That sweet reward that waits thy loyal zeal--
A traitor's death?
LANCELOT. What were that death to me?
MORDRED. True! but the Queen?
LANCELOT. Vile wretch!
Movement towards Mordred.
MORDRED. Look where she comes;
Take thought with her, she will advise thee well.
We men are rash, a woman's subtler wit
Serves better in such case. Truth, but she's fair--
So fair,--why, Lancelot, I repent me now
I kept not this sweet morsel for mine own.
LANCELOT. Out of my sight!
MORDRED [ aside ] . His tongue is safely gagged,
Yet he's but half corrupt, I'll trust him not. [ Exit.
Lancelot stands in despair as Guinevere enters.
GUINEVERE. Who went from thee?
LANCELOT. 'Twas Mordred.
GUINEVERE [ approaching him ] . Lancelot,
Some evil hath befallen!
LANCELOT. 'Tis naught. [ He turns away.
GUINEVERE. 'Tis much
Can make thee turn from me, ah, but I'll know it!
Didst thou not swear our love should cure all ill?
Then tell me all.
LANCELOT. Caerleon is besieged;
Should succour fail 'twill yield to Ryons' arms.
GUINEVERE. Who brings these tidings?
LANCELOT. Mordred.
GUINEVERE. And the King?
LANCELOT. Knows naught.
GUINEVERE [ with sudden horror ] . Knows naught? Lancelot, ah no! ah no!
Sure thou wouldst tell the King.
LANCELOT. Indeed I would.
GUINEVERE. Then wherefore pause?
LANCELOT. Oh, had I died but then,
In that sweet hour when first I learned thy love,
I had been happy!
GUINEVERE. What is in thy heart?
LANCELOT. Mordred is false.
GUINEVERE. False?
LANCELOT. Ay, 'tis he that's hatched
This plot against the King whereby he thinks
To seize the throne.
GUINEVERE. Then thou shalt prove him false
And save the King.
LANCELOT. I dare not.
GUINEVERE. Dare not?
LANCELOT. No:
All, all is known.
GUINEVERE. To whom?
LANCELOT. To him; he was there
Beside us in the may; his trait'rous hand
Grips at my throat and makes me traitor too.
GUINEVERE. No, no, that cannot be. Ah, look not so!
What wouldst thou do?
LANCELOT. Nay, ask what have I done?
Was there no lamp in Heaven to stay our feet,
Was the night starless, that we needs must wait
Till love's torch, setting all the world ablaze,
Lights up love's ruinous way? Ah, Guinevere,
I'd die a hundred deaths but now to win
One hour of life that's past; ay, one short hour,
So I might drag this devil to the throne
And shout his villainies in every ear.
GUINEVERE. Then do it now.
LANCELOT. I cannot.
GUINEVERE. Yea, thou canst!
Who is there that should stay thee, 'tis not I!
Let love go down the wind, what boots it now?
Look to thyself, think not of all that is lost.
That is all mine: there still remains
Thy soldier's honour, take it, keep it pure.
LANCELOT. What have I said?
GUINEVERE. Ah, go! [ Throws herself on couch.
LANCELOT [ throwing himself at her feet ] . My Queen! My Queen!
There's nothing in the world to win or lose
Can count beside thy love. I lied but now;
King, honour, country, all that knighthood boasts
Of faith and loyalty in life or death
Weighs not against the memory of one kiss
From thy dear lips.
GUINEVERE. Then thou art mine again.
To hear thee say that all the world was naught
Against our love hath made me mad for joy.
Yet stay not now; I have a thought to think
And needs must be alone.
LANCELOT. Yet, ere I go,
Hear this one word, all that is left of life
Is thine to keep or thine to fling away,
So I may have thy love. [ Exit Lancelot.
GUINEVERE. Thou hast, indeed!
So all is won again, and all is lost!
So do we strive that we may have the more
To cast away: and now, when at my feet
He lays his sword, his life, ay, and his soul,
I do but long to find some better way
To give him all again; ay, all again! [ Looks off.
It is the King. How may I find that way?
Enter Arthur.
ARTHUR. Ah, thou art here. I bring thee such sad news
As needs must wring thy heart.
GUINEVERE. What news, my lord?
ARTHUR. Elaine is dead!
GUINEVERE. Dead! Who hath told thee this?
ARTHUR. There, yonder by the shore, her body lies
Who, while she lived, was named the Fair Elaine.
Canst thou not weep?
GUINEVERE. Truly, my lord, I think
I've lost the use of tears.
ARTHUR. Thou wouldst have wept
Hadst thou been there when down the vacant stream
That black barge floated, like a speck of night,
Blown on the winds of dawn; and on its deck,
Fallen as a feather from a white dove's wing,
Lay this new prize of Death; whose cunning hands
Had wrought in such fair mimicry of life
That on her parted lips there lingered yet
The memory of a smile.
GUINEVERE. Why then, perchance,
She's happier far than some who needs must live
And smile no more.
ARTHUR. It may be; for that brow
Had caught from Death some secret of content
It knew not here, and, looking in those eyes
Whose tears had ceased their traffic, I dared think,
If aught of sin was there 'tis pardoned now.
GUINEVERE. Of sin? What sin?
ARTHUR. Ay, for it must be so:
Some sin there was though unrecorded here;
Some stain that smirched her seeming purity,
Which Lancelot, all too noble, could not urge;
Else were it not in nature to refuse
So sweet a gift.
GUINEVERE. If that indeed be true
Were it enough to shut the doors of love?
ARTHUR. Enough? What wouldst thou ask?
GUINEVERE. Ay! Ay! enough,
Enough and more! Yet, in some greater heart,
As his, or thine, methought that love might find
Forgiveness e'en for that.
ARTHUR. Nay, wrong him not,
Whose upward gaze, set level with the stars,
Would lift from earth the soul he crowns with love,
Making her more than woman; whence if she fall--
Like some lost planet hurled from highest Heaven--
She falls to endless night.
During Arthur's speech the distant throb of a mournful march is
heard slowly approaching.
GUINEVERE. Most like 'tis so,
And death the only way. What sound is that?
ARTHUR. Up from the stream they bear her body hither,
Where it shall rest beneath this royal roof,
Till, with such liberal honours as befit
So fair a flower, 'tis set again in earth.
The procession enters, headed by Mordred and Morgan. Four Knights
bear Elaine and are followed by a company of Maidens.
MORGAN [ aside to Mordred ] . Her cheek grows pale; she will
betray herself.
She passes across the stage and takes her place behind the Queen.
At a sign from Mordred the Knights move forward till they come to where
Guinevere is standing rigid and motionless. Then they stop in silence
till Guinevere, without turning, cries in agony.
GUINEVERE. Go on! and set it down!
MORDRED [ coming forward ] . Madam, by your leave,
In that white hand of death a letter lies,
Whose seal we dared not break, for 'tis inscribed
"To Guinevere, the Queen."
ARTHUR [ to Guinevere ] . Then break the seal
Which hides perchance some secret of her love
We know not yet.
Guinevere tries to approach the bier, but cannot
touch the body, then with a despairing appeal she turns
to Arthur.
GUINEVERE. I cannot! Give it me.
Arthur takes the letter which Guinevere opens and lets
fall, staggering back into the arms of Morgan, whose eyes gleam
in triumph.
MORGAN. Nay, madam, nay; what is it moves thee thus?
Mordred picks up the letter and gives it to the King.
ARTHUR [ reading ] . "I that was named Elaine of Astolat,
Whose mortal love for Lancelot passed all measure,
Seeing he loves another, choose to die."
We knew not this. Go, call Sir Lancelot here.
GUINEVERE. My lord, my lord--
She struggles forward as though to stop the King's command
and then swoons into Morgan's arms.
ARTHUR. Look to the Queen.
Morgan and her Women support her from the stage, and at the
same time the Knights lay the body of Elaine under the alcove,
and then exeunt, leaving Arthur and Mordred alone.
MORDRED [ aside ] . Ere Lancelot's blow can fall
I'll strike him to the heart.
ARTHUR [ holding the letter ] . If this be true
'Tis strange that none had known.
MORDRED. What's that, my lord?
ARTHUR. What's here set down of Lancelot's later love.
MORDRED. Now would to Heaven those words had ne'er been writ
Or ne'er been read.
ARTHUR. Why so?
MORDRED. Didst thou not note
How the Queen's soul was stirred?
ARTHUR. She is not used
To look on death; which, coming in such guise,
Might move our soldier hearts.
MORDRED. Ay, but methought
It was Death's message and not Death itself
That turned those red lips white.
ARTHUR. Mordred, what's this?
Think you the Queen hath known of this same love?
MORDRED. Nay, I'll not answer that.
ARTHUR. Nay, but thou shalt.
What is to fear?
MORDRED. My lord, thou art my King,
My sword is thine, and with that sword my life;
But with that life my loyal service ends,
And what is left thou wilt not ask of me.
ARTHUR. Who is it that he loves?
MORDRED. In sooth, I thought
What all the world had known was known to thee;
Were it not so these lips had still been dumb.
But now 'tis best 'twere said--he loves the Queen! [ A pause.
ARTHUR. Who forged this lie? Nay, Mordred, 'tis not thou;
And yet I wonder, too, to find thee duped
By this poor tale bred in some baser soul
That loves not Lancelot.
MORDRED. What! thou think'st 'tis false?
Why then, my lord, 'tis false. I'll think so, too,
We'll speak of it no more.
ARTHUR. Ay, but we will,
And track this running poison to its source,
Which else should turn all the pure springs of life
To pools of festering filth.
Enter Morgan hurriedly.
MORGAN. My lord, the Queen--
Why thou art pale! Nay, do not take it so,
'Twas but a sudden fit and soon will pass.
ARTHUR. Morgan, come hither: know'st thou aught of this?
MORGAN. Of what, my lord?
ARTHUR. Of Lancelot's love for her--
The Queen?
MORGAN. The Queen? Now who hath told thee this?
[ Turning to Mordred. ] Shame on thee, shame! I pray you heed him not.
I would have cut my tongue out ere I'd spoken
Such evil of our mistress!
ARTHUR. Let him be;
He doth but hint what every hawker cries.
MORGAN. But he did wrong to speak, and thou to hear.
So sweet a lady, and at such an hour!
Were I a man, for all he is my child,
My sword should answer him.
MORDRED [ with assumed anger ] . Now this is more
Than I have will to bear! Why 'twas thyself
Didst tell how yesternight Sir Lancelot
Went to her bower alone.
ARTHUR. Didst thou say so?
MORGAN. In truth 'twas so; and hath been so before;
Yet did I think no wrong; and now I'm sure
He bore some message from the King himself.
ARTHUR. No, he did not.
MORGAN. Well, then be sure 'twas naught,
And she shall prove it naught.
MORDRED. Nay, mother, nay,
Let us be honest! Thou wouldst serve the Queen
And so would I; yet may we not be false
To him whom Heaven hath made her lord and ours.
How canst thou say 'twas naught? Why, thou wast there
Beside me, when they kissed beneath the may.
ARTHUR [ turns slowly towards Morgan ] . Tell him he lies.
MORGAN. My lord, my lord, I cannot. [ A pause.
ARTHUR. There'll come a time when I shall know full well
This is a dream; but now I'll play it out
As though 'twere true. Go, get thee to the Queen.
MORGAN. Think not too ill of her.
ARTHUR. Nay, nor of thee. [ Exit Morgan.
[ To Mordred. ] Go on, there's more to come. Think you he knows
You lurked so near and saw him?
MORDRED. Ay, most sure,
For now, with lying tongue, he goes about
Whispering that I have hatched some treacherous plot
Against thy throne and thee.
ARTHUR. Why, then I think
This is some other Lancelot ye have met
And this some other King! He whom I knew
Was of all knights the bravest and the truest,
Serving a lord who could not have stood dumb
To hear his name befouled.
Lancelot enters and approaches the King, who does not
turn to him.
LANCELOT. My lord, I am here.
Didst thou not send for me?
ARTHUR. Ay, so I did.
Lancelot, the scabbard of Excalibur
Is stolen.
LANCELOT. Who is the thief?
ARTHUR. 'Tis thou shalt say.
Dost think 'tis Mordred?
LANCELOT [ starting ] . Why should I think so?
ARTHUR. Why not? I have heard there is some grosser charge
That thou wouldst bring against him.
MORDRED [ with assumed indignation ] . Nay, my good lord--
ARTHUR. Let Lancelot speak.
LANCELOT [ after a pause ]. My lord, I bring no charge.
ARTHUR. Lancelot, think well; art sure thou know'st of naught
That should disturb our peace?
LANCELOT [ after a pause ] . Of naught, my lord.
ARTHUR. 'Tis well, 'tis well, then both of ye are true.
LANCELOT. Was it for this that thou didst send for me?
ARTHUR. Not so. Come hither, that thine eyes may feast
On this sweet picture.
Lancelot turns and starts at the sight of Elaine.
Nay, sir, note it well!
Death too hath gone a-maying, and hath plucked
Life's fairest flower--Elaine.
LANCELOT. Methought she slept.
ARTHUR. Ay, past all waking; and wouldst know the cause?
LANCELOT. The cause?
ARTHUR. Why she doth sleep; 'tis written here.
He gives Lancelot the letter; as the King watches him
he reads it, and then falls on his knees before the bier.
Yet squander not thy grief; she heeds thee not.
The dead are dead, we give them ne'er a thought
Whose care is for the living; and, of all,
The most for thee. Wherever she may dwell,
This new-found beauty that hath lured thy heart,
We shall command her love. Nay, but we shall;
For thou art known the courtliest, truest knight
That ever served a king. Then speak her name.
LANCELOT. My lord, in truth--
ARTHUR. Nay, sir, who is this maid?
LANCELOT. There is no maid.
ARTHUR. Lancelot, thou sayest well;
It is the Queen.
LANCELOT. Ah, no!
ARTHUR. Thou knowest 'tis so!
Thou art the thief who so hast stolen away
That scabbard that was worth a hundred swords.
LANCELOT. Whose tongue hath told thee this? here on my life
I'll answer him who dares accuse her honour.
MORDRED. Then answer me.
LANCELOT. Liar! and so I will!
Yet first I'd have thee known for what thou art.
Traitor--I charge thee now.
MORDRED [ with a sneer ] . Said I not well?
Guinevere enters unseen.
ARTHUR. If he be traitor, what art thou whose sword
Strikes at my heart, yet would defend my throne?
Prove this is false, and I'll believe him false;
Prove that he lies, and I'll believe thee true.
LANCELOT. Again I swear 'tis false.
GUINEVERE [ coming between them ] . Nay, nay, 'tis true.
LANCELOT. What hast thou done?
GUINEVERE. All that was left to do.
ARTHUR. Ay, all; there is no more to do or say;
Death's banner floats above the blackened field,
The fight is ended and our day is done,
If this be so. But I'll not think 'tis so;
Take back that word, and none shall know 'twas said!
Ah! call it back again, and lift the pall
Death spreads upon my heart; so shall I kneel
And bless thee, and this sword shall strike him dumb
That dares to whisper aught against my Queen. [ She stands immovable.
Is this so much to ask? Ay, all too much!
There is no might can give back to the Spring
Its lowliest flower dead under changing skies;
Then how should I, with winter at my heart,
Plead with the ruined summer for its rose?
Thou hast no word?
GUINEVERE. No word to cure what's done.
ARTHUR [ to Lancelot ] . Then arm thyself; my sword
shall find its sheath
Deep in thy heart.
LANCELOT. Strike on! Strike on! I say,
For death is all I crave.
ARTHUR. Then take it now.
Arthur runs on Lancelot, but the uplifted sword drops
from his hand.
I cannot kill thee;
Some sudden palsy doth beat down this arm:
Its strength is gone. Yet think not 'tis the love
I bore thee once; that's clean forgotten now.
Nor is it mercy; for, had this same wrong
Chanced to the meanest hind that calls me King,
My sword had leapt in vengeance, and my soul
Had straight approved the deed. Yet here I stand
That cannot strike a blow in mine own cause.
Is this a curse that Heaven hath set on kings
Who may not love nor hate like common men?
Or is there some rank poison in a crown
That stamps the brand of coward on the brows
Of him who wears it? Go, then, get thee hence!
Join with some foe that dares assault our throne;
With Ryons, or with Mark, who hunger still
For open war. Ay, league thyself with them
And, in that hour, the hand that falters now,
In England's cause shall find its force again,
And strike thee to the earth. Till then live on.
Lancelot goes out as Arthur turns to Mordred.
Leave us alone. There's something left to say,
Mordred, that's not for thee. [ Exit Mordred.
GUINEVERE. And must I live?
ARTHUR. It is too late to die.
GUINEVERE. Too late! too late!
ARTHUR. Ay; would Death's marble finger had been laid
On those sweet lips when first they hallowed mine! [ Pointing to Elaine.
For, locked in Death's white arms, Love lies secure,
In changeless sleep that knows no dream of change.
'Tis Life, not Death, that is Love's sepulchre;
Where each day tells of passionate hearts grown strange,
And perjured vows chime with the answering bell
That tolls Love's funeral. If thou wouldst boast
Of this new sway a woman's wile hath won,
Go, tell the world thy heart hath slain a heart
That once had been a king's. Yet that's not all,
Thou too hast been a Queen whose soul shone clear,
A star for all men's worship, and a lamp
Set high in Heaven, whereby all frailer hearts
Should steer their course towards God; then, 'tis not I
Whose life lies broken here, for at thy fall
A shattered kingdom bleeds.
At the end of this speech a sound of warlike music is heard,
and the stage fills with Knights headed by Gawaine and Agravaine.
GAWAINE. My lord! my lord!
Caerleon is besieged.
Enter Mordred.
KAY. And we thy knights,
Here armed and ready, do but wait to know
Our King's command.
MORDRED. Then let me lead them forth.
The chance is desperate, and thy greater life
Is England's, not thine own!
ARTHUR. Nay, thou shalt stay;
Thou art the one thing left my soul dare trust.
And, in this wreck of love, truth stands for all.
Sound out for war. [ Pointing to Guinevere. ] Yet, pray you, use her well;
We do not roughly trample down the flower
That grows upon a grave. Then use her well,
For there entombed lies one who was my Queen.
Gawaine, I come. Thy King shall lead thee forth;
My sword is drawn, I want no scabbard now.
Arthur holds up his naked sword, and all the Knights raise their
swords in answer as the curtain falls.
ACT IV
THE PASSING OF ARTHUR.SCENE I:-- The Queen's prison in the Castle at Camelot. Door leading to the Queen's chamber. Another door heavily barred. Window at back.
Gaoler discovered keeping guard. As the scene opens knocking at outer door.
GAOLER. Who knocks without?
MESSENGER [ without ] . One who bears a message for the Queen.
Gaoler opens door and admits the Messenger.
GAOLER. What saith Sir Modred? May she see her fool?
MESSENGER. Ay, I have brought him hither.
GAOLER. That will content her much; she hath cried often for her fool.
MESSENGER. Yet methinks she shall suck but poor entertainment from the
fellow now: his wits are clean gone. And, faith, he is not like to smile again.
GAOLER. What mean you, sir?
MESSENGER. The news of Arthur's death is now made sure; and what is worse,
'tis said 'twas Lancelot's sword that struck him down.
GAOLER. Who shall tell this to the Queen?
MESSENGER. Within the hour Sir Mordred comes himself
To bear the news. Think you 'twill stir her heart?
GAOLER. Indeed I think not so, look where she comes,
Her white face like the head-stone at a grave,
O'er-lettered with the story of a day
That ended long ago.
Enter Guinevere. She holds a bird in her hands.
GUINEVERE. See what I've trapped: it fluttered at the bars
And fell there at my feet. I'd have it caged,
That I, its gaoler, may have leave to dream
That I am free; and then, perchance, one day
This little bird will come and pray to me,
Who, being a Queen, must needs be merciful
And break its wicker walls.
GAOLER [ taking the bird ] . I'll cage it now.
He goes towards the door, and she sees the Messenger.
GUINEVERE. Ah, sir, you're from the Court. Where is my fool,
Sir Dagonet? Is that denied me too?
'Twas not so much to ask.
MESSENGER. Madam, he's here,
And yet so changed I fear he will not know thee.
Opens door, and Dagonet enters.
GUINEVERE. That counts for naught. I scarce do know myself.
Come hither, Dagonet. Sirs, by your leave. [ Gaoler and Messenger exeunt.
GUINEVERE. Dost thou not know thy Queen?
DAGONET. Ay, very well, there were two of them; for there was one,
look you, that came with the spring from Cameliard, and she had a face that
touched Heaven: and there was one that kept a poison on her lip for Lancelot's
kissing. And hark'e, last night beneath the moon I saw them both kneeling
beside a grave.
GUINEVERE. Whose grave?
DAGONET. I know not, for the stone was bare
And they did naught but weep.
GUINEVERE. I'll tell thee, then:
This grave I think was Guinevere's who died
That hour when she was born: and these two Queens
Who through the night keep watch beside her tomb,
Are but her shadows fashioned for the masque
Which men call life; poor puppets that must dance
While unseen fingers touch the trembling strings;
But whence that music comes, from Heaven or Hell,
There's none shall say, till all life's lamps burn out
And Death stands forth to claim the harper's fee.
Enter Gaoler.
GAOLER. Make room, Sir Mordred comes.
Enter Mordred.
Exeunt Gaoler and Dagonet.
MORDRED. Great Queen, I bear thee news that sets thee free.
GUINEVERE. What news is that?
MORDRED. Thy lord, the King, is dead.
GUINEVERE. Dead! art thou sure? Why then, sir, he is free,
And I that was his gaoler may not weep;
Yet count not that against me, for I think
Tears are not all.
MORDRED. Truth, thou wert wrong to weep.
Dost thou not know 'twas Arthur's cruel will
That set thee in this prison?
GUINEVERE. Ay, I know,
That thou hast said 'twas so.
MORDRED. And so it is:
But now I've come to break these prison bars,
And so give back unto our desert world
Life's sweetest rose that hungers for the sun.
GUINEVERE. And who art thou whose new-found sovereignty
Rides o'er the King's decree?
MORDRED. I am thy King.
GUINEVERE. There is no King save one, and he is dead.
Yet if it was his will to leave me here,
Why, here I'll stay.
MORDRED. Nay, then thou dost not guess
The gift I bear thee! Guinevere, those lips,
Moulded by Love's own hand, are not yet doomed
For Death's embrace: their kiss is for a king;
Yet not like that dead lord whose bloodless soul
Wings to a frozen heaven: who wooes thee now
Is man, not god, and in his brimming veins
Run longings like thine own.
GUINEVERE. I thought till now
That I had suffered all; but here I see
My shame doth but begin. 'Twas not enough
That through my sin, for all succeeding time,
Hell's mocking laugh shall haunt the voice of spring,
And plant its poisoned echo in each bower,
Where lovers' vows are sworn! Nay, this is more
That she, whom love doth once make false to love,
Must henceforth bear the common brand of lust,
Seeming the painted toy that every man
May purchase at his price.
MORDRED. Why, thou dost dream!
Here at thy feet I lay an empire's throne,
Where thou in equal majesty shalt reign
Once more a Queen.
GUINEVERE. A wanton, not a Queen!
Who for this piece of gold thou call'st a crown
Would take thy murderer's kiss.
MORDRED. Nay, have a care!
My love lies near to hate.
GUINEVERE. I fear thy love;
Thy hate is naught.
MORDRED. Truth, thou shalt find it more
Than thou hast ever dreamed.
Shouts without, "Long live the King."
MORDRED. Dost hear that cry?
It is the echoing voice of England's knights,
Who hail me king.
GUINEVERE. And they were Arthur's knights?
MORDRED. Ay, they loved Arthur well! Yet when they learn,--
As so they shall, for I will vouch it true--
'Twas Lancelot's sword did pierce him to the heart,
Their eyes will turn on her whose shameful sin
Made Lancelot false. See then, thy fate stands clear,
Thou art Death's bride, or mine--thy choice is free.
GUINEVERE. Why then I choose to die. Yea, though my soul
Slipped down to Hell, Hell were a paradise
Whilst thou art here. [ Exit Guinevere.
MORDRED. By Heaven, then thou shalt die!
Enter Morgan.
MORGAN. Ryons is trapped, and dying hath confessed
His treason and thine own.
MORDRED. Then Arthur lives,
And all is lost.
MORGAN. Nay, all is left to win;
This news is secret, and long ere 'tis known
Thy sword shall pierce his heart.
MORDRED. Or his sword mine.
MORGAN. What, wouldst thou question Fate?
He Pendragon's son shall slay,
That is born with the May.
So Fate decreed:
His blood is thine and mine.
Shouts "Long live King Mordred! Death to Guinevere!"
grow louder to the end.
Go, take thy crown,
And none shall dare to question what is done.
Or what remains to do. [ Exit.
MORDRED. So Fate take all!
To halt were death, and that on-coming flood
Of Time's uplifted wave can hold no more. [ Exit.
SCENE 2:-- The Great Hall at Camelot. As the scene is disclosed the Hall is filled with armed Knights. Mordred is on the throne, accompanied by Morgan, and surrounded by the retinue of the court.
Guinevere stands before the throne. Mordred turns to her.
MORDRED. By England's knights in council thou dost stand
Condemned of treason 'gainst thy lord the King,
Whose death lies at thy charge. Yet we, who bear
The crown that Arthur wore, now give thee leave
To plead in thy defence. If there be aught
Which thou canst urge why judgment should be stayed,
Stand forth and speak.
AGRAVAINE. We pray you hear her not.
GUINEVERE [ turning with a look of scorn towards Mordred ].
What still is left to say is not for thee!
MORDRED. Then let the sentence go. Queen Guinevere,
Daughter of Leodograunce of Cornwall,
Now hear thy judgment as the law decrees:
That first, despoilèd of thy royal robes,
Thou shalt be fastened to an iron stake
Until thy mortal body be consumed
In fiery flames.
GUINEVERE. And saith the law no more?
MORDRED. Ay, this it adds: that if thy prayer may win
Some champion for thy cause, then this same knight
Shall claim due right of battle 'gainst that lord
Whose charge hath brought thee here.
GUINEVERE. And who is that?
MORDRED. 'Tis I who charge thee now.
GUINEVERE. Why then, sir knights,
I'll kneel and pray to you, if haply one
Find heart to serve his Queen. Think not I plead
For this poor gift of life. Nay, could I choose,
These hands should bear fresh faggots to the blaze
That lights me to a tomb. Yet hear me all:
Who stands my knight to-day shall wrest from Time
A crown of glory. Not, sirs, that he fought
For one whose sin knows no desert save death,
That were but shame: yet whoso dares that shame
His sword shall win the right, denied him else,
To slay that crawling thing upon the throne--
Wherefore I cry a champion for my cause!
Mordred, who has descended from the throne, whispers aside.
MORDRED. Too late, my Queen! too late! What wouldst thou give
To win a king's kiss now? Doth no one speak?
Then, herald, let the trumpet's tongue bray out
Her knight is gone a-hawking, or perchance
He sleeps too late!
The trumpet sounds, and at the third call Sir Bedevere breaks
through the throng and stands before Mordred.
BEDEVERE. Hold there, sir herald, hither comes a knight
To answer for the Queen.
MORDRED. Who is this knight?
BEDEVERE. Sir, by your leave that shall be better told
When all is done.
The Knights give way, and Arthur stands alone with lowered helm.
MORDRED. See, madam, where he stands,
Thy champion who must needs have come from far,
To answer in such cause.
Guinevere kneels at Arthur's feet.
GUINEVERE. I thank thee, sir,
Yet now I do repent me of what's done,
And fain would set thee free. Put up thy sword!
I am not worthy that a true knight's blood
Should flow for me; see, I will tell thee all:
I had a champion once, the mightiest knight,
The bravest and the truest in the world.
He was my lord, and I his chosen Queen
Brought him to shame. Then wherefore praise him now?
Nay, sir, I must: for that is life's hard law,
Which will not yield its secret till the close.
When Arthur went the sun shot scarlet-red,
And all the past lay bare. Then pray thee, sir,
Put up thy sword that waits a worthier cause.
A pause, but Arthur makes no sign.
GUINEVERE [ to Arthur ] . Thou wilt not?
Then I'll ask this much of thee:
When death shall call thee home, it so may chance
That thou shalt meet my lord; if that should be,
Give him this word,--that at the end, his Queen
Knew him for what he was, true lord of all.
MORDRED. Go, lead her hence.
AGRAVAINE. So God defend our King.
Exit Guinevere, followed by Agravaine and Knights.
Mordred turns to Arthur, who remains motionless, Morgan
watching him intently from the steps of the throne.Sir Bedevere
stands by Arthur.
MORDRED. And now I'm thine: yet first, by Heaven, I'll know
The face beneath that mask.
ARTHUR. 'Twas kept for thee.
As he lifts his helm Mordred starts back.
MORDRED. The King.
ARTHUR. Ay, sir, the King, who but to win
This little hour from but the wreck of time,
Would take life's wearied hand and travel back
Across the ruined past, should fate declare
That only so his sword might claim the right
To slay thee now.
MORDRED. Prate on, I fear thee not.
MORGAN. Thou hast forgot the message of the May;
Then hear it now.
ARTHUR. Enough; 'twas thou, false witch,
That stole the scabbard of Excalibur!
Yet see, the blade remains whose every stroke
Is winged by Death.
MORGAN. Not so! Not so, my lord!
That fickle steel shall splinter as it falls
On one twice armed by fate--
"He Pendragon's son shall slay
That is born with the May."
See! there he stands!
ARTHUR. Why then the end is here: set on, Sir Knight,
Death stands betwixt us twain, and Death shall choose.
[ They fight and Arthur is wounded.
Traitor, that blow ends all. [ He falls to the earth.
MORGAN. Long live the King!
The trumpet is heard without.
Dost hear that sound? Nay, look not on what's done,
There's more to do: her soul shall join with his
To wing its way across night's starless sky.
Exeunt Morgan and Mordred, and as they go
they are greeted by cries from without.
Voices [ without ] . Long live the King!
ARTHUR. Nay, sirs, 'tis not for long.
I'm dying, Bedevere. Where is my sword?
BEDEVERE. There, in thy hand.
ARTHUR. Poor hand, that knew it not.
Go quickly, Bedevere, and bear it hence
Unto that little bay hid in the cliff,
Then cast it in the sea, to wait that day
When upward from the shrieking waves shall spring
A vast sea-brood of mightier strain than ours,
Bearing across the world from end to end
One cry to all, "Our sword is in the sea."
BEDEVERE. Why, then, 'tis done. [ He takes sword, and goes off.
ARTHUR. Life's tide is ebbing fast.
Gawaine enters hurriedly.
GAWAINE. Nay, what is here? The wreck of all the world!
ARTHUR. Peace, sir, I know thy news; the Queen is dead.
GAWAINE. Not so; she lives, and thou art well avenged
By one who, dying, struck thy murderer down.
ARTHUR. Didst know him, Gawaine?
GAWAINE. Ay, I knew him once.
The courtliest knight that ever bare a shield,
The sternest soldier to his mortal foe,
Yet gentlest of us all.
ARTHUR. Nay, sir, his name?
GAWAINE. His name, my lord, was Lancelot.
ARTHUR. Lancelot. Ah!
So life's long night is breaking at the last.
Guinevere enters, while the figure of Merlin appears
standing above the recumbent form of Arthur.
GUINEVERE. Where is that knight who died that I might live?
GAWAINE. Hush, lady! he is here.
She sees the face of Arthur and falls at his feet.
GUINEVERE. My lord! my lord!
ARTHUR. Whose face was there? I pray you, some one say,
For all grows dark: I know not where I am.
GUINEVERE. Her name was Guinevere.
ARTHUR. What, sirs? why then,
This should be Cameliard. [ Rousing himself with sudden energy. ]
See, 'tis the spring!
Down in the vale the blossoms of the May
Are swinging in the sun! and there she stands
That shall be England's Queen!
Far up I hear
The ceaseless beating of Death's restless wing,
And round mine eyes the circling veil of night
Grows deeper as it falls. Henceforth my sword
Rests in its scabbard. What remains is peace.
[ He falls back dead.
GUINEVERE. He's gone, the light of all the world lies dead.
The stage darkens, leaving a light only on the face of Merlin.
MERLIN. Not so, he doth but pass who cannot die,
The King that was, the King that yet shall be;
Whose spirit, borne along from age to age,
Is England's to the end. Look where the dawn
Sweeps through a wider heaven, and on its wings
By those three Queens of night his barge is borne
To that sweet Isle of Avalon whose sleep
Can heal all earthly wounds.
During this speech, the stage grows darker, and as the
vision appears, at the back, of Arthur borne in the barge,
with the three Queens bending over his body, the chorus
breaks out, and continues till the end.
CHORUS
Sleep! oh sleep! till night outworn
Wakens to the echoing horn
That shall greet thee King new-born,
King that was, and is to be.
And a voice from shore to shore
Cries, "Arise, and sleep no more,
Greet the dawn, the night is o'er,
England's sword is in the sea."
OF PALOMIDE
FAMOUS KNIGHT
OF
KING ARTHUR'S ROUND TABLE
by
ÆLIAN PRINCE [FRANK CARR]
CHARLES KENT,
Remembering His Gracious Encouragement
And
His Intimacy With Minds
Whose Geniality and Genius
Have Been
Light, Grace And Power To The
Literature Of Our Century.
Yes, I am minstrel for this evening hour
Sweet Esther. Seat thee there, my heart, beneath
Those liberal golden showers, which Spring suspends,
Laburnum's bloom, close by the garden gate.
And with that glory we have purple, too--
The lilac hedge--indisputable gleams
Of Love it brings to us: soft, fragrant airs,
Creep from the verdant covert--ah, that breath!--
The perfume of the violet of the shade
Which blesses hearts to whom it nothing owes--
It gives us memories lingering of true-love.
--Yea, here, not otherwhere, I am your bard,
Your scald, your troubadour: for this our tale
Requires free air--such air as ever breathed
The valiant, loving, master-knights of old.
We shall have music, too, above, around--
The lavrock rains it from the blue; yon larch
Is vocal with the thrush.
We may believe
In full accord each listening heart shall beat
With each event in field or bowers, for we
Are of the lineage we sing.***
But, hark,--
Queen of my song! Think of our happy years,
And take my verse as of their happy growth
A genial portion, for as well as wars,
Of Love I sing: and let the cynic girl,
And laughing casuist boy, on either side
Sit by thee in a truce of poësy.
Our other friends of grace and older days,
May listen as they choose amongst the trees.
Friends are for judgment, Esther. Thou, bride-queen,
First, best-beloved, thine all of this, my song.
Of Table Round he was the pearl, the flower,
In Arthur's peerage he was perfect knight,
Tristram: so named of sorrow, since his birth
Drew o'er his mother's eyes the veil of death.
Yet, never name so ill was worn, for blithe
As in his minstrel mirth was he in war.
Soonest of all his fellowship he shed
The sable plume of sorrow from his soul.
Sage Merlin told on his nativity,
The stars ordained of song and power ruled clear
Within their heavenly houses. These, the words:--
"His hours of life are mingled gold and gloom,
"But hours of gloom o'ercome by golden hours,
"With better speed than fortunes other knights.
"The hours' conclusion--sudden--it may come
"Only from hands o'erburdened with the grace
"And largess of his love: whene'er the time
"A loyal and affectionate spear shall slake
"Within his heart, thirst for his foeman's blood."
As brave as Launcelot, lacking half his blame,
Heart-noble as the King, without the taint
Which clings to power, he suffered, strove, and shone
The clearest Light of Honour to his times,
And Knight of Love--of Arthur's martial Ring
The Light of Honour, and the Knight of Love.
*******
Yet, now he lies within Ierne's bowers
For heal of hurt--ah, yet to find more hurt,
As his more bliss, than comes from spear, or sword,
Or leech with magic herbs. Strange, errant life
His heretofore. Or ere of youth its rose
Blanched on his cheeks, his father's second bride,
Whose love towards Tristram was a love sharp-set
To find her sons of birthright dispossessed
By a forerunner pleasing to all hearts,
Twice poisoned she the chalice with intent
On Tristram's life,--whereby, she woke the furies.
Her fairest son, her eldest born, athirst
Partook the drink and languished on her knee
Till death in mercy stilled his pain: the king,
Had drunk the second, but her conscience moved
Seized the envenomed cup and spake her guilt:
Whereon, she doomed to expiate by fire
The crime of that device, --but saved from thence,
'Twas famed through Lyonesse, his native realm,
In garnished story and domestic song
How Tristram gained a pardon for the queen--
Made her, save twain, his truest fere in life.
That same year, Tristram crossed to France; learned there
All curious arts of sport, for which renown
Through many a century at the jocund feast,
And hot carouse which crowns the hunting day,
Rang loud for him. Moreover, thence he brought
Rarest of cunning on the harp. 'Tis told,
No mortal ever could withstand the strain!
That bird and beast, yea, fish within the lake
Were charmed on hearing. Tuneful as benign,
He was a wondrous harper: known full soon
Through Britain's island precincts, for the youth
As in his knightly prime, wide-wandering sought
Adventurous exploit. But chiefly this,
Marked his long alien residence; with growth
Of hardihood there was a growth of soul:
With aptitude and clemency in arms,
There was repose of aspect and a low
Affectionate tenderness of voice, which drew
This fair memorial of him: "Each estate
Did love him wheresoever he did go."
Returned to Lyonesse, on Tristram came
A change of spirit: better say, were changed
Its hope and object. Looking on his life
Amidst the mirth and courtliness of France
Restless, unsatisfied, remorseful, he
As wakening from a futile March-day's dream
Yearned for the full-orbed blazon of a knight.
Hence, grew his story: hence, his name in song
His fame, as lord of honour: as the peer,
Peerless in honour and the parleying heart.
First Lyonesse to feel his passion's power
By spear and song--wherein, betimes, were won
Such reverence of his might, such awe, such love,
The kingdom in its peace through all his days
Slept, wotting that his harp still sang, his lance
Was ever-ready. That emprise now closed,
He, at his father's solitary court,
Bemoaned the slowly creeping, vacant months
As Honour lost, because not newly won:
Ill shown in dull despair.
Now, reached him news
From Cornwall's bounds: its royal head, king Mark,
His father's brother, a slight, suspicious man
One who would give offence for love of harm,
And find offence housed in a kindly deed,
Whose crown was trembling ever in the storm
Of foes once named as friends, one friendship lost,
Born in the honest flowering time of youth.
Ungracious, slanderous, and a viper act,
Which stung and menaced in his scorn that friend
Anguis, imperial head of Ireland's realm,
From Castlehaven, throughout her breadth of green
To Giant's Causeway: whence retributive,
Before Tintagel's gate now stood the knight
Sir Marhaus, next in fame to him who stood
Chiefest, Sir Launcelot, of the Table Round.
There, in his rocky keep, his royal home,
Tintagel, Mark was kept as is a dog
Kept to his kennel by the keeper's thong.
More than his idle graceless time mourns now
Young Tristram--as at Honour's death. Spake then,
To save him from himself, with coyest words
The step-dame queen. In subtle playfulness
She bade him see that Honour was with him
As Love with knights of fame, and honour-sick
None other cure could come save on that field,--
Whence Honour might arise, when heard the call
Of one strong heart--the stricken Cornish realm.
So said, so heard, so done with quickest speed
That thence three days Tintagel knew the youth,
Tristram.
He, brought within its audience hall,
Beheld a shape--low-statured, quivering, thin,
Bedecked with mis-shaped yellow weeds and crowned.
"The court fool!" thought he: but he heard it named--
The king. And that was Mark. Well might surprise
O'ercome the court as in the silence breathed
Expectancy, beholding there these twain
Contrasted, met by love's election, bound
To weave the sweetest, mournfullest, most strange
Of all love's histories: that eager, young,
Bright son of valour and of song: and he
Their stunted king, whose age a wrinkled skin,
Dry, brown as parchments of a ducal house,
Concealed, but in whose deep-set slinking eyes
A heart of fraud lay clear.
On his first watch,
Ensconced within the fosse, the prince beheld
Sir Marhaus ride up from the beach, a god
A very god of battle and of doom
Resplendent in the early sun--and life
Went from his spirit, and he dwelt apart
One abject week. But dawn of Pentecost
Brought grace of strength in heart, and Tristram bore
The menace of the warrior peaceably.
Next day, defiance: and the youth implored
Mark make him knight. Then Mark, amidst his court
Fools in their craven laughter, drew his brand
Muttering--"Shall impotence attend the act?
"Our chapel all devoid of holy rites
"In this extremity, we lack the priest
"For sacrament--Nay, the anointed King
"Suffices!" Tristram knew a feeble blow
From scathless blade, the consecrating words
With fluttered accents "In the name of God,
"And His archangel, Michael, and His hosts
"Militant, we do dub thee Knight. Arise!--
"Thus, nephew, hath the valiance of thy tongue
"Brought honour towards thee--but its darling home
"Is in the dangerous quest. Now, show how keen
"My spur to worthy deed. Sir Marhaus calls.
"Answer be thine: and honour in thee show
"Clear, double-edged, twin to thy sword." Upsprang,
The youth responsive, "By the Evangelists!
"Sir Tristram now is born," with rising voice
Hailing thus soon his quest. "O, ladies bright,
"Sweet proxies of the beauteous sisterhood
"Irradiating the soul of this dark world
"Refining, cleansing, cheering powers: pray, learn
"These first words of my knighthood: hear the scope
"Of its intent. Know well, ye ladies bright,
"My way in life, shall take your smiles for flowers:
"My way in life, for stars shall seek your eyes;
"The ladies are my charge, and with the law
"And order of the state make up my being.
"My way in life, is towards the Table Round."
Next morning, saw great Marhaus driven to ship,
Discomfited and wounded unto death.
So soon--for which high festival was held
By Mark--so soon, Sir Tristram's life arrayed
With smiles more sweet than flowers, and moved beneath
A heaven of ladies' eyes more bright than stars,
And felt years nearer to the Table Round.
But toils, and woes, and wounds are knighthood's price,
And Tristram reckoning with his foeman's lance
Deep hurt received beyond the leech's cure.
One, then, of astral lore, enquiring whence
The knight whose skill bestowed the dolorous wound
And answered Ireland--"Unto Ireland speed,
"The healing power awaits thee there." Where come,
The knight, as in Love's providence, was lodged
Close by the castle--now the mourning days
For Marhaus ended--where King Anguis held
Free-hearted, courtly state--since heard a voice
That soon an errant, knightly spear of worth
Should fill the vacant quest for Ireland's weal.
One mist-clad, breathless noon, as was his wont,
To allay the fierceness of his pain and win
A new and pleasant voyage for his thoughts,
He harped upon his bed. His memory strayed
O'er blissful times bygone: insensibly,
As half in dream he lay, his hand awoke
A strain once sung in France: a strain whereon
Birds, brooklets, leaves and sudden showers would sing
And every heart in hearing would be merry.
Too great its charm for Amicie of Gand;
The minstrel passing with a love unsworn,
Reft of his comforting melody she kept
Her bower and sorrowed to her death.
That lay,
Harped Tristram now, and as he harped the dusk
Slid from the face of the high jubilant noon.
Commingling noises grew i' th' air, from streams,
Near winged choirs, the tremulous woods and reeds.
The chambers of his lodge brake into laughter.
Up to the castle rose the magical strain,
Swept round its walls, assailed its ports and towers,
Where found one cedarn casement garlanded
With odorous flowers tangled in sprays of green
Wide open to receive the new-born joy,
Entering, it passed through galleries, chambers, halls,
Caught kitchen churls, peers, matrons dull of sprite--
And lo, from forth yon ivied postern steps
The fairest star of maidenhood on earth!
In azure robes; a golden girdle binds
Their fullness close beneath the bosom's rise:
Her tresses, snooded with rare blooms of spring,
Inwardly darkle, as our richest thoughts
Within the soul wanting fit words for day--
Towards the sun, stirring with a shining life
Each several hair--like fine thoughts finding voice
For conquest of the world and praise--such they
To sight of men, these tresses which must shew
The inner nature of her sensitive being.
So comes she, gliding with soft musical grace,
Her countenance as a dawn of early May
Which beautifies the world o'er which it smiles.
The drawbridge crossed--she, down the budding lane,
Into his lodge, into his very room,
When to the faded eyes of Tristram shone
A spirit from sweet mercy's heaven, down-drawn
By his great strain to heal--to solace him
Through many changeful years to come.--I wit,
Ye all know who the starry maiden was,--
La Belle Isonde!
The spirit gazed--and fled--
Nor word--nor sign--but soon a helpful band
Of servitors down-speeding from the keep,
Bore him up thither. There, in chamber cool
Sweetened by every flower and fragrant bush
That in her pleasaunce 'neath her lattice grew,
Isonde was constant in her duteous love,
With divers aids medicinal to bate
His malady. A gainless task of tears,
Until her mother furnished potent draughts
Educed from shrubs and herbs and mandrake roots
By wizard operation--art, forsooth,
Which mightier ends for both, hereafter, brings.
Thence day by day, his fever ebbed; his eyes
Won their young light again.--O, happy he,
To feel the world grow lovelier morn and even:
Eve sweeter than the morn, the morn more sweet
Than the past eve with all its peace and stars--
And Isonde anxious, passionate and quick
On feeblest sign or sound in this her proud
Triumphant labour of a crescent love.--
O happy Tristram! Happy Belle Isonde!
This time, a rumour wandered through the Isle,
Achievements were at hand of dread and death,
Since Palomide, the sable heathen knight
From Upsal's plain, warfarer in his love--
For Belle Isonde drew many subject hearts
From far-off lands to her sea-circled home--
Randing the realm adventurous, on report
Of harbourage of a strange, unproven knight,
Named as the Nameless, now with restless foot
Haunted the castle's purlieus. Humblest hearts
Can judge of lordliest; simple village maids
Spelled lightly, rightly of the matter's growth
And what should follow: wedded island folk
Wot wisely, too, these crossing loves would shew
War's blood-red blossoms,
Nor less so it happed.
For one fair dame, the Lady of the Lands,
King Anguis was beholden to let cry
A tournament. Our maiden Beautiful
Bethought of this, with ample news beguiled
A short spring eve. But this her story told,
In warlike phrase with silver laughs between,
None answer gave the Nameless, and Isonde
Might not behold beneath the gathering shades
Earnest of fray which gleamed within his eyes
Whilst she had spoken. Through that wasteful night,
Waking, or dreaming as one half-awake,
Within his ears resounded dash of steeds,
Blasts of the tromp: before his eyes, the glare
Of lightnings from the shield. The vacant dark
Shook with accursed taunts, wide flashed the stroke
Of sword blades unaccomplished: bitter taste
There was of bitterness far worse than death,
Taste of discomfiture most rash, most foul,
And unredeemable. On him attended
The sprites of horror known of sleepless minds
Which make a tempest of the silent hours.
At earliest dawn with dumb voice cried his soul
And through that day: "I must acquit myself.
"The shame within me, daughter of disease,
"Not of my nature, may no longer lodge
"Within a heart to honour dedicate
"And love." Whereon, he gently spake Isonde,
Who light o' heart conspired to prove at full
His growing vigour, as a knight from far,
Mistimed, who seeks the lists with errant spear.
That tourney-day being come: advanced the jousts;
The court, the vassal-throngs inspired by sight
Of marvellous chevisaunce which made that field
As lustrous in the scroll of chivalry
As famed Caerleon's jousts what time the King
Arthur, achieved his crown against six kings--
Isonde in worship of her nameless lord
Ordained and well-arrayed him all in white
And privily brought him forth. To churls and court,
'Tis told, he seemed an angel from the skies
Descended on a cause of solemn right.
His face, fresh from the beauty of Isonde,
Shone sunbright through the tourney's dusty air,
Whilst he displayed anew to ruthless fray
The blazon of his shield, first in renown
Henceforth in herald's lore, the argent lion.
Instantly, veered opinion of the day.
As silent as his airy, snow-white plume
Waved o'er his helm, the silence of the throng
Waiting his onset. Three long wood-wroth hours
The trumpet's urgent call found him to fore,
Rousing the stormy glories of the list.
The keen fang of his spear--his yearning sword--
Made a huge crimson vintage to redeem
His mischance from the stroke of Marhaus: none,
Prince, baron, peer, whoever couched the lance,
Or lifted brand against him, but o'erthrown
Amidst such wreck of harness as ne'er graced
Cadwor, Geraint, Owaine, those knights elect
For battle, leaders of the Table Round,
Paid homage to his dire puissance, while
Swart Palomide down-beaten was forsword
Of Belle Isonde, unknighted for a year.
The Lady of the Lands, and her demesne
Our knight forewent, again that they should fire
The eagles and the buzzards of the lists.--
So fared the Light of Honour on that day.
How many months, how many dulcet months--
Nay, curious gentles, ask me not how long
Within the verdant kingdom Tristram held
Bondsman to love: each jot of knightly will
Meshed in Belle Isonde's wondrous, affluent hair:
His heart intoxicate with joy to note
Her gentle goings.
Then came sudden close.
Secret, imperative, a missive brief
Called on him to depart. "At once?--and whither?
"And why?" enquired La Belle Isonde, a tear,
The virgin tear of her surpassing love,
Shining within her eye. 'Twas, thereupon,
His name he told--his history--his estate--
And somewhat of his heart--which made Isonde
Tremble as on the forecast of an hour
When love would glorify all ensuing hours.
Thus, farewell on their lips had more than words
For comfort: words more of the living soul
Than common day-speech: and with confidence
In love's presiding spirit to bring all good
In near good time, the maiden to her bower,
Tristram before a frolic, singing wind
Sailed to his aim, Tintagel's surge-beat towers.
That mandate was for service.--This achieved,
Tintagel found a guest much changed from him
Tristram, ere known of reland's court. Isonde,
Dwelt angel of his spirit everywhere;
Ever upon his lips as in his heart;
Till Mark, infected by his mood and praise,
Longed for the royal maid. Her knight soul-racked
Held silence, kept apart,--but much too late.
For by great Honour, worship of his soul,
His fealty held a covenant with Mark, whereby
Mark's word became a law unto his soul.
Thus, when Mark spoke his charge, Sir Tristram took
That charge, and loyally sought Ireland's court
To bring the starry maiden thence, Isonde,--
To set her lustre in Mark's clouded throne,
Her light of joy upon his rayless crown.
Once more, as from the stars, decreed of heaven,
Fortune within misfortune came, now dressed
In war's most dread attire. Ierne's lands,
Within, without, torn, pillaged by ill friends
Worse than her foes,--tormented now by both--
Through these with prowess, diligence, and skill
Tristram, one long twelve months, that year one war,
Subdued where'er he wandered. Never still,
That lion-heartedness which made the realm
A threshing-floor for the fury of his spear,
Till foes were whirled from thence as chaff--ill friends
Curbed, chastened, law-bound in the peace--else, smitten
Dead, ta'en of death where most intent on death.
For this the king, the queen, the realm's estates
Welcomed him to their halls with joyous pomp,
Music, and garlands, and triumphant praise
As ne'er before rang through the hearts and homes
Of haughty, laurelled Ireland. Thus it came,
Our knight-ambassador had gift to mould
His graceless charge into command of grace.
When he must name his boon, he to the king
Full-gazing, calm in aspect, but with voice
Solemn as one renouncing for all years
His best delight,--"From Cornwall have I charge
"To bring thy daughter, that she be its queen."
Grief smote the court. Belle Isonde's violet eyes--
O, what a heaven of pleading love shone there,
Lovelier, more pitiful, within that shower
Of sacred tears,--spoke to his heart,--but he
Full meekly left the hall.
Whilst king and maid
Fulfilled their sudden woe with weeping sobs
And piteous choking words, around them stole
A breeze of golden sounds--the harp's most high
Immutable language, gentliest tones and strong
To turn the mind from all its dear resolves,
To win from every mood, to every mood,
From smiles to sighs, from mourning unto festal
Merriment. They were soothed, went forth and reached
A myrtle shade, wherein their knight-guest harped;
And ere the lustrous moon which shone that night
Shed half her silver fire within the dark
Sir Tristram sailed the sea; La Belle Isonde
His charge with nuptial gifts, herself the gift
Beyond the price of gifts, for Cornwall bound.
Of all the marvels told in prose or song
Of what there happed in Pendragonian times,
Of things mysterious, loving--now appears
That most mysterious, loving, absolute.
The queen, sweet mother of La Belle Isonde,
Disquiet for her daughter's weal, in hours
Secret, when natal stars benignant reigned,
Brewed her a drink which held and amorous charm,
And thus to Isonde's gentlewoman spake:--
"Brengwain, give heed, that blessings close thy care.
"See on the bridal-eve that Cornwall's king
"Partake of this quick draught with our Isonde.
"Therewith, be sure, a love shall grow between
"As never known in any royal house.
"Be wary and be prompt!"
The vessel driven,
Storm-caught by night, leagues to the south below
Tintagel, shelters in these flowery isles
Which front the rocky, bare, wave-smitten end
Of Cornwall: and to Tristram's glad surprise
In eye-shot of his native Lyonesse,
Since drawn beneath the ocean waves, its towers,
Fields, palaces, and wealth of mighty life,
Where then his name lived as a guardian spell.
Of sullen brightness, noon, o'erdrowsing all,
As by some sultry toils o'erborne, when he
In fretful humour with these sterile hours
Made speed below--a dolorous haste, to find
The destiny of darkness in the sun--
Searching for cheer. There, Brengwain's cabin door,
Which to and fro swung sleepily, provoked
His questing eye--but ere his outstretched hand
Could reach it, well, too well, he was aware
Half-hidden in a store of silken gifts
There lay a golden flasket. Passing in,
Drawn by the shining object, sense and spirit
Were captive. Carven curiously around,
Beneath, above, the flasket's gold with mystic,
Woven, unintelligible signs, which seemed
Of power and beauty mingled--such as lie
Within the stellar houses, that a man
Unquestioning of astral force is won
To observation, with a dread surmise
Destiny operates in their moving lights:
As lie in flowers, from stigma unto leaf
In form and colour,--so that we exclaim
"O, lovely flower!" all unaware, true joy,--
Of magic resident, the soft mute spell
Kindling the soul,--for science none of man,
May separate the beauty from the signs.
This carven, golden flasket Tristram brought
To Belle Isonde, whose vision strayed from isle
To isle, last rested on the foamless deep.
"Methinks, the best of cheer our servants hold.
"This flasket, sure, has bounteous nourishment
"Worthy its glistering shell," said Tristram. "I,
"Found it in hiding under Brengwain's care."
Isonde turned from the sea, to find her sight
Caught by the flasket, as though she would read,
Yet failed to read or guess, the hieroglyphs
Wreathed everywhere throughout the carven gold.
"Oft have you urged me to demand a boon--
"And since that much," continued he: "nay all,
"Of my poor heart shall part for ever from me
"When we shall part; one hour I would remember,
"Last shining rubric in our passing love--
"To other hours as diamond is to sand--
"One radiant hour, when you vouchsafed my boon--
"Let me partake this well-kept draught with thee."
To this Isonde, with moise uplifted eyes,
Wherein the light of love obscurely shone,--
"Yea, be it so, with all this heart of mine
"Which goes with thee whenever thou shalt go."
He oped the carven flasket and poured forth,
With gentle hand, the treasured wine, which gleamed
Golden and danced--a brisk, bright life was in it
To hold the sight and woo the taste. They pledged.
The pleasing trouble working in the wine
Worked swiftly in each heart. Their pledge had been
Of that love-drink designed, as you have heard,
By Ireland's queen.
The hair of Belle Isonde,
Moved over her a moving haze of gold:
Upon the midnight of her sorrowing soul,
So spake her eyes, love's day-star brightly rose,
And Tristram saw her beauty, heard her voice,
As, ere now, he had never heard or seen.
He gave the kiss of Rimini--she received--
And love between them, there was evermore.
Unto these twain, in spirit and in sense,
As day is fulfilled of the sun, as night
Is fulfilled of the stars, and spring is fulfilled
Of the primrose and lark, the summer fulfilled
Of the rose--so their love with all of beauty
Of passion and all of pleasure was full
Filled by this mystical flasket of wine,
This golden, and carven, and mystical
Flasket of wine.
Here, as one liege to Love,
I ask the favour of all lovers' thoughts,
I ask the favour of all lovers' shades,
The magic, not the sin, as hath been named,
Known by Francesca from Sir Launcelot's kiss,
I call upon it and the poet's heart
Which made it music: on that name not less,
Poet and lover, whose one word of song
Was Laura--any soul of love reply,
And absolution for this hour is given
Ample as ocean, certain as its tide.
But never yet mere summer-sport was love.
Proportionate sacrifice it shall exact
For every sprinkling of its meed of grace.
Even as they dallied with love's aloe bloom
The south wind stirred. When, promptly, Tristram's voice
Commands the sea-browned mariners hoist sail,
Which answering, as with inborn will, the ship
Speeds from those flowery isles to reach their home
Tintagel. Forth, from paradise of love,
With sharpest speed to sorrow. Known next morn,
Stranded beneath Dunrabin's rocky hold:
A nest of ruffians with more ruffian lord
Whose mirth was misrule, one elect of evil,
Known as they hound and drew to dungeons deep
This company late frolic o'er bright seas
Sailing to greet their welcome; nor released
Until the guardian-knight evinced his force,
His passion, and his faith, in divers broils
For pleasure of that miscreant chief--pleased first,
But better pleased, anon, to yield a free
Acquittance through a horror of that sword,
That spear, which flamed before him night and day
Slaying his peace, awakening memories
Of murderous years for reckoning ere death's coast
In view.
With gladness from the keep they went.
But whither? Deep in trackless, unkenned ways,
The constant light to which the sphered harp
Of Arthur sings, highest in heaven, sole guide
On all their march--awaited many an eve
For safe direction. Strangely thus they fared
Three fell, bewildered weeks: Tristram ordained
Each breaking morn, or bright or dim, to break
Upon some high adventure, so his love
Should bear the harrying stress of years of dole,
Before he gave his star into the dark
Of other keeping. Fortune then or helped
Or marred, by leading them to friendly paths,
Whereof, King Mark apprised, in hast despatched
Barons and squires, for dignity and pomp
Of chivalry, and to regale their spirits
A minstrel troop approved by voice and lute.
These brought unto Tintagel's rest the twain,
With such a pageantry of arms, such storm
Of musical merriment as its hoary walls
Never afore had wot of.--Five long days,
Horns in the forest, lances in the joust
Gave brave delight throughout the sunshine hours:
At eventime, beneath the summer's heaven,
Soft-stringed instruments with varying song
Made ravishing cheer: and ere the ancient hold
Lost feeling of its younger years, King Mark
Was richly wedded with all nobleness
To Tristram's love, Isonde.
But high emprise and Tristram form one name.
Behold at eve, a sombre eve, sad child
Of golden day, before the gate there stands
None other than the paynim Palomide.
Love, or in heathen or in Christian breast,
Works the same bale or bliss. He, hither drawn
Because Love will not have it otherwise.
Had Belle Isonde been hidden deep within
Matted recesses of the Mercian woods:
Or, midst the fens of Sessoin been immured:
Or, lodged within Avilion's cypress bowers:
There, had this Palomide this instant been
And not before Tintagel's gate. Urbane,
Obsequious, captivating sight and ear
The castle's latest comer: framed by Love
For all Love's needs, its pleasure or its end.
Boastful and threatening, one of bloody will,
When thought Isonde might like enough be wooed
By force, or pride in force, which she inspired;
He now shows tender, odorous, subtle-breathed
As breeze which creeps along a hawthorn lane
In white mid-May: a very lady's page
For low obedience in her flowery pleasaunce,
Or in the chase, or in the jocund hall--
Wherein lie waiting birth, new labours sore
For Tristram, and a warp in life.
Till Yule,
Till Passion-tide, here rested Palomide.
Nor wist then Mark, the paynim yet should part,
Since now it was his kingdom's beauteous time,
Which kept the guest and drew from neighbour-realms
Knights errant, pilgrims, minstrels, gallant throngs
From courts and halls; when spring with cope of blue,
Spring with its voice of music, and its coat
Of many colours, told to earth once more
Gone was another winter's silver strength
Except for memory's keeping.--Then, arose
Sounds of dismay amidst Tintagel's bowers.
Brengwain was fled: nor had the general cry
Abated, till obsequious Palomide,
On promised boon, in seven days brought the maid
For Cornwall's queen.
Boon chosen at twilight time,
Rich with the breath of pansy and young leaves
Dew-drenched. That time, Upsala's knight of craft
Beneath Belle Isonde's balcon then required
Her promised favour.--Later, in the shades
Walking the inner court, Sir Tristram saw
One broad high lattice open, thereby knew
His fond bird's cage unclosed. Rejoiced in heart,
Wotting his love awaited sweet "Good night!"
He blithely sang, for whisper of "Good night."
No answer: not a chirp: he climbed to find
No bird--no bird--and yet the oaken door
Thrice-barred within. What o' the bird? No guess--
It has been snared.
Grievous were it to learn
This new wayfaring, and its labour sore.
The queen was gone, as wrapped into the dark
By darksome powers: and Palomide and squire
Gone,--lost as shades within the shadow of night.
Manifold terrors haunted Tristram's quest:
The wolf, the wild-worm, dwellers of the waste,
On open ways, and lurking in the brake
Bandits and heathen swords. That haggard search
Compassed a life of warlike hardihood:
For his great anguish was a constant spur
Which took rest from him at the golden noon,
Whilst midnight lacked in him her sleepy dues.
Belle Isonde's knight pursued them with the sense
Of passion feverously vigilant,
Which keeps the trail once found. He overtook
Palomide, near a willow-shaded fount
Reposing: challenged him to horse--and drave
So vehemently, Mark's treasonous guest o'erwhelmed,
Swooned from the saddle.
This the day far-famed,
Tristram bade Palomide pronounce himself:
When first this Palomide, with eye on death,
Avowed untroubled by its fear, the source
And venture of his heart's regard. "By Thor!
"Thy spear persuades. Nay, Knight, withdraw thy point;
"I falter not. I, of the Aser line:
"But with report in Odin's iron land
"Of one whose beauty known as of the sun,
"To whom as frosted lights all other maids,
"Upon myself I took this quest of love.
"Hence, Ireland found me. Hence, found I your queen,
"Whose look inspires more than the sacred mead
"Our pontiff-chief, 'neath Upsal's dome of gold,
"Dispenses at the wreathed shrine when she
"Iduna, mother of your laughing Spring,
"Restorer of the flowers of youth to mortals
"And to the gods, claims every heart to drink
"Life's joy and hope. It was Iduna's month
"I raught your queen. To perish in my love,
"Far sweeter than upright amid the slain
"The battle-virgins' favour mine. Nay, strike!
"Strike!--And the pearl-roofed mansion of our skies,
"Wide-shining Breidalblick, receives new guest
"For Balder to console." With woe at heart,
Fresh knight of worth, had life within him slain
By hapless love, Sir Tristram led her back
Unscarred, unstained, through many a perilous way,
His queen to weak and wily Mark.
Then love
Took pity on the Lion Knight, his wounds,
His woeful enterprise, that inward fire
Consuming, to behold his Beautiful,
Bride of his heart, bride Beautiful of him
Who masked all meanness with a kingly name.
Mysterious Love, working through fortunes ill
Bestowed its own soft truce, drew him afar
In peaceful sequestration. Honour's wound,--
A rueful gash and from a venomed blade
Earned in his recent quest--rejecting cure
From potent simples, needs he must repair
Forthright to Howell's court in Brittanie,
Whose daughter in the science of the leech
Bore high repute--but ah, she bore for him
Enchantment in the music of her name,
Which was none other than his queen's--Isonde--
King Howell's daughter--named of the Lily Hands.
Ah, how with Tristram, whose great passionate heart
Here finds the vital word of his best life,
Isonde, clothed with such loveliness, the maid
Might be twin-sister to his Beautiful?
Ah, this, Love's ordination, soon surmised.
What with her delicate charms, whose influence worked
Confederate with the beauty of his queen:
Gifted devotion through his venomous ill,
And that her name gave to his heart of love
Presence and power; and her observance meek,
Yet quick, varying in mood with varying need
Throughout his long recovering hours--these all
Blending their sway, co-operating, brought
Tardy acknowledgment from grateful gaze
To language; thence to reason's deeds. The maid
Became his virgin spouse.
Leavened by his will
She sowed life's graces throughout Brittanie.
Rich in the knight she loved, thence came her boon
Of sunniest years--most joyous, placid years--
Most bright and placid known to Tristram yet.
And, it may be, that their deep peacefulness
Obtained security from tearful prayers
La Belle Isonde sent to her lowering heaven,
When told of Tristram's nuptials. Lorn, but true,
Knowing his love for her, she prayed for him
And his fair consort: did not set her heart
Against him, but at evensong and prime
Prayed that his heart be hardly 'gainst her set,
And that a new love, wider, holier love,
Enrich him with its tokens most divine.
These prayers and tears might have reward to keep
The distant wedded twain as under charge
Angelic: albeit, tears and prayers of her
To whom their answer had undone her more
Than aught beside--plagued, darkened all her hours,
Drained life, and ta'en the light of hope from death.
Heavily leaning upon Brengwain's arm,
La Belle Isonde steps gently towards the grove,
Her fairest pleasaunce, a most inward grove,
Her noontide haunt: behind a lilac bush
Hears rustling garments, noise of flying feet,
And walking round beholds two maids, one churl,
In flight for private entrance to the keep.
Curious, half-roused from out her trance-like mood,
She vainly asks the purpose of that flight:
Then loiters dreamful in the winding paths,
Her eyes in search amidst the border-flowers
For something lost. "Dull and despoiled these walks,
"Sweet Brengwain," murmurs she, pale queen. "All's changed
"Since heart's-ease died. Would evening's hour were come,
"Then we might hear our nightingale. An yet,
"Our nightingale, methinks, has lost his note
"These many weeks. All's dead-dull now. Our blooms
"Were brighter upon Michelmas, of yore--
"But, then, all were together. Didst thou say,
"That upon noon may come an instant night?"
--"No, no."--On this they reached a shrivelled shape
Lain on the grass: a creature ragged, sick
Unto the very death; found seven days since
At break of morn by Severn's hermit saint.
Thence to Tintagel brought for friendly care--
And here at noon laid in the sun whose beam,
Perchance, may stir the tides of life anew.
The queen's hand tightened on her maiden's arm,
Regarding him as one with winter-thoughts
Regards the ruin of the summer's green
No more returning: upon her he looked,
A mystic knowledge gleaming in his eyes,
As they beheld a something more than seen
By earthly vision--wondrous, unspeakable.
Confused in spirit, unsatisfied, the queen
Drew back, and in a winter-wailing tone,--
"Methinks, that form a-many weeks has drunk
"Of sorrow like to mine, and some fair dame
"Saddens upon his absence. Let us go."
Yet sought she not her inward grove, but strayed
Forlorn, with earthward searching look: then paused:
Cried in a voice of pain. "That bunch of leaves--
"Those withered leaves--beneath yon thorn--think you,
"Were once my once-dear flower?--Sweet Brengwain, say,
"Now being apart, and here no listening walls,
"When Tristram back from Brittanie, was't one
"Or two his fellows, played upon my pride
"And drave him to the woods?"--"Sir Palomide,
"Sir Kay, two men, but one in evil mind."--
"Ay, ay! And they would woo, and I would win
"In fancy, having lost so much in life
"Wearing the name of queen. But, they be gone?--"
"In truth, Sir Tristram gone, for them to stay
"Had been perdition unto court and king,
"So fierce thy spirit"--"Well! Ah, but not well--
"For him my sun, and I thus desolate.
"So weak, too, from these suffering, palsying months.
"Fever and pain their tabernacle long
"Have made this quivering frame--Thou, surely, sweet,
"Hast seen our knightly star of late--or wast
"In dream I learned of it?"--"Yea, but in dream.
"Yet, guided as by dream, I found his haunt,
"A forest, guarded by an iron keep,
"Where, two years gone, the heathen Palomide,
"For gain of thee, foughten his angriest fight
"With Tristram; who, that victory won, his rest
"Took with the castle's dame. He, as he healed,
"Taught her most featly and most prettily
"To harp. He left her wiser in that art
"Which wisely she has kept. Thus, led by me,
"Her music found thy knight and drew him forth,
"Captive of harmony, unto her home,
"Wherein his soul gat peace. But for three days,
"Misfortunes crossed her--then, the lady's touch
"Failed at the fount of melody and health,
"And by the demon of his madness borne
"Into the icy dawn and shroud of mists,
"Tristram--nor rested, as I wot, until
"The forest's thorn-embrangled inmost heart
"Held him lone guest of sorrow as before,"--
"--O woe, O misery! Of all mankind,
"Lovers have sharpest doom--not one hath joy
"Of those that thou hast named.--Brengwain, be sure,
"That withered man no long time since hath been
"Somewhat a pleasure to the sight--aye, aye--
"With nobleness of frame and might of limb.
"My dream-wrought mind! The heart's-ease.--O, this heart!
"Brengwain, be we all dying? Dimly sense
"Recalls the darling flower.--That withered man,
"His former life within me as a dream
"Floats dimly. Strange--that withered man, near death,
"Seems, like the flower, familiar once; again,
"My cozening memory fails--the flower--the flower--
"His face?" She paused, self-questioning--"His face,
"Is as the face of one whom I have seen
"In many places." Here a hopeless moan
Spake from her heart. Silence some moments--then,
"Hist, Brengwain. Hast thou ever loved?"--"Yea, queen."
"And does Love wander wild, as I have talked?"
"I never knew my state in love, sweet queen.
"Your words are very words of love. My ease
"Of heart would perish in a night. Ay, lover
"Be nought of lover on a syllable.
"'Tis like nought else."--"Ah, Brengwain, now I think--
--"How sweet to feel one's memory hold again--
"Did I not question thee--or should have done--
"Upon Love's instant?"--"Yestermorn, we spake--
"And now thou bringest me again to talk on't:
"Whenas, I least would have of hope--in years,
"Years long, long past--of love and lover--one
"And both would shine.--O, those sweet years long past--
"More beautiful than in the spring o' love."
--"Such things then come again. I, too, have found
"That love may in a moment shew new season.
"I ne'er was told--but know--its summer dies
"With all its sighing autumn in an hour:
"Then the cold, deathly winter--deathly cold,
"And long."--Brengwain cried out.--"However long,
"It yields to spring on the instant of a smile.
"There is the word you asked for, my sweet queen."
--"Months, months, I deem, have passed. And may that instant
"Come here?--to me?"--"It may."--"What time, sayst thou?
--"For life, sweet queen."--"Nay, that was not thy word.
"I said months, months--you spake of an instant--ah,
"That instant of spring birth, may not the months
"Black, icy months in which we now be bound,
"Strangle it? Ware you, Brengwain, that of love
"Only one thing is certain unto all:
"Being not, it shall not be, though angels crave it:
"And being, as certain as it once was not
"Time comes it shall not be. There's all."--"Nay, nay!
"Within the radiance of that instant's life
"The past is as the past of night at dawn,
"Forgotten: the present, glory; and the future
"Secure, serene." Thus Isonde with her maid
Along the pleasaunce-walks with frequent sighs,
Talked as is need of those of highest place
In grief with faithful servitors--the heart
Being everywhere in everyone the same--
And fellowship of sorrow makes us one.
Listless, a few steps onward: then, the queen
Looked on the shrivelled shape again, which lay
With close-shut eyes, and motionless.--"How still
"He lies, as now in the extremity
"Of quiet death," whispered La Belle Isonde.
But scarcely had she wandered three spears' length
Beyond the man, when her full heart brake forth.
"O, Brengwain, Love is very life, I see.
"We'd better love a withered man like that
"Than have no love at all. And, yet, my knight
"Was glorious as an angel: ever the same
"Unto my soul, as when in Ireland's jousts--
"Our Tristram! Grace of arms! Our Lion Knight!
"Our Light of Honour!"--In her passion's pause
She heard a cry. "Hark, Hodain finds me here,
"With voice I ever loved next to his lord's."
She turned. She saw with wild amaze her hound
Leaping around the man--nor hand, nor brow,
Nor cheek it left unkissed: and then recalled,
Hodain had never left her save for one,
But for that one would ever leave her side,--
He who had given the hound. Nor could she speak,
Nor move, La Belle Isonde: and on her, lo,
The man's eyes opened: knew she wept: and tears
Can cleanse the foulest wound--and at the sight
His soul healed, and his life gat strength--upsprang
Sir Tristram--caught her--pressed her heart to heart.
And voice was gone from both: and best for both
A sobbing silence.--Thus, again, the pair
Came to each other: thus the Spring o' Love
Vanquished the winter in an instant's space.
Long,
She hung upon him as a wilding flower
Hangs on a castle's ruins beautiful
And beautifying. After parley sweet--
How long they might not know, since Time's fleet wing
Swept past so softly then--with knightly step
Tristram withdrew to seek his bower. He gone,
The queen with questioning melodious voice
To Brengwain. "Hath the season changed? Your eye
"Speaks wickedly. You may lack grace o' love,
"Yet, let me kiss thee. Thou wert ever kind,
"And hast forgiveness.--Of a truth, the light
"Grows lovelier in the day: and my heart sings
"Sweetlier unto me than might any bird.
"The scant flowers smile! and, look, that willow branch
"Beckons to yonder thorn: and whispers,--hark,--
"In every bush, to bid hearts'ease upraise
"Its eye of blue again. Yet tell me, truly,
"Brengwain, dear soul, has it for once been so
"These many, many months?"--"Yes, lovelier far
"To lovers with Love's summer in their souls,
"And nought to cross them."--"Thou art envious, pert,
"Petulant. A surly maid. Must ever lack
"Love's grace. Go! Lead me to my bower. Pray, let
"Thy face wear the true colour of thy heart,
"Show not the shine of happiness you know not,
"But take its proper sable." Haughtily,
Strode Belle Isonde as more than queen that hour:
Triumphing royally in her knight returned.
Tintagel's knight now here, a double pride
Guerdon'd Mark's liberal pains. 'Twas vastly strange
The history of the madman: then 'twas fine
Self-satisfaction to bestow his care
On soul so desolate, whereon rang praise
Full-voiced from Cornwall's nest of dissolute peers.
And when the lion knight in time assumed
The lion's port, between the four broad seas
What potentate could claim such arm of faith,
And iron will for functions of the field?
Not long, this blithe content. Barons and squires--
Mark's revelling, craven, shrewd and rare, long-pledged
Companions whilst Sir Marhaus held his gate--
Their owlish spirits could not brook the light
Of Honour shining in their purlieus. Soon,
Mark's double pride was flustered into hate.
Whispering of Honour night and noon, wrought heat
Of spirit, but when barbed hints and looks,
Slanting at queen and lion-knight, were caught
By Mark in jealous phrensy, men might wot
Fate then abridged a noble life.--Soon done,--
Within Tintagel's dungeons--or, her waves
Were ready to receive and hide the dead.
But no--fear rules the raging heart--there lived
Camelot's peerage, first estate of arms:
The vengeance, when to Launcelot's heart went up
The cry of Tristram's blood--therefore, his doom,
Away, exiled from Cornwall's boundaries,
Despised, affronted, roving knight-of-green,
For twice five years. Worse news had never struck
Sir Tristram's soul--and with a voice of tears,
He mourned of his large worship shown to Mark,
Much known to all, but much untold, unknown.
Sleepy neglect forbore to speak of much
And envy hath its silence.
That o'erpast,
The fields of Logris called, awaiting him
With other thoughts and hopes, with other fields
For fame. The knight-of-green's adventurous hand
Still strenuous through the righteous wrath of love--
Since Belle Isonde within his bosom lived
As all of love in love's own powers and flame
Exceeding, and impelled to deed sublime,
Chastening or hallowed, or by arms or song,
Achieved.
But for herself, the Beautiful,
Rest none for her--and of her hot unrest
Brengwain would find for her its errant cause:
And on report of Logris, as domain
Renovate by his roaming enterprise,
Through perils, here not to be rehearsed, but dire,
She found the steerage of his path, and last,
Found him, the knight, in slumber near a spring--
Sate softly by his side, and kept her heart
In patience till he woke, when she resigned
Letters of grace from her, his ladye-love.
The Dragon King, that time, from Camelot
Let cry a solemn three days' tournament
For Maidens' Castle. Mindful, Tristram held
The news in keeping. Upon loneliest hours,
Gladdened his spirit with the fire of hope
Bethinking of the promise of that day.
This told he Brengwain, with request "Sweet dame
"An thou wilt thither with me?"--"Ay, my lord,
"Or whither thou mayst lead, if going I save
"My lady's heart from sorrow, or yield her joy
"To know thy worship."--"Sorrow none for us,
"When heart doth write these letters brought by thee,
"And letters have the welcome of such heart
"As tells thee now its joy. Thither, with me
"The gainest way which brings us to behold
"The famous fellowship of the Table Round,
"Brave emulation in the Table Round,
"The sun and centre of the Table Round,
"Arthur, and in her throne queen Guinevere."
O, vanity of Love! He spoke the maid;
He brought the maid to Maidens' Castle jousts--
For why? Scarce heard as whisper in his heart;
It was, that seeing nobleness of knights
And ladies beautiful beyond men's praise,
Proclaim his valour, Brengwain soon should bring,
For hearing of Isonde, report with wit
Particular to time, display, and deed.
But when this of the maiden, seen and heard,
Her heart sank, never having yet conceived
Such glory, beauty, power. All those three days,
Her heart, as in a marvellous vision endured
Such terror for his weal, and, O, such pangs
Of sudden amazing joy, when she beheld
Time after time, his argent lion flare
Before the lists--then the career, the clash,
And prouder for the shock ride forth, his faith
His honour, valour, crowned again. Yea, fear
Darkened her whilst his prowess kept each day.
Was one so terrible, lord of the jousts,
Crimson from helm to stirrup, truly knight
So debonnair, so gentle in his grace,
Single and simple in his love, as known?
Found in such thought, a giant knight rode in,
Claiming to break a lance. With sea-like voice,
Scornful he cried: "From Cornwall's court I come--
"Confess its queen, Isonde, excelling aught
"Of any dame of any knight; announce
"My purpose! Save her rightful king, shall none
"Exceed my worship: none divide my claim,
"And here, by me, the lion shall be quelled."
Then Brengwain knew who came as from the shades,
Knight of the King of Terrors,--Palomide,
As he no less in darkest passion came,
With sable panoply on sable steed,
As ever in his quest, to drive to doom
All valour that stood thwart his love, or dulled
His worship of Isonde. This Brengwain knew,
And knowing swooned. Her wakening eyes surveyed
In fear the lists below--so long her swoon
The knights had evenly proved two careers,--
Now came the third. Or e'er he placed his lance
In rest, Sir Tristram raised him on his steed,
Stretched forth his arms, as though in previous fray
He had been idler, and his limbs of might
Ached for due action. Then, the thunderous course--
On which, midway, the shattering shock spread wide
The splinters of the spears. With speed of flame
Tristram laid hands upon his foeman's shield
Burst every strap--upon his charger's mane
Laid prone the knight of Upsal's head, then swift
With shield smote, stunned him--hurled the shield to earth--
Caught at his helm, brake all its brazen bands,
With helm showered wrathful perilous blows--so, bruised,
Bloody, as dead, the peer of Odin sank
Unhorsed, last tribute to that day of deeds,
Since none, of fifty unbreathed knights, none now
Dare trace the field. The last dread day had closed--
Tristram each day of all those three dread days,
Master of the degree.
Yet with default.--
In fortune's frolic, shorn of fortune's grace.--
He came not to dismount, as no knight came
Master of the degree, ere comes a knight
On lusty stammel steed with chiming pace,
Clad in carnation-coloured arms, all o'er
Beset with golden sprays: upon his helm
Spruce sprays of gold in bloom, with shield's device
One golden blooming spray, and nuts of gold.
His open visor shows a countenance
Lightening with crafty humours, which distrain
The glooming heart of Brengwain, as a torch
Acquires with light within a cave the space
Of darkness it is conquering. Hark, the steed
Caracoles blithely to its master's wit,
Which tells that in the knight's appointments lie,
Of silver sound some scores of hidden bells
Ringing unto the caracole. Then rose
From knight, and clown, and laughing voice of dame--
"Now, comes the singing-tilt of Dinadin."
The sturdy stammel steed of Dinadin
Sprang as to get a forward grip of earth,
Whereon it held. The lion like the wind,
Or whirlwind towards him--missed in his attaint--
Flew back from spear of Dinadin, as he
By naught but violence of his whirlwind speed
Were blown from saddle. Ere the foiled knight rose,--
Ringing alway, as though the chivalry
Of Camelot had voice in scornful song,
Dinadin forth had sped, had flown the lists,
With cry, "I ask no blood." So is it told,
These tilting times lacked not their special play
To ease the crimson passions of the joust.
Brengwain returned with news, she interwove
Such praise of Dinadin within her speech
And of the singing-tilt, her mournful queen
Impassioned bade her exorcise his name
From history of that jousting--but when all
The puissance, the courtesy of those days
Was heard, rightway that simple heart of love
Swooned in her ecstasies of joy.
No need
In her estate for wonder. Lovers' news
At any time are powers--in misery,
As fallen now upon the Beautiful,
Love's loving news dash down the heart grown weak,
Through abstinence of joy with suffering.
Suffering? Ay, Mark ere this had made well-known
Beyond surmise, his mean, malignant self.
His ruthless humour grew with passing weeks.
None, in the misrule of his court might blame
Or warn him: one and all in love alike
And wisdom scant. Last, in his scornful hate
Bestowed on Belle Isonde, her lord displayed
Polluted taste, a riotous wantonness,
As though each sorry portion of his guilt
Of foulness, was more precious from the foil
Of foulness to the sweetness of his queen:
As, though her hurt and sorrow from his guilt,
Gave to it pleasure's daintiest sting.
With arm
Free to his twofold cause, now Tristram fared
Once more the Knight of Love: high Honour's beam
Bare through shy noisome ways, till on an eve
Fog-darkened, weary, and misled, he found,
Deep in the quaking lands of Rueful Dale,
Lodgment within a hold of mystery.
There for a season cloistered, bondsman held
Of wiliest witch that ever wore the form
And beauty of a woman--Morgan le Fay--
His faith was brought to proof. Ah, but his love
Moved not from Belle Isonde. The dazzling witch,
Her wiles, her potions, glamour in her gaze,
Stirred not his fealty. ****
Abrupt the end,
Blasting enchantment, drawing the far sound
Of the world's voices full upon his soul:
Sanguine that end and sudden, when in mail
The lady's paramour, her confrere tried
In love's expedients and designs of death,
Sought to conclude with Tristram in her grove,
Whose leaves and blossoms had sweet nourishment
From hearts beneath--brave, bounteous, and renowned
Lured hither, buried here. The mailed man
With words of shame, shamed her--Morgan le Fay--
As stings to rouse the peer--unsheathed his brand
As for immediate outrage. Then, the knight
Held breath in anguish. "Surely this be stain
"Upon the virtues of the dame"--that thought
Illumined him with honour's light, he saw
Only a slanderous, intrusive churl--
Leapt on him: from his gauntlet's nerveless grasp
Wrenching the blade, he clove him to the breast.
Cloven the charm. One thought, one stroke--the life
Of bestial churl--and cloven was the charm.
A wakening stroke: a judgment flash had been
The swift white lightning of his flying sword:
And blood of evil broke the evil spell,
And strong and clear of inward vision now,
Still Knight of Honour, Tristram stood. His bane
Furnished new trophy for his trust in love.
Led by that faith in Love, his venturous way
Straight tended to the fair Memorial Stone
Near Camelot, long years desired as place
Dedicate to the sacrifice of love,
Best place for heart sick-sorrowing.
Gazing there,
O'er its white marble, crossed with crimson streak,
Significant of radiant loves there slain,
There resting--old and memorable words
Of Merlin, from the bud of prophecy
Burst into blossom.
Hither, rode this time
Sir Launcelot of the Lake: and now was fought,
Unknown of each, that fight of spear and sword,
These gone, the struggle hand to hand, each gripe
Keen as the fang of death. Had bard been there,
That crested hour were more than Roncesvalles
In battle-blast of song. Then each confessed
Name to each other, and in knightly love
Paced to the hallowed stone, where kneeling, both
Made covenant of faithfulness and gave,
Last token of consummate knightlihood,
Matchless degree unto each other. Thus,
Blossomed the words of Merlin's wintry years.
Beside that white Memorial Stone, there met
"The two best knights in all King Arthur's days
"And truest lovers known in any land."
Now Launcelot's mind, wot that an hour was born
Pre-eminent for worship: that on him
Was laid the charge of glory to induct
Tristram into that final avenue
Which brings the knight to be true child of fame.
Hence, unto Arthur's court he drew his fere,
Saluted with a jubilance as ne'er
Before that day in Camelot, or known
After, in Pendragonian times. Once there,
Arthur with pomp and honours brought our knight
To seek the Table Round. With him, approached
Guinevere, in her lustre, damsels, peers,--
Soft-shining Pleiades of beauty, bands
Chivalrous, whose appointments, gleaming shewed
Various device of shield. Then Guinevere
Cried, "Welcome!" answering, "Welcome!" cried the dames:
"Welcome!" the damsels: thrice the silver cries
Against the clanging "Welcome!" of the knights.
Uprose, the trumpet-greeting of the king,
Whereon the signet of his tongue fulfilled
The vehement joyaunce:--"Welcome! to our court,
"One of earth's best and gentlest knights, be thou!
"Great hunter of the heathen!--from three realms
"Thrusting their fierce invading hosts. In chase,
"Bearer of chiefest prize! The bugle horn,
"Of all its choicest measures: terms of sport,
"By hawk, and hound, and spear, beginner thou!
"Of all the mystery by river's marge:
"Of all the mystery in woodland ways,
"Pursuit in air, field, holt, thou president!
"Knight of most worship! we confess and laud
"Thee for thy dues: and, as excelling other claim,
"Thou music's great magister! Voice nor hand,
"Like thee hath stirred the spirit's melody,
"Whence are begotten thoughts assuming oft
"Wilful predominance, we lose the sense
"For that indwelling music whence evolved.
"Then, welcome! Gentlest knight--of noblest deed,
"Of song, master and lord! Of noblest deed,
"Love, courtesy, liege vassal, and yet lord
"Puissant! Welcome!"
This being heard, with haste
The martial Order ranged the Table Round.
And Arthur looked on every seat there void,
And one siege lacked its living knight,--that knight
Foiled by young Tristram in his virgin fray
Of knighthood 'neath Tintagel's walls--the siege
Of Marhaus. Whereupon, the Order's king
Declared the morrow's business, when the tromp,
Brought towards the dragon-throne--imperial work
Of marvellous device from Merlin's hand,
Which raised high o'er its royal seat the head
Vengeful, with flickering tongue and blood-red eyes,
And wound behind the king with folds of steel
Rough-sparkling, and flat underneath his feet
Laid broad its tail endued with arrowy sting;
So Arthur sate as there upon his throne
Protected by the beast, his dragon-helm
Bickering, as though in wrath, himself a fear,
Dragonish to every foe of law or faith;
Around him, on this throne, by sound of tromp
Gathered the pageantry of Table Round,
With priests and saintly servitors in choirs,
At spring of day. Then to the minister porch.
By hoar, divine Dubricius, there received:
Hence led to the high altar, midst the noise
Of instrument and song in psalmody
Of praise, and incense fumes, with fragrant wreaths
Filling the temple; there, intoned the mass,
Succeeded by the service of the sword,
The oaths of chivalry, the sacred charge--
With benediction, whereupon heaven's hosts
Raise their hosannas for the goodly time
The knight shall strive for on the earth appears--
And welcome of that hour, his good fight fought,
He join the bands celestial. Arthur, then,
With state illustrious, adjudged the knight
Worthy the vacant siege, with accolade
Of resonant voice confirmed, invested him
With due insignia of the Table Round.
Closed these solemnities, through knightly throngs,
Whose panoply of bright incessant flashed
Fresh splendours into morn, there mingled groups
Of fair and sweet, like blooms of garden blown
By gentle winds. All day, there intervened
High tournament of young, and brave and gay,
With minstrel sport which winged the golden hours
With laughing joy.--Such martial nobleness,
Such consecrating pomp, such merriment,
Closed with proud feasting, used the Dragon King
When Tristram entered siege of Table Round.
This was the spring, with music overflown,
Flower-starred, and odorous as any spring
That smiled across the Logrian isle, or since,
Or ever shall when we are all forgotten.
Days pleasantly grew into weeks, the weeks
To months, which slid apace with shining feet
Until within the autumn time there slept
A sabbath's lustre upon Camelot.
A day of peace and praise.--What thunderous noise
Travels the vale in hast towards Camelot?
Mark and his knights!--who reck not of the day,
Its dedication, nor the faith whose peace
Enwraps this evening's hour. With pagan sneer
Riding at morn, he cried,--"This day, fools know,
"Adopts the sun: and, so, but shine the sun
"To us ripe time to speed our enterprise.
"Matins to-morrow of the sword and spear."
Hence, came the hoofs of these hard-breathing steeds
Of Cornwall and his troop, led by himself
Clanging to Camelot; with grace received
By Arthur and the Order of the Ring,
At close of evensong.
At large, had Mark
Heard of Sir Tristram's worshipful estate,
The Dragon King's esteem, Sir Launcelot's love,
Regard of Guinevere, and Logrian fame
Blown by the wind throughout the land's resorts.
Whereon, his wrath turned from his queen awhile.
Despite the lion's lance, and of its sword
Mindless, he brought his retinue to seek
Favour of evil in the tournament.
Short-coming there, his evil confidence
Full store possessed of foul dishonouring tales
Particular in poisonous hint--or, last,
None better than this heart of fraud, was schooled
In mission of the hidden steel.
But, lo,
What change upon that self-same sabbath's night,
And days succeeding! Cornwall had receipt
Of bounteous, general greeting, courteousness,
Simplicity of elegance in act,
Imperial consideration, meek,
Mutual, cementing ranks from churl to queen,
That in the sharp air of the chivalrous court
The habit of Mark's mind endured a change--
Passion of peace, of gentleness the power
Known now in Mark, and Arthur had his vow
Within Tintagel pure and lofty life
Should be sustained. A vow, his noblest given,
Soon secretly unsworn, although its gloss
Held Cornwall still as one redeemed to eyes
Unsharpened by suspicion, blind in trust.
Within the noiseless chariots of the clouds,
The spirits of night drave to the setting sun,
And brought for him an hour unsought, prepared
By evil minds. Within a lonely glade,
Rambling in thought, Mark was aware of twain
Conversing as in grief, who won delight
On his approach. Mordred and Vivien these,
And he their prey. That nephew of the king
Mordred, within the court a secret tongue,
Moving with creeping step and humbled face,
Alive to everything: the fiend in need,
Acknowledging the heaven he had foregone
And sought to discompose: Mordred, a name
Of shame and death:--Vivien, of wanton gaze,
On Merlin, late withdrawn to hermit cell
As done with life, but prescient that his life
Would strangely suffer from a damsel's wiles;
Prescient a seeming silent tongue would strike
Ruin on glory of the state--a step
Noiseless was creeping upon Arthur's fame,
Nor long to speed him to the silent shores--
Merlin, whose spring of three-score years was gone
And all his mighty summer, now a seer
Hoary, a memory clothed with poësy--
On him intent Vivien, the winsome fair,
Patient his fated, long-deferred return
Awaiting--but, meanwhile, kept her in play:
With frivolous, perilous thoughts in ward, ne'er found
Idling in toils of blame: or fishing she,
Or mending of her nets, was always found.
Now, her resolve dight her in crimson gleams:
Soft blush of wilding rose at morn, this hour
Of eve brought cramousie, for love's desires
Fancy's best fashion, and to Cornwall's eyes
An amourous trouble. Either spake to Mark
In interchange of comment: Mark replied--
Of scandals of the court, of knights, of dames
And wrongs of Mark.--Disloyal speech conceived
Of hate, had brood of murderous thoughts: delight
Of death, came of this intercourse.
Days died,
Days rose, and rising now, bright broke the day
Mark shall depart, when faithful to the vow
Kept unto knights and dames, he asks a boon
As sealing vow: that, for Tintagel's aid,
In pure and lofty life there be conjoined
Sir Tristram--boon upcast on Arthur's wish--
"Let men be in accord, all will be well:
"Without they are accorded, nought is well."
But Launcelot feared for Tristram, feared King Mark,
His dungeons and his secret ministers,
So spake against the temper of his king.
Clear, resolute--drew his anointed sword,
Thrice waved it o'er his head as sacred sign,
Thrice kissed its hilt, as token of the cross,
Therewith, to pledge his worship and his soul,
Should harm befall Sir Tristram on such choice,
Affliction should befall to Cornwall's land
Beyond the scath of heathen or of plague.
Nor trusting to his minatory words,
Nor awe, as told the pallor of the kings,
Launcelot besought his first beloved of knights,
In knightly faith and Love's obeisance, wait
Here in the circuit metropolitan:
Oft, honour calls to hold the kingdom's fame
'Gainst paynim prowess: here, due residence
For faith and valour; else, let Tristram seek
Emprise promiscuous amidst the wilds
Of lands beyond the seas--only, with Mark
Forbear to go. Not to Tintagel--no.
On which with slow, half-weeping voice replied
The heart-struck knight of war, "My brother, mine,
"By all that makes our Order as the stars
"Of honour unto dark humanity:
"By all the worship shewn in pageants played,
"Or stiff-fought fields, for favour or defence
"Of ladye-love, my brother, I must go!
"More than to leave the lists of Logris, more,
"Than here renounce the glory-lighted realms
"By paynims held, is to lose thee. Yet still,
"I go. Their wish is mine: its home is here
"And resting place." Gently, with head abased,
He laid his palm above his heart. "Here, home
"Of all the kingly wish: though well you wit,
"Upon an issue of mine own I go.
"Angels are with us all: but none, the chief
"Gabriel, Archangel, bearer of the divine
"Decrees, may ever bind or loosen love.
"The sorrow in my loss of thee foregone,
"This heart exults with joy. Thou knowest love.
"So bound, so burdened, yet so light of heart,
"Always our case when ladye-love in view.
"Yet,--nay--without the sight of Belle Isonde,
"My spirit may not endure." And from that hour,
Till darkness brought him light, he knew not Mark,
From his own eye, or from the voice of friend,
But kept his faith in king, and served him well,
Soul-blind through his o'er-quickened sense of love.
The winter gone, a damsel from Isonde--
Brengwain, it was, once more--reached Camelot
At glow-worm time, when midst the evening shades,
First seen its lamp of love. Hers, news of joy:
Letters for Arthur, Launcelot, Guinevere,--
Letters affecting Mark, Isonde, their weal,
And Tristram's; unto most, a resonant joy.
But twain found in her news a hate disguised,--
Arthur and Launcelot. These apart communed,
Shadows upon the common joy: whence came
An answer royal, one of kindly words
Yet bearing thought, as of Sir Tristram's weal
Doubtful but heedful.
Now it was, the worm
Disclosed his fang before the open day.
Sting, poison went together and at once.
Mark's answer, as with haste of wings, arrived,
The first jar in the music of his life,
Puissant, pure, high-hearted, gentle, proud
And guileless Arthur:--"As we are, we are.
"I bid thee intermit thee with thyself,
"And wife and knight: as for myself, the power
"I ever had, have now, will ever have
"To rule and keep a wife."
The house of hell
There threw its lurid light on hidden ways
Known not to Arthur's generous, trustful mind--
Which knew alone what honour's sun revealed,
Fair, simple paths on which none went astray.
And as Mark's words of searching fire would burn
Ceaseless within his brain, as clouds on clouds
Rolling and gathering, darkening evils came
In deepening folds, O, that imperial soul
Felt, O, such sadness! O, such loneliness!
Slackened his spirit, that he may nor write,
Nor think reply to Cornwall: and his throne
Suffered besieging sorrows, till that fray
Adder-begotten, and of Mordred's work,
Roared through the misty noon, and Arthur's realm
With evening sank in silence by the sea,
And Arthur's saintly soul found final peace.
But, now, a counter-stroke from Dinadin--
Returned from lengthy embassage--gay sprite.
Ay, certes, as his name rings when ye read
Or hear, his nature tallied with his name.
He was the merry-making knight within
The Table Round--all hurry, sparkle, song.
And, now, an apparition from the halls
Dedicate to victorious mirth, made fly
Arrows of scornful laughter, and re-lit
The courtly joyaunce. Jaunty muse being his,
Half-pique, half-love, with speedy offspring fit,
In homage to the royal grief--the child,
A ballad to King Mark: its name, a shaft
That pierced, "Mark is my mark." Whereon, he called
His harper Elyot, taught him harp this lay--
Ordained him other harpers,--but, enow,--
Sir Dinadin within his ballad verse
Retorted on Mark's shame a sixfold shame
In phrase so forceful still it lives renowned,
"Worst lay that ever harper sang with harp."
When Elyot reached Tintagel there to harp
The waspish lay, Sir Tristram then had cleansed
Cornwall from foes once more. Once more, not one
In Cornwall's buffoon chivalry gave word
Of courage; and the scourge of sword and fire
By Sessoin's raging bands, the dread White Horse,
Christ's bane, the pagan's iron pride, for long
Kept still the music of Sir Tristram's hand--
The lion knight, once more, in fate of arms
Tintagel's help; through strengths of love and faith
The bastion of her towers.
Great Sessoin's lord
He met in view of either host: when sate
The seigniories of knights to taste the fray;
In midst of Cornwall's powers, its king: with him,
His queen, the Beautiful, unto the gaze
Of Sessoin's peerage a most marvellous light
Of loveliness. Each knight her every grace
Computed at war's value: favouring smile,
Well-worth a spear-thrust: and that shining cloud
Which dimmed her diadem, that affluent hair
Dazzling, one lock of it well-worth the price
Of venturous quest from Candlemas to Yule:
No soul of Sessoin's barbarous horde but owned
Presence of one of those fine beings rare
Amidst the cloudy centuries they gild,
Well-worth the hazard of a kingdom's rule.
Prompt at the hour of tierce, Sir Ælias rode,
His purport shown in sable panoply,
Straight to the tourney's eastern gate, and there
Paused. La Belle Isonde's beauty on his tongue
Silenced the challenge. But by herald's voice
Drawn from his fantasy, his sanguine ire
Re-doubled, Ælias shouted o'er the lists--
"Fair knight, at thy pavilion this dawn
"With my spear point, good iron of Poictou,
"I touched thy shield. Thou knows't my purpose--death!"
"I answer to the utterance," Tristram cried.
"Our orisons are told, but with the dirge
"My tears will be required for thee. Fair knight,
"Now thy devoir."
But Tristram wist not, yet
True danger was to come. This Sessoin's lord,
Man in the height of arms was he: inspired
By passion of the war, he was enriched
With skill and hardiment. On this third bout,
Both spears were splintered, both knights fell unhorsed.
But fallen not their spirits: with their swords
They fought as there had been a flaming fire
Encompassing. They fenced, they foigned--keen, quick,
Stout strokes of nimblest play: traced, traversed, hot
As wild stags full of autumn blood provoked
In lordship of the hind. Hauberk and helm
Hewn roughly: shorn, huge cantles of their shields--
Their doughten deeds surpassed all learned from voice,
Or scroll, of fairy land or chivalry.
Now crimson fall the sands of Tristram's life.
Faint from the heat and anguish of the fray
His head droops o'er his shield: the draught of death
Proposed for Ælias, Tristram's parting soul
Longs to partake, as o'er his eyes descend
Shades, closing all the bright and noisy scene,
This dread imperial debate, transact
For Mark and Cornwall, and the lists of love,
Late glorious, with the queen of every heart
Presiding. Then, a mocking laughter sprung
From galleries westward, keener than the edge
Of sword or glaive to Tristram, as he felt
His knighthood was the gazing stock of fools,
Who judge not of event but of the chance.
Awakening sounds.--His soul creeps from the swoon
To feebly grasp at life. Uncomforted,
And cold, he wots that hosts with revelling jeers
Witness his yielding strength: whilst others mourn
Doom falling darkly on their lion knight.
On Isonde's throne, he there beholds a face
Pale, with its eyes afire, and o'er it hang
Cumbrous and dun her tresses in the bright
Slant sunshine. Harken, Love's power, once again!--
He notes upon her rose-bereaved, worn cheek,
Flashing a sacred and peculiar light,
Tears of wild sorrow, whereupon his soul
Drank courage from them, cast aside the robes
Of palsying faintness, fear and pain.--More brief
Than this brief verse, such fury in his change,
Sir Tristram's finish of the fight. His sword
Flew on his foe: a score of blows for one
Confused the lord of Sessoin: from their force
The shield brake on his arm--his hauberk pierced,
Oped entrance to his heart, his helmet cloven
Brought death on death--to the beholder's gaze
Ælias seemed smitten everywhere at once.
For all of this, despiser of true worth,
Worship of arms, renown, fidelity,
Mark, when he heard the song of Dinadin
Mark would have slain his champion-knight, sole stay
Of throned authority, the warden spear
Of his dominion. And when Elyot's lay
Was harped and sung before the languid court,
Mark blazed in angered words--but softly ends,
"Name him who sends thee, and we bide our time
"For chastisement." But Elyot as he heard,
Bore heedless gaiety of look, and thrummed
An under-note, and gazing on the ground,
Spake as a harper in the privilege
Of song accorded everywhere. "The name
"I serve beneath?--One you affect, sweet king--
"Sir Dinadin, most debonair of knights,
"My lord, my gentliest lord is Dinadin.
"An, wit ye well, I am a minstrel, sire,
"One who must sing the songs made by his lord
"As he must wear the arms his lord doth wear."
Thus, Mark the king, the king but newly saved,
Clothed in fair silken raiment, and his word
Soft as the chime for vigils, but within
Dead spirit cased in thrice-proof mail of self
Played the knave-king. For, this time, Tristram lay
Close chamber-prisoned, sore with many wounds
Begat from Ælias, known when careful leech
Found harness of the war to bring more hurt
Than it might save from. Silken, chiming Mark,
His trailing step now haunts the corridors
'Tween the sick room and feasting hall, morn, noon,
And midnight--kindly in his watch, with heed
In all required for Tristram's tourney-hurt
And fever--till his time was come. Then, haste--
When time was come.
Knights, dames, intent on mirth,
Warily brought was Tristram, one still eve,
Through dense dusk woods, lone fields, by moorland heights
And craggy pass: lodged in a lonesome keep,
Fore-fronting sea, with rear of splintered cliffs,
Flanked, south and north, with black, sharp, high-heaped rocks,
With torrent of its own, whose ceaseless shout
Would drown the noise of battle though hard by.
Thus safely brought and lodged, from potion sooth
Three nights, two days, he fell on sleep, and then
Awoke in darkness.--Well, was Tristram, here,
Withdrawn from notice of his fellowship:
In changeless night imprisoned: this his grave,
Deep in the heart of the wild water's cry,
Far-hid from any quest, or guess of friend.
Nothing of Tristram, now, from Mark but pride
Through this event. He, dungeoned to await
The hour when Mark should end his earthly hours,
Awoke Mark's pride in other hate and love:
Outspoken at the feast when courtly tongues
Talked Camelot--and, there--now, here--now, round--
Flew whispers, with eye-wantonness, when named
One maiden. Hearing it, the lips of Mark
Stirred with pale spasms, and from them, as would spring,
From covert a wild creature of the woods,
Out of the secret shadows of his mind
To light sprang Vivien's graceless name; wherewith,
Such travail of his love-sick thoughts, with throes
Of husky utterance, waving arms, and cheeks
Red with the haste of passion, came to birth
The burden of his blind adulterous hopes.
"Vivien! ah, Vivien! Fondling once of hers,
"Amidst the butterflies of Arthur's court,
"Was he, your king.--Vivien! her eyes--stars, stars,
"My liegemen, stars--whose random beams abase
"The tempered glances of our dames--her eyes,
"Like planet-stars would ever seek for me
"As her sole sun: to tell by luminous look,
"Excelling orders, princedoms, royalties,
"Which whirled around in rainbow-throngs, your king
"Within her love's respect." Mark's shrunken form
Grew with the fever of his mood: his laugh
Metallic, coarse, now owned a softened tune,
As Vivien's name had learned it music. "Ah,
"Vivien might not of me, nor I of her:
"But time will come. Fair ladies, you may smile.
"The evening lustre poured from Vivien's eyes
"Brightens above our dusk of absence: morn
"Near, and to be awakened by those eyes,
"Both wait in patience. Ay, my speech is plain.
"'Tis told, that Vivien found a leman since,
"And wons with him in hoar Broceliande.
"Soon be that ended. Many loves your king
"May have, whilst lacking her." He paused to hear
A little, hidden, quavering, feminine laugh--
As comes the intermittent note of bird
From thicket ere its month of song arrives,
This mocking trill--and in Mark's pause, its voice,
"The queen! the queen!" Mark answered challenge quick,
Vociferous, "Queen! Which queen? Of Camelot,
"Or this Tintagel? or, one yet to be?"
Foul mirth ran round the borders of his court,
Whereon, he adds, "'Tis for one's gain at times
"To clear the mind: it makes our fellows wise."
To other talk Mark turned, with sad conceit
His tongue had done good work, and not invoked
The fates in altered Belle Isonde. No word
She uttered; murmured only in her heart,
"He is immured and sigheth unto death!"
The worst was now begun. With lengthening speech,
The tresses of La Belle Isonde, their bright
Heavily deepening into shade, their shades
Darkening, informed her bosom, now the lodge
Of torments. Mark had slain her loyalty,
And tolled the advent of his deadliest fear:
Removed the crown from off her heart: disrobed
Her thoughts of hallowed passiveness: of queen,
Dismantled every august privilege:--
No more of queen for her to grace the throne,
Nor on her soul for reverence--nevermore.
Shorn of her comeliness, of smiles, she rose
Speechless, but, as she passed the door, sounds fell
Unconscious from her lips--"Asp of a King!"
Shuddering, the court held silence, and its head
Paled, cowering as he wot the sudden glaive
Gleamed on his last of life. Thenceforth, his queen
A soul upon cross-currents of dark thoughts,
Which loathed the present, shunned respected right.
Mute-wandering ceaselessly, alone,
A silent presence, she, within his halls--
Cold, waning in her silence, till arose
At midnight, from her ruffled dreams, fierce words
With shrilling shrieks, and with the shrieks the flame
Of phrensy brake upon her countenance:
Her eyes, stabbed at a king within the air:
Her hands, tore at its heart: her shrilling tongue
Declared the blood, the fury, the content.
Nor waiting dawn, king Mark made speed for France,
Fearing her phrensy kindling--what, where, who?
He knew not: or, her scorpion words had sting,
Instant to strike, when, where, or how? he knew not.
A shapeless terror, proper chastisement
Of dastard souls of cruelty, had cleansed
Tintagel of that heart of fraud, its king.
Some six weeks thence, the angered peril past
For Belle Isonde, her steps fresh-sought her groves,
A queen of sorrow in Tintagel's towers,
With sole and solemn rule. Within these weeks
Mark had been judged: his first offence and chief
Against the spiritual powers: next, wedded pledge
Broken with bruited boastfulness by Mark,
On which, that pious light Dubricius
Pronounced him excommunicate and signed
The writing of divorcement, by his king
Delayed not from Tintagel. Thus, Isonde,
The sundering words of awe made free--gat gain
Of freedom with no heart in it.
***There was--
Believe it, hearts of love, even as ye hear--
A brightening of the star of Jupiter
Upon the vigil of Epiphany,
Sir Tristram's star,--since at his meal that eve
His unseen warder spake him kindly. Who,
But knows the blessing of the word in season?
For Tristram, more was this than lavrock's song
On darkling hours which sings the sun's approach.
The gentle language of an uncouth voice
Brought to his mind his last bright yesterday,
Awakened hopes of daylight, with mirage
Of glories of the tournament. And soon
The angel of his Christian valiance cheered
His heart late sorrowful as of the dead
Within the sepulchre. He sank in dreams
Where fields of noblest guerdon, realms of peace
Prosperous in halls and lists gave starry fame
To worth in arms: and, clearer than of dreams,
Obtained a star more fair than stars of power,
A visionary form, in smiles and grace
A heavenly womanliness, o'erhung, it seemed,
With golden mists as of resplendent hair,
Clothed with like radiance.
Less than seven days thence,
The dungeoned Tristram knew of nought beside,
Than, loosed from chains and the loud cataract's cry,
Borne from his hideous hold on kindly arms,
Strange freedom claimed him. With that travel soothed,
He sank on sleep. Orion rose and fell,
Day came, and ruled with lordly light, and passed--
When wakening, lo, he found himself on sea,
The star of love lightening the evening hour,
The star of love shining above his head:
Isonde the Beautiful, his guardian now,
As she with woman's guile, in this quick time,
Had caused these things to be, and un-queened queen,
Guardian, and free from grim Tintagel's walls.
Bluff next morn's wind, but sailors of renown
Manned the good ship, so that her prow still kept
A forward voyage: and when eve brought calm,
Her large full moon revealed the isles, whereby,
On lucid waves life-love was born, as born
Love's queen, well-known, on azure orient seas
Saluted by the hours whose odorous dance
Thereon rings through the world to-day--mope, doubt,
Or moan, whoever, and how many list.
--No time for loitering now. Love's plumes are spread
To reach its fairest bowers by northern shores.
Swift through the waters, now direct to east
The vessel speeding through that night--next day--
And Tristram's old strong life began to flow
Responsive to the spring-tide's rising wave,
Each moment fledged with song, or song-like talk
Of past delights: and while the westering sun
Shot crimsoning radiance over all the deeps,
On that supremest of emotion's hours--
Tristram grew restless--saw, anew, his joy
Of Isonde with its rich original powers
Move in the shining mazes of her hair:
Light of all light the blossom, in her eye,
Whose glamour henceforth through all fate to hold,
Till sudden death-mists compassed both their lives.
Moulting his sorrows, on a stronger wing
His freshened spirit gloried as it rose.
Boldness, with deepening dusk--and when the moon
Silvered the myriad-wrinkled seas, and far
The cliffs of Dovre stood out clear, he drew
The master from his place: his spear-hands took
The helm, put ship about, and set her head
Against the pole-star. Then, wind-favouring night
Breathed from the south: before it eager sprang
The ship through star-lit hours: next day: next eve--
And when the Great Bear through heavens crystal-bright,
Eternal, wheeled above their eyes, the ship
Veered, as if witting home, to larboard up
Dull Humber's stream--with day-spring touched the land--
Logris was won.
Ere long, these news being brought
To Camelot, thence upon the court's desire,
Sealed by the ordinance of the Dragon King,
Launcelot with haste passed through the land to greet
These twain self-banished, yield them royalty
Of courtesy: which done, as lovers know,
He led them to his famous Joyous Gard.
Northwards, by long and pleasant paths he led
Isonde and Tristram. Then, approaching near
His fair possession's borders, he with sighs
Bade both farewell, distrustful that its view,
And their large joy in love's estate, might work
His passion to excess.
'Twas primrose time:
Exhilarating then the pomp of spring,
But close in loving intercourse the twain
Fare softly onwards, heeding none the tracts
Of flowery gold, which skirting either side
Lead from their path to fairy lawns wherein
Blue breaks of passionate forget-me-not
Peer bright as spring's own heavens: unconscious, too,
Of Joyous Gard itself, till by the shore
Within the sun it rises from the sea
Irradiant. Like some broad, voluminous shape
Of vapour, which upon an autumn eve
Towers in the western skies, with lustre clad
Of varying sunset hues up from its base
To high aërial battlements, no less
Of marvellous and of glorious to their sight
The keep of Joyous Gard. Then, unawares,--
As though invisible this lordliest keep
Till now--redoubled wonder in them. Hope,--
Sir Tristram won great hope in heart at this,
Remembering what the household legends held:
That Joyous Gard possessed a conscious life
For care of its indwellers: oft at noon
Fleeting, at midnight it would re-appear
Begirt and crowned with stars, but on the morn
Its station lay concealed. He cried in joy,
"This truly is the home of love, of us
"Expectant. Hid from eyes of enmity,
"Hosts in their search discomfited may learn
"Love's bowers sequestered lie in keep of air.
"Love's choicest home, henceforth it shall be ours."
Intrusted to the care of Joyous Gard, our song
Must linger with the happy exiles here.
Brave Joyous Gard! or lands, or keep, or town
Be named as Joyous Gard.
Look forth,--
Know Launcelot's province! Seaward, roughly-edged,
Range beyond range of black volcanic scars,
Thence, westward, verdant undulating lands
Stretch to the folding hills and half-way climb
Their slopes: within the upper, keener air
The moorland's growth, the crags, green combs, grey screes,
The tarn, the eagle--here the loneliness
Of hills, their terrors, loveliness and glooms.
Three furlongs from the strand, the little town
Named Joyous Gard lies in a little dell,
Through which the breathings of the sea come fresh
Morning and evening. Little town, it looks
Up to the Keep, whose station off-shore, east,
Some three-score fathoms. Cunning its approach
From narrow beach--a frith of pebbles, laid
Between the sharp-cut rocks, whence went the way
Suddenly shelving towards a sinuous path
Hidden at ebb of tide,--access but one,
Which found the portals cavernous and dark.
Above the sea, the steeps high-climbing clothed
With grass, moss, wilding flowers, unto the tall
Columnar cliffs, tower-crowned.--Ah, of these towers!
Along the gaunt, brown pinnacles a growth
Of sparry crags, or unto fancy's eye
The blossoming of the brown, gaunt cliffs, along
Whose crests it glittered, or beneath the sun,
Or during star-lit hours.--Mysterious Keep!
One foot within deep waters, one on land,
Terrible in its beauty, of more fame
Than its haught kindred, lone Tintagel, or
Mount of Defence, when billows of the war
Rolled in from the Atlantic.
This the work,
In happier years of Merlin, august voice
Prophetic, from whose accents souls of hope
Still trust the Beatific Time to see.
This Gard, once named as Dolorous, now of Joy,
Was edified by him in nights but seven:
A silent, unseen labour of seven nights:
Thence holding near affinity with night,
Its majesties, its glories, and its powers,
Its attributes of peace and mystery.
The sea-mists first would gather o'er its towers,
Last leave them. At such times, the landsmen cried,
"Lo, Joyous Gard hath disappeared once more!"--
"Lo, Joyous Gard floats on our waves again!"
But the deceit of absent-mindedness
Augmented wonders: as we frequent pass
Some scene and see it not--those of the fields
In eye-shot of the Keep, on many a day
Would reap or delve, come, go, with earth-bent head,
Then, some time, looking up,--"Ah, me," would cry.
"This be a blessed hour! The Gard of Joy,
"Missed this long while, returns to us." Should one,
A chance wayfarer, walk that road and vow
Before his travels it had been this while,
They would embrace the man: with fairy gifts
Deem him endowed, and hospitality
Enforce with words of worship--simple race,
As further we to learn.
Miles twain o'er sea,
Out towards the orient, running south and north,
A long, low-crested line of reefs stayed off
The wind-wrought surges--with nor-easter days,
Shattered thereon in cloudlike splendours,--thus,
A slumbrous, inner, ocean-lake retained,
Peculiar watery province of the Gard,--
Beset with isles, which, here and there a home,
Made bright scenes brighter, each with crescent holt
Of gracious lady-birch, in autumn time
Midst sunlight very bowers of trembling gold.
Upon the furthest northern holm, a fane,
Conspicuous shrine of spiritual power,
Eye, soul of Joyous Gard's humanities,
Caught with one glittering point, whilst valleys slept
And yet the inland heights were darkness, caught
Morn's earliest light shot o'er the eastern seas,
As eager for new promise from that east,
Well-spring of sacred light.
O, Joyous Keep!
O, Royal Gard! O, happy those its charge!
Bright spirits are their ministers: for them,
Quietly ocean's waves fall and flow,
Retire and flow again. If on the sea,
Within the storm if any sorrow rang,
It reaches not these towers: the tempest's cry
Sounds as a murmuring rill, or when the winds
Mourn in the beechen groves: all beauteous things
Of sea-birth flourish in the tranquil wave,
Or moving through the crystal deeps, or far
Beneath in clusters grow, a wealth of flowers
As earth's flowers do in air.
Once hither come,
La Belle Isonde and Tristram, bowers apart
Are duly given them: his outlooking west
Abroad upon the lands and warder hills:
Hers eastward, with the sea lake and its isles,
A pleasaunce all her own. O, Joyous Gard,
What fervent, dainty times, alive with cheer
Of gentle change, which is the salt of life,
For these our exiled lovers lingering here.
Days grow to weeks: the weeks mature to months--
Which find them still true acolytes of love,
Enquiring of its secrets, which would own
Elysian birth-right of felicities
Robed in dawn-splendours. Then, their wanderings--
Whither? Ah, could we follow them, to learn
The life of those meek dwellers in their land,
And of its leafy privacies, and what
Of grandeur and of awe its mountains hold.
These quick delights, with island journeys, kept
Love-life in pulse and flame of sense and soul
True as the alternation of the tides.
Their talk, heart-eloquence upon the lips,
Its temper fashioned by each scene, most gay
Towards eventime, with fancies rainbow-winged
In flight at objects far or near, as framed
For their peculiar pleasures. So the months
Slid by delectably.--Then martial rouse
Brake from a brawling trumpet off the shore,
Sounded by squire of Arthur, from whose tongue,
Rough as a war-cry, through these northern lands
Under the ordinance of the Dragon King
A tournament was cried at Lonazep:
And with him, warlike as his precept, rode
Swart Palomide.
It was a raw, cross day,
As now and then will creep from Jutland's dunes,
Possess the broad north sea, invade the isles.
Mist, like a vast unrisen cloud clung close
And hid the wave: the forest-herds, the fields,
Homesteads and mountain falls, as of the mist
Drank silence, save when wet winds drave across
Sharp as the sword of frost, with groans beneath
As of the trouble of a soul. Such sounds,
Such stillness here, when Odin's knight was led
Hither, as he was ever, by Isonde,
And took his lodgment in the town--soul-sick
And wearying of his weary, forlorn quest,
More grieved to learn within such doleful lands
Lived Belle Isonde.
"She must draw me unto death;"
He thought. "Within this home of trampling clouds
"It cannot be otherwise. An if she die,
"Death, and the quickest, were most sweet for me."
At evening, sea-blown midnight took the town,
Sealed hope in darkness, and for his resolve
A demon-phantom travelled on the mist,--
To his perdition, held his soul in thrall.
"An she must die, I shall die first, and now."
Yet held he back his hand: maybe, the morn
Less palled with cloud, he might behold the keep
Wherein Isonde: the view, it might endear
The dagger-thrust. But with the morning came
Winds from the hills, and clove the Jutland gloom,
Which opening, rolling, closed again, but cleft,
Ceaselessly hither, thither, rolled, till day
Pierced through the mist-clouds' heavenward heights of gold:
Wind, cloud and light, not dallying as at eve
Desiring best to minister to joy:
But strong, and bright, and swift each strove--whilst men
Drew anxious breath as well they wot the fray
Of fierce etherial hosts on their behoof
For night or liberty of sunshine,--last,
Lightness and brightness. Paynim Palomide,
Beholding with astonied countenance
Mists moving, now revealing, now concealing,
The knight divined a new world was being born.
When last the life, the Joyous edifice,
Flashed various colours o'er the ghostly cliffs,
And at their feet the clinging earth showed rich,
As void it never was that season's month
Of wilding blooms, all floating on a sea,
Which held their shadows as a thought of bliss
Held in a lover's bosom, Palomide,
This mighty and imperial Joyous Gard,
Of glorious things of earth most glorious this,
Unto his knightly soul: and to his heart,
To hold his heart's-hope in her loveliness
The fitliest pile.
When Tristram gat report
How Upsal's knight was near, in rueful mood
Still questing for Isonde, he sped his squire
With welcome.--Nay. That essay much too bold.
To enter in the lodgment of his foe
None may, endued with warrior's wariness.
Whereon, the knight of Joyous Gard himself
Brings his own welcome. Still, the paynim's voice
Wavering, eludes. "Another time, perchance,
"An this may be,--not now." To which demur,
Replying without sentence, Tristram's eyes
Quickened with light of blameless Honour, threw
Upon his countenance the strength and shine
Of the heart's morning, whilst he gently caught
The wanderer's left mid-finger, softly led
Forthright to Joyous Gard. Even thus was he,
Whom iron scarce might hold, even by a touch,
Lightest of any, taken that one way
He needs must go by reason of his love
For Belle Isonde.
O, marvellous Joyous Gard,
For Palomide! The chambers of the keep;
Aërial towers; their strength invincible;
The sea-domain, its fair innumerous isles,
With frequent waving woodlands clothed, more fai
Than those which beautify thy native streams--
Were all, as Odin for thy quest bestowed
The brightest residence of Himmelberg,
That paradise above the crossing swords,
Of spirits doughtiest in Valkyrian deeds.
O, Joyous Gard! miraculous realm of joy
For Palomide! Or, in the morning hunt
Ranging the greenwoods: thorough sylvan del
Musical as a rebeck from the rills
Glinting amongst their shingles--over glades,
Green velvet breadths whereon the rings were seen
Of fairy revels: joyous travail now
For steed, and hound, and man to press right on,
Right up the boulder-sprinkled slopes, and last,
The game with slackened pace, hard breathed, finds last
The roaring, rocky, eagle-haunted gorge
Where closed abrupt the chase,--a gainless toil,
For mirthful wonder,--nature's mind well shown
To give her creatures heritage of peace
And stern security from outward harm.
--Or, on the homeward way, when he would find,
Or seek, drawn by the prompting of Isonde,
Beautiful spirit of that rare demesne,
Felicities in every opening view;
Grace, hiding in the green haunts of the fern;
Cool sweetness breathed from mossy water-slips;
Beneath the delicate shadows of the woods,
Coverts, wherein the elves, preparing soon
For dancing frolics pleasing to their queen
Cynthia, and court of countless laughing lights:
Smooth, shining pools, the water-lilies' home,
Seen with her own eyes some few months agone,
Large, silver shallops, which returned once more
Spring would sail in them.--Or, Sir Tristram's voice
Deep-toned and clear, bade pause their steeds, to note
The clarion of a torrent from the cliff,
Answering its brethren lost in distant caves;
Or, mighty stag-horned oak which stood supreme
With lordship of seven leagues of pastoral vale;
Or, now it was an eagle in high air
Majestical, peremptory king, and calm
Throned in empyreal sapphire, ruling thence,
Proud power predominant, the peaceful bounds
Of these fair liberties of Joyous Gard.
In every title of the law of peace.
To roam at eve, fulfilled some new delights.--
Gentles, the high noon of the season this,
The guardian hills assume their regal pomp,--
Their shoulders, length and depths down to the fields,
Robed with imperial purple. Season this,
To feel the blamiest blisses of the heights.
None lost by them. When sunk the autumn day,
Leaving an after-glow on wave and shore,
A brightness brightening where day-shadows fell,
Found was our company on heather slopes
Entranced, mute-gazing at the seaward view.
The landskip, sparkling emerald, lay beneath,
Netted with silver brooklets from the hills,
Sprinkled with lodge and hamlet, each the sign
Of home and hospitality; green bowers
Unchanged since spring: far-scattered sea-lake isles:
The castle's crowning, quivering, diamond gleam
Above the calm, clear, interfluent wave
Wherein, as beautiful, the upper-world
Lay shadowed: and, yet visible, afar,
As streamers on the quiet, black-frost night,
Restlessly wreathing foam-fringe, opal hues
Embosomed in white lustrous clouds:--all this,
Brought thoughts, and deep emotions, more than speech
Could utter; left a happiness behind
Deeper than any gift of loud delight.
Such rovings ended, oft their steps attained
By rocky ways one large, round mountain-mere
Named Zeemerwater. Well, you wot, a name
Of blended tongues; as those who named it felt--
"This water is so excellently fair,
"Translucent, still--its virtues shall be known,
"Hereafter, threefold-named whenever man
"Shall mention it." And virtuous is that truth.
O, water! water! water! threefold peace,
And loveliness, and crystal light, still thine.
Yea, when the dread nor-easter sounds--sole voice
Whose anger reached the homes of Joyous Gard
Or troubled dwellers in its halcyon years,
Never this mountain lake bereft of peace--
A fluctuating silver smile--nor more--
Deranged its passionless tranquillity.
Hereby, those friends at eventime would rest.
Tristram lain at the feet of Belle Isonde,
Fondling his lyre by that lone mystic mere,
Their former joys re-blossomed: Palomide
Naught grieved, yea glad, for his own heart allowed
The magic of the music, since for him
Radiant-winged memories arose--Isonde,
Still smiling on him through the lattice-green
Within her Irish home. To hear that strain,
Flowers by the marge cast off the sleepy dew,
Spread wide their petals as they felt fresh day,
Yielded their morning incense, stirred their heads
As amourous of the kisses of the wind:
Then, softly-sailing murmurs told the bees
Were on their noontide honied quest.--But, list!
Floating athwart the surface of the wave
Aërial symphonies--now heard--now gone,
When Tristram pauses. On his new-touched string--
A coil of low, sweet harmonies reply
As from flower-hidden fountains flowing. Now,
Unwinding o'er the waters, hither steal
Mixed melodies--more rigorous when the strain
Augmenting: rising, falling--climbing high
As lark may sing in air,--along the shore
Now ranging audibly--and two-fold noise
Swept through the music--in the woven tones
Were tears and laughter.
Whence these wondrous sounds?
Whence?--Echoes from some region o'er the hills,
Sore-smitten in one province,--revelry
Within its civic borders--all here heard?
Or, some invisible city in the air
Festival in its groves, its lanes plague-struck--
Its cries and joy-calls heard alike? Or, whence?
Asked Isonde and their guest. Whereon, his heart
Remembered, and the harper's fingers mute
Fell on his knees, as he with sigh relates,--
"Beneath this mere, close-hedged by these its hills,
"A city lived, a place of gladsome times,
"Envied of demon-powers which sway the clouds.
"These, on mid-summer's merriment, the day
"Wherefrom the grace of sunshine ne'er removed,
"So dear to the ascended Lord of Light--
"The clouds brought hosts west, north, and south, and east.
"Though succouring winds drave from the mountain heights,
"Sharp-stricken by the arrows of the rain, they fell--
"Hosts of the clouds prevailed, and forty days
"Numbered of evil, every day as night,
"Darkness, and roar of rain, and tumbling cliffs
"Closing the high-roads from the dales.--Thenceforth,
"No more the voice of lover or of bride:
"Of the new father: or of children's glee;
"Of Christian praise; of chimes for even-song,
"Or matins.--Only from this town o'er which
"The waters keep an endless silver night,
"Will issue, answering to my harp's sad soul
"Commingling notes of ancient joys and woes,
"Or, of themselves upon midsummer's day.
"This heard I first within our keep: since then,
"Sought by me frequent, to my harping hand
"Ever these waters, or the sky above
"Have answered: and, as I have known, ye hear,
"Who now have token of the elements
"And ask the tale." And oft rehearsed that tale.
Day's-travels done: the mere attained: the harp
Sorcerous, drew spring around,--each listener's heart--
As in the rose-lipped shell we hear its own
Melodious memories--each listening heart
Acquiring from the mingled sounds its own
Harvest of love and pleasure from past years.
Then would the old tradition speak once more.
Yet why his invocation?--Still the truth
For lover as for saint, that happiness
Most sweet within the shadow of sorrow and pain.
Hovering above the wave these threnodies,
Entangled in bright festal songs, woke ruth,
Woke piteous ruth, sharpening the sense of joy--
As echoes sad from lands afar, whereon
Thought might but briefly brood. For here be none
Of trouble, or of dread, or hopes which feed
On life,--alone a passive happiness,--
Prime of the best bygone, with dews and light
Best future e'er may give, its nourishment.
The stars arisen, from Tristram's hand would fall
Pathetic silence: symphonies, and moans
Subsiding, as the sound of evening bells
Borne on the wind away--nor rose again--
But gently sank and died; and last, were heard
Voices as if in prayer, upon the hills,
Which sent the friends with pensive pilgrim-pace
To seek their castled bowers of sleep.
***Seven times,
Had ocean duly hymned his orisons
Throughout the sacred, greater Morning Hours,
With trumpet-voice,--unheard within the keep,
So strong the silken toils of slumber held,
Strangers to any care, who dwelt therein--
But, now, its walls, in answer to the sun
An orient blaze,--now, from the reefs out-rolled
Midst dazzling vapours of their spray, the voice
Majestical, was heard, to wake the choirs,
Rivulets, torrents, birds and quivering leaves,
The early ritual in the holy fane,
All notes of morning praise--now, heard the voice
By busied folk in Joyous Gard, alert
For progress unto Lonazep ere noon.
That pleasure-travel over, they arrived,
La Belle Isonde, Sir Tristram, Palomide,
Damsels and squires, late but not last, to find
Logris from all her quarters sent her knights,
With chiefest of the Table Round,--and, there,
The Dragon King himself. But on the view
Of Isonde every fault forgiven, as told
The king's heart in sonourous greeting, heard
By every knight with new flame in the blood,
By dames in mute dismay. The fairest forms
Upon her presence were despoiled of grace,
And grace of loveliness,--yet each in pride,
Or ruth, confessed, from knowledge or report
The realm of sun-bright names could name but one
Who should excel, or rival--Guinevere,--
Halting mid-way upon her journey hither,
Cold, petulant, in Cardoyle's perfumed bowers.
The morning of the gentle tournament
Informed what zeal in this twofold emprise
Of arms and beauty, now to be adjudged.
Well seen, our Logris never has before
Completed such a radiant company.
On regal seat, o'er-canopied, the King--
Power-president of the Table Round. In form
Still stately,--yet, no wavering of that hand,
Noblest in Britain's kingly lines, which formed
His age for nations to revere: though hope
O'erclouded in his eye, his saintly soul,
Kept its auroral powers of light: even as,
Before the face of battle, now his face
Shone beautiful at promise of the jousts.
Close by the throne, high o'er the canopy,
Heavily hung in drowsy crimson folds
The Dragon Standard, yet to throw its flames
On this field's valour. Eager was the morn
With country swarms, afoot or roughly horsed,
From near and far: which loved to see their king,
To feel the battle-throes--when fought the knights,
An' they without the barriers: curious these--
But those for tourney-raptures longing, shewed
Proud in deport, with glittering arms, and plumes
Gay-coloured, tossing on the rider's course,
And shields of rich recognisance--their squires
Bedight as fanciful as maids. And, here,
Within the balcon, either side the King,
Of fair and dark, of grace and graciousness
Such affluence as had left in silent glooms
Half the land's lady-bowers, whose martial halls
Have maintenance of princes, for these days
Of their inheritance of loveliness
Defrauded.
Chiefly in attire, this morn,
The dames' contention. Vivien held her worth
Must overmatch the beauty of Isonde.
So seen, and seen but enhance the day,
She moved a fragrance breathed from orient bowers
Thrown wide beyond her footsteps: gay-beseen,
Apparrelled as the meads, white, green, and gold,
King cups and daisies, gleaming in the grass,
When June's rose-breath o'ertakes the bloom of May,--
Symbolled in golden favours of her knights,
Bright silks and pearls,--the subtle witch of taste,
In visage and address demeaned herself
Confident, gladsome, in her pride, as she
Authentic daughter of the diamond keep.
As she, so everywhere the balcon's freight,
Odours diffused, and with the shine of robes
Unparagoned in royal rooms, bewitched
Wide o'er the barriers. Women's best gift to men,
Joy--from their delicate favours self-bestowed
Insensibly in use,--but open guile
Scarce less delectable,--although their speech
Failed in its music, distance-lost, their eyes
Might shower no splendours, to the common folk
Outside the lists, the perfumed airs, and hues
Of restless vestures told that women's gift
Still prospered. Faces fair, with dimpling smiles,
Wantoned in tissues of all varied sheen:
Those auburn, robed in sombre-shaded silks
Withdrawn from Mecca: others dark, arrayed
In crimson Sendal: but no place of note
Held back its tribute,--gleaming garments sent
From the enchanted looms of Provençal:
Its lace of gold from Brittanie, as bright
As fringe of evening clouds: from pastoral Raines,
By maiden hands these lissome vestures woven,
Whose web had caught the love-light from their eyes,
Vibrating with each motion: but, or dark,
Rose-red, or brown, or what apparel chosen,
La Belle Isonde excels, though she appear
In simple radiance of her native charms,
Enrobed in lily-satin: as a star
Shone beauty's sceptred hand: and when at length
Unwimpling--noon brake full upon the morn,
And murmurs from all tongues announce the spell
Wrought by the living lustre of her hair
And glory of her countenance.
But now,
The voice of Lonazep affirms the hour
Due for the tourney. Beauty now requires
Worship of arms. Knightly confessions made
Of ladye-love, the herald's trumpet rang
Dressing each lance to rest; and this for death
Or honour. Palomide for death.
First seen,
First feat was his. Well-skilled, with slanting spear
He entered helm and brain. It was the prince
Blown oversea from Armorica fell
First sacrifice, whereby, the sable knight
As earnest of his passion, potency,
And deft exploit, this chiefest feat in arms
Writ in the laws of chivalry, performed.
All done in his obeisance to his queen;
A service, in his trust--marked but by one,
Since vailed with samite his recognisance,
So none might read his heart. Thenceforth, that day
No might or craft withstood him. Or the crown,
Its lords, the balcon's beauty, knights arraigned
For judgment, were as general lookers-on,
Marvelling alike, as every thrust and stroke
Won worship for the paynim. His the brand
Tempered within the secret icy springs
Of Nifleheim, inscribed with magic runes,
Fulfilled within this tourney: but fulfilling,
Hereafter, higher duty, subaltern
To Tristram's chivalry of faith. His lance,
Won on a summer's noon beside the Ure,
From an o'er-boastful baron of the court,
So well, so often, had he proven its strength,
That, by his gods, he sware, the strong tree's life
Lived in that spear, and wroth thus foully rent,
Inexorable sought the kind's heart-blood
Which shore it from its home. That sword and spear,
The lightning, and the thunder, and the death
Of battle rendered to the stricken lists.
Strength grew with his puissant labour. Knights,
All men of proof, the passion of his spear
O'erwhelmed or e'er their steeds gat time to fetch
Their course upon a second joust: or quelled,
Stout though their arms and dazzling, by the swift
Edge of that two-edged sword. Thus, when was heard
The chime of vespers from a chapel near
Sounding to prayers, closing that royal play,
The lists in every steel-scourged quarter shewed
Ruin of harness, iron, silver, gold,
Blood-tarnished havoc, without soul to give
Life to the purposes of morn. Ne'er since
Those jousts in circuit of the northern king,
When Norroy challenged Camelot, and red
Ran Trent, ne'er in the loud seven years between,
Carnage like this--but named I leave untold
Not in despite, but pity, as I leave
Those brightest, best of my own years, laid now
In nameless sleep.
Yet this puissant worth,
Foreseen by jocund Dinadin, who sang
His news as combatants rode forth, or fought,
Or fell. He noted Palomide at morn
Mounting, make search for Belle Isonde, who found,
As her laugh rang, he took it to his heart
A tuneful answer, and his visage showed
Effulgence, as the torse were on his brows--
The stranger's trophy. Dinadin wot well
Whence fared with fiery courage Palomide
From knowledge of the morn, and these his news--
In winding, rhyming riddle ever sang
With burden "'Tis his day, Love: 'tis his day!"
The pageant ended, with a railing voice
Disguised in dulcet numbers, o'er the lists
Sir Dinadin proclaimed, as to defect
Of Odin's Knight. "The worship he hath won,
"Faith, is begotten of the Queen Isonde!
"Isonde in Joyous Gard, no prize had been
"Thine, pagan. Queen Isonde, makes this thy day."
The mirth hereon, not more than on the beach,
Weak-murmuring, sliding back within its wave
The latest ripple of the flowing tide,
Nor more the sound of mirth,--since Palomide
Now knight-of-hearts through valour: but they all
Held breath, as he with reverence towards the king
Unhelmed, performed his homage to Isonde.
"I own the day not mine, great warrior-king.
"My service lies where named: through it, I vaunt--
"Heard of the mightiest of thy Table Round--
"I never did so much: nor ever shall
"In all life's battle-days: and no knight here
"May reach beyond my valiance--and its queen
"She hath been named." Sir Launcelot, straight replied,
"Ye have done marvellously well these jousts:
"How Love has led ye through, I understand:
"Well have I known, Love is a goddess great:
"For were my lady here, as she is not,
"My parlance had not been amongst these dames
"But where the spear and sword debate, whereon,
"Pray, wit ye well, such worship Palomide
"Should not have borne from us." Even so, that day
The paynim bore from all, from all received,
His due degree.
This weight of honour earned
To his despite in fealty to Isonde
Pressed hard on Tristram's soul. Day gone, his steps
Forsook his bright pavilion, sought the dark
For comfort of its cold and silence. Naught,
Answered his hot desires: within the air
The war-horse neighed, he heard the tourney-spears
Ring in attaint, with moans from one defoiled.
Asking the stars for peace, he saw in them
Immortal memories of sorrow--none
Within the twinkling hosts but heart of fire
Restless, even as his own in agonies
Born of another's glory.
When morn shone
For scenes of honour's throes and beauteous birth
Of valiance,--discomposed, of clouded face,
Thoughts fever-mad, he turned from Lonazep
But that Sir Dinadin crossed him. Ever free,
From peevish cares, and heart-whole, Dinadin;
This was the very spirit for the morn
So dark in Tristram. With his dancing eyes,
Loud, fluting voice, as one who scorns a foe
New-fallen, in utter praise he spake and sang
Of Palomide:--Unconquerable in selle;
Matchless in knighthood: proven Valkyrian spear:
Pure, golden branch of chivalry: O, sword,
Surpassing rare Excalibur: swart prince,
Outbraving Arthur's Ring, from heathenesse:
For bounty, sufferance, largeness, courtesy,
Pre-eminent star! "My Tristram! Lion-knight!
"Where be his hiding!--Ah, mine eyes have found.
"Shy, sighing truant."--Tristram moaned. "Fool-knight,
"Silence, fool-knight! A war-worn man you see.
"But anguish of the soul since yester-eve,
"More than the doughtiest arms, this arm subdues.
"I am un-knighted; now, must seek my own.
"Far Lyonesse! the martial pilgrim's shoon
"Through ways of danger, pain, and penitence
"Shall seek thee now. The conscience of my love
"Attainted in this land, my pride abates
"Flight and desire. But when I shall be known
"By the loud breakers at my royal place,
"Their boy-loved tones of battle-cheer, perchance,
"Will re-awaken knighthood in me. Go."
To which Sir Dinadin his whistle blew,
Shrill as when falconer shall provoke his bird
To higher flight, and for Sir Tristram's ear
This sally to his deepening hurt. "Dear lord,
"Be such thine orison? A dame of cheer,
"Known well to all, hath vowed the soaring lark
"Singing, bestows her music of delight,
"On which her heart will sing--and this, forsooth,
"Because her lord was song. A dame, you deem,
"Of foolish cheer. Then, pray her better wit!
"Ah, sleep is still within thine eyes; the worse,
"Wanting sleep in fair season. O, thou art,--
"Late lion-spear, and lion-sword,--become
"A sullen weed beside a stagnant pool:
"A peacock parting with its plumes to magpies:
"The royal beast that fled with fear to hear
"Tromp of his doom in the loud ass's bray?"
Black wrath in Tristram had that instant slain
The scorner, but his hand unsatisfied
Felt at the baldrick where his blade should hang.
O'erborne by wrath, devoid of arms, he raised
His fist of mail, when Dinadin great in voice,
"There--there, the hopeful anger! None of rest,
"My new-awakened lord, till passion's powers
"Have slaked thy thirst for honour and renown,
"And made this day red-bright."
But now there calls
The brazen beume; three strenuous blasts, whereon,
The Dragon King, princes, dukes, knights, and squires
Have dressed themselves unto the tourney-field,
Whose golden galleries either side the throne,
Ennobled with all beauty of the lands
Seen yester-morn, shed airs of Persian groves
Athwart the lists, as drew from western woods
Soft breezes for their curious messengers.--
Blow, blow ye fragrant breezes! from your bowers
Bring hither healing calm for fevered hearts,
Else storm of death, forboded by these clouds
On Tristram's brow, shall make, O, Lonazep,
Thy name a terror from this day.--And she,
A sweet child of the dawn, in loveliness
Appears to worshipful eyes again, her powers
Unworn, wherever seen her countenance,
Or heard that harp-toned voice. And Vivien strove--
Enchantments of her grace and elegance
Consummate in their virtues wrought, nor failed.
Hers, liberal light of smiles--hers, fashioned quaint
Carnation raimnet, here and there a star,
Emblem of passion and desire attained
Suddenly, unexpected--as Ninon
Avers most good in loves like hers--nor failed.
For Mordred's voice affirmed--that wary bird,
Fast kept in Vivien's net--when he beheld
The prodigal glory of untempered knights,
Surcoat and harness, helm and shield a-blaze
With favours, make a garden of the field,--
"This day is Vivien's!"
Other powers, Isonde's:
Whose grace for Tristram, fell no more aslant
On other knight: but in meridian shone
Full on her very Tristram. Heart of Love!
O, vehement Honour! Kindled all their fires,
Tristram his pageant played so wondrously,
The battle-proven Arthur, and his peers,
Barons--whose long life-sport had been the wars:
Those dames, familiar with the nimblest feats
Achieved for empery of their favours; folk,
Who always love the roughest shock, and blow
The ruddiest and most fell, joined common voice
Lauding the Knight of Lyonesse. His course--
Each, every blow, and turn, and thrust--his strength,
His long-breathed valour--like were marvelled at.
Through that wide-wasting holiday of blood
He drave as though the valiance of a realm
Intrusted to his shock: smote, as the jousts
Were called for him alone: throughout that day
His one hand held the torment of deep wounds,
Sweet mercy of quick death the other held,
His heart, forgiveness on the pleading voice--
Such grace has ever heart of love! That day,
Sore-travailled, he nor changed nor brand, nor lance,
Nor martial weeds: first to begin was he,
He last to end: unresting he, like death
The reaper, through the lists went first and last.
A piteous field in its high revelry!
Or seen the mighty in their agonies,
Or those, the flowers of morn--now spread, wan-hued,
To beautify these direful jousts. The spear,
Approved of Love and Honour, through him smote
Recognisant of both; their sword, nor swerved,
But struck and striking answered in each blow
As to the grave confessing: midst all praise
None might appraise his Honour and his Love,
None the puissance of that arm elect,
Nay, nor its gentle knightliness: its deeds,
Attended by acclaim of truthful words,
Doubled the deeds Sir Palomide had done.
Which great acclaim, woke frenzy in that knight;
Perplexity, and sorrow of soul--despair
So wild and sightless, as in dreams he hove
Apart the tourney: but three times drawn back
By fiend begotten of disordered thoughts,
Three times had slain Sir Tristram treasonously.
Three times o'ermatched his jealousy of hate,
By jealousy of love in Launcelot,--once,
Spared by the pity in Sir Tristram's spear;
Twice, in its pitying sorrow; thrice, forgiven
In sorrowing pity by his spear and sword,
And vailed from common ken the knight's reproach
By Tristram in his honour's courtesy,
Which sought some utterance in its knightly speech,
Resting upon his last essay. "This time,
"Launcelot, in thee puts forth its brightest flower.
"Above the lists, our heavens are pure and fair:
"So shines thy knightliness of heart on me.
"Well is it, when we love. The dust of life
"Shines golden,--accident, or strife, or pain
"Be golden blessings--or we lose or thrive,
"If in the light of love.--But happier far,
"Attended by the vigilance of one
"Whose love is as this knightly love of thine.
"'Tis of the angel-hosts."--But there was snapt
His rising speech, as oft his harp when load
With note too fine for human ears--for spake,
Abrupt, with hurried tremble in his voice,
The knight of knights, the knight of Guinevere,
First name and disrepute of knightlihood,
The knight, whose heart had grown grey before his beard,
All, all through Love--with hurried, trembling voice,
Launcelot, distraught, remorseful as he heard,
Yet dazzled by the glory as he heard
Words all too kind, and glory in his soul
Kindling thereon, fulfilled in haste of speech,
"None may contest thy day. This day is thine,
"By the divinity of love, whose faith
"We serve. Another day the jousts be mine,
"Mine, then, thy present grace--which worthiest, they,
"The angel-hosts, may judge. Nearest our king,
"I see thy inspiration. Wanting one,
"Now hid in Cardoyle's bower,--she claims my heart
"In worship. By St. Michael, unto me
"The rarest covenant of beauty made
"Between earth's dust and immortality,
"Is she, thy fair Isonde: well-worth this field
"O'erwrought with jeopardy. With this reserve--
"Wanting of one--none in our royal halls
"Compare with thy Isonde.--But whose large form
"Sweeps like an eagle on the jousts?" This while,
As clouds in breaking up, go down the wind
On different ways, the folk of all estates
Were so departing, but in haste returned
When rode a knight from south, as one kept late
And yet must keep his pledge.
Entered the lists,
Nimbly he drew his rein before the king;
Displayed the blazon of his shield--a sword
Within a heart. The black indented shield,
The sword, the bleeding heart, spake terrible
The will of him their bearer. With slow hand,
The knight availed and showed his face, a face
Full-earnest, but a peach-bloom face: his height
And thews of giant brood: but when he spake,
Greeting the throne of Arthur, he was known,
Scarce more than eunuch-voiced. His name, it fell
From Belle Isonde's white, tremulous lips,--the Knight
Of Peril,--and it was as winds had caught
Her words, so swiftly, widely noised his name.
"Good news; good news; great news; to end the day.
"Fair Knight of Peril, he will give us news
"Of stiffer service than have known these jousts:
"An' brave Sir Tristram, he must answer them."
But Isonde's fear now gone, as to herself,
Her royal kinsfolk heard her murmur thus:--
"Truly, thou art a god of breathing gold
"To those within Tintagel: but not that
"Shall save thy body from the iron's law
"Striving with flesh, and ruling these our days."
Amazement troubled either gate, when seen
The Knight of Peril his obeisance make
Before the Beautiful, then turn in scorn
Whilst to the herald's challenge he confessed,
"Vivien!" For three-score heart-beats in the lists
Deep silence of surprise, when once again
Spoke Peril's Knight, "Here, an' so help me God,
"St. Martin, and my ladye! I acquit
"My pledge given Cornwall's king,--from France returned,
"To Cornwall's joy returned--before seven days
"Brought hence shall traitor-Tristram's heart appease,
"As naught else may, his sleepless wrath. On Love,
"I call--known queenly as I am named, as known
"Alike by kings, knights, squires; an' call on them,
"Now, to approve my pledge." For Vivien's ear,
Mordred aloud,--"Christ's mercy, how the folk
"Be tamed! Where, be their eager, hungry shouts
"For Tristram? Still the morning's counsel holds
"Best for these after-hours: an' holds my faith,
"This yet be Vivien's day--sweet Vivien's day!"
Fire sprang from Tristram's eyes as he bade speed
Divide the sunshine of the falling noon
Between them. Nor, the smiles of Belle Isonde,
Nor Arthur's waving hand of grace, assuaged
The risen tide of anger, as with tones
Learnt from the torrents of the hills, our Knight
Of Lyonesse,--"I hear thee call on Love.
"Love answers from the dust. Dire Anteros,
"Hath claimed thee! Now, to Lonazep hath brought
"Tintagel's ribald shame for doom--with laud
"Of honour. Of thy kindred, sadly known,
"None hold with men of worship: thou, too, known
"As light-o'-love, a curse to honest dames:--
"Of thine and thee, that brand--but, now, their brand,
"Ever-remembered from this hour to be,
"Drawn by this spear. Weakling, you deem, in me
"A knight-forewearied by this battailous day,
"Of which, due-born of thunder, shall its fame
"Run through the confines of these realms. My arm
"Upstayed by honour still--but, say thee sooth,
"Need none, for yonder smirking squire, this eve
"Unlace thy harness." Then, they made their course:
So well demeaned--they clashed--and in mid-lists
Both spears were burst--yet in his selle each knight
Unmoved--composed as they had toyed with straws.
Whereon in wrath, as though his word were broke,
His lance so breaking, Tristram leaped to ground;
"I have no second spear," he hoarsely cried,
In drawing of his sword, "Behold this blade!
"Though thine the armour of Bordeaux thrice-proven,
"Such cunning shall its lightning-edge now wreak,
"As folk shall wot the vagaries of thy life
"Rehearsed in death--their marvel, and my praise--
"Direct dishonour unto thee." He smote
Tintagel's champion, sharp, inscrutable blows--
The poignant sword-light was beheld, nor more,
Besides arms falling into hasty ruins.
Then, Tristram's supple wrist and subtle play
Carved tediously the flesh of Peril's Knight,
Morsel by morsel, as to the seventh death
For sacrifice: last, with three diverse blows
He hewed his body that his heart leaped out,
And horror fell on all estates to know
Fulfilment of such wrath, on which the king
Hand-screened his eyes, and with his right held forth
The peace-commanding sceptre. So that day,
Crowned by Sir Tristram with red-hilted sword,
Its proud degree his own.
What time morn's light,
A spring of yellow broom before the rose
Flames fuller season, and contrary sprites,
Eager for day, or wearying of the dark,
These brightest and those saddest, early risen,
Cry, "Lo, the day appears!" the Dragon King
Walked midst the knights' pavilions, where he heard
Sir Tristram's harp, awakened by the dawn.
Said he, whilst passing--"That is as the voice
Of some rare lady sounding in mine ears."
Whereon, the harper, hearing this, bespake
His knightly fellow. "Arthur hearkened. Thou,
"So hearkening, if of love were thine to hear,
"So hearkening, I had said, fair knight, to thee,
"My Lady Isonde's voice spake from the strings
"When at her matins within Joyous Gard,
"The peace of happy sleep still held by prayer
"Asleep within her heart. But thou, fair knight,
"Hast not love's hearing." Unto which, the man,
"An' I may speak, more truly may I speak
"Than harped voice. This day, thy Belle Isonde
"Shall little gain of peace, and gaining not,
"Make this a dolorous day for thee. And this,
"Through shallow peace of Joyous Gard."
These jousts,
Last, first in fame, at Lonazep, were named
The Jewel Tournament; when dames desired,
And damsels deemed the time was opportune,
To shew their treasures--heirlooms, fulgent spoils
Of heathen thrones, offerings through blood and pain,
From foreign realms, by knighthood hither borne--
Compacted wealth in gems: and, furthermore,
Consecrate to the Table Round, this day.
Of this, I name but of the sacred twelve,
Who then appeared. The aged Geraint, whose lance
Reposed against the throne, since oft that throne
In bygone times of dread attained repose,
Alone from Geraint's spear; and Caradoc,
Of the three faithful lovers of the Ring,
An exiled star for long, who now returns
From that green burgh, down-sloping to the main,
Where ladye-love, most dear, dwells in her halls,
To whom not long ere he returns: Owaine,
Bewitched with pomp and blazonry of arms
Lightest in heart among the warrior-three;
With secret Aron, solitary, renowned
For artful valour: and, of lute-like tongue,
Gilded Gawaine, born on the southern downs
Amidst the primrose, and as boy and man
His nature wanton, but a heartening spear
When fortune at her rudest; crowning all,
Gleamed Launcelot's cross of red, and eager-eyed
Sir Tristram's argent lion, he himself
In silver panoply, to show his cause
Pure, single honour. Adversaries fierce
For martial meddle, drew to Lonazep,
Children of wild repute, their courage known
To Arthur's Table: spears from heathenesse,
Beyond the four salt floods: from Calydon,
Beneath whose lofty, bare-stemmed, bush-topped pines
Dwell serpents of the fiend: and knightly blooms,
New-sprung since Marhaus, from Ierne's shores
With gold-fringed lips, alike for love alert,
Or dauntless battle-cry: and swarthy-faced,
Their hate devised upon their shields, knights ten
From Marches of North Galis: nor had failed
The liberties of Richmondshire to send
Her company of valour: nor had failed
Deira's wolvish lords. For knightly cheer,
And to outbrave report of byegone jousts,
All shewed as new as Lonazep's first day,--
Knights in the gorgeous housing of their steeds
And harness of the war, and carven twain
New curiously gilded galleries
Contained the dames, whose silent Tournament
Of Jewels resounded throught their times as loud
As tourney feats--since well it might--that shew
Of gem-besprinkled raiment, lustrous gems
Kindling upon white fingers, bosoms, arms,
Or pendant from the shell-like pale pink ear,
Accessory unto other charms,--what charmed
Before, now doubly charms--each dame more fair
Than on each former day, as beauty here
Flourished on valour.
Chief, La Belle Isonde,
Enriched with hues known of that earliest spring
Beheld by her in Joyous Gard: loose-robed
In silken amethyst from hem to throat,
Topaz and chrysoprase her gems, of flowers
Of souvenance and promise fairest sign
And of young greening days,--these in her hair
A shining chaplet--those, a beating light
Upon her bosom. Vivien in her sport,
Showed none of native colours: such, her maid
Amidst the rural throngs ordained to wear--
False yellow, whereby lost her gaysome charms
Of sun-brown cheeks, those founts of fire, dark eyes,
And golden jewels drowned in yellow folds--
Nor worse, nor better, than when amber clouds
With evening stars between, their mutual glow
Lost in each other: but that fallen star,
Vivien, with thought on Tristram still, enrobed
In ample sendal of the emerald's sheen,
Bedashed with gems of liquid light as dews
In morning grass, and of that light there hung
A princedom, shining in each ear. Around,
Those in the worship of herself, or those
In worship of the knight on whom her guiles
Were now adventuring, jasper on their brows
Figured in circlets of bright flexile gold,
Or in the necklace wavering: no attire
Amidst the sunny flock, but there beheld
Of green of meads and mountains, chrysolite
And beryl, sparkling in some quaint device.
Others, who angled for themselves, displayed
More varied shews, and none bewitching more
Than mutable, flying colours, worn by those
Unstable in opinion--opals, chief,
With faltering hues which never ceased to gleam:
Those pledged to knights, well known their firm intent,
Those pure, in samite fair, as washed in white
Chalcedony attired, with silver bloom
Of pearls, as lacking gems: maids, in desire,
Marked by their violent colours--many a heart
In the hot blaze of garnets told its own
Consuming passion: milder loves, wore gems
Sea-green, or of the Lydian stone, whose gloom
Gave fairer lustre to the fairest fair--
And amethyst, which cheeks of rosy-red
Makes lovelier, as the violet lain beside
The fragrant maiden's-blush. Those crystal stones,
Imperial diamond, reserved shone sole
O'er Arthur's brows, and twain from Central Ind,
Whose price were empires, cunningly were set
Eyes in the Dragon of the Throne.
These shews,
I name, aware, nor ever in this realm before,
Nor since, so beauty in victorious pride
Adorned: fires answering fires, as on the hills
The beltane flames, through all the galleries
The jewels blazed that day, a light of fame
Which beamed through centuries of this realm, nor yet
Paled in its colours.
Ere these jousts began,
A private word reached Lonazep: therewith,
A golden ring, assurance whose the word
For Launcelot; whereupon, he called his squire;
Armed--sought the tourney--well-surmised by all,
Queen Guinevere had made him new of heart.
So ere devoir was paid to Belle Isonde,
Sir Tristram knew his love must have debate
With Launcelot's love, all knew dread time was near
When love debateth love. Four hours, the storm
Of thunder-hoofs, of martel, spear and sword,
With crimson showers of death, raged through the lists.
And Table Round held glory in account.
No more the heathen number in their hosts
That score of martial manhood,--prey of lance
Thrust through the gates of endless sleep. How vain,
In valour's morn, Ierne's chivalry
Shewed blazonry of beauty on its shields,
With lightsome war-cry, "Rashness cancels fear!"
The dark encounter answers, "Death." The tromp
Which sounds the onset is the tromp of doom
To savage Calydon, Deiras wolves,
And knighthoods from North Galis and the vales
Which lie around the Ure.--But not without
Their rigorous recompense. Owaine was reached
By Gallcoit's northern lance: and Caradoc
Gat Irish favour from Prince Gwittart's brand,
For which his ladye-love must be his leech,
Else his an early burial; with these two,
Gilded Gawain's life-stream shines i' the sun,
An' so the more his frolic spirit darkens:
Whilst Aron hurt by Andegavion's knight,
Pleads for the sacrament. Amidst this toil
Of tourney-festival, Sir Launcelot won
Surpassing honour; Tristram's knightly star
Ascending still--his service sadly shewn
In noble peers o'erthrown, and praise which rang
Louder than martial welcomes. As he went,
His yester-noblenesse he crowned with feats
Excelling all that day, as did that day
Excel the valiance of the opening jousts.
Then met the twain; and from the noon-song hour
Till nearing time of vespers, these twain held
Their joyous meddle. Still within their strength,
Although the strength within their blows had been
Even as their strength of love: who might prevail
None might propose: nor either of those dames,
Guinevere nor Isonde, in these their knights
Suffered reproach of valour: nor could tongue
Diminish aught of glory each attained.
These brother-hearts of chivalry, so left,
As now attained;--since sable Palomide,
Poisoned in soul, disloyally designed
Once more, a covert stroke on Tristram's life--
Whereof, espied by Launcelot, stern he bade
His knightly brother's sword surcease, and called
With voice fired by death's passion. "Son of Lok!
"Base pagan! Of the northern serpent born.
"Defouled with falseness and a treasonous will,
"These lists require thee! I, within the lists!
"Assail with thy best courage, or my mail
"Sufficeth to repulse thee: with best arms
"Defend thee, or my stroke shall cleave thy steel,
"An' give thy soul to night. Thy foe, these hours
"Hath worship of his valour won beyond
"Our martial brotherhood of Camelot.
"An' two long, deathly days, thine honour won
"So hardly, he hath shorn and made as naught.
"Ride forth, avenge its wrong on me--his foe
"These jousts: on me, or ere my knightly fere
"Exclude my service. Pagan, son of Lok!
"Abide my challenge." Whilst Sir Launcelot spake,
A breeze arose, and now and then of dust
A cloud passed sighing through the tournament,
Opening the standard-folds above the king
Wherein the Dragon moved.
Sir Tristram claimed
This last adventure,--but with change of cheer,
The lustre of his armour changed--not morn's
But evening's light it shewed--approaching gloom,
Leading to shades of stillness, which the eye
Of Arthur marked, with anguish in his heart.
And when the knight of Odin rode the lists
In ebon harness, no applausive noise
Rang welcome--silence of eventful change
O'ercast the tourney,--on his sable steed,
Lord of dark silence rode the pagan knight.
He paused. His urgent spear within its rest
Swayed to and fro, as if from playful thoughts.
None such were his. That, is the spear of hate!
Gentle its motion, yet it yearns for strife,
Sealed with dark death's assurance. Now a cloud
Surged o'er the barriers: and the eddying dust
Hung round the knight, as when is seen that cliff
Mist-robed, above the Leeza's reedy marge,
Solitary of its mountain-girdled vale,
The Pillar named. On mid-October noon
So clothed its heights with hoary, tumbling mists,
That cliff, reverberate, with its thunder-voice
Gives answer to the tempest: such the tone
Proceeding from the cloud that clothed the knight.
"I here require thee, by thy knighthood's faith,
"Bestow my boon!" As message from the breeze
That word sprang through the tourney's purlieus,--heard
With hard heart-sickness. Otherwise, hath heard
The Dragon of the Standard. On the staff
The silken folds heave heavily--now seen
The Dragon's angered head--now sailing wings
Beheld--but spent the breeze, it hides itself
Within its former sleepy lair--and, now,
Lifting, unfolding, gleaming, high it swirled
Above the throne, then with sharp sound shot out
Its battle-roaring grandeurs o'er the lists.
As menacing clang of sword upon the shield
Ere fray begins, Sir Tristram's voice. "What boon,
"Is thine to claim?"--"The boon of thine own vow
"Besought by Cornwall's queen. I ask thy spear."
O, woe, such treasonous wiles, the viper-brood
Of Palomide's crossed love! Woe, to our knight,
Questioning the message with sore-stricken heart.
As one submerged, in losing hold of life
His inner eye surveys a tract of years,
Their long-lost incidents in shapes and hues,
Alive with old significance: so, now,
The paynim's speech, a wave of death, shut out
As sunk in midnight dark the tourney-scene,
And clear before Sir Tristram's inner sight
Appeared a time and place late-past--one bower,
In Joyous Gard. The noon-tide casement trick't
With jasmin sprays--the sunbeams in the room
Sundered in stars--that amorous hour now his.
He felt the sharp, sweet kisses of the sea;
Within his heart the favours of that time,
Of love and knightliness,--for Palomide
Was there, the guest: and she, the Beautiful
Whose voice more soft than ocean's murmurous caves,
More musical than chime of Angelus,
From its far island fane, to tell the hour
Of praise and love--a voice more than its words
Sweet as they were; to Tristram's dreamful ear
A sound of dear melodious memories,--
Was heard--now silent--now with fervency,
Spake suddenly, "To honour this fair time,
"Thy graciousness, thy hospitality,
"Thy valorous gentleness, good Tristram, yield
"Our guest a boon! a loving boon of worth.
"The corner stone, the flowery capital,
"The heart and beauteous visage of thy faith
"Chivalrous, may not lack its worship here.
"A boon! a boon!"--"Aught but thyself, my soul."
Answers her knight. "What claim'st thou, Palomide?"--
"No boon this hour desires but its own bliss.
"When fortune veers and mischance mine, then thou
"The imperfections of a troubled will
"May help. Or then, the boon, perchance, thy spear."
O, mischief hiding in a living wish!
O, bounteous spirit, whose joy provides the sting
To slay thee, undisguised! The fates now call.
That reverenced hour slid by, its fair delight
Drunk by each heart as from the chalice of life
Its richest wine: and since that reverenced hour
To this, nought of its words, which now arose
With ghostly call for Tristram's doom.--The scene
In sight and sound, lived with him crystal-clear
As to the spirit of a drowning man;
And Palomide was ware the lion-lance
Drooped in surrender for his craven boon,--
The liberal, love-gift boon, made deadly boon--
Which made his time for gain.
He spurred his steed:
With "Isonde!" on his lips, he spurred his steed
To Tristram's death, whose soul enwrapt in love
Played with its lineage of fair joys which bound
That hour of Joyous Gard--that hour now here.--
Isonde!--Her name rings music since the morn--
Writ crimson by him through the day--the hour
Isonde's! There came the inspiration!--Quick,
Answering the hastening of the brazen hoofs,
Rising upon his stirrup vehemently,
Tristram bestowed his boon.--"Thou hast my spear!"
O'erthwart the tournament's blood-sloken space
Forthright the spear, which in its passage sang
As on a lurid morn, the seven witch-elms
Above the pass of norland Atäfors
Sing in the storm, or e'er, foredoomed, it smites
Field, wood and thorpe within the dales below.
Sharp-singing, underneath the Dragon's roar,
The spear, midway his course, caught Palomide
As with the cumulative strength of all
Its green and growing years, by him received
As fate's own shaft: nor armour of defence,
Nor warding gauntlet's art availed--the shaft
Bestowed death's twilight. He down-driven to earth,
Not answering to the herald's second call,
The haught day's fortune, given as diadem
Of Lonazep's three days, was then proclaimed;
And these twain martial brethren, as in love
In arms, Launcelot and Tristram, these receive
The day's degree, the diadem-degree.
Even as the praise and wonder of the world
Their ladies' beauty: thus, to them assigned
Honour of valour, eminent o'er knights
And Table Round. But, with his helmet doffed,
Launcelot unto the king:--"Of all the knights,
"Good king, we number in our honour's guild,
"My brother-peer select, the perfect flower.
"That grace, I may not here dispute, divide,
"Abridge--since, ye may learn it from the folk,
"Had not this Palomide disturbed our fray
"With infidel guile, on which no sentence more,
"Since his the leech's inquest for his harm--
"My royal brother, Knight of Lyonesse,
"Sir Tristram, had maintained throughout this day
"On me, his jewelled honour. And, therewith,
"My soul accords--as gladsome as nine jousts
"Her glory, yielding Tristram the degree."
Was it the breeze, or came it from her heart
That quickening of Belle Isonde's hair, when heard
The speech of Launcelot? Straightway, she uprose
As to approve his finding, when uprose
Rejoicing thunders from the barriers. Not
Sir Tristram's valour, nor Sir Launcelot's free,
Full-hearted graciousness, but sudden view
Of this the lion's inspiration, queen
Of chivalry and beauty, brought that joy
Thus mightily on the lists. Then, Hesper's lamp
Westward, now lightening the grey gates of even,
Closing the tourney, all the knightly throng
Blew unto lodging, and their diadem-prize
And praise were given our peer. And thus was kept
The tourney-tryst of Lonazep.
But thoughts
More foul than Palomide's: and hearts more smooth--
Though humorous in delight--than Belle Isonde's
Or Tristram's: and excelling Launcelot's eyes
In searching evil--there were thoughts abroad,
And laughing hearts, and eyes of piercing ken,
That earnest day.
At opening of the jousts,
Sir Dinadin tricked out with dress and paint
As grim and grinning gargoyle, lent his mirth
Within and out the barriers: oft the gems,
Twinkled to note his travestie of sport,
Obeisance, pageant, essay: oft their lights
Brake into tinkling laughter-rills, whenas,
Curt sentence dropt among them acid-sweet
With double-ending rhymes. But, now, as eve
Lifting within high heaven her star of peace,
No singing-tourney prowess might be his,
Angered, on Tristram's thrice-approved degree,
He poured the venom of the day, more keen
Through his unshaken humours; which, thrice-told
Nor moved the lion-knight,--he cried,--"You go
"To hear the fool-talk, make one in fools'-play.
"Go.--Thinking good most evilly, since, unknown
"Things with their sober faces,"--"Dinadin!
"The bells of Dagonet you have usurped
"Throughout this tourney, nor have rung them well.
"Too much of fool upon thy tongue. Shall I
"Call thee fool-Dinadin? Which were more truth,
"Than thy devisings of a courtly throng
"Now gathering from the borders of the field
"Of death and honour. All day, hast thou been
"In trouble as the pot upon the fire,
"And, now, ye bubble hot phrase meaningless
"In such thy mood."--"List, an' I speak ye calm.
"And slow my voice, and clear, to speak proud words
"Of burning glory. These twain days, men know,
"Thy valour as the valour of seven. Ay, more;
"The ghostly memories of our mighty wars
"Will perish on the lips, whenever heard
"These jousts of Lonazep. But was all glory,
"All this day? Mordred,--ye would note,--I trow,
"Of many colours were his company
"In petticoats. Ye noted. Him I heard,
"Hissing his single phrase maleficent,
"Of fray in which he hath defect.--'My King,
"'Your King, in suffering shame obscure, unnamed,
"'Abates not in his general laud and smile.
"'Approving best hot revelry in arms,
"'He keeps vile lust of blood keen in his Ring.
"'Weeds of the carnage his surpassing boast.
"'Ah me, how blind men be: none wot he keeps
"'The secrecy of monarchs, who have tamed
"'The fierce blood of their kindred, and must keep
"'The salt taste of the blood full-well provoked
"'Within his the belt of valour. Blood!' Dames heard;
"An' those who wore their pledges heard.--God's peace,
"Adding one to one ye marvelling cry, 'five!'
"Forgotten three slides in, an'darkens faith.
"Mordred is more than Mark, much more--much less,
"Than Vivien. This day, sheen of gems and smiles--
"Around her feet the shades. Sly sorceress!
"Mark,--Mordred--other shrouded forms, I see,
"(The carrion on her way) who work her wish--
"Dominion. As o'er Merlin, laid in sleep
"Beneath the white thorn in Broceliande
"Her prey in body and soul--she, o'er these days,
"Valiance and blaze of lauds of Lonazep
"A death-cloud permanent, as death o'er life,
"O'er pride and puissance of Logris.--Knight!
"May sleepers in the sepulchre awake
"Before the judgment tromp? An' be it so:
"Her little, little laugh shall stir the dust
"Above her face-cloth, when these faded realms
"Be truly heathenized. Last, for myself.
"The present has its own.--Go, priests to church;
"Knights to repair their hurt, or some to seek
"Opinion of the dames,--fool-Dinadin,
"One happy hour secures for every day,--
"Less than man's hope, somewhat above his worth,
"Thinks he, yet ever finds, as now he goes
"Assured again of choicest meats and drinks--
"Or cloud, or shine, fool-Dinadin, to dine."
But here, sweet gentles, pause. The sun, you see,
Bestows wide glories on eve's gathering clouds:
With ministry of beauty, prophecies,
As known from ancient Palestine, as writ
Within our Book of Life, not clouds, but morn
Fair, shall ascend upon our slumbers. So,
This holding true, we end the golden tale
Of Joyous Gard, of Palomide, his worth,
His consecration, ere again our flowers
Their loveliness and incense both withdrawn,
Or shines within the dusk, that one sole star
Of Love, of lovers all approved their star.
A GUINEVERE
by
MADISON CAWEIN
Sullen gold down all the sky;
Roses and their sultry musk;
Whipporwills deep in the dusk
Yonder sob and sigh.--
You are here; and I could weep,
Weep for joy and suffering. . . .
"Where is he"?--He'd have me sing--
There he sits, asleep.
Think not of him! he is dead
For the moment to us twain--
Hold me in your arms again,
Rest on mine your head.
"Am I happy?" ask the fire
When it bursts its bounds and thrills
Some mad hours as it wills
If those hours tire.
He had gold. As for the rest--
Well you know how they were set,
Saying that I must forget
And 'twas for the best.
I forget?--But let it go!--
Kiss me as you used of old.
There; your kisses are not cold!
Can you love me so?
Knowing what I am to him,
To that gouty gray one there,
On the wide verandah, where
Fitful fireflies swim.
Is it tears? Or what? that wets
Eyes and cheeks;--on brow and lip
Kisses! Soft as bees that sip
Sweets from violets.
See! the moon has risen; white
As this open lily here,
Rocking on the dusty mere,
Like a silent light.
Let us walk...So soon to part!--
All too soon! But he may miss.
Give me but another kiss--
It will heat my heart
And the bitter winter there.--
So; we part, my Launcelot,
My true knight! And am I not
Your true Guinevere?
Oft they parted thus, they tell,
In that mystical romance...
Were they placed, think you, perchance,
For such love, in Hell?
No! It can not, can not be!
Love is God, and God is love:
And they live and love above,
Guinevere and he.
I must go now.--See! there fell,
Molten into purple light,
One wild star. Kiss me good night,
And once more. Farewell.
ISOLT
by
MADISON CAWEIN
" But when the queen, La beale Isoude heard these tidings shee made such sorrow that shee was full nigh out of her minde, and so upon a day she thought to slay herselfe, and never for to live after Sir Tristram's death. "--Le Morte d'Arthure.
I
The wild dawn flares o'er wood and vale,
O'er all the world she used to love:
Low on her couch it finds her pale,
The dawn that breaks with flame above.
Her lute, that once was all her care,
To which her love had often sung,
Upon a damask-covered chair
Now lies neglected and unstrung.
Back from her face her hair she throws,
Her heavy hair that falls and slips,
Then, rising, to the casement goes
With languid eyes and pallid lips.
II
With feverish face from morn till noon,
And noon to middle-night she stoops
From her high lattice; late and soon
In search for him among the troops
That come and go or loiter by.
For there had come a dame, in garb
Of pearls and samite, green of dye,
A stately woman on a barb,
From Camelot, who, looking round,
Had sneered, " 'Mid herdsmen and such craft
This Tristram lives like any hound."
Then as she shook her curls and laughed,
And flashed on Isolt looks of scorn,
Trailing her glimmering jewels past,
"I met a madman yestermorn
Within the forest. Wild, aghast
He stood, all naked in the rain,
'Twas Tristram, he of Lyonesse,
A good knight once, but now--" Again
She laughed, then sneered.--And one might guess
The thing she hinted in disdain.
III
So Isolt watched now: long she leant
From her high tower that hapless dawn:
Above her bloomed the firmament,
Below, the world was dewy wan.
She saw a long lake where the stags
Came down to drink: and woods of pines
Beyond which mountains loomed, whose crags,--
Gaunt guardians of Mark's boundary lines,--
Gray watch-towers, hawk-like, overhung;
And 'mid the pines, wild, ivy-clung,
She saw a castle lift its old
Green walls of ruin, now a cave
For bandits, and a robber-hold
Of lust, beside a torrent's wave.
Then o'er a bridge, whose granite arched
The torrent's foam, she saw a knight,--
Behind whom spear-armed followers marched,--
Like Galahad, in glittering white,
Ride from the forest-covered height.
IV
High on a barb whose trappings shone
Inlaid with laton, gold of hue,
Star-bright amid the dawn and dew;
Proud on his lordly-stepping roan
He rode, and seemed of chivalry
The star, until he stood alone
Before the Court and spoke his lie,
And said,--(for him, too, heart and tongue,
Mark's gold had bought)--"I saw him die.
Alas! for one so brave and young!
But better so than still to be
A madman and a mockery!"--
Then smiled around the questioning Court
As one who brought no ill report. . . .
And she believed. And front to front
With all her misery that eve,--
Which, sombre-visaged, o'er the mount,
Above Day's burning bier did grieve
And bow her melancholy star,--
With tearful eyes she watched the light
Streak all the heaven with blood afar;
And lingered far into the night,
Lamenting at her casement-bar.
V
"Oh, I'm like one who o'er her light,
Her lamp of love, bends down, when, lo!
All on a sudden, out of night,
Dashing it down, there comes a blow
That leaves all darkness; and she hears
A demon whispering in the gloom,
That shuts her in with all her fears,"
So thought she, lonely in her room.
Then took her lute and touched such airs
As Tristram loved, sad songs of Breön,
She once had heard, all unawares,
Sir Launcelot sing in old Caerleön,
To Guinevere upon the stairs,
The terrace stairs, beside the Usk,
Deep in the nightingale-haunted dusk.
Then ceased, and wept until the stars,
Seen through her tears, made heaven all tears,
On fire with tears, that left their scars
Upon its face; and all the years
Of grief and love seemed in their spheres:
And reaching out her arms she cried,
"O God! O God! that I had died!
O Tristram! Tristram! art thou near?
O love, be near me in this hour!
This hour of anguish and of fear!
Which,--(like yon fountain's ceaseless foam,
Unseen, beneath this starlit tower,
Deep in the shadow of its dome),--
Throbs on and on within my life,
The utter darkness of its woe.--
O hour of grief! O hour of strife!
Why must my young heart suffer so?
Why must my sick soul sigh and sigh,
And God not hear nor let me die?"
VI
When rose the moon, and far away
A nightingale beneath the tower,
Heard through the fountain's falling spray,
Made lonelier yet that lonely hour;
And 'twixt the nodding grove and lake
A glimmering fawn stalked through the night,
And snuffed the wind, then bent to slake
Its thirst; she veiled her face,--as white
As death's,--and said: "The way is clear!
There is no use in waiting here!
Come! let me cure this heart that bursts!
This pain is more than I can bear!--
Come! let me still this soul that thirsts! . . .
Upon the lake, as thick as stars
In heav'n, the lilies lie asleep.--
There lies a way beyond these bars,
These walls of flesh that hold and keep!
The nightingale shall find its mate,
The fawn its fellow, and must I,
The spouse of grief, the wife of hate,
Live on alone until I die?--
How long, how long, O God, to wait!" . . .
Far through the darkness went her cry.
THE DAUGHTER OF MERLIN
by
MADISON CAWEIN
For the mountains' hoarse greetings came hollow
From stormy wind-chasms and caves;
And I heard their wild cataracts wallow;
Like monsters, the white of their waves:
And that shadow said, "Lo! You must follow!
And our path is o'er myriads of graves."
Then I felt that the black earth was porous
And rotten with dust and with bones;
And I knew that the ground that now bore us
Was cadaverous with death as with stones;
And I saw burning eyes, heard sonorous
And dolorous sighings and groans.
But the night of the tempest and thunder,
The might of the terrible skies,
And the fire of Hell, that,--coiled under
The hollow Earth,--smoulders and sighs,
And the laughter of stars and their wonder,
Mingled and mixed in her eyes.
And we clomb--and the moon, old and sterile,
Clomb with us o'er torrent and scar:
And I yearned for her oceans of beryl,
Wan mountains and cities of spar:
"'Tis not well," then she said; "you're in peril
Of falling and failing your star."
And we clomb--through a murmur of pinions,
And rattle of talons and plumes;
And a sense as of darkest dominions,
Deep, lost, of the dead and their tombs,
Swam round us, with all of their minions
Of dreads and of dreams and of dooms.
And we clomb--till we stood at the portal
Of the uttermost point of the peak;
And she led, with a step more than mortal,
On, upward, where glimmered a streak,
A star, a presence immortal,
A planet, whose light was still weak.
And we clomb--till the limbo of spirits
Of lusts and of sorrows below
Swung nebular; and we were near its
Starred summit, its glory of glow.
And we entered its light and could hear its
White music of silence and snow.
THE DREAM OF SIR GALAHAD
by
MADISON CAWEIN
With the knights Peredur and Gawain he sits, in a chapel in Lyonesse, speaking while the dawn slowly reddens on the sea, gray-seen through the open door.
I
Cast on sleep there came to me
Three great angels, o'er the sea
Moaning near the priory:
Cloudy clad in awful white,
Each one's face, a lucid light,
Rayed and blossomed out of night.
II
In my sleep I saw them rest,
Each, a long hand on her breast,
Like the new-moon in the west:
And their hair like sunset rolled
Down their shoulders, burning cold,
An insufferable gold.
III
Flaming round each high brow bent
Fourfold starry gold, that sent
Light before them as they went:
'Neath their burning crowns their eyes
Shone like awful stars the skies
Rock in shattered storm that flies.
IV
Dark their eyes were, lurid dark;
And within their eyes a spark
Like the opal's burned: my sark
Seemed to shrivel 'neath their gaze;
As, with marvel and amaze,
All my soul it seemed to raise.
V
And I saw their mouths were fire,
Ruby-red as the desire
Of the Sanc Graal: fair and dire
Were their lips, whereon the kiss
Of all Heaven lay; the bliss
Of all happiness that is.
VI
Calm as Beauty lying dead,
Tapers lit at feet and head,
Were they, round whom prayers seemed said:
Fragrant as that woman who,
Born of blossoms and of dew
And of magic, wedded Llew.
VII
And the first one said to me:--
"Thou has slept thus holily
While seven sands ran shadowy;
Earth hath served thee like a slave,
Serving us who found thee brave,
Pure of life and great to save:
VIII
"Know!"--She touched my brow: a pain
As of arrows pierced my brain:
Ceased: and earth, both sea and plain,
Vanished: and I stood where thought
Stands, and worship, spirit-fraught,
Watching how the heavens are wrought.
IX
Then the second said to me:
"Thou hast come all sinlessly
Thro' life's sin-enveloped sea:
Know the things thou hast not seen:
Filling all the soul with sheen;
Meaning more than earth may mean:
X
"See!"--Her voice sang like a lyre,
Comprehending all desire
In its gamut's throbbing fire:--
And my inner eyelids,--which
Dimmed clairvoyance,--raised: and rich,
As one chord's vibrating pitch,
XI
Grew my soul with light: that saw
The embodiment of awe,
Love, divinity, and law,
Orbed and eöned: and the power,
Circumstance, like some vast flower;
From which time fell, hour on hour.
XII
'Neath the third one's mighty will
All my soul lay very still,
Feeling all its being thrill
As she, smiling, said to me:
"Thou dost know, and thou canst see:
What thou art arise and be!"
XIII
To my lips her lips she pressed;
And my new-born soul, thrice-blessed,
Clasped her radiance and caressed:
Mounted and, in glory clad,
Soared with them who chorused glad:
"Christ awaits thee, Galahad!"
TRISTRAM TO ISOLT
by
MADISON CAWEIN
Yea, there are some who always seek
The love that lasts an hour;
And some who in love's language speak,
Yet never know his power.
Of such was I, who knew not what
Sweet mysteries can rise
Within the heart when 't is its lot
To love and realize.
Of such was I, Isolt! till, lo,
Your face on mine did gleam,
And changed that world, I used to know,
Into an evil dream.
That world wherein, on hill and plain,
Great blood-red poppies bloomed;
Their hot hearts thirsty for the rain,
And sleepily perfumed.
Above, below, on every part,
A crimson shadow lay;
As if the red sun streamed athwart,
And sunset was alway.
I know not how; I know not when;
I only know that there
She met me in the haunted glen,
A poppy in her hair.
Her face seemed fair as Mary's is,
That knows nor sin nor wrong;
Her presence filled the silences
As music fills a song.
And she was clad like the Mother of God,
As 't were for Christ's sweet sake;
But when she moved and where she trod
A hiss went of a snake.
Though seeming sinless, till I die
I shall not know for sure
Why to my soul she seemed a lie
And otherwise than pure.
Nor why I kissed her soon and late,
And for her felt desire,
While loathing of her passion ate
Into my heart like fire.
Was it because my soul could tell
That, like the poppy flower,
She had no soul? a thing of Hell,
That o'er mine had no power.
Or was it that your love at last,
My soul so long had craved,
From that sweet sin which held me fast
At that last moment, saved?
TRISTRAM AND ISOLT
by
MADISON CAWEIN
Night, and vast caverns of rock and of iron:
Voices like water, and voices like wind:
Horror, and tempests of hail that environ
Shapes and the shadows of two who have sinned.
Wan on the whirlwind, in loathing uplifting
Faces that loved once, forever they go,
Tristram and Isolt, the lovers, go drifting,
The simmer and laughter of Hell below.
WASTE LAND
by
MADISON CAWEIN
Briar and fennel and chincapin,
And rue and ragweed everywhere;
The field seemed sick as a soul with sin,
Or dead of an old despair,
Born of an ancient care.
The cricket's cry and the locust's whirr,
And the note of a bird's distress,
With the rasping sound of the grasshopper,
Clung to the loneliness
Like burrs to a trailing dress.
So sad the field, so waste the ground,
So curst with an old despair,
A woodchuck's burrow, a blind mole's mound,
And a chipmunk's stony lair,
Seemed more than it could bear.
So lonely, too, so more than sad,
So droning-lone with bees--
I wondered what more could Nature add
To the sum of its miseries . . .
And then--I saw the trees.
Skeletons gaunt that gnarled the place,
Twisted and torn they rose--
The tortured bones of a perished race
Of monsters no mortal knows,
They startled the mind's repose.
And a man stood there, as still as moss,
A lichen form that stared;
With an old blind hound that, at a loss,
Forever around him fared
With a snarling fang half bared.
I looked at the man; I saw him plain;
Like a dead weed, gray and wan,
Or a breath of dust. I looked again--
And man and dog were gone,
Like wisps of the graying dawn. . . .
Were they a part of the grim death there--
Ragweed, fennel, and rue?
Or forms of the mind, an old despair,
That there into semblance grew
Out of the grief I knew?
NOTE: In a letter to the editor printed in the Times Literary Supplement (8 Dec. 1995, p. 14), Robert Ian Scott suggests that "the many similarities between this poem" and T. S. Eliot's "The Waste Land" "can hardly be coincidental." Scott notes that Eliot "had reasons to be reading" the Jan. 1913 issue of Poetry in which Cawein's poem appeared because it contained Pound's article on the poets then in London (though Eliot himself is not referred to in the article).
Legends/Sagas
THE BOY APPRENTICED TO AN ENCHANTER
by
PADRAIC COLUM
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
The Horses of King Manus
PART ONE
The Story of Eean the Fisherman's Son
PART TWO
The Story of Bird-of-Gold who was the Bramble Gatherer's Daughter
PART THREE
The Two Enchanters
As for the youth who had tried to steal the white horse that the King owned, he was bound hand and foot and taken into the castle of the King. There he was thrown down beside the trestles of the great table, and the hot wax from the candles that lighted the supper board dripped down upon him. And it was told to him that at the morrow's sunrise he would be slain with the sword.
Then the King called upon one to finish the story that was being told when the neigh of the white horse was heard in the stable. The story could not be finished for him, however, because the one who had been telling it was now outside, guarding the iron door of the stable with a sword in his hand. And King Manus, sitting at the supper board, could not eat nor refresh himself because there was no one at hand to finish the story for him.
And that is the way that the story of The Boy Apprenticed to an Enchanter used to begin.
But first I shall have to tell you about King Manus and his three horses.
King Manus ruled over the Western Island, and he had a castle that was neither higher nor wider than any other King's castle. But he had a stable that was more strongly built than any other King's stable. It had double walls of stone; it had oak beams; it had an iron door with four locks to it. And before this door two soldiers with drawn swords in their hands stayed night and day.
In those days, if one went before a King and asked him for a gift the King might not refuse to give what was asked of him. But King Manus was hard to come to by those with requests. For before the chamber where he sat or slept there stood a servant to take the request, and if it were one that might not be brought to him, to make an excuse for the King.
It was all because of the King's three horses-a white horse, a red horse, and a black horse. The white horse was as swift as the plunging wave of the sea, the red horse was as swift as fire in the heather, and the speed of the black horse was such that he could overtake the wind of March that was before him, and the wind of March that was behind could not overtake him.
Many had tried to get one of the King's horses by request or by robbery. But those who would ask for a gift were kept away from the King, while the stone walls, double thick, with the door of iron with four locks to it, kept robbers outside. Besides, there were the two soldiers with drawn swords in their hands to prevent the horses being taken out of the stable by any one except their own grooms. And so it was thought very certain that King Manus would never lose his famous horses.
But this very night, when the King and his lords were at supper, the neigh of a horse in the stable was heard. Then it was that the storyteller stopped in his story. The trampling of a horse was heard. Straight out King Manus ran, and his harper and his storyteller and his lords ran with him. When they came to the stable they saw that the two soldiers were sitting before the iron door fast asleep, with the swords on the ground before them. And the locks were off the door of iron.
Just as they came there the iron door of the stable opened and the King's white horse was led out. He who had the rein was a strange youth dressed in foreign dress. The youth was about to spring on the horse's back when those who were with the King sprang upon him and held him and held the bridle of the horse.
And having secured the youth they went into the stable, and they found the red horse and the black horse eating at their mangers. They led the white horse back and put him in his own stall. The watchers who had been before the stable door could not be wakened, so those who were with the King carried them to another place, and left two others, the harper and the storyteller, to keep watch, with the soldiers' swords in their hands. As for the youth who had tried to steal the white horse, he was placed as has been told you, and every one there knew what doom would befall him.
It was then that the King called upon one to finish the story that was being told him when the white horse had neighed. It was then that he sat at the supper board, not able to take rest nor refreshment on account of his not having heard the story to its end. And it was then that one of the lords said to the King, "Let the youth who is lying bound beside the trestles of the table tell us what it was that made him go into such danger to steal one of the horses of King Manus."
The King liked that saying, and he said, "Since my storyteller abides outside guarding the door of the stable, I will have this youth tell us the story of why he entered into such danger to steal one of my horses. And more than that. I declare that if he shows us that he was ever in greater danger than he is in this night I shall give him his life. But if it is not so shown the story he tells will avail him nothing, and he shall perish by the sword at the morrow's sunrise."
Then the youth was taken from where he lay by the trestles of the table, and the cords that bound him were loosened. He was put in the storyteller's place, and fresh candles were lighted and set upon the table.
"Your danger is great," said the King, "and it will be hard for you to show us that you were ever in such danger before. Begin your story. And if it is not a story of a narrow and a close escape there will be little time left for you to prepare for your death by the sword."
Thereupon the youth in foreign dress looked long into the wine cup that was handed him, and he drank a draft of the wine, and he saluted the King and the lords who sat by the King, and he said:
"Once I was in greater danger, for its mouth was close to me, and no hope whatever was given me of my saving my life. I will tell the story, and you shall judge whether my danger then was greater than is my danger now."
And thereupon the youth in foreign dress, who had tried to steal the white horse that King Manus owned, began the story which is set down here in the very words in which he told it.
THE COMING OF THE ENCHANTER
My father (said the youth) was a fisherman, and he lived on this Western Island. It may be that he is still living here. His name was Anluan, and he was very poor. My own name is Eean, and the event that begins my story took place when I was twice seven years of age.
My father and I had gone down to the shore of the Western Ocean. He was fishing in the pools of the sea, and I was putting willow rods into the mouths of the fish caught so that I might carry them in my hands to the market that very day and sell them there. I looked out and saw a speck upon the water, a speck that came nearer. I kept watching it while my father dragged the pool with his net. The speck became a boat, and the boat came on without sails or oars. It was a shining boat, a boat of brass. I called to my father, and my father straightened himself up and watched it. In the boat that came toward us of its own accord there was a man standing.
The boat came into the full water between the rocks, and then it sank down, this boat of brass, until its rim touched the water. It remained still as if anchored. The man who was in the prow of the boat stepped out on the sand between my father and me.
He looked a man of high degree-like a prince or a potentate. He had a dark face and a dark, curly beard, and he had eyes that were like hawks' eyes. He had on a straight coat of a blue material covered all over with curious figures, and in his hand he held a long polished staff that had the shape of two serpents twisting together. He looked at me and I was frightened of him, and I turned to my father. But my father was standing there, holding the fishing pole in his hands, his mouth open, gasping like one of the fishes upon the rocks.
The stranger looked me over again-looked me over from my feet to my head, and then he said to my father, "There is no need that he should do aught about these fishes. I have need of an apprentice, and it would be well for you both if he should come with me."
My father then found his voice, and he said, "If my son does not sell these fishes in the market today he cannot bring back the bag of meal for our household."
Said the man from the strange boat, "Bring me to your house and I shall put down gold for every copper that your son would get in the market."
My father made a sign to me to throw the fishes back into the water. This I did, but I did it fearfully. And then my father stepped out of the pool of the sea and he made a sign to the stranger to follow us. We walked from the seashore and up the path of the cliffs, and we went through the heather of the headlands, following the goat tracks till we came to the wattled house where we lived. The man from the strange boat followed my father, and I came last of all. And when I went in and stood on the floor of our house my heart was thumping within me at the thought of what was before.
And there was the pot boiling over the fire with a few green herbs in it. There was Saba, my mother, stirring the last handful of meal among the green herbs. And there were my brothers, all older than I, sitting by the fire, waiting for the herbs and the meal to be ready.
When my mother looked toward us she saw the man from the strange boat. She thought that some crime had been committed by me or my father to bring a man of such high degree among us. She and my brothers were greatly afraid, for we were poor, and those who were high were harsh to us. But the stranger spoke softly, saying, "Good fortune has come to you from the sea today." And when they all turned toward him he said, "I who am very knowledgeable will take your son with me as an apprentice, and I shall instruct him in arts and crafts and mysteries."
My mother said, "The boy is young, sir, and we thought he would be with us for a time longer." But the man from the strange boat said, "I would not take him to instruct him in arts and crafts and mysteries if he were a day older than he is now." He said no more, but he went to the table and he laid down on it piece after piece of shining gold.
My father went to the table and held his hands around the gold. My mother looked on me who was just twice seven years old that day. I know she thought that she could never bear to part with me. But then she looked on her other sons, and she saw that they were men grown, and she thought they should have more to eat than the meal and the green herbs that were in the pot. She threw her arms around me and I knew it was a last clasp.
"He will have to go into far places to learn the arts and grafts and mysteries that I would teach him," the stranger said.
"Will he ever come back to me?" cried my mother.
"He will come back to you when his cunning baffles my cunning," was what the stranger said.
My father took the gold that was on the table, and made it into a heap. My mother took her arms from around my neck, and my brothers kissed me farewell. Then the man from the strange boat opened the door of our wattled house and went out, and I followed him.
We did not go back to the place where he had left his boat of brass. We went to another place where there was a harbor with ships. There we found a ship ready to sail for Urth.
My master sent me on board to ask the captain if he would take us on a voyage beyond Urth. The captain said that if my master would guide them past the Magnetberg he would give him the ship to sail where he would after the cargo had been landed. My master said he would do this, and we went on board the ship. It was evening now, and a breeze came up, and the ship sailed away, bringing me from the place where I was born and reared and toward the strange countries that were beyond the rim of the sea. I asked one of the sailors what was the Magnetberg, and he told me that it was a mountain of loadstone that drew the iron out of ships that came near it and left them loosened timbers upon the water.
THE INACCESSIBLE ISLAND
You have heard me so far, O King. Know now that the one to whom I was apprenticed was an Enchanter. His name is Zabulun, and in all the world there are only three Enchanters more powerful than he. The first is Chiron the Centaur, who is half man and half horse, and who taught Achilles and made him the greatest of the princes who had gone against Troy. The second is Hermes Trismegistus, the wise Egyptian. And the third is Merlin the Enchanter, whose home is in an island that is west of your Western Island.
When the night came on, Zabulun took the steering gear into his hands, and he steered the ship by a star that he alone knew. When the morning came we saw on the sea all around us the masts and the spars and the timbers of ships that had come too near the Magnetberg, and that had lost their nails and bolts, and had become loosened timbers on the waters. Those on the ship were greatly afraid, and the captain walked up and down, pulling at his beard. The night came on, and again my master took the steering gear into his own hands and steered the ship by a star that he alone knew of. And when the morning came there were no masts and spars of ships, and no loosened timbers afloat on the waters. The captain laughed and made all on the ship rejoice that they had passed the dangerous neighborhood of the Magnetberg-that mountain of loadstone that drew the iron out of ships as a magnet draws pins on a table.
We came to Urth. The great cargo that was on the ship was for the King of Urth, and it was taken off and sent over the mountain to the King's city in packs that the sailors carried on their backs. Then the captain gave the ship over to my master to sail it where he would.
He did not come upon the land nor did he look upon the country at all. But when the last pack had been carried off the ship, he said to me:
"You will have to do this, my first command to you. Go on the land. Stay by a pool that is close to the forest. Birds will come down to that pool-birds of the whiteness of swans, but smaller. Set snares and catch some of these birds, not less than four, and bring them to me uninjured."
And I went on the land and came to the pool that was close to the forest. And there I saw the birds that were of the whiteness of swans, but smaller. I watched them for a while so that I might know their ways. Then I made a crib of rods and set it to catch the birds. One went under the crib, and I pulled the string and caught the first bird. And then, hours afterward, I caught another. And waiting and watching very carefully, I caught a third. The fourth bird was wary, and i feared I should not catch it, for night was coming down and the birds were gathering to fly away. One remained near the crib, and its neck was stretched toward it. But then it shook its wings, and I thought it was going to fly to the others. It went under the crib. Then I pulled the string and caught the fourth bird.
I brought the birds to the ship, and my master gave them grains to feed on. At night we sailed away. My master held the steering gear while it was dark, but when light came he gave it to me to hold. Then he unloosed one of the birds. It flew in the middle distance, winging slowly, and remaining a long time in sight. He told me to hold the course of the ship to the flight of the bird.
At night he took the steering gear again into his hands and held the ship on her course. In the daylight he unloosed another bird and ordered me to steer by its flight. And this was done for two more days.
The morning after the last of the white birds had been freed my master bade me look out for land. I saw something low upon the water. "It is the Inaccessible Island," said my master, "where I have my dwelling and my working place." He steered the ship to where the water flowed swiftly into a great cave that was like a dragon's mouth. In that cave there was a place for the mooring of ships. The Enchanter moored the ship in its place, and then he took me up the rocky landing place.
There was a flight of great steps leading from the landing place-it was in a cave as I have told you-up to the light of day. There were a thousand wide, black steps in that flight. The Enchanter took into his hands the black staff that was shaped as two serpents twisting together, and he took me with him up the stairway.
We came out on a level place and I saw a high castle before me. There was no wall around the castle, and there was no gate to be opened. But when I came near it I found I could take no step onward. I went up, and I went down, and I tried to go onward, but I could not. Then Zabulun the Enchanter said to me:
"Around this castle of mine is a wall of air. No one can see the wall, but no one can pass it. And a bridge of air crosses my wall of air. Come now with me and I will take you over the bridge."
As the wall of air that went round the Enchanter's castle was not to be seen, neither was the bridge that went across the wall of air. But I saw my master climbing up and walking across as on a bridge. And although I saw nothing before me nor beneath me, I climbed upon something and walked across something. Following him I went downward and into the courtyard of the castle.
Within that courtyard there was a horse of brass with a giant man of brass upon it, the giant man holding a great bow in his hands. My master said to me, "If one came over the bridge of air without my authority, the arrow of that bow would be loosened, and he who came across the bridge would be slain by this giant man of brass." We went within the castle. In the hall were benches and tables, and there were statues holding torches in their hands standing by the wall. Also in that hall there was the statue of a women holding a dart in her hand. When my master came within, the statue that held the dart flung it, and the dart struck a gleaming ruby that was in the wall. Lights came into the torches that the statues held, and all the hall was lighted up.
I sat with my master at a table, and the statues moved to us, bringing us wine and fruits. We ate and drank, and afterward a golden figure came to the Enchanter and, sitting down before him, played a game of chess with him.
The next day my master showed me more of the wonders of the Inaccessible Island. No ships came near, for there was no way to come to that island except by following the birds that were of the whiteness of a swan and that flew always in the middle distance. On this island Zabulun the Enchanter had lived for longer than the lifetimes of many men, studying magic and all the ways of enchantment. And for three years I, Eean, the son of the fisherman of the Western Island, stayed with him, learning such things as were proper for one apprenticed to an Enchanter to know.
THE ENCHANTER GOES TO BABYLON
In the three years that were passed on the Inaccessible Island, nothing that is worth my telling happened, O King. But at the end of the three years my master said to me, "We will leave the Inaccessible Island, for I have mighty business before me." And when I asked, "Where do we go, O master?" he answered, "We go to Babylon."
And then, when it was the first day after the new moon, we descended the black stairway that led into the cave where the waters came. There we found a boat of brass that was like the boat that came to the Western Island on the day when my father and I were fishing in the pools of the sea. We went into that boat of brass, and it took us through the water, steering itself. We rested on lonely islands, and at last we came to a mainland, and there the Enchanter left the boat to sink beneath the water. As travelers then we went on. We came to a town, and there my master bought for himself and me the clothing of merchants. Then we came to the river that flows toward Babylon. Men go down the river in round boats that are made of rods woven together. In every boat a live ass is carried, and when the cargo is landed the boats are broken up, for they cannot go back against the current of the river. And the cargo is loaded on the asses and brought into the market in Babylon. And whatever the merchants buy in Babylon is loaded on the asses, and the asses are driven back over the mountains into the country that these men came from.
And in such boats we went down the river and came into Babylon. No city in the world is as mighty or as wonderful as Babylon. It has three hundred and sixty-five streets, and in every street there are three hundred and sixty-five palaces, and to every palace there are three hundred and sixty-five steps leading up to its door of gold and ebony. The streets, when we came into them, were thronged with mighty, blackbearded men. I was much in dread when I stood in those great streets and looked on the mighty men who went through them.
In the center of the city were the palace and the wide-spreading gardens of the King. In those gardens, as my master told me, were one or two of all the beautiful or terrible animals of the world. Those gardens I will speak of again, O King, for it was within them that I came upon the danger that was greater than the danger that I am now in.
But first the Enchanter showed me that great wonder that was near the gardens-the Tower of Babylon. It was a red tower spiraling very high into the air. Outside of it there were steps that went round it and to the very top of it-a thousand steps. And on the top of the tower, resting against the Spear of Nimrod, was the Magic Mirror of Babylon. Zabulun the Enchanter made me look to the top, and I was made fearful by looking so high.
Oh, that I might tell you, King Manus, of the wonders of the Tower of Babylon! In the shadow of it there slept two mighty ones-the two Genii who guarded Babylon, Harut and Marut they were named. Giant beings they were. As they slept there the beard of each was spread across his mighty chest, and it was a beard so broad that no horse of the mighty horses that the King owned could leap across it. Very great but very old were Harut and Marut, the Genii who guarded Babylon.
I was made fearful by looking to the top of the tower. And then I was made still more fearful by the words that Zabulun said to me. "We have come here," he said, "to steal the Magic Mirror of the Babylonians.
"It is there on the top of the tower," said the Enchanter, "resting against the Spear of Nimrod. One looking into that mirror sees all the Kings of the world. The one who threatens Babylon is shown with a spear raised in his hand. And if a King should bring an army against Babylon, the number of its men and the ways by which it comes would be shown in the mirror. The Babylonians, by means of this Magic Mirror of theirs, are always ready for their enemies, and because of this no King in all the world will venture to make war on Babylon.
"But we shall steal the mirror and make the Tower of Babylon fall. Know that I, Zabulun, was once a Prince of Babylon. They dishonored me, the men of Babylon, and drove me out of their city. And for that I shall make an end of their pride and an end of their security.
"Fear not. It will not be hard to steal the mirror and throw down the tower. Know that the King of the city is a foolish King, and that he cares only for his gardens and for the beautiful and terrible beasts that he can bring into them. And as for the Genii who guard Babylon-behold them! They are mighty beings, truly, Harut and Marut! Immeasurably old are they, and they pass their days in sleep beside the tower that they guard. I say to you that it will not be hard to overthrow the tower, and take away from the Babylonians the Magic Mirror that is their security."
As Zabulun spoke the terrible beasts in the King's gardens roared mightily, and Harut and Marut, the mighty beings who slept in the shadow of the Tower of Babylon, turned in their sleeping. The flocks of birds that had built nests in their beards (the oldest owl and the littlest hummingbird were among them) flew up and rested on the steps of the tower.
The black-bearded men of Babylon passed in their throngs, while he who was once a prince in their city, and who was now Zabulun the Enchanter, stood there with his staff in his hands and smiling to himself. And I, Eean, the Boy Apprenticed to the Enchanter, felt as if I were falling-falling down from the top of the tower.
THE PALACE OF THE KING OF BABYLON
And now at the supper board of King Manus those who were eating, or drinking, or whispering to each other as the youth began his story, became silent and eager when he spoke of Babylon and the Tower of Babylon. The King himself was anxious to hear about that city that was the greatest in the world, and about the King who was the mightiest of all Kings, and he commanded the attendants to cease going here and there. So the servers and chamberlains and stewards, with the dishes, and napkins, and rods of office in their hands, stood still behind those who were seated at the table. The lords leaned forward with their eyes upon the youth who sat in the storyteller's place, and the King made a sign for him to tell on. But the youth Eean was speechless for a while. Such was the memory of the high Tower of Babylon upon him that had he been standing he would have fallen down. His head sank on the arm rest of the chair, and those near him who touched his hand felt it chilled. Then King Manus signaled for a chamberlain to go to him, and he went and wiped Eean's brow with a napkin, and then brought him a goblet of the richest wine. He raised up his head and drank, and looked down the table, and saw the high candles that burned brightly, and saw the face of the King and the faces of the lords who sat with the King. But for a while his look was the look of a man whose spirit is in another place. He heard the words that were spoken around him-words that were about the King of Babylon, and the King of Babylon's palace. The youth listened to these words and went on to speak of what befell him.
The walls of the King's palace (said Eean, the Boy Apprenticed to an Enchanter) make seven circles, one wall rising higher than the other, and each wall having a different color. The first wall is white, the second wall is black, and the third wall is scarlet; the fourth wall is blue, the fifth wall is orange, the sixth wall is plated with silver, and the seventh wall is plated with gold. I was filled with wonder when I looked on the walls of the King's palace.
The Enchanter that day had put on the dress of a merchant, but under it he had left his own garb-the straight coat that had the curious figures upon it. He took into his hand the staff that was made of two serpents twisting together, and he told me that the time had come to go to the palace and speak with the King.
At an early hour, before it was yet market time, we went through the streets of the city. The soldiers let us pass through the Gate of Brass along a way that has on each side great lions carved in stone. We came to the palace, and my master spoke to the doorkeepers and they permitted us to enter. We went through the outer courts where there were soldiers who carried naked swords in their hands. And because my master gave himself out to be a merchant from far-off parts, and because the King greatly desired to speak with those who came from far-off parts, we were brought into the presence of the King of Babylon.
He looked, O King Manus, like a King that was of a long line of Kings. His black beard was powdered with gold, and spices burned before him. But his face was white, and it was like the face of a man in a dream. Only one person stood near him-a dwarf from the Country of the Dwarfs. He had on his head a crown of scarlet feathers.
When we came before him, and after we had bowed, the King looked upon us. He spoke to my master, and said, "What have you to sell, merchant?"
And my master, before he spoke, let fall his merchant's robe, and he showed himself in the straight garb that was covered with curious figures-the garb of a Magus it was.
"What I have to sell," he said, "is the meaning of dreams, O King."
And now, O King Manus, I have to tell of a cheat worked upon a King, and of a cheat worked by my master, Zabulun the Enchanter, upon the King of Babylon. Pretending to speak of the meaning of dreams he led the King to destruction, hoping thereby to encompass the destruction of Babylon.
The King of Babylon turned to his ancient dwarf and he said, "Remind me of my dreams." And then the ancient dwarf, said to the King, "Of the three dreams that seemed remarkable to you, O King, the first was the Dream of the Three Dishes."
"It is even so," said the King. "I dreamed that there were three dishes set before me, no more than three dishes. And then I dreamed that afterward these three dishes were hidden from me and were not to be found. There was no one to tell me the signification of this dream."
"The signification of this dream," said Zabulun the Enchanter cunningly, "is easy to discover. In the lore of the Chaldeans a dish signifies a treasure. You have dreamed of a threefold treasure that is hidden away."
But the dwarf who was beside the King spoke up and said, "Why does a dish signify a treasure?"
"That is something I may not reveal," said my master, Zabulun the Enchanter, and he turned to the dwarf the staff that was formed of two serpents twisting together. The end of the staff lifted itself as though the serpents were rising up. The dwarf covered his eyes, and cried out, "O Magus!"
"Remind me of the second dream that was considered remarkable," said the King. And the dwarf said, "The second dream was the Dream of the Laden Ass."
"It is even so," said the King. "I dreamed that I looked down the Way of the Lions, and there came along the way a laden ass. Of that dream, also, the skilled ones could tell me nothing."
"And yet the dream is plain," said the Enchanter, looking full into the eyes of the King. "A laden ass signifies a treasure found-your dream is of a treasure being brought into your palace."
"It is so," said the ancient dwarf with the crown of scarlet feathers upon his head. "In dreams an ass is always laden with treasure."
"And what was my third dream?" said the King. "Your third dream," said the ancient dwarf, "was the Dream of the Arrows."
"It is even so," said the King of Babylon. "I dreamed of many arrows that were shot upward to a great height."
And then the King was silent, and he and the dwarf looked upon Zabulun the Enchanter. But Zabulun took a step nearer to them, and he said:
"In the lore of the Chaldeans, arrows shot upward signify a very high tower. I can tell you now the significance of your three dreams, O King. They are of a treasure that is to come into your possession. The treasure is hidden. It is hidden beneath a tower. The height to which the arrows were shot shows that the treasure is hidden under the highest of towers-under the Tower of Babylon."
At the mention of the Tower of Babylon, O King of the Western Island, a great fear came over me, for I knew that it was now that Zabulun's plan for the taking of the Magic Mirror was being put into practice. And it seemed to me that fear came over the ancient dwarf too, for he fell down upon his face. But rage grew in the King, and his black brows drew together in a frown.
"Are you one who would have the King make search for treasure beneath the Tower of Babylon?" he cried out.
"No search need be made there," said Zabulun the Enchanter. "And yet if the King should dream of treasure again it is proper that he should sacrifice a black cock upon the place where the treasure has been shown to be hidden. If that be done the dream will be banished and will come to the King no more. I speak as a Magus. But now I have shown you the meaning of the three dreams, and there is no more to be shown." And saying this the Enchanter put the garb of a merchant over the robe of the Magus. A cup was handed to him and a cup was handed to me also. This was to signify to us that our speech with the King was at an end. There was wine in our cups, but bitterness had been mixed with the wine, to signify that what had been told the King was not pleasing to him.
We went from the presence of the King, and when we were far outside the palace my master said to me:
"It will come about that the King will search for the treasure that I have put into his dreams. Moreover, he will speak to others of this treasure, and they, too, will search for it. It will come about that these many searchers, digging for the treasure, will break upon the foundations of the Tower of Babylon. Thereupon I will take the Magic Mirror and make myself the master of the Babylonians."
This he said to me as I went with him from the King's palace along the Way of the Lions. I was afraid, and it seemed to me that the lions that were in stone looked fiercely down on us as we passed.
THE KING OF BABYLON
We lived for a whole moon in Babylon, my master Zabulun and I, before the danger that was greater than the danger that is upon me now showed itself to me. Just before the hour of the market we would go through the streets of the city and toward the great market place. Throngs of people would be there, gathered together for buying or selling, or for talk of the happenings of the day before. My master would take me to a shady place, and we would sit there, resting or refreshing ourselves with drafts of the wine of the palm.
And Zabulun would tell me that the King we had spoken with was the most foolish King who had ever ruled over Babylon. "Great and terrible he seems when he sits upon his throne in his palace," Zabulun would say, "but for all that he is foolish, and he delights more to come into the market and hear the talk of strangers than to sit in his council chamber."
Again and again Zabulun would speak of the King, and he would say: "Often he comes here, and he sits in the market place and talks with all comers, which is against the customs of the Kings of Babylon. We will see him come here, and we will watch him do what is reported of him."
Seated in the market in a shady place I would watch the throngs that moved about there. I saw the merchants who had come down the river in such round boats as we had voyaged in. They brought casks of the wine of the palm to the market. And I saw those who had come from Arabia with spices, and my master would tell me how these spices had been gathered. Some had frankincense that grows on trees that are guarded by winged serpents. Only with smoke of burning styrax could they drive the serpents from the trees. And others had cassia that is found in a shallow lake guarded by fierce, batlike creatures. To gather it men have to cover themselves all over with the hides of cattle, leaving openings for their eyes only. And there are the merchants who have the labdanum that settles on low bushes, and that sticks to the beards of he-goats that go among the bushes. Others have the cinnamon that is used by birds to build their nests against high cliffs. Men cannot climb these cliffs to gather the sticks of cinnamon, but they make the birds bring into their nests such weights as break the nests down and so strew on the ground the sticks of cinnamon. They slaughter cattle under the cliffs, and the birds fly into their nests with great pieces of the meat, and the weight of these pieces of meat breaks down the nests. And so men gather cinnamon in Arabia.
And one day my master showed me the King of Babylon as he came into the market place.
He wore a black cloak that had only one stripe of purple in it, and a boy went beside him holding an Indian hound on a leash. Having come into the market the King seated himself in a special place, and he drank wine and ate honey cakes, and talked with the strangers that were brought before him, and let himself be gaped at by throngs of people. And then, from one to another of those who were around him, my master and I heard it said, "The King, surely, has had remarkable dreams."
In three days my master was sent for by the King, and he came into the palace again bringing me with him, and he was saluted as a Magus. The King's dreams were told to him. The first dream was of a drinking cup that blazed with fire, and the second dream was of a ram-headed man with golden horns, and the third dream was of a soldier in a black cloak. All those dreams, according to those in the palace who considered dreams, were of a treasure. Zabulun, my master, agreed that assuredly they were of a treasure, knowing that whatever the King dreamed of after he had put the thought of a treasure into the minds of those in the palace would be thought to be of that and of nothing else.
Then speaking as a Magus he told them that the blazing fire of the drinking cup, the golden horns on the ram-headed man, and the blackness of the soldier's cloak all signified the Tower of Babylon. The King and the ancient dwarf became very silent when my master spoke of the tower. It was then that the Enchanter took the staff that was made of two serpents twisting together into his right hand and declared that in order to make the dream of the tower cease to trouble him, the King should sacrifice a black cock in the lowest place of the tower.
Wine was brought us then, and my master and I drank, and this time no bitterness had been put into the wine. We were given permission to go, and we went from the palace.
As for the King and the ancient dwarf who was with him, they took horses and they rode to the Tower of Babylon, the dwarf bringing with him a black cock for the sacrifice. Harut and Marut, the sleeping guardians of Babylon, looked on, but they went past them and within the tower. In the lowest place in the tower they made preparations for the sacrifice of the black cock.
Zabulun and I sat in the market place and waited, for my master said to me, "That which happens to the King, no matter how great it may be, he will speak of it in the market. We shall wait here and see if the King will come here on his way back from the tower."
So in the market place we sat, my master and I. And in the tower the King and the ancient dwarf took the black cock and fastened him by a leg to a ring that was in a very light board in the floor. The cock, fluttering upward, lifted the board. Looking down, they saw a chamber beneath. They went down into that chamber, the King and the ancient dwarf, and behold! they found in it a treasure of silver pieces, each piece marked with the mark of a King of the old times in Babylon.
Soon Zabulun, seated in the shade in the market place, showed me the King and the ancient dwarf as they came among the throng. The King seated himself in his special place and drank wine and ate cakes of honey. My master, watching him from afar, knew that he talked about the treasure he had found, for the dwarf who went with him opened a leather bag and showed certain pieces that made those around them gape in wonder.
Not long were the King and the ancient dwarf there before the Hour of the Market came to its close. Those in the market left and went to their homes. My master and I likewise departed. But those who had listened to the King brought with them the memory of the wonder they had been told about. A treasure was hidden beneath the tower-that was the thought that now possessed every one. And when dusk had fallen upon the city, companies of men made their way toward the tower, carrying with them spades and picks. The next day, when the King came with the ancient dwarf, he found that all around the tower, and all around the place where Harut and Marut slept, trenches and holes had been dug.
He himself, with a company of men, went down into the lower chamber where the treasure of silver pieces had been found, and there they began to delve. The King found no treasure that day.
When he came out of the lower chamber he found many around the tower digging and delving. He forbade them to do this, and he set guards around the tower. But in the night those who were set to guard the tower began to delve.
The digging and delving within and around the tower went on in secret as well as openly. My master took me to show me what was being done. "Foolish is the King, and foolish are the people of Babylon," he said. "What I have told you will befall them. Very soon they will strike at the foundations of the tower, and the tower will stand no more. Then will I take to myself the Magic Mirror and make myself the master of the Babylonians."
THE GENII WHO GUARDED BABYLON
O King of the Western Island (said Eean, the Boy Apprenticed to an Enchanter), I was there in Babylon for the whole of a moon before the danger that was greater than my present danger overtook me. Often Zabulun, my master, went to the palace of the King, bringing me with him. And the King would now receive us in his cool chamber, and he would permit my master to seat himself on a purple cushion in his presence. The King would ask him about the ways of governing a kingdom, or he would tell him of his wonderful gardens, and of the strange and terrible beasts he had there. Or else he would talk about a mighty treasure that was to be found, and of the beasts he would buy for his gardens when that treasure came into his hands. Zabulun would tell the King of beasts he had seen or heard of-of the aurochs with its mighty horns, of the unicorn that was so white and so swift, of the satyr that is so marvelous that no one knew whether it was a wonderful beast or a wild man. And often, as they sat there talking, the King would have his servants stir up the beasts in his gardens so that their roarings might be heard by those in the palace.
Over the King and the King's ancient dwarf there had come a change, I thought. For the dwarf with the crown of scarlet feathers on his head would stand silent before the throne, silent even though the King spoke to him, silent as if listening to the sound that the spades and picks made on the ground around the Tower of Babylon. And the King no longer had the look of a ruler on his face, but had the look of a watcher and a waiter. There had come a change over my master also. Zabulun the Enchanter had eyes like yellow lamps, and they had become wider and more gleaming as the digging and delving around the Tower of Babylon went on. I could hardly see his face. And I began to have a great fear of Zabulun, even though he was kind to me, and had taught me many things.
And now I come to the day when that danger beset me that was greater than my present danger. That morning I had walked in the King's gardens with Zabulun, my master. I saw the great palm trees that grew there. So high and so shapely they grew that I was made to think again of the Tower of Babylon, and I was shaken by my thought. I looked along the great avenue of palms, and I saw down to the lake where the King's blue herons flew. And from the lake coming toward us I saw a young girl. She had laid the long blue feathers of the heron across her breast, and I saw her white forehead and her white knees, for her dress was the dress of a woman of the mountains. But she, seeing Zabulun and me, sprang as a young deer springs, and went among the palm trees. I kept thinking of that girl, and how free she was, and how no terror of a falling tower beset her as she went by the lake where the King's blue herons flew or rested.
Again Zabulun, my master, sat in the King's presence, and the ancient dwarf and I attended on them. The dwarf's head hung down where he stood, and he muttered. The King's voice was low when he spoke, but Zabulun spoke loudly. Also his yellow eyes shone as he twisted around his finger a purple strip that had been torn off the King's robe.
And suddenly there came the mighty roaring of beasts in the King's gardens. The dwarf looked at the King, and the King spoke to the dwarf, and there was astonishment on both their countenances, for no command had been given to have the beasts stirred up. The King rose from where he sat and went to the doorway. I, too, saw what he saw. The doorkeepers, and even the soldiers who had naked swords in their hands, were fleeing as before some terror. The King shouted his commands, but no one heeded them. I looked upon the King, and the King's wrath was terrible to behold.
And then I saw the King himself draw back in fear. What was it that approached? I, too, looked, and there, O King Manus, as I declare to you, I saw Harut and Marut, the giant guardians of Babylon, come through the outer courts and toward the chamber where the King stood.
They were naked but for their great beards and their flowing hair. They came with great strides, but their heads and their hands were swaying about like the heads and hands of men suddenly waked out of a deep slumber. The ancient dwarf saw them approach, and he screamed out and fled.
The King went out of the chamber and into the hall where the great pillars were. I called to my master, and he arose from the cushions where he sat, and he looked upon the two who came nearer. Along the line of the pillars Harut and Marut came, but Zabulun the Enchanter looked upon them without fear.
The King fell upon his knees as they came near him. My master's face did not become fearful, but he, too, went down on his knees as if powerful and unseen hands had forced him down. His eyes did not lose their look of scorn, but he knelt even as the King knelt. The King and the Enchanter were both Princes of Babylon, and when Harut and Marut showed themselves in their might, there was something within them that forced them to sink down on their knees.
And nearer and nearer Harut and Marut came, their heads swaying about and their arms hanging down. Nearer and nearer they drew. They touched the head of the King, and the King lay prone on the ground as though the life had left him. They came to where Zabulun the Enchanter knelt. But not on Zabulun's head did they lay their hands. They took him by the arms and they held him. Turning around, they dragged him along the line of the pillars. I saw him being drawn across the outer court and through one of the great doorways of the King's palace.
And then it seemed that I was the only one left in the palace of the Kings of Babylon. The King did not stir where he lay prone, and the dwarf did not return, and the doorkeepers did not show themselves any more. I ran from the chamber, and out through one of the great doors, and into a place where branches of trees seemed to shield me from the terror that had fallen upon the palace. And I did not know then that I was running from terror clear into the mouth of danger.
Dreadful things had happened outside as well as within the palace of the King. The beasts that were in the gardens had broken out of their pits and their cages. I saw the beasts and I felt them all around me. I saw the hippopotami as they lay with their backs against the crimson wall of the palace. I saw the zebras stamp between the yellow wall and the blue wall, and ostriches run between the black and the white walls. And when I looked back from where I was in the gardens I saw monkeys climb on the golden and silver walls, frightened by the lions that went roaring through the courts of the palace. I ran on and on, down the great avenue of palms and toward the lake where the King's blue herons flew or rested.
I ran on. But I had gone aside from the avenue of the palms, seeing a great buffalo that stood in my way. Something caught at my feet as I ran on the clear ground, and being tripped, I fell into a deep pit. I lay there, and I looked to the sky, and I saw that the pit narrowed to the top, and for that reason was hard to climb out of. It was higher again by my own height, as I saw when I stood up thinking of a way that might get me out.
But then there came a sound that made me look downward, a hissing sound. And when I looked down I saw into what place I had fallen-into the Pit of the Serpent. In the shadow of the pit there was a dreadful snake. It was still in its coils, but its head was raised, and it was swaying toward me.
Then, O King of the Western Island, I was in a danger greater than I am in now. This snake was mighty enough to crush a man, and from that pit there was no escape without help, and at that moment there was no help. The snake raised itself higher, and its eyes fastened my eyes. Judge, then, of my danger, and whether it was not greater than the danger I am in now as I sit here with the gleam of the slaying sword before my eyes.
And then I heard a whisper that seemed to come to me from the sky. I drew my eyes from the snake's eyes and I looked to the top of the pit. Bending from the opening was a girl, and she had in her hands a little drum. She began to beat on the drum, and the snake's head that was swaying toward me began to sway sideways. The girl beat again on the drum, and the snake's head swayed and swayed and went down upon its coils. At last the dreadful head was at rest, and the eyes of the snake no longer fastened themselves upon my eyes.
The girl who stood above the pit put down a board for me to climb up by. I climbed, and I stood outside the pit, and I looked upon the girl, and I saw the blue heron's feathers laid across her breast. Then I sank down on the ground, and for a while I knew no more of the world's happenings.
AGAIN THE HORSES OF KING MANUS
It was as if the eyes of the snake were still upon him. Eean stopped in his story, and his eyes were wide as if they looked upon a terrible thing. One of the servers brought him a cup of wine and placed it in his hands, but although he kept his fingers around it, he did not raise it to his lips.
Nor did he appear to hear what was being said around the King's supper table: "A great danger the boy was in, truly." "The danger he is in now is not as great as the danger he has told us of." "We must hear the end of this story." "It seems that he is too fearful to tell us any more." This last speech came to the ears of King Manus. "Be not so fearful, boy," said the King. "You have been in a greater danger than ever I heard a man speak of, and by my sword, you are in less danger now than you were then. Drink the wine that is in it and keep the cup you have for a remembrance. I would have you at your ease, too, for we will sit here and listen to the rest of your story."
When the King said this the lords who were sitting around the supper board applauded, and then the stewards signaled to the attendants to bring more lights in. Fresh candles were put upon the board, and fresh torches were put into the sconces, and fresh logs were put upon the hearth. When all this was done the King and his lords turned their faces to Eean, for they were ready to listen to the rest of the story. But the boy had not seated himself in the storyteller's chair: still he was standing with the winecup between his hands, and still his eyes were widened as if a terrible thing was before him.
It was then, as they were waiting for him to begin, that the neigh of a horse was heard again. It was a very shrill neigh, and every one in the supper hall was startled by it. Out they rushed, King and lords, stewards, servers, and attendants, and they neither stopped nor stayed until they came before the King's great stable. Then they could hardly believe what their eyes looked upon: the iron door of the stable was open wide; the watchers were there, but their heads were bent in sleep and their swords were upon the ground. Through the open door of the stable came the whinnyings and the plungings and the tramplings of a horse. Quickly they went into the stable. There, by the light of the torches that the attendants held, they saw the white horse and the red horse still in their stalls, but the black horse they saw rearing above a figure that was prone upon the ground.
The blaze of their torches made the black horse swerve so that his hoofs did not come down upon the figure that was upon the stable floor. The horse was taken hold of and put back into his stall. Then the attendants raised up the one who was upon the ground. "Another one come to steal my horses," cried King Manus. "Well, this one shall pay the penalty that the other has been delivered from."
They took up the one who was on the floor of the stable. They locked the stable door again and they put a double watch before it. They brought the one whom they had taken into the supper hall; a lad, younger even than Eean, this second robber seemed.
Eean was standing by the storyteller's seat as they came into the supper hall. Looking upon the one they brought in he cried out in the voice of the heartbroken, "O Bird-of-Gold, why didst thou peril thyself by staying here? Too faithful to me thou hast been!" Hearing this speech, all looked on the one who was called Bird-of-Gold: it was then that they saw they had taken, not a youth as they had supposed, but a young girl whose dress was a youth's dress.
In the light of the torches and candles they looked at her wonderingly. She had knitted brows and heavy eyelids that gave to her face the look of one who ponders deeply. And there was such fire behind the depths of her eyes that it seemed as if her thought was always burning. But her lips were colorless and her cheeks were thin and sunken; her hair and her eyes and her eyebrows were dead black. And when they went to bind her as they had bound Eean they saw that her hands were finely shaped and yet strong and hard.
"Who is she?" said King Manus.
"I have told you of her," said Eean. "This is she who found me in the Pit of the Serpent and who drew me away from the venom of the snake."
There was silence for a while, and then the King said, "The chance that was given you shall be given her also. If she can show us that she was in a danger greater than the danger she is in now her life shall not be taken. If she cannot show that, she shall be slain by the sword on tomorrow's sunrise."
At that some of the trouble that was on Eean's face seemed to leave it. He cried out, "O Bird-of-Gold, tell the King the story of your adventures from the beginning. Think thee, Bird-of-Gold, of the terrible things you have gone through and speak to the King and the lords of them. This King is very generous, and you may win your life from him."
The girl who was called Bird-of-Gold turned to the King her face that seemed to him to be like the face of a slave and a victorious warrior. Her hands were bound before her and her black hair fell over her breast. Like one who was ever ready in deed and word, as soon as King Manus made a gesture, she began.
HOW THE BRAMBLE GATHERER'S DAUGHTER WENT TOWARD HER FORTUNE
I am called Bird-of-Gold (said the girl, beginning her story), but that name did not belong to me until I was a girl grown. Before that I had no name. In the city where I was born and where I lived I was known as "the bramble gatherer's child."
My father was the poorest of all the men of that town. He gathered brambles and thorns in the wilderness and brought them in a bundle to the hut where we lived. Then, while he was gathering another bundle on another day, I would go through the town selling the brambles and thorns for stuff for the people's fires. My mother I never knew. I grew up with my father, and we two had even less than the sparrows. I had no playmate and no friend, and what I got for the thorns and brambles I sold brought us but little to eat.
One day as I passed along the street of the city it came into my mind that I was grown to be a girl. The thought that I should go from the city grew in me from that time. My father would miss me, but he would flourish better if there were one, and not two, to eat the scanty meal that the price of the brambles and thorns gained for us.
I got for myself the cap and jacket of a boy. Then one morning when my father had gone from the hut and had turned his face to the wilderness and his back to the city, I went out of the door and turned to the wilderness also. I took a direction that would bring me far from where my father had gone. I had dressed myself as a boy, and my thought was that I would come upon a merchant who would let me do service for him, and who, perhaps, would take me on a voyage. And I thought that I might win some fortune for myself, and that then I could return and take my father out of toil and hardship.
I came to the wilderness and I went through it. When the sun was halfway in the heavens I came to where there was a road. There was a pillar before me and that pillar had writing upon it. I read what was written there. The words were: They who take the road to the right will come to their fortune at last, and they who take the road to the left will be ever as they have been. When I read that writing I took the road that was to my right.
I went along that road thinking every minute that I should come upon something that would bring me to my fortune. The light faded as I went along, and soon I had to look about for some tree or cave that would give me a shelter for the night. At last I saw a hut and I went toward it. When I came before the broken door I knew the place I had been brought to. It was my father's hut-the hut I had left that morning. And as I stood before it I saw my father coming from the other side with the bundle of brambles and thorns upon his back. Then I said to myself, "How lying was the writing that said that they who took the road to their right would come at last to their fortune."
I went into the hut with my father. In the darkness he did not see that I had on the cap and jacket of a boy. He laid the bundle of brambles and thorns down on the floor while I went to prepare the meal for both of us. And while my father was lighting a fire I took off the cap and jacket of a boy and I put on my girl's dress.
My father, when he had eaten his meal, said to me, "Today when I had gathered the brambles and had made them into a bundle I lay with my head on the bundle and went to sleep. I awakened feeling some warmth near where my head lay. I looked to see if perchance the brambles and thorns had caught on fire, and, lo! what I saw laid on the bundle was the egg of a bird. The egg was still warm, and the bird that laid it must have flown as I awakened."
My father showed me the egg. It was strangely marked and was heavy for its size. I looked at it, and my father said, "Take it to the merchant tomorrow, and maybe he will give a coin for it, for surely it is remarkable."
The next day, when my father had gone into the wilderness, I went to the shop of the merchant. I showed him the egg that had the strange markings upon it, and I asked him if he would give me something for it. And when the merchant had taken the egg in his hand he said, "This is something to be shown the King. It is undoubtedly the egg of the Bird of Gold."
I was greatly stirred when I heard the merchant say this, and I thought that perhaps my fortune would come to me through this egg. I went back to the hut, and in the morning, before my father started off for his bramble gathering, two officers came and they took my father and me to the palace and before the King. And the King said, "It is known that of all creatures in the world the Bird of Gold is best worth possessing. For her claws can be made into an amulet that will bring wealth to the one who wears it, and the one who eats her heart can never be slain by his enemy. I would have the Bird of Gold whose egg you have found. You know where she lives. Catch her and bring her to me, and I shall reward you."
So spoke the King of our little country. My father and I went into the wilderness to search for the Bird of Gold around the place where the egg had been laid. And in the very place where he had lain my father put down his bundle of brambles and thorns. Laying his head upon the bundle, he went to sleep.
I watched beside the brambles and thorns. And after a time a bird came running along the ground, and went fluttering up on the bundle and made a nest for herself. Small she was, and all golden except for the blue that was under her throat, and the blue that was upon her feet. As she was making a nest for herself I put my hands upon her and caught her. I held her to my breast to keep her from fluttering away.
And I said aloud, "O bird, now I shall be rewarded for taking thee. For the King would make an amulet of thy feet that he may have wealth, and he would eat thy heart that his enemies may not be able to slay him. Greatly will he reward me for having taken thee, O Bird of Gold."
And as I spoke to her and held her to my breast the bird made a cry that sounded as "Alas, Alas!" I looked upon her again, and my heart was filled with sorrow for the bird I had taken. Why should her claws be made into an amulet for the King, and why should her heart be eaten by him? I sat there thinking while my father slept, holding the bird very gently to my breast. And when she cried again "Alas, Alas!" I opened my hands and I let her fly away. She fluttered near for a while as if to show herself to me, and then she rose up and flew away.
My father awakened, and he said, "It is near dark, and the Bird of Gold will not come now. Perhaps we will find her on another day. The King should reward us for our search, and now we will go to him and tell him of it."
So we rose up and we went into the city. And when we came before him, my father spoke to the King and told him that the Bird of Gold was not to be seen in the places where we had searched. Then the King would have sent us away without doing any evil to us only one who was near him cried out: "Behold, O King, and decree a punishment for these two deceivers. One has declared that the Bird of Gold did not come near where they searched. But look on the dress of the girl. All around her breast are the feathers of the Bird of Gold."
Thereupon I looked down and I saw that the bird's golden feathers were all strewn around the place where I had held her to me. I was grasped by the hands and brought before the King. And he cried out, "Have you the bird hidden?" I said: "No, O King. I let the bird fly out of my hands." Then the King spoke to one who stood beside him, and he commanded that I should be taken and put upon a ship and thrown into the depths of the sea.
I was taken from my father, who wept and cried after me, and I was brought down to the river and put upon a ship. The one who was commanded by the King to take me and throw me into the depths of the sea was a man with a great hooked nose and a purple beard. On his hand was a ring with a great emerald in it. He was the captain of the King's ships.
I was put upon the ship, and the next day we sailed down the river and came out on the sea. Now, although the King had commanded that I be thrown into the depths of the sea, I was not then in as great a danger as I am in now, O King of the Western Island. For the captain of his ships hated all the words that the King gave him, and those whom the King would slay he would save, and those whom the King would save he would have slain. When we came into the open sea, so that he might obey the King's word and at the same time make a mock of it, he had me thrown into the water, but with a rope around my waist. After I had been plunged into the water he had me drawn out of it, and I was left living on the ship. And from the captain who had had me plunged into the sea in such ways and from the sailors on the ship I got the name by which I have been known ever since--Bird-of-Gold.
THE MAN WHO WAS HIGH IN FORTUNE
We landed in a country (said Bird-of-Gold, continuing her story) that was three days' voyage from the river's mouth. Then the sailors put swords into their belts and marched toward a mountain that was half a day's journey from the coast. They pitched black tents and they built a citadel, and they made themselves into a band of robbers. He who had been the captain of the King's ships was the chief of this band.
Every day they went off to rob caravans and to make war upon the men who guarded the caravans. And always they came back, my master and his forty robbers, with no man of their band slain and with no man wounded. Very rich and powerful did they grow with the plunder they took from the caravans, and my master, the man with the hooked nose and the purple beard, grew to be a King almost. Men far and near sent him presents and men came to him promising obedience, and he had state such as had the King of my country. But he kept no men with him except his forty robbers.
Every one said of my master, the captain of the band, that nothing could come to him except good fortune, so great and so prosperous did he grow. Men marveled that so many good things came to him and so many evil things were staved off from him. And all his band swore by his good fortune. But one day a wise King who liked him greatly sent my master a message that said: "I rejoice in your good fortune, friend, but am also troubled by it. He who is so lucky must pay a great price sooner or later for his luck. Pay the price now, before it is exacted from you, and remain great and prosperous. Let the price you pay be that possession that is dearest to you."
My master, having received this message, paid heed to what was said in it, for the, King who sent it was renowned for his wisdom. He made up his mind to sacrifice the possession that was dearest to him so that he might remain great and prosperous. And the possession that he considered dearest was the ring that he wore with the great emerald in it. He went down to the seacoast, taking me with him, for he would let none of the forty men know what he was about to do, and he took a boat and he went, I being with him, over the depths of the sea. Then he drew from off his finger the ring that had the great emerald in it, and he let it drop down into the depths of the sea. Afterward he sent a message back to the King, his friend, saying that he had paid the price before it was exacted of him, and that his prosperity now would never fail, and that men would ever swear by his good fortune.
After that he and his forty men went forth and won more plunder than ever they had won before. Also more men came from far and near, bringing him presents and promising him obedience.
And now, being so prosperous and so feared, my master planned to attack a city and make himself the master of the King's treasure. He told his plan to his forty men and they rejoiced one and all, and they talked to each other as if that treasure was already in their hands. I prepared the meal that was to be given him before he collected his men for the march.
The meal was of fish. The fisherman who had just come from the sea laid his net before me and I took out of it an exceedingly, large and beautiful fish. I divided the fish and began to make it clean. I found within the fish something it had swallowed. It was a ring. And when I cleaned the ring I found that it was of gold and that in it was a most precious stone--a stone of emerald.
I cooked the fish and brought it to my master. And to make him rejoice I brought at the same time the ring to him. I told him that for the ring he had dropped into the depths of the sea another ring had come back to him, and that this was on account of the great good fortune that was ever with him.
He took the ring from me and he looked it all over. He cried out that this was not another ring but the same ring, and that the characters of his name were engraved upon it. And he said that it was by no means on account of his good fortune that this ring had come back to him. Thereupon he rose up and went outside, and gave command to his band that they were to disarm themselves and tie up their horses, and hold themselves back from making any attack that day. He then went into his tent and sat at the darkest part of it, his purple beard touching the ground, and all the while lamenting that his dearest possession had come back to him out of the depths of the sea.
The forty men disarmed themselves and tied up their horses and sat in little bands playing games together. I would have stayed about the encampment making bread for the band, but as I came near the tent where the kneading board was I heard a bird's cry.
I looked, and I saw near the wellhead the Bird of Gold. The bird fluttered and flew as if she wanted me to watch her. I followed where she went and I was led far from the encampment. At the edge of the wilderness she went among low bushes, and after that I could not see her any more.
Because I had seen the Bird of Gold once more I went back toward the encampment thinking about the days when I had lived in the hut of my father, the bramble gatherer, and about the day when I had left that hut, and had gone across the wilderness, and had seen the pillar on which was written that if I followed the road to the right I should come to my fortune, and about how I had come, not to my fortune, but back to the hut I had left; and I went on, thinking of how I had first heard of the Bird of Gold, and of how I had given her liberty when I might have held her for the great reward the King would have given. I went toward the encampment thinking these thoughts about myself, and thinking, too, of my master who had such fortune that men swore by the goodness of it.
I made my way toward the tent where the kneading board was. And then I saw tents overturned and lying upon the ground. I saw the horses of the band straying over the plain. And when I looked to the citadel I saw it smoking with a fire that was burning it.
There was no stir in all the encampment. I knew then that an army had come and had attacked my master and his forty men in the time that I was following the Bird of Gold or coming back from the place where she had led me. I went among the tents and I saw that the men had been killed. And I saw the purple beard of my master, cut off by some insolent enemy and left lying upon the ground.
Then I ran over the trampled grass and made for the wilderness. And when I came into the wilderness I hid myself among the bushes that the Bird of Gold had flown into. I thought that a great army was pursuing me, and in truth I was very fearful.
HOW BIRD-OF-GOLD CAME TO HER FORTUNE
I hid at the near side of the wilderness (said the girl, Bird-of-Gold), for I was too fearful to go back to the encampment and too fearful to go farther on. I ate the wild fruits that grew on the bushes, and at night I covered myself with dried leaves and branches and slept in a hole. I thought how he had been destroyed, that man whose good fortune had been above everyone else's good fortune, and I did not know how such a one as I could keep alive. I was fearful while I slept, and when I awoke and sat upon a heap of leaves in that empty wilderness I was most miserable. I remembered the writing on the pillar that told me to take the road to the right on the day I left my father's hut and I put a curse upon the road I took. I cursed it because it had brought me, not to my fortune as the writing said it would bring me, but back to the hut I had left. And things were even worse with me from that time than they were before, for my return had brought me to the encounter with the King, and to the voyage with the captain of the King's ships, and to the dangerous place where I was now.
But then I began to think that although that road had brought me to my father's hut it had not brought me back to a life that was as it had been before. What had happened after I had come back to the hut had brought me farther away than that road could have led to. Perhaps the writing on the pillar was not lying, after all. It had said: They who take the road to the right will come at last to their fortune. Perhaps my fortune was farther away than I had thought.
Then I said to myself that my journeys were not yet ended, and that if I went on I should yet come to what the writing on the pillar had promised. I sat still for a while with this thought in my mind, and then I rose up and went through the wilderness, going straight on toward a star that was still in the sky.
I left the wilderness with its low shrubs at last, and I came out on a wide, green plain. Before going on that plain I ate again of the wild fruit that was on the bushes and I brought some of the wild fruit with me. I went on and on over the miles of grass. When it was midday I saw a whiteness upon the plain before me.
I went toward that whiteness and in a while I saw that it was all in movement. There were white living creatures there. I went on, and I came near to where there was a hollow in the plain, and I saw in that hollow a mighty flock of ducks. They were tame, for they did not rise up and fly as I came near.
I looked upon them with great astonishment. I had never seen so many ducks together. I looked them all over and I made a guess that there were a thousand ducks there. And I had never seen such beauty in ducks before. For these ducks were of a gleaming whiteness, and moreover they had a shapeliness that I had never seen in such creatures before. I thought and thought, but I could not think how they had come into this unpeopled plain in such a vast flock.
I sat down on the grass and I watched them feeding, thinking surely that some one would come and drive the flock to some market or to some great farm. I watched, and the ducks ate and ate in the hollow where they stayed. When the darkness came the thousand ducks put their heads under their wings and settled down on the ground. I pulled grass to make a bed for myself, and ate the fruit I had brought with me, and lay down in a cold place near the hollow.
I was awakened by the thousand ducks quacking loudly, and I looked and saw that they had spread themselves over the plain and were moving in a direction. I thought I should follow the ducks, and I did, and I was able to chase away two or three foxes that would have hunted them.
They were beautiful, these thousand ducks, as they went over the green plain. They were shapely and active, and they had a wonderful soft whiteness. The drakes were not colored differently, but they had crests and tails that curled. When they knew I was with them they did not go straying here and there, but kept themselves together as a flock and went marching in a direction. I thought that they might bring me to my fortune. And then I thought that this great flock of ducks, so strangely without an owner, was my fortune.
I was faint and hungry, but I went on rejoicing in the beauty of the ducks. I gave them time to feed, and they fed. At last I came to the gate of a town. The watcher was astonished at the greatness of the flock and he called to the townspeople to come out and fill their eyes with the spectacle. They came and asked me, "Who are you, O girl?" and I made answer, "I am the girl whose fortune is in ducks." The people came on the walls of the town and looked over them, while the ducks spread themselves out and stood still. And more and more the people marveled at the number and the extraordinary beauty of the ducks.
The people set a place apart for the ducks and they gave me a shelter in which I might rest and refresh myself. After a while I heard them say, "The officers of the great King of Babylon should see this girl and her ducks. There is a marvel here for the great King to hear about." People came to see the ducks as a spectacle, and one would say to the other, "No prince by any river in China has such a wonderful collection of ducks."
And then I was told that the officers of the great King of Babylon would come to look on my flock. These officers had come into the country to get for the King's gardens birds and beasts that were remarkable.
They came and looked on the flock and marveled that, whether they rested or were feeding, the thousand ducks harkened to my call and went as I bade them go. They spoke, admiring their shape and whiteness. And then a dwarf who had a crown of scarlet feathers on his head came among them, and the officers spoke to him. This dwarf told me they would take the flock for the King, and that they would take me also to the great city, where I would have the office of minding the ducks in the King's gardens.
So I brought the thousand ducks down to a great barge that was on the river, and I went on the barge, and the officers of the King with the dwarf that had the crown of scarlet feathers on his head went aboard it, and we sailed down the river, and we came into the great city. For two days the King had me show the wondrous flock in the market place as a spectacle for the people. All Babylon came and admired the number and the comeliness of the ducks. Afterward they were brought to the lake that was in the King's gardens. As time went on many of the flock were taken by the purveyors and killed and eaten in the palace. But still they remained a wonder for their number and their comeliness. The King often came down to look on the thousand ducks swimming on the water or staying in their companies around the lake.
BIRD-OF-GOLD IN THE KING'S GARDENS
No place in the whole world is more beautiful than the King's gardens in Babylon (Bird-of-Gold said). My white ducks, when they swam upon the lake, went among water lilies that were silver-white or all golden. Beside the lake the irises grew, depths and depths of blue and gold and cloud-colored irises. I should never have left the side of that lake if I had not wanted to be among the trees that grew in the gardens above-palm trees of many kinds, and great cedar trees in the dark branches of which the doves built their nests. Greatly did I admire the trees in the King's gardens, for I had come from a country where there were no trees. All the palms were there--the date palm, and the royal palm, and the palm of the desert. They stood nobly by themselves or they made solemn avenues that led to monuments of the Kings of Babylon. In the grass there were golden poppies and little roses that just lifted themselves above the ground. There were great monuments, too-statues of Kings and lions and chariots, and these reminded people of terrors and magnificences, and they were as a great wind that blew through the gardens.
And there were tulips on the ground, and there were golden fruits among gleaming leaves, and red pomegranates on the high trees, and there were spice trees that filled with fragrance the garments of those who passed. And allin a garden to themselves were the roses-a thousand rose trees, each tree with a thousand opened flowers. I wept when I saw that garden of roses, and I do not know why I wept.
All the birds that were lovely to look at or charming to hear singing were in that garden. The black birds with golden wings from my own country were there, and the birds of paradise from the Land of the Burning Mountain. And it was told that the nightingales of Persia and Babylon and Arabia brought their young here that they might learn to sing the more perfectly. Also there were mockingbirds that mocked every bird's song but the song of the nightingale.
As for the beasts in the King's gardens, the first one I made friends with was a lynx. He was not in a cage, but went roaming about, watching everything with eyes that never winked. And after I had come to know him and had made friends with him, the lynx brought me to the cages and the pits of the other beasts and with them I made friends.
Of all the creatures that were there the one I was most fearful of was the queen serpent that was in the Pit of the Serpent. But the serpent attracted me, and I used to sit above the pit, the lynx beside me, and watch her as she uncoiled herself and swayed her head about. And as I watched her I would beat on a little drum that I carried with me. I began to see that as I beat the drum and made music for her, the serpent would cease to sway her head and she would lower it, and then she would rest upon her coils as if she were sleeping. So I grew to have power over the serpent, and many times when I saw her try to draw down a bird that had come to the edge of the pit, I would beat upon the drum until her head sank down. Then the bird would rouse itself out of the spell that the serpent's eyes had put on it and fly away.
So I stayed in the King's gardens, part of the day with the thousand ducks that were about the lake, and part of the day with the ever-watchful lynx that went here and went there.
One day I came up from the lake after having decked myself with the blue herons' feathers that lay about. I saw two persons where none but the King or the King's ancient dwarf ever came. One was a man who wore a straight garment that had curious figures woven upon it, and who carried in his hand a staff that was formed of two serpents twisting together. The one who was with him was a boy, and my heart went out to him because he was young, and I had seen no one who was young in all my days in Babylon. The two walked in the gardens, and I ran and hid from them.
A day came soon after when I came up from the lake and did not find the lynx who was my friend. I went searching for him, and at last I came upon him. He had gone up into one of the great chariots that were for a monument to a King. I saw him watching from the chariot. I went beside him, and the lynx did not move, but kept watching, watching.
Before I saw what was coming I heard a great trampling noise. I saw trees break and fall down. Flocks of birds came flying toward me, and I saw the deer start up and run. Then I saw enormous shapes coming striding through the gardens. They were as men, but men as high as towers. As they came on, trees fell down before them, and beasts broke out of their pits and cages and crouched before them. The beasts were filled with fear, and they roared and screeched and trumpeted as if fearful things were about to happen to them. The giant men passed where I stood in the great chariot and they came to the gateway that led into the courts of the King's palace. They put their hands to the stones above the gateway, and the heavy, mortared stones fell, leaving a space high enough for the men to pass through. I looked from the King's palace toward the city, and I saw the Way of the Lions and it was black with people that fled from the palace-soldiers and servants and attendants. I saw the beasts of the gardens bound or crash through the broken gateway, entering the courts of the palace.
I saw the giant men come forth from the palace. Now they held a man by the arms and dragged him along. They crossed the gardens dragging the man, and for a time I watched the dust that their progress made.
As I watched I saw someone come fleeing from the palace. He ran on, coming straight to the place from where I watched. He stumbled as he ran, and I saw him fall into the Pit of the Serpent. It had seemed to me as I watched him that this was the boy who had walked with the strange man in the gardens.
In my hands I had the little drum whose sound could put a spell upon the queen serpent. I ran toward the pit holding the drum. And when I bent over I saw that the head of the serpent was very near to the boy. I beat upon the drum, and the serpent heard, and her head ceased to sway about. Then her head went down, and she remained in her coils upon the ground.
I drew the boy up, and I led him to the lake and I bathed his face and his hands. The day had almost passed before he was able to speak to me. Then he told me who he was, and what the events were that had happened in the King's palace. And that boy is the one who is before you now, O King of the Western Island--Eean, the fisherman's son, who was apprenticed to the Enchanter.
HOW BIRD-OF-GOLD WENT TO THE TOP OF THE TOWER
Long did it take Eean to tell me the whole of the story, and when he had told it and I had gathered and put together all of it, I said to him, "Not yet has the tower fallen, and ere it comes down one might go to the top and take the Magic Mirror of the Babylonians and put it in the hands of the King."
"The King may be dead," Eean said, "or else he may be in such a state that he cannot see or hear any more."
We were then sitting under the greatest of the cedar trees, and he was eating pomegranates from my lap. I looked from out the shade of the cedar tree, and I saw the King of Babylon walking in his gardens.
The King was fearful; he looked to the right and to the left as he went on. When he saw a little deer that was standing still he was startled, and he turned back. As he came near the cedar tree he saw me standing there before him. I prostrated myself and I said, "O King, fear not for Babylon. The tower has not yet fallen, and the Magic Mirror will yet be placed in your hands." But the King only said, "Go to the tower and bring back to me the black cock that I tied to a board but did not sacrifice." Thereupon the King went within the palace.
I called upon Eean to come, and we went down the Way of the Lions, and through the Gate of Brass, and out into the city. It was the Hour of the Market, but there were no people in the market place. We went on, Eean and I, and we came before the tower. There we saw a throng such as would have filled many markets, and they were standing round and gazing at the tower.
I had never looked before on the Tower of Babylon. It was built tower upon tower to the height of four towers, and its color was red. Around the whole height of it went a stairway showing steps on this side and that as it went winding around. On the top of the topmost tower I saw a gleam, and I knew it was the Magic Mirror of the Babylonians.
That gleam dazzled me and put into my mind the thought of going to the top of the tower. I, out of all that throng, would go and bring down the Magic Mirror! I went among them, and they let me pass, for I had on me now the dress of one who belonged to the palace. I stood before the throng and I saw where a great space of rock was worn smooth-it was the rock against which Harut and Marut had lain.
I came to the first steps of the tower, and I climbed three of them. I heard the murmur of those who spoke of me, and I stood still. Then up the first round of the steps I went, keeping my mind from the thought of the great height that was above me. I came at last to where the second tower grew from the top of the first, and I stood and looked down, and I saw that the men below had already become little. It was then that I felt terror of the height that was above me.
I began to climb the steps of the second tower, fearful to look down and fearful to think of the number of steps that were before me. I went on and up, all in a terrible silence, and feeling that at the step above me something unbelievable would happen.
After a great length of time I came out on the space that was the top of the second tower. On that breadth I rested. As I waited there the coldness of death seemed to come over me.
But the coldness passed, and I felt the air again. I found the steps that went up and around the third of the towers. As I went on I felt that those steps leaned down on me and crushed me, and that with my feet alone I never could surmount them. Then I went down on my hands and knees and I climbed and climbed until my hands were bruised and the parts behind my knees ached. I thought that suddenly the steps would cease to be, and that I should find no place for my hands, and that thereupon I would fall down all the height I had climbed up. But step came after step, and at last I came out on the space that was the top of the third tower.
Above me was the fourth tower. I stood holding myself against it, and I looked down all the distance I had climbed. I saw the great river shining whitely, and like pebbles in the bed of a river were the throngs below. But now my fear went from me. The silence was all around me, but I was exultant because of the silence through which I climbed. The height troubled me no more, rather it made me exultant, making me feel as the eagle feels. I came out on the top of the fourth tower, and there was nothing above me except the silent sky.
And there was the Magic Mirror of the Babylonians. It rested against the great spear that was Nimrod's, and it was turned toward the city and toward the King's palace.
I looked into the Magic Mirror. As I looked into it I saw a writing come upon it. I read the writing, and it said: Bring the Magic Mirror of the Babylonians to the King of Babylon, but burden yourself not with the Spear of Nimrod.
And that writing faded; and another writing appeared on the mirror. And the writing read: Zabulun the Enchanter has been brought by Harut and Marut into the cave that is below the sea. For forty days they will watch over him, but then they will fall into a slumber. Zabulun will come forth from the cave that is beneath the sea, and in anger he will pursue him who revealed his plan for the taking of the Magic Mirror. Take one of the rings that are around the mirror. It will reveal when Zabulun comes from the cave, and it will show how near he comes in his pursuit of Eean, the boy who was apprenticed to him.
That writing faded, and I saw the rings that were around the mirror. I loosened one and I took it off the mirror and I put it around the wrist of my hand. The color of the ring changed to the green of the sea.
I took the Magic Mirror in my hands and I went down the stairway. Down I went, from the fourth to the third, and from the third to the second of the towers. As I went down the-stairway around the first of the towers I heard the murmurs of the throng. High above my head I raised the Magic Mirror, and I went toward them holding it so.
And as I went among the throng I heard a voice cry out, "The tower trembles, the tower rocks." It was the voice of Eean. As the cry arose the throngs drew back from before the tower. They ran, and I ran carrying the mirror, and Eean ran beside me. And when we came to the market place we two were alone.
We stood in the empty market place and we looked toward the Tower of Babylon. In its great height it stood there, strong and wonderful. I heard the shouting of people around it. Then I saw the great tower swing like a child's swing. Dust rose up, cloud after cloud, and cloud over cloud. The cries of people came from out the clouds.
We stood there until we saw the sun shine through a cloud of dust. Then we knew that the Tower of Babylon was indeed fallen. Never again did we go near the place, but from travelers I have heard that where the tower stood there is emptiness, and that great blocks of stone are scattered far and wide.
HOW EEAN AND BIRD-OF-GOLD WENT FROM BABYLON
We went into the King's gardens, carrying with us the Magic Mirror of the Babylonians. We saw the great cedar tree, and we went and sat under its branches and spoke of what we should do. The Magic Mirror would have to be given to the King, but for long Eean was fearful of going into the palace.
At last we went to the doors. They were unguarded, and we went within the palace. We came to the chamber where the King was accustomed to sit upon his throne, and we saw the King there. Around him there were bearded men with fierce eyes; by their fashion of carrying swords we knew them to be the leaders of the King's armies. These fierce-eyed men stood with their feet upon the steps of the throne, speaking in anger to the King. They did not see us as we came into the chamber. But in a while one caught sight of us, and he uttered a fierce word. I went to them, holding the Magic Mirror raised in my hands. The King raised his head, and he saw the mirror, and he cried out to us.
I went and left the Magic Mirror on the throne, beside the King. I lifted my voice and I told him how I had taken the mirror from the top of the tower, and that now the tower was overthrown, but the mirror was saved for the Babylonians. Then the King said to the fierce-eyed men, "This is the Magic Mirror of the Babylonians, and I say to you that Babylon is yet in safety." Again he said to them, "Speak now and say what is to be done about this girl who brought the mirror down from the tower."
One of the fierce-eyed men said, "Who is the boy with her?"
The King looked on Eean and knew who he was. He said, "This is the boy who was with the Enchanter on whom be evil."
The man said, "Banish the girl and the boy also, but do no evil to them inasmuch as they have brought to us the Magic Mirror of the Babylonians."
The King said, "Take them from the city, but let some treasure be given to them because they have brought to me the Magic Mirror of the Babylonians."
One of the fierce-eyed men took us, and he brought us into a chamber in which there were many open jars. In some of the jars there were gold and in others there were silver coins. The fierce-eyed man who was with us spoke to me, and he said I might take from the jar with the gold coins. I took many of them, and I tied them in different parts of my dress. Then he bade us follow him, and he led us out of the palace and to a place where a chariot with two horses was standing.
He put Eean and me into the chariot, and he ordered the charioteer to drive with us out of the city. The charioteer, a silent man, stood up in his chariot and lashed the horses. We drove through one street, and then another and another street, and all the streets were empty. The charioteer called to the guards of a gateway, and the gate was opened, and we passed out of the city. We drove on until we came to where there was a great river. Then the charioteer halted, and he called across the river, and a man with a ferry came from the other side. He was a very ancient man, and he had a beard of great length. The charioteer said to him, "Old Man of the River, take these two across and away from us!"
We went into the ferry, and the ferryman took his pole and pushed across to the other side of the river. The man in the chariot turned his horses and drove back to Babylon.
When the ferryman had left us on the other side of the river, Eean said to me, "Where now shall we go?" I made answer and said, "We shall go to my country, and to the place where my father is. And it may be that Zabulun when he comes from the cave that is under the sea will not be able to find you there."
HOW EEAN AND BIRD-OF-GOLD WERE PURSUED BY ZABULUN THE ENCHANTER AND HOW THEY WENT TO THE CAVE OF CHIRON THE CENTAUR
O King of the Western Island, our wanderings began on the day when the ferryman left us on the farther side of the river. We went to the country where my father dwelt. We found the old man still gathering brambles and thorns for his livelihood, and out of the treasure that had been given me I gave him riches, and he had not to go thorn-and-bramble gathering any more.
We had only been a little time in the hut that my father built when a new color came upon the ring I had taken off the Magic Mirror. Its color had been sea green, but now a red line came across it. By that we knew that Zabulun the Enchanter had left the cave that was under the sea. And the red line began to grow over the sea green of the ring, and we knew by this sign that he had begun to follow on our traces. Then said Eean to me, "I will go from this place and seek a hiding, and it may be that I shall baffle Zabulun who follows me." I said to Eean, "I shall go with you where you go." "Nay," said Eean, "it is not on your account that Zabulun pursues us. He has no rage or hatred against you, O Bird-of-Gold, and if I should go from this place by myself you would not be troubled by him."
Then I said to him, "O Eean, I had no playmate or companion until I met you in the King's gardens. Now I could not bear to see you go from me, and where you go I shall go too."
Afterward I asked him if there were in the world any Enchanters who were as powerful as Zabulun. He told me of Chiron the Centaur, and of Hermes Trismegistus, the wise Egyptian, and of Merlin whose home is on an island that is west of your Western Island. I thought that only from one of these Enchanters might we get aid against Zabulun.
The red grew over the sea green of the ring, and we knew that the further the red grew the nearer did Zabulun approach us. I wondered how we might get to one of the great Enchanters. Hermes Trismegistus, being in Egypt, was far, and Merlin, on the island beyond the Western Island, was farther still. I thought of Chiron the Centaur, and it seemed to me that him we might be able to find.
Now my father had lived a long time in the world, and he had heard many things, and he had thought over the things he had heard in the years when he had gathered brambles and thorns in the wilderness. I went to my father for word of Chiron the Centaur.
"Chiron the Centaur dwells all alone in a cave that is in the side of a mountain. The mountain is covered all over with a deep and an ancient forest," my father told me. And again he said, "Once I knew the direction in which that mountain is, and tomorrow I shall go into the wilderness, and as I walk about it may be that memory of it will come back to me."
He came back from the wilderness in the evening and he said, "Away toward where the morning star shines there is a great waste. If one skirts this waste one comes to a river the waters of which are as cold as snow. The river flows down from the mountain on the side of which is the cave of Chiron the Centaur. All this I heard in the days of my youth."
Over more and more of the sea green of the ring the red had grown. By this sign we knew that Zabulun was coming close to us. I spoke to Eean and I said that we both should make ready to go to the cave of Chiron the Centaur. Then when the morning star shone very brightly we took leave of my father and we went toward where it shone.
We came to the great waste, and we skirted it as we had been told. On we went, and we came to the rivers, the waters of which were cold as snow. We turned our faces toward the place from which the river flowed until we saw a mountain that was all covered with forest.
Deep and ancient and silent was that upwardgrowing forest. So frightened of its silence were we that we never let go of each other's hands. For days we went seeking the cave, and at last we heard cries--they might have been from birds, they might have been from the winds--that said, "Who comes to trouble the rest of Chiron the ancient Centaur?"
We went toward where the cries came from and we saw the mouth of the cave. We followed the track that led to it, and in fear we went within.
And there was Chiron the ancient Centaur. His head and his breast, his shoulders and his arms were a man's, and his body and his feet and his tail were a horse's. His great beard was white, and his horse's body was shrunken, but his eyes were like pools in which there are living fires. The power of all the kings in the world was in his eyes.
Chiron lay beside a fire in which fragrant woods burned. He turned his eyes upon it, and we heard cries as if the winds in the cave made them, "Who comes to trouble the rest of Chiron the ancient Centaur?"
I went down on my knees and I beseeched him, "O Chiron, wisest of all who deal in enchantments," I said, "there is one named Zabulun, an evil Enchanter, who pursues us. We have come to beg you to tell us how we may escape him."
"Not to me should you have come," the voice of Chiron boomed out. "What have I to do with men who are as far from wisdom as Zabulun? Only one who is like him may strive with him. Go to another, go to another."
"To whom shall we go, O Centaur?" I asked.
"Hermes Trismegistus in Egypt is nearer to Zabulun than I am. Go to him, and he may tell you how to baffle Zabulun. Tell him that you have seen the Phoenix in the cave of Chiron the Centaur."
As he said this there flew into the cave the great bird that is called the Phoenix. I may not describe her to you, O King. She flew to the fire of fragrant-smelling woods and she held herself above it. She fanned the flame with her wings, and the fire rose up and caught her breast. Then the bird sank down on the fire, and we saw her burn under the eyes of Chiron the Centaur. The flame died out, and what we saw of the bird that burned, and the wood that made the fire, was a heap of ashes.
Then out of that heap of ashes came a bird. It was smaller than the bird that burned, but more radiant. As the bird stayed with the ashes beneath her feet she grew by some great thing that was within her, and then she rose over the ashes and fanned them with her wings. Again I looked upon the Phoenix.
"Go to Hermes Trismegistus in Egypt, and tell him that you saw the long-lived Phoenix burn herself in the cave of Chiron the Centaur and come again out of the burning. And when you tell this to Hermes in Egypt he will tell you what you may do to make yourself free of Zabulun."
The Phoenix flew from the cave. Then Chiron turned his eyes upon us and he spoke to us of the way we should go to find Hermes Trismegistus in Egypt. When he had told us all we went backward out of his cave, and then turned and went through the depths of the silent forest, taking the way the Centaur bade us take.
HOW EEAN AND BIRD-OF-GOLD CAME TO HERMES TRISMEGISTUS IN EGYPT
We found a ship, and I paid for the voyage out of the riches I had, and we came to Egypt. The ring upon my hand showed that we were now far away from the one who pursued us, from Zabulun the Enchanter.
But we two lost our way in Egypt, and we wandered about, reaching nowhere. Then Zabulun gained upon us again, as the ring showed. We hid in a village by the river, and we stayed there until the season when the cranes fly overhead on their way to Ethiopia.
Then we went from that village, and we came again upon the way that had been lost. We followed that way and we came to the great pyramid in which Hermes Trismegistus had his cell. Down into the deepest chamber we went, and we came before Hermes the Egyptian.
He sat before a table that was of diamond and that had wonderful figures upon it. He was youthful, and light seemed to come from his forehead. As wonderful as the eyes of Chiron was the brow of Hermes Trismegistus.
We knelt at the threshold of his cell, and I said, "O thrice-great Hermes! We have been in the cave of Chiron the Centaur, and we have seen the long-lived Phoenix burn herself to ashes, and come out of the ashes more radiant than before. Chiron was kind to us, and he sent us to you, O thrice-great Hermes. We are pursued by an Enchanter whose name is Zabulun, and we have come to beseech you to tell us how we may make ourselves free from him."
Hermes Trismegistus said, "I know of Zabulun, the wrong-doing Enchanter. But what have I to do with one who is so removed from wisdom?"
I beseeched him again, saying, "Save us from this wrong-doing Enchanter who would destroy us. He has come near us often, and he will assuredly overtake us if you do not give us help, O thrice-great Hermes."
Then Hermes said, "Near the Western Island there dwells an Enchanter whose name is Merlin. Not one of the great Enchanters is he, nor like to Chiron or myself, for he chooses to love rather than to be wise. He is nearer to Zabulun than we are, but yet he is not a wrong-doing Enchanter. Go to Merlin and say to him that you have been within the cell of Hermes Trismegistus, and that you have learned from him the answer to the riddle that the Sphinx asks, and Merlin will show you how you both may be saved from Zabulun, the wrong-doing Enchanter.
"But to come to Merlin's island, which is west of the Western Island, you will have first to go among the Atlantes, who live by the Western Ocean. They eat no living thing and they never have dreams. When you come to them, seek out the wisest among them, and ask him to tell you of Merlin, and of how you may come to him.
"To come to the Atlantes you will have to pass by the Sphinx in the desert. Few ever pass her, for she has a riddle that she asks of every one. And the one who cannot answer her riddle is torn to pieces by the Sphinx. But I shall tell you the answer to give to the riddle that the Sphinx asks."
Then Hermes, thrice-great Hermes, told us the Sphinx's riddle and the answer that we should make to it. He told us the way we should go to pass by the Sphinx and come to the people that are called the Atlantes. We left the cell of Hermes, and passed out of the pyramid, and went on our way.
We came to where the great Sphinx stretches herself out in the sand, and by the light of a great moon we saw her lion's paws and her woman's face. We heard the purring sound that comes through the lips of the Sphinx, and we halted between her paws.
"What is Man?" said the Sphinx, asking her riddle.
The paws that stretched alongside of us were quiet, and the voice of the Sphinx was very quiet. We saw her face far above us, and it was calm, though there was much scorn and fierceness in it.
"What is Man?" said the Sphinx.
Then I replied as Hermes Trismegistus had taught me to reply, "Man is he whose Mother is the Earth and whose Father is the Stars."
"Go," said the Sphinx.
Then we clambered across the great paws of the Sphinx, and we went on our way. Along the border of the desert we went, and when the great moon had changed herself to a little moon that was hardly to be seen in the sky we came among the Atlantes, the people who eat no living thing and who never have dreams.
The ring showed us that Zabulun, the wrong-doing Enchanter, had not drawn near us for many days. We were far away from him when we came among the Atlantes. But soon he came near us again. By that time I had found him who was wisest among this people, and I asked him to tell me of Merlin, and of how I might come to him.
"Not often does the island on which Merlin dwells show itself," said he who was wisest among the Atlantes. "On the mid day of summer it is to be seen. Then it draws near to the Western Island, and if you will cast upon the water nine cocks' combs and four peacocks' feathers, Merlin will let you come upon his island."
Thereupon he who was wisest among them gave us the nine cocks' combs and four peacocks' feathers. They reverenced Hermes of Egypt, the people that are called the Atlantes, and because we had spoken with Hermes and had been in his cell, they brought us on board a ship that had great leathern sails, and in that ship they carried us to your island, O King.
HOW EEAN AND BIRD-OF-GOLD CAME TO KING MANUS'S STABLES
We came to your island, O King (said Bird-ofGold, continuing her story), but no sooner did we step from the ship to the landing stones than we suffered a loss. The ring that was around my wrist broke and fell into the sea, and thereafter we had no sign that would show how close the evil Zabulun was in pursuit of us.
We set off for that part of the land that Merlin's island comes near to. One day our way was through a dark valley, and we lay down there to sleep. I awakened after some hours of slumber, and I looked toward Eean, and I saw that he was still sleeping. I left him to his sleep, but when hours passed I went over to awaken him. But I could not awaken him from that slumber, do what I would. For three days and three nights he slept in that valley while I watched beside him.
At last he awoke saying, "What day is this, and how near is Zabulun to us?" I told him that we were two days from the mid day of summer, and that we had no sign now to show us how close the Enchanter might be. We were greatly troubled, O King, for we knew not how we might come to Merlin's island by the mid day of summer.
It was then that we heard of your horses, King Manus. We were told of their swiftness, and we said to each other, "Only by the speed of these horses can we reach the place that Merlin's island comes near, and by Merlin's aid save ourselves from the power of Zabulun, the wrong-doing Enchanter."
At nightfall we came before your palace and your stable. Now it was not hard for us to open the doors of your stable. Your watchers drank of a drug that I made, O King. Eean brought a cup to them, and they, thinking the drink had been sent to them from your supper table, drank it. At once they fell into a slumber. Then we opened the four locks of the iron door with the keys that were in their belts. Eean went within the stable while I kept watch at the gate of the orchard.
Alas, Eean was taken before he could mount the white horse, and before I went to take the bridle of the red one. I saw him being brought within the palace, and I saw two new watchers take their places beside the door. For a long time I stood in the shadow of the orchard gate not knowing what to do. Then I thought that I should still take one of the horses and go to the place where Merlin might be spoken to, and so win aid for Eean, my beloved companion. I made another drug, and I put it into a drink, and I brought the cup to those who were at the stable door. These, too, were unsuspecting; they thought I had brought it from the supper table, and they drank, and they, too, lost their senses.
Then I opened the iron door of the stable the way we had opened it before and I went within. I saw the red horse in his stall and I put my hand upon his neck. As I did this the black horse broke loose, and he plunged at me, and he caught me by the flesh of the shoulders and he flung me down. He reared above me, and was about to bring his hoofs crashing down upon me. Then indeed I should have been trampled to death but that you and your men came in, O King.
You came with torches and you drove that fierce black horse away from my body. Never was I in such danger of death as I was in then. I do not think I am now in such danger as when I lay under the feet of that fierce black horse. But it is for you to judge, O King.
Bird-of-Gold finished her story, and, closing her eyes, she laid her head upon her hands. All at that supper table looked toward King Manus. Eean seemed to hear nothing of her story, for all the time his eyes were upon the King's face.
Said King Manus, "She has been in danger as great as the danger she is in now, for verily, that black horse of mine is a manslayer. The girl too shall go free."
Then the King drank another cup of wine and was silent for a while. Then he spoke again, saying: "They have fled a great way, these two. I should not be glad if they lost the match with this Zabulun. By the open hand of my father, they may take my two horses, the white one and the red one, and ride to that part of the Western Island that Merlin's island comes near. For payment to me, let them ask Merlin the Enchanter what moves I should make in that game of chess that, for half my lifetime, I have been playing with King Connal."
When King Manus said this the last binding was taken off Eean and off Bird-of-Gold, and they went to him and they kissed his hands. Eean promised that they would bring the horses back to the stable, and he promised, too, that he would ask Merlin about the moves in the game of chess, and would bring back the answer to the King.
In the middle of it all, one of the stewards came to the King, and said there was one in the palace who knew the youth Eean and who could not be withheld from coming to him. As they were speaking about him, he came into the supper room, an old man, whom they all recognized as the one who watched before the door of the King's chamber, to prevent those who came with requests that might not be granted being brought before the King.
He went straight to where Eean stood, and holding up a torch he looked upon him. He no sooner looked than he cried out, "It is he--indeed, indeed it is he!" And Eean, his hands grasping the old man, said, "It is Anluan! It is my father!"
Then it was told to Eean how Anluan had left the nets of a fisherman after his son had gone with Zabulun as his apprentice; and it was told, too, how he had come to the palace, and how he had been made the officer at the King's doorway on account of his extraordinary patience, a patience that he had learned when he handled the net, and that wore out the most insistent of those who came with requests to the King.
There was much rejoicing over the meeting between Eean and his father Anluan. Then Anluan turned to her whose hand Eean held, to Bird-of-Gold, and having wept over her he began to question her about her accomplishments. It was at this point that the stewards took Anluan away, for the pair had now to make ready for their ride to that part of the Western Island that Merlin's island came near to on the mid day of summer which would be the morrow of that very night. Refreshments were given them at the King's table, the newest of meats and the oldest of wines. Then they went out of the hall, and they mounted the horses that the grooms of King Manus now brought out for them, Eean taking the white horse, and Bird-of-Gold the red horse. A bound and a bound, and the white and the red started off, spurning the cobblestones of the courtyard, riding toward their meeting with that Enchanter who would give them freedom from Zabulun, Merlin, the Enchanter of the Isle of Britain.
MERLIN AND VIVIEN
A great Enchanter indeed was Merlin. He served with his enchantments the King of the Isle of Britain from the time he was a stripling to the time when he was two score years of age. Then, when he might have passed from being a lesser to being a great Enchanter, Merlin vanished altogether and was seen no more at the court of the King of the Isle of Britain. All the great works he had planned were left undone, all the instruments he had gathered were left unused, all the books he had brought together were left unopened, and the King whom he had served so long was left without an Enchanter.
If there were one to blame for that it was the daughter of King Dionas. She was young, but she was ungentle. What she saw, that she would have. One day a stranger was passing with her father, and when he looked on her he said, "A young hawk she is, a young hawk that has not yet flown at any prey." That very day the daughter of King Dionas walked on the plain that was at a distance from her father's castle. The stranger who had spoken of her to her father was there also, and he looked long upon her.
"Who art thou who lookest on me so?" said the child.
"Thou art Nimiane, who art also called Vivien," said the stranger.
"Yea," said she, "but who art thou, man?"
"I am called Merlin," he said, "and I am the Enchanter to the King of the Isle of Britain."
"Show me thine enchantments," said Vivien, who feared not to speak to any man.
Now Merlin had looked on all the ladies who were at the court of the King of the Isle of Britain, and on the maidens who were in far countries and distant castles, and besides, the ladies of the times of old had been shown him in his Magic Glass, but never before had he seen any one who seemed so lovely to him as this child. She was bright-eyed as a bird. She had a slim body, and pale cheeks, and quick, quick hands. Her hair was red and in thick tangles. "Show me thine enchantments," she cried to him again.
Merlin bade her come with him and she came. He brought her to a high place, a place that was of rock with rocks piled all about it. On the ground he made magical figures. Then he said magical words. And all the time Vivien, slim Vivien with her tangle of red hair, stood upon the rocks with her eyes upon him.
Upon the ground that was all rock Merlin made a garden with roses blowing and clear waters flowing, with birds singing among the leaves and fishes swimming in the streams. He made trees grow, too, with honey-tasting fruits upon them.
Vivien went through the garden, plucking the flowers and tasting the fruits that grew there. She turned to Merlin and looked at him again with her bright eyes. "Canst thou make a castle for me?" said she.
Then Merlin made his magical figures and said his magical words over again. The stones that were strewn about everywhere came together and built themselves up into a castle. When the castle rose before them Vivien took Merlin by the hand, and they went through its doorway and up the stairway and into the castle turret. And when they looked from the turret Vivien said, "Would that no one should know of this garden and this castle but thou and I!"
He told her that the castle and the garden would be hidden. Then when they were leaving the garden he put a mist all around, a mist that those who came that way could not see through and were made fearful of venturing into.
And so the castle and the garden were all unknown to men. But Vivien would come, passing through the mist, and going into the garden and up into the turret. At first she would not have Merlin near her. Afterward it came to pass that she would summon him. A bugle hung in the turret of the castle, and she would blow upon it, and he would come and stay by her.
He was two score years of age, and she was five years less than a score. Nevertheless he thought it better to watch her dancing with bright green leaves in her red hair than to know all that would bring him from being a lesser to being a great Enchanter. Of the maidens and great ladies he had seen, some, he told her, were like light, and some were like flowers, and some were like a flame of fire. But she, he said, was like the wind. And he thought no more upon the King of the Isle of Britain, nor on the great work he was to do for him, and he spent his days in watching Vivien, and in listening to Vivien, and in making magic things for Vivien's delight.
Her father once took her away from the place near where the hidden garden and the hidden castle stood. Vivien was in another country now. And when she went among those who were strangers to her she found out that nothing mattered to her except the looks and the words of Merlin. The castle and the garden-she did not think of them, nor of the magic things he had made for her. Her thoughts were only on Merlin, who was so wise and who could do such wonders.
When she came back, and when she met him in the hidden garden, she caught hold of his hands, and she would not let go of them. Nor would she tell Merlin why this change had come over her, and why she would keep close to him now and not apart. At last she said to him, "What ladies and what maidens have you known, O my master Merlin?"
Then Merlin took his Magic Glass into his hands, and in it he showed her all the ladies who were at the court of the King of the Isle of Britain, and he showed her all the lovely maidens who lived in far countries and in distant castles whom he knew. Vivien threw herself on the ground with her face to the rock after she had looked into the Magic Glass.
Then afterward she watched him in a way different from the way she had watched him before. What he said and what he did she remembered well. Soon she understood his magic figures and could make them. She came to understand his magic words and to be able to repeat them. And Merlin would say to her, "O my little hawk, fly at this--and this--and this."
One day as they wandered through a forest Vivien asked him to tell her the mightiest spell that he knew. The Enchanter told it to her. She stood still, with all her quick mind in her face, while he put aside the tangles of her red hair and spoke into her ear.
It was a spell that would hold in a place the one whom it was spoken over. When he had told her he went at her bidding and seated himself under a forest tree. Vivien, laughing, made a magic circle around him and repeated the spell that he had given her. When she did this the Enchanter was enchanted. Merlin stayed under the forest tree, and there he would stay, for he could not move until the spell that was said over him was unsaid by Vivien.
And Vivien danced around him, her red hair shaking, her bright eyes gleaming, her quick hands waving. She called to him, "Merlin, Merlin Enchanter, come to me." But Merlin, under the forest tree, could not move. She ran through the woods and he could not follow after her. In a while she came back and stood beside him.
Said Merlin to her, "Why have you worked this spell upon me, and why have you left me here so that I cannot move?" She knelt down on the ground beside where he sat.
"O Merlin," said she, "I would leave you here enchanted, for fear you should leave me and go among the maidens and the ladies who are so lovely." And when she said that her face was so hard that he knew she would hold him there.
But Merlin smiled, and, he said to her, "I would stay always where you are, Vivien, blossom of the furze."
"Nay," said she, "you would go from me. Why should you not? You have great works to do for the King of the land. And when you see again the ladies and the maidens who are the loveliest in the world you will not come back again to Vivien. I shall hate the castle and the garden that you made for me, and I shall hate every one who will come near me. I shall hold you, Merlin, here, even until the wolves come out at night and devour you and me."
"I will build a castle for you in an empty country, and no one shall ever be there but you and me," said Merlin.
"Nay," said Vivien, "they will search the world for you, Merlin, and when they find you, you will have to go with them."
Then Merlin, as if it were a magic thing that would please her, brought out his thought about the Island of the White Tower. Away beyond the Western Island, in a sea that is never sailed on, that island lies. Only on Midsummer Day does it come near to the Western Island so that men may see it. There, said Merlin, they might go. Those who would search for him could never come to him there. He told her more and more about the Island of the White Tower, and Vivien listened in delight to all he told her. And when he had sworn he would take her to it she unsaid the spell with which she had bespelled him, and he rose up from where he had been held, and he sprang across the magic circle that was drawn upon the ground. And with Vivien Merlin went through the forest.
The fishermen who cast their nets by the shores of the Western Ocean have this story of Merlin and Vivien. They tell how in a boat of crystal twelve creatures sailed to the Island of the White Tower. Two were Merlin and Vivien, and nine were the nine prime bards of the Isle of Britain who went with Merlin, and one was the tame wolf that was Merlin's servant. They sailed out upon a Midsummer's Day, and from that good day to this no hint or hair of the Enchanter has been seen by king nor clown in all the Isle of Britain.
ZABULUN THE ENCHANTER
It was Anluan, the father of Eean, Anluan who had once been a fisherman by the shores of the Western Ocean, who told this story of the Enchanter of the Isle of Britain. The fishermen know the story, and they, more often than any others, have seen the Island of the White Tower as it shows itself on the rim of the Western Ocean.
The story was told after the white horse and the red horse had clattered across the stones of the courtyard, bringing Eean and Bird-of-Gold toward their meeting with Merlin. Candles thicker than a man's wrist had been put upon the supper table, fresh torches had been set in the sconces along the walls, and logs of resinous wood had been piled upon the hearth. All this was done so that the King and his lords might drink their last cups of wine before they went into the sleeping chambers.
And now, in the light of shining candles and blazing torches and mounting hearth fires, the squires and the servers went among the company, filling the wine cups up. Some already had the wine in their cups and were waiting for King Manus to raise his in a toast. Then the strangest of strange things happened. No wind came into the hall, but suddenly the candles upon the table and the torches along the walls went out. The servers went to relight the torches at the hearth, but the hearth blaze had died down, and all the logs were black.
And blackness was in the chamber where, a minute before, candles and torches and hearth fires were blazing. The King and his lords stood around the table, while the servers and squires ran through every chamber of the castle to find a spark of light.
But not even a spark could they find; not the light of a rush candle even was to be found in any hall or chamber in the castle. And on every stairway the same story was told, how suddenly light and fire had gone black out.
But now the grooms came in with flints and steel and hemp. Every one tried to strike a spark, but no spark came for all their striking. And now, all over the castle, there were outbursts of woe: the cooks were lamenting that they would have no fires, and the women were weeping because lights could not be brought them. It was then that King Manus bade his lords stand around laying their hands upon the table.
The next thing was that a figure appeared at the doorway. All saw it, for there was a line of faint light around it. It was the figure of a tall man. "Speak," said King Manus with his hand stretched to the figure.
"If you will have me speak," said the man.
"The lights and the fires have been quenched in the castle. How has this come to be?"
"It is in the power of an Enchanter of the second degree to quench light and fire," said the man in the darkness. "Further, King Manus, the fire and light that are extinguished cannot be brought back until the Enchanter lifts his ban."
"Have you come to tell me this?" asked the King.
"I have come to make a request of you, King Manus;" said the man in the darkness.
Then Anluan, the father of Eean, he whose duty it was to let none that might have a request come face to face with the King, groped around the room that he might place himself before his master. But before he came to where King Manus stood the man with the line of light around had come so close that he and the King looked into each other's eyes.
"O King," said the stranger, "I have answered what you asked of me. Now I make my request. It is that the black horse that is in your stable be given to me."
There was a stir in the darkened hall, and then there was an outcry. It was from Anluan, the father of Eean. "O, King Manus, beware of the man who knows of the powers of Enchanters. He may be the one who would ride in chase of Eean, my son!"
"He has made a request of me," said King Manus. "By the open hand of my father, it will have to be granted him."
"It is for the one horse that can follow the others," Anluan cried.
"I have never refused a request! Alas, alas, in one night the three horses that were my pride are taken from me!"
"Strike now, and light candle and torch and hearth fire," said the one who had come among them.
Flint was struck upon steel; sparks came and made the hemp blaze; candle and torch and hearth fire were lighted again. Then all looked at the one who had come among them.
Tall he was, with a dark and bony face and eyes that were like a hawk's eyes. His dress was a plain cloak that had a hood that went over his head. And yet, although he had not the staff nor the robe of an Enchanter, it did not need Anluan's cry to tell the company that here was the one to whom his son had been apprenticed--Zabulun the Enchanter!
"Why do you go in chase of my son?" Anluan cried.
"Harut and Marut laid hands upon me. Am I to have no more mastery because of that?" said Zabulun. "For forty days I was laid in the cave that is under the sea, and do men think that all power is gone from me because of that? I thought all that time that what I worked for would come to pass, and that the Magic Mirror of Babylon would be lost in the ruin of the Tower of Babylon and that destruction would come upon the Babylonians. This would have been if the boy who was my apprentice had been faithful to me. But he spoke the words that restored the mirror to the Kings of Babylon. And I, whose name, as I thought, would stand forever as one who had worked a great destruction, am as naught-my name is a name to laugh at. And shall he pass from my mastership, the boy who let this befall me? Not so; he has still to be my aid. I have paid you, his father, gold for his seven years' service, and his service still belongs to me."
Then, turning to King Manus, Zabulun said, "You have granted my request. Command now that your grooms go to the stable and bring out the black horse that I am to ride."
King Manus gave the commands. Then out of the door of the castle they all went, and into the courtyard. The still light of the dawn, the dawn of Midsummer's Day, was coming over the world. The grooms went to the stable and, in full sight of all, unlocked the great stable door and brought out the black horse whose swiftness was such that he could overtake the wind of March that was before him, while the wind of March that was behind could not overtake him. They brought forth the black horse and they held him while the dark-faced man put himself astride. Then the hoofs of the last of the King's horses struck fire out of the stones of the courtyard, while a cry went up from Anluan.
And away went Zabulun the Enchanter-away, away in pursuit of Eean and Bird-of-Gold, and the light of the Midsummer Day came into the world.
THE LAST FLIGHT OF EEAN AND BIRD-OF-GOLD
As the first light of the Midsummer Day came over the world the two who were fleeing before him were speaking of Zabulun the Enchanter. "That we may baffle him," one said.
"And what if we cannot baffle him this time?" said the other.
"Then he will take me and make me do terrible services for him"-it was Eean who said this-"and, worse than all the services he will make me do, he will separate us."
"No, no," said Bird-of-Gold. "If he takes us this time, I shall do everything to make myself useful to the Enchanter. I have thought out ways in which I can serve him. He will not separate us, and we will be together still."
"O Bird-of-Gold," said Eean, "I am fearful lest he should slay you for taking the Magic Mirror off the Tower of Babylon. But I have a sword, and he shall not harm you."
"I shall escape him," Bird-of-Gold said, "and as he followed you and me across the world, so I shall follow him and you, and we shall never be apart."
They had learned in their wanderings all ways of guiding themselves, and as they galloped on they were heading for the Western Ocean. Darkness was around them at first. But the sky was wide and clear, and Bird-of-Gold, when she raised her head, could see and name the bright planets. There was Mars with his red pulse. Bird-of-Gold likened this planet to the steed that she rode, and as she rode on she sang to herself the song that the shepherd boys in her own country used to sing about another star:
That star, I know, is Betelgeuse;
Yet, as I walk the hills by day,
I hardly know his splendid name
That star is far away.
But when at night I travel on,
Or watch across an empty land,
Than Betelgeuse, my star of stars,
Nothing is nearer hand.
Then send a ray that I may own
The fortune that is mine:
O Betelgeuse, my star of stars,
My forehead's for your sign!
And after all the countries he had wandered through, Eean was now back on the ground of his own country. He heard the cry of the curlews overhead. He saw the lakes that looked as if even the birds had forgotten them, so lonely they were--lonely, but with deep memories. He saw the cairns of stones above the long-dead heroes. Once he saw a fox upon a cairn, and it seemed to him that this was the very fox he had chased away from his mother's coop the day before the Enchanter had taken him away from the Western Island.
With strong hearts King Manus's horses galloped on. But the heart of Eean was strained with the thought of the distance that was still before them. First, a great mountain had to be crossed, then a wide plain, then that other mountain from the top of which one could see the Western Ocean in the daylight. And Zabulun the Enchanter might come upon them in the hills or on the plain and say a word that might stop their horses' gallop.
But they came to the last mountain top, and they saw the waters of the Western Ocean with gleams of gold coming upon them. Down the heather-covered hillside their horses hurried. And as the broad sun rose over the broad ocean the hurrying feet of the white andthe red horse were scattering the foam along the shore.
And as they watched they saw Merlin's island grow out of the dimness of the sea. Then the sun became fuller and it lighted up the White Tower, and Eean and Bird-of-Gold knew they had come to their journey's end indeed. They sprang off their horses, and they dipped their hands in the sea, and they kissed each other.
"Now we must cast over on the island the tokens that the Atlantes gave us," Eean said, "the cocks' combs and the peacocks' feathers. If they come to Merlin, he will let us cross to his island, and we can swim our horses over. But how shall we know if the tokens come to him?"
He raised the bag in which were the nine cocks' combs and the four peacocks' feathers. He cast the bag toward the island. Through the air it went like a flying bird.
They mounted their horses again, ready to swim them across when they got some signal from the island. And the signal came. It was the howl of the wolf that was Merlin's servant.
Now they were to swim their horses across. As they went into the water, Bird-of-Gold looked back. Down through the heather of the hillside a rider was coming. He was on a black horse. They knew him for Zabulun, the Enchanter from whom they were fleeing.
HOW EEAN WON HIS RELEASE FROM ZABULUN THE ENCHANTER
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An Arthurian Miscellany, part 1 of 3. . Hermetic Cloud, https://hermeticcloud.com/library/an-arthurian-miscellany-part-1/. Public-domain text reproduced in full; markup only.
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An Arthurian Miscellany at sacred-texts.com