Chapter X: Part 10

21 Then lead me to the castle hall,
And let the fire be bright,
For never hall nor bower hath heard
A lay like mine to-night.

22 The windows gleam within the hall,
The fire is blazing bright,
And the young harper's hair and harp
Are shining in the light.

23 Fair dames and warriors clad in steel
Now gather round to hear,
And oft that little maiden's eyes
Are glistening with a tear.

24 For, when the minstrel sang of wars,
At times, with softer sound,
He touched the chords, as mourning those
Now laid in the cold ground.

25 He sang how brave King Richard pined
In a dark tower immured,
And of the long and weary nights,
A captive, he endured.

26 The faithful Blondel to his harp
One song began to sing;
It ceased; the king takes up the strain;
It is his lord and king!

27 Of Sarum then, and Sarum's plain,
That poor child heard him speak,
When the first tear-drop in her eye
Fell silent on her cheek.

28 For, as the minstrel told his tale,
The breathless orphan maid
Thought of the land where, in the grave,
Her father's bones were laid.

29 Hush, hush! the winds are piping loud,
The midnight hour is sped,
The hours of morn are stealing fast,
Harper, to bed! to bed!

PART SECOND.

1 The two long years had passed away,
When castle Galliard rose,
As built at once by elfin hands,
And scorning time or foes.[212]

2 It might be thought that Merlin's imps
Were tasked to raise the wall,
That unheard axes fell the woods,
While unseen hammers fall.

3 As hung by magic on a rock,
The castle-keep looked down
O'er rocks and rivers, and the smoke
Of many a far off town.

4 And now, young knights and minstrels gay
Obeyed their masters' call,
And loud rejoicing held the feast
In the new raftered hall.

5 His minstrels and his mailed peers
Were seated at the board,
And at his side the highest sat
William of the Long Sword.

6 This youthful knight, of princely birth,
Was dazzling to behold,
For his chain-mail from head to foot
All glistened o'er with gold.

7 His surcoat dyed with azure blue
In graceful foldings hung,
And there the golden lions ramped,
With bloody claws and tongue.

8 With crimson belt around his waist
His sword was girded on;
The hilt, a cross to kiss in death,
Radiant with jewels shone.

9 The names and banners of each knight
It were too long to tell;
Here sat the brave Montgomery,
There Bertrand and Rozell.

10 Of Richard's unresisted sword
A noble minstrel sung,
Whilst to an hundred answering harps
The blazing gallery rung.

11 So all within was merriment--
When, suddenly, a shout,
As of some unexpected guest,
Burst from the crowd without.

12 Now not a sound, and scarce a breath,
Through the long hall is heard,
When, with a young maid by his side,
A vizored knight appeared.

13 Up the long hall they held their way,
On to the royal seat;
Then both together, hand in hand,
Knelt at King Richard's feet.

14 Talbot, a Talbot! rang the hall
With gratulation wild,
Long live brave Talbot,[213] and long live
Earl William's new found child!

15 Amid a scene so new and strange,
This poor maid could not speak;
King Richard took her by the hand,
And gently kissed her cheek;

16 Then placed her, smiling through a tear,
By his brave brother's side:
Long live brave Longspe! rang the hall,
Long live his future bride!

17 To noble Richard, this fair child,
His ward, was thus restored;
Destined to be the future bride
Of Him of the Long Sword.

* * * * *

THE ARK: A POEM FOR MUSIC.

MICHAEL, ARCHANGEL.

High on Imaus' solitary van,
Which overlooked the kingdoms of the world,
With stature more majestic, his stern brow
In the clear light, the thunder at his feet;
In his right hand the flaming sword that waved
O'er Eden's gate; and in his left the trump,
That on the day of doom shall sound and wake
Earth's myriads, starting from the wormy grave,
The great archangel stood: and, hark, his voice!

AIR.

It comes, it comes, o'er cities, temples, towers;
O'er mountain heights I see the deluge sweep;
Heard ye from earth the cry at that last hour?
Heard ye the tossing of the desert deep?
How dismal is its roar!
I heard the sound of multitudes no more.
Great Lord of heaven and earth, thy voice is fate;
Thou canst destroy, as first thou didst create!

He stood and sounded the archangel's trump;
And now a choir of seraphim drew near,
By Raphael led: in sad and solemn strains,
They raised their supplication to Heaven's throne.

CHORUS.

O Thou whose mighty voice, "Let there be light!"
Dread Chaos heard, when the great sun from night
Burst forth, and demon shadows fled away,
And the green earth sprang beautiful to day!
Oh! merciful in judgment, hear our prayer;
Behold the world which Thou hast made so fair,
And man the mourner, man the sinner, spare.

GABRIEL (RECITATIVE).

Oh! what a change have sin and sorrow made!
In the beginning, God created heaven
And earth; and man, amid the works of God,
Majestic stood, his noblest creature, formed
In God's own image; and his fair abode
Was visited by seraph shapes of light,
And sin and death were not.

TRIO.

Mourn, mourn, ye bowers
Of paradise, ye pleasant hills and woods!
Mourn; for the dreadful voice hath passed that shrunk
Your streams, and withered all your blooming flowers.
And thou, created in God's image, man!
Go forth into the nether world; "for dust
Thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."

RECITATIVE.

So, led by Sin and Death, and his pale troop,
Impatient came, and all this goodly scene,
As at the withering of a demon's curse, was blasted.
Then they two went forth, from whom
Their children sorrow and sin and death derived:
They two went forth into the forlorn world,
Heart-struck, but not despairing.
From that hour
Death's shadow walks on earth, a hideous form,
Saddening the very sun; and giant crimes
Have multiplied, till to the throne of God,
And the serene air of untroubled bliss,
The noise of violence, and the cries of blood,
Have from the ground ascended.
Therefore God
Me hath commissioned to uplift the trump
Of doom, and sweep this world of sin away!

* * * * *

WRITTEN AFTER THE CONSECRATION OF THE NEW CHURCH AT KINGSWOOD.

When first the fane, that, white, on Kingswood-Pen,
Arrests, far off, the pausing stranger's ken,
Echoed the hymn of praise, and on that day,
Which seemed to shine with more auspicious ray,
When thousands listened to the prelate[214] there,
Who called on God, with consecrating prayer;--
I saw a village-maid, almost a child, 7
Even as a light-haired cherub, undefiled
From earth's rank fume, with innocent look, her eye
Meekly uplifted to the throne on high,
Join in the full choir's solemn harmony.
Oh, then, how many boding thoughts arose,
Lest, long ere varied life's uncertain close,
Those looks of modesty, that open truth
Lighting the forehead of ingenuous youth--
Lest these, as slowly steal maturing years,
Should fade, and grief succeed, and dimming tears;
Then should the cheek be blanched with early care,
Sin mark its first and furrowing traces there,
With touch corroding mar the altered mien, 20
And leave a canker where the rose had been;
Then the sweet child, whose smiles can now impart
Joy overpowering to a mother's heart,
Might bring down, when not anxious love could save,
That mother's few gray hairs with sorrow to the grave!
But, hark! the preacher's voice, his accents bland,
Behold his kindled look, his lifted hand;
What holy fervour wakes at his command!
He speaks of faith, of mercy from above,
Of heavenly hope, of a Redeemer's love! 30
Hence every thought, but that which shows fair youth
Advancing in the paths of peace and truth!
Which shows thy light, O pure religion! shed,
Like a faint glory, on a daughter's head,
Who shall each parent's love, through life, repay,
And add a transport to their dying day!
I saw an old man, on his staff reclined,
Who seemed to every human change resigned:--
He, with white locks, and long-descending beard,
A patriarch of other years appeared: 40
And thine, O aged, solitary man! 41
Was life's enchanted way, when life began,
The sunshine on each mountain, and the strain
Of some sweet melody, in every plain;
Thine was illusive fortune's transient gleam,
And young love's broken, but delicious dream;
Those mocking visions of thy youth are flown,
And thou dost bend on death's dark brink alone
The light associates of thy vernal day, 49
Where are they? Blown, like the sere leaves, away;
And thou dost seem a trunk, on whose bare head
The gray moss of uncounted days is spread!
I know thee not, old man! yet traits like these,
Upon thy time-worn features fancy sees.
Another, or another year, for thee,
Haply, "the silver cord shall loosed be!"
Then listen, whilst warm eloquence portrays
That "better country" to thy anxious gaze,
Who art a weary, way-worn "pilgrim here,"
And soon from life's vain masque to disappear. 60
O aged man! lift up thine eyes--behold
What brighter views of distant light unfold;
What though the loss of strength thou dost deplore,
Or broken loves, or friends that are no more?
What though gay youth no more his song renews,
And summer-light dies, like the rainbow hues?
The Christian hails the ray that cheers the gloom,
And throws its heavenly halo round the tomb.
Who bade the grave its mouldering vault unclose?
"Christ--Christ who died; yea, rather, Christ who rose!"
Hope lifts from earth her tear-illumined eye, 71
She sees, dispersed, the world's last tempest fly;
Sees death, arrested 'mid his havoc vast,
Lord, at thy feet his broken weapons cast!
In circles, far retiring from the sight, 75
Till, undistinguished, they are lost in light,
Admiring seraphim suspend their wings,
Whilst, hark! the eternal empyrean rings,
Hosannah, Lord of lords, and King of kings!
Such thoughts arose, when from the crowded fane 80
I saw retire the mute, assembled train;
Their images beguiled my homeward way,
Which high o'er Lansdowne's lonely summit lay.
There seemed a music in the evening gale,
And looking back on the long-spreading vale,
Methought a blessing waited on the hour,
As the last light from heaven shone on the distant tower.

* * * * *

ON THE DEATH OF DR BURGESS,

THE LATE BISHOP OF SALISBURY.

Sainted old man, for more than eighty years,
Thee--tranquilly and stilly-creeping--age,
Led to the confines of the sepulchre,
And thy last day on earth--but "Father--Lord--
Which art in heaven"--how pure a faith, and heart
Unmoved, amid the changes of this life,
And tumult of the world,--and oh! what hope,--
What love and constancy of the calm mind,
And tears to misery from the inmost heart
Flowing--at times, a brief sweet smile and voice
How bland, and studies, various and profound,
Of learned languages--but, ever first,
That learning which the oracles of God
Unfolds, even to the close of life's long day
Thy course accompanies!
But, thou, farewell,
And live--this mortal veil removed--in bliss;
Live with the saints in light, whom Christ had loved.
But pardon us, left in this vale of tears,
For one last tear upon thy cold remains--
Pardon, beloved and venerated shade!

* * * * *

LINES WRITTEN ON FONTHILL ABBEY.

The mighty master waved his wand, and, lo!
On the astonished eye the glorious show
Burst like a vision! Spirit of the place!
Has the Arabian wizard with his mace
Smitten the barren downs, far onward spread,
And bade the enchanted palace rise instead?
Bade the dark woods their solemn shades extend,
High to the clouds yon spiry tower ascend?
And starting from the umbrageous avenue
Spread the rich pile, magnificent to view?
Enter! From the arched portal look again,
Back on the lessening woods and distant plain!
Ascend the steps! The high and fretted roof
Is woven by some elfin hand aloof;
Whilst from the painted windows' long array
A mellow light is shed as not of day.
How gorgeous all! Oh, never may the spell
Be broken, that arrayed those radiant forms so well!

* * * * *

EPITAPH ON BENJAMIN TREMLYN,

AN OLD SOLDIER, BURIED IN BREMHILL CHURCHYARD AT THE AGE OF 92.

A poor old soldier shall not lie unknown,
Without a verse, and this recording stone.
'Twas his in youth o'er distant lands to stray,
Danger and death companions of his way.
Here in his native village, drooping, age
Closed the lone evening of his pilgrimage.
Speak of the past, of names of high renown,
Or his brave comrades long to dust gone down,
His eye with instant animation glowed,
Though ninety winters on his head had snowed.
His country, whilst he lived, a boon supplied,
And faith her shield held o'er him when he died;
Hope, Christian, that his spirit lives with God,
And pluck the wild weeds from his lowly sod,
Where, dust to dust, beside the chancel's shade,
Till the last trumpet sounds, a brave man's bones are laid.

* * * * *

EPITAPH ON ROBERT SOUTHEY.

Christian! for none who scorns that holy name
Can gaze with honest eyes on Southey's fame;
Christian! bow down thy head in humble fear,
And think what God-given powers lie silenced here:
Wit, judgment, memory, patience unsubdued,
Conception vast, and pious fortitude.
Learning possessed no steeps, and truth no shore,
Beyond his step to tread, his wing to soar;
His was the historian's pen, the poet's lyre,
The churchman's ardour, and the patriot's fire;
While fireside charities, Heaven's gentlest dower,
Lent genius all their warmth and all their power.
O Church and State of England! thine was he
In living fame, thine be his memory!
Thou saw'st him live, in faith expire,
Go, bid thy sons to follow, and admire!

* * * * *

SONNET.

WRITTEN IN A COPY OF FALCONER'S "SHIPWRECK."

What pale and bleeding youth, whilst the fell blast
Howls o'er the wreck, and fainter sinks the cry
Of struggling wretches ere, o'erwhelmed, they die,
Yet floats upborne upon the driving mast!
O poor Arion! has thy sweetest strain,
That charmed old ocean's wildest solitude,
At this dread hour his waves' dark might subdued!
Let sea-maids thy reclining head sustain,
And wipe the blood and briny drops that soil
Thy features; give once more the wreathed shell
To ring with melody! Ah, fruitless toil!
O'er thy devoted head the tempests swell,
More loud relentless ocean claims his spoil:
Peace! and may weeping sea-maids sing thy knell!

* * * * *

ON FIRST HEARING CARADORI SING.

Spirit of beauty, and of heavenly song!
No longer seek in vain, 'mid the loud throng,
'Mid the discordant tumults of mankind,
One spirit, gentle as thyself, to find.

Oh! listen, and suspend thy upward wings,
Listen--for, hark! 'tis Caradori sings;
Hear, on the cadence of each thrilling note,
Airs scarce of earth, and sounds seraphic float!

See, in the radiant smile that lights her face;
See, in that form, a more than magic grace;
And say (repaid for every labour past)
Beautiful spirit, thou art found at last!

* * * * *

SALISBURY CATHEDRAL.

Here stood the city of the dead; look round--
Dost thou not mark a visionary band,
Druids and bards upon the summits stand,
Of the majestic and time-hallowed mound?
Hark! heard ye not at times the acclaiming word
Of harps, as when those bards, in white array,
Hailed the ascending lord of light and day!
Here, o'er the clouds, the first cathedral rose,
Whose prelates now in yonder fane repose,
Among the mighty of years passed away;
For there her latest seat Religion chose,
There still to heaven ascends the holy lay,
And never may those shrines in dust and silence close!

_April 1834._

* * * * *

LOCKSWELL.

Pure fount, that, welling from this wooded hill,
Dost wander forth, as into life's wide vale,
Thou to the traveller dost tell no tale
Of other years; a lone, unnoticed rill,
In thy forsaken track, unheard of men,
Melting thy own sweet music through the glen.
Time was when other sounds and songs arose;
When o'er the pensive scene, at evening's close,
The distant bell was heard; or the full chant,
At morn, came sounding high and jubilant;
Or, stealing on the wildered pilgrim's way,
The moonlight "Miserere" died away,
Like all things earthly.
Stranger, mark the spot;
No echoes of the chiding world intrude.
The structure rose and vanished; solitude
Possessed the woods again; old Time forgot,
Passing to wider spoil, its place and name.
Since then, even as the clouds of yesterday,
Seven hundred years have well-nigh passed away;
No wreck remains of all its early pride;
Like its own orisons, its fame has died.
But this pure fount, through rolling years the same,
Yet lifts its small still voice, like penitence,
Or lowly prayer. Then pass admonished hence,
Happy, thrice happy, if, through good or ill,
Christian, thy heart respond to this forsaken rill.

* * * * *

ON MOZART.

Oh! still, as with a seraph's voice, prolong
The harmonies of that enchanting song,
Till, listening, we might almost think we hear,
Beyond this cloudy world, in the pure sphere
Of light, acclaiming hosts the throne surrounding,
The long hosannahs evermore resounding,
Soft voices interposed in pure accord,
Breathing a holier charm. Oh! every word
Falls like a drop of silver, as the strain,
In winding sweetness, swells and sinks again.
Sing ever thus, beguiling life's long way,
As here, poor pilgrims of the earth, we stray;
And, lady, when thy pilgrimage shall end,
And late the shades of the long night descend,
May sister seraphs welcome with a song,
And gently say, Why have you stayed so long?

* * * * *

EPITAPH ON JOHN HARDING,

IN THE CHURCHYARD OF BREMHILL.

Lay down thy pilgrim staff upon this heap,
And till the morning of redemption sleep,
Old wayfarer of earth! From youth to age,
Long, but not weary, was thy pilgrimage,
Thy Christian pilgrimage; for faith and prayer
Alone enabled thee some griefs to bear.
Lone, in old age, without a husband's aid,
Thy wife shall pray beside thee to be laid;
For more than a kind father didst thou prove
To fourteen children of her faithful love.
May future fathers of the village trace
The same sure path to the same resting-place;
And future sons, taught in their strength to save,
Learn their first lesson from a poor man's grave!

_April 1835._

* * * * *

ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM LINLEY, ESQ.,

THE COMPOSER OF THE MUSIC OF "THE DUENNA," ETC.

Poor Linley! I shall miss thee sadly, now
Thou art not in the world; for few remain
Who loved like thee the high and holy strain
Of harmony's immortal master.
Thou
Didst honour him; and none I know, who live,
Could even a shadow, a faint image give,
With chord and voice, of those rich harmonies,
Which, mingled in one mighty volume, rise,
Glorious, from earth to heaven, so to express
Choral acclaim to Heaven's almightiness,
As thou! Therefore, amid the world's deep roar,
When the sweet visions of young Hope are fled,
And many friends dispersed, and many dead,
I grieve that I shall hear that voice no more.

* * * * *

INSCRIBED TO THE MARCHIONESS OF LANSDOWNE

Go to assemblies of the rich and gay,
The blazing hall of grandeur, and the throng
Of cities, and there listen to the song
Of festive harmony; then pause, and say,
Where is _she_ found, who in her sphere might shine,
Attracting all? Where is _she_ found, whose place
And dignity the proudest court might grace?
Go, where the desolate and dying pine
On their cold bed; open the cottage door;
Ask of that aged pair, who feebly bend
O'er their small evening fire, who is their friend;
Ask of these children of the village poor;
For this, at the great judgment, thou shalt find
Heaven's mercy, Lady, merciful and kind.

* * * * *

HYMN FOR MUSIC,

AFTER THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

Perish! Almighty Justice cried,
And struck the avenging blow,
And Europe shouts from side to side,
The tyrant is laid low!
Said not his heart, More blood shall stream
Around my sovereign throne?
He wakes from dire ambition's dream,
Pale, trembling, and alone.

ARIA WITH CHORUS.

Triumph! the rescued nations cry,
Triumph! ten thousand hearts reply.

Sad mother, weep no more thy children slain;
The trumpets and the battle clangours cease:
Uplift to heaven the loud, the grateful strain,
And hail the dawn of Freedom and of Peace.

CHORUS.

Triumph! the rescued nations cry,
Triumph! ten thousand hearts reply.

ARIA.

For joy returned, for peace restored,
Lord of all worlds, to thee we raise,
While Slaughter drops his weary sword,
To thee the hymn of gratitude and praise.

CHORUS.

Triumph! the rescued nations cry,
Triumph! ten thousand hearts reply.

* * * * *

INSCRIPTIONS IN THE GARDENS OF BREMHILL RECTORY.

ON A TREE COMMANDING A VIEW OF THE WHOLE EXTENT OF BOWOOD.

When in thy sight another's vast domain
Spreads its long line of woods, dost thou complain?
Nay, rather thank the God that placed thy state
Above the lowly, but beneath the great!
And still His name with gratitude revere,
Who blessed the Sabbath of thy leisure here.

ON A RURAL SEAT.

Rest, stranger, in this decorated scene,
That hangs its beds of flowers, its slopes so green;
So from the walks of life the weeds remove,
But fix thy better hopes on scenes above.

ON THE FRONT OF A HERMITAGE, NEAR A DIAL.

To mark life's few and fleeting hours
I placed the dial 'midst the flowers,
Which one by one came forth and died,
Still withering by its ancient side.
Mortals, let the sight impart
Its pensive moral to thy heart!

QUIETI ET MUSIS.

Be thine Retirement's peaceful joys,
And a life that makes no noise;
Save when Fancy, musing long,
Wakes her desultory song;
Sounding to the vacant ear,
Like the rill that murmurs near.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 196: The Cardinal, sent by the Duke of Glo'ster and the High Commissioners, to persuade the Queen to resign her son to them. The dialogue is almost entirely from Speed.]

[Footnote 197: Thebes.]

[Footnote 198: The vale of Avalon was surrounded by waters at the time. King Arthur is described as buried in the island of Avalon. Part of a sculptured lion remains; and it may be observed that Leland, in his "Itinerary," speaks of "Duo leones sub pedibus Arthuri." The masonry over the sacred well, discovered by Mr Warner, is eminently beautiful. It is a singular fact, that the last meeting of the Bible Society was held amidst the august desolation of Glastonbury Abbey.]

[Footnote 199: A celebrated station and city, on the great Roman road from Bath to London; the walls of which, covered with trees, yet remain nearly entire.]

[Footnote 200: The Amphitheatre.]

[Footnote 201: This majestic but dilapidated pile has been repaired at great expense, and with taste and judgment, in every respect consonant to and worthy of its ancient character. These verses were written under the contemplation of this singularly beautiful and unique pile being open again for public worship by a sacred musical performance.]

[Footnote 202: The service by the prayer-book was forbidden.]

[Footnote 203: Seth Ward, Bishop of Salisbury, built and endowed at Salisbury, Collegium Matronarum, the college of matrons, widows of clergymen. They are entertained by each canon during his residence. These lines were written when they were the guests of the author.]

[Footnote 204: He returned to Walton's cottage from the scene of execution of his brave friend, Lord Capel.]

[Footnote 205: Anne, born 1677, and mother of William Hawkins.]

[Footnote 206: Walton died 1683, aged ninety; Morley, the year after, 1684, aged eighty-seven. They are buried in the same Cathedral.]

[Footnote 207: In allusion to Bishop Ken's well-known morning and evening hymns.]

[Footnote 208: Supposed to have been addressed to Bishop Ken, by Princess Mary of Orange, before her marriage with William III., who, but for the interposition of the Bishop, would have broken his engagement to marry her.]

[Footnote 209: See Moore's Life of Sheridan.]

[Footnote 210: The legend on which this ballad is founded, is related in Latin, in the Book of Lacock.]

[Footnote 211: Mount St Michael, _in periculo maris_, and answering to St Michael's Mount in Cornwall.]

[Footnote 212: This magnificent ruin of the favourite castle of Richard I. is on the banks of the Seine, near Les Andelys, the birth-place of Poussin, and the retreat of Thomas Corneille. A single year sufficed to form its immense fosses, and to raise those walls which might seem to be the structure of a lifetime. When Coeur de Lion saw it finished, he is said to have exclaimed with exultation, "How beautiful she is, this daughter of a year!" It was the last hold of the English in Normandy; and, under the command of Roger de Lacy, long mocked the efforts of Philip Augustus, who came in person to invest it in August 1203. The siege was memorable for its length, the incredible exertions of De Lacy, and the sufferings endured by the besieged until its capture in the following March.--_Wiffen's_ "Memoirs of the House of Russell," vol. i. p. 548.]

[Footnote 213: It is a remarkable coincidence, that the present possessor of Lacock Abbey should be a Talbot.]

[Footnote 214: The Bishop of Gloucester.]

THE END.

BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.

* * * * *

Transcriber's note

The following changes have been made to the text:

Page 33: "A Christain loves them" changed to "A Christian loves them".

Page 33: "His first pure Christain" changed to "His first pure Christian".

Page 43: "Judicium metuit sibi mens mall" changed to "Judicium metuit sibi mens mali".

Page 51 - Footnote 61: "rythm" changed to "rhythm".

Page 211: "Forgotton, and Oblivion" changed to "Forgotten, and Oblivion".

Page 239: "what is is best" changed to "what is best".

Page 257: "Lo! houseless o'er the the" changed to "Lo! houseless o'er the".

Page 270: "Cheftain" changed to "Chieftain".

Page 286: "Great Iris" changed to "Great Isis".