?-V! ^: Si ianilHnHU .>Wl"sl s?iia'#?S'!W V 1 1 1 1 1 iKl i[u0«^ulC 'aLnHnCSRIlr^Cil ^r^'' LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. i]^.?.?'j%ujj^ng]^ |tt Shelf .W.^.8 L 3 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 7i/*:!i,,-e-,, WBm% WK-z^ES^r fiJ fe»^ •jW'A'fl!'":«!''',if^v"mii<efoot Boy, Waterloo, How John Wooed Betsey, The War Is Over, Oh Robert Burns, . The ChampjER of Brown, Summer Has Come, . The Veteran's Story', His Wedding Rose, . The Butterfly, What Mrs. Gregor Said, The Fi-ush of the Morning, The Blue and Gray, After the Battle, The Dying Veteran, The Honest Poor, The Rusty Sword, . John's Marriage, Mary Queen of Scots, The Worm, The Pebrle Stone, The Old Canteen, The Nurse, Sweet June at Last, . Anniversary Poem, The Massacre of Glencoe, The Barefoot Girl, The Leaf, On the Meadow, Earth is Beautiful, . Children's Day, Come With Me, . On the Bridge, Sweeter than a Dream, Sing Me Songs, Thomas Becket, . The Sons of Veterans, . Children's Day (second version)- I'm No Patti, . Waiting to be Loved, I Must Sing, . A Question, My Creed, When Friends Are Gone, The Bard, 354 355 357 358 360 361 363 364 365 366 368 369 371 373 375 377 378 380 381 383 384 386 390 391 392 394 396 397 399 401 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412 414 41() 417 418 419 420 421 422 423 CONTENTS. XI The Lost Kixg, ...... 424 I Saw a Floweret, .... 425 Patches, ...... 426 Love Something, ..... 427 How Sweet to Think, .... 428 A Song of Home, ..... 429 Love's Young Dream, . . . , 430 Beside the Grave, ...... 432 AUTL'MN, ....... 433 To My Muse, . 434 You Flattering Poet. .... 435 Then Faretheewell, . . . . 436 You Are a Lovely Talker, 437 How John Proposed, ..... 438 My Mother, ...... 440 Who Will Care for Mother Now, . 442 Have Music in Your Homes, 444 The Critic, ....... 445 Death, . ..... 446 The Pen and Bard, ..... 446 The Pen of Genius, ..... 447 Captain of the Gray, ..... 448 XoTHiNG BUT Flags (selected,) 450 Nothing but Flags, ..... 451 Dead, ....... 452 The Little Singers, ..... 453 The Old, Old Story, ..... 455 To the Slasher, ...... 458 The Grasshopper, ..... 460 Sir (-RITIC, ....... 463 The Poet and His Muse, .... 467 Siege of Vicksburg, . . . . . 473 Battle of Shiloh, ..... 475 Defending a Home, . . . . , 477 Battle of Blenheim, .... 479 Monody on the Death of Longfellow, 481 What Say the Waves? .... 505 Life Thoughts, ...... 507 Caroline, ...... 509 OuK Mabel. ....... 512 This World Is but a Dream, 514 Susie May, ....... 515 Baby, ....... 517 Up in Heaven, ...... 517 You Are All in All to Me. . "' . 518 Among My Books, ...... 520 The Old Cannon, ..... 540 Venus, ....... 442 XII CONTENTS. Atalanta, Pallas Athena, CrpiD, HvMEX^ErS, Babv Willie, The Bkonze Soldier, I'd Woo a Classic Maid, Those That Wore the Gray A C'LrsTER OF Sonnets, Beatrice Ceiici, The Greek Slave, Xydia the Blind Girl of Pompeii, The Libyan Sibyl, Medea, .... Le Premiere Po.se, The Angel of the Sepulchre, Ophelia, A Chain of Sonnets, The Poet, Oscar Wilde, The Three Poets, Genius, .... POE, .... Think, .... Come Back, Sweet Birds, Her Baby's Chain, . Sonnets, To My Mother, To My Book, To My Father,. To S. E. W. At the Tomb of Longfellow, To My Son, Six Years Old, To the Monadnock Mills, . To My Classic Friends, . To Sugar Eiver To the World's Great Poets, To the Sage of Charlestown, The Four Arts,— Genius, Poetry, .... Music, Sculpture, Painting, . A Piece of Marble, . Elgin Marbles, The Crown^ The Eaton Family'^ Keunion, Psalm, .... 544 546 548 549 551 552 555 556 558 558 559 560 561 563 564 565 566 566 572 574 576 578 580 581 582 684 589 589 489 590 590 590 591 591 592 592 593 393 593 593 594 594 595 595 596 598 605 (;07 ILLUSTRATIONS. -^AuxnoR's Portrait, ^Henry's Portrait, 'In the Dell, .... ^Evening, . . . . . '^The Robin in the Rain, ^Briar Roses, ..... *• Where Trees O'erhang the Stream, ^A Little Eden, . . . . /John Howard Payne, Fred and Old Major, The Xew Knife, . . The Sanborn Memorial Stone, nJn Among the Lilies, The Butterfly-, .... The Old Canteen, Sweet June at Last, The Lost Ring, . , . . \AUTUMN, . . . . . The Little Singers, Defending a Home, -'Portrait of Longfellow, . What Say-- the Waves, (three cuts,) The Old Cannon, Opposite Page. . Frontispiece 11 126 . 151 171 211 232 273 296 310 334 339 353 , 371 392 396 424 , 433 453 477 481 505 .540 xni THELADfOFDARDALE. X THE LADY OF DARDALE. JOHN ELMER. AN INTRODUCTION TO "THE LADY OF DARDALE." The country turnpike, like a tangled dream, Wound where it would, a-like a natural love, A wayward child. Its plan, without an aim, The thought, so far as skilless art could find; But curiosity, ever part of brain, Was master power, and with a silken cord, As syren sweet as love to heart, soft led The winding way. My dappled steed was prancing; The freshened May distended wide his nostrils, And lent him new life, speed, and mettled strength, Champing the bit, and straining every nerve. Till mine, beneath the tension, seemed as harpstrings For fay-elfs strung, that every touch might stir The soul. I crossed the bridge that time had left Enough to prove its name, and traced the route As one without an aim, but yet a thought That seemed an aim, and later proved as such, (For aimless quest if held a boon of mind. And pressed with thought, will take a lucid shape). Slow led me on. An aimless aim was now A settled plan. Adventures on the way My eye should woo, that once my hailed return Might charm an hour, and win me partial fame. The golden sun was stealing o'er the hilltops. And piercing thro' the fog-banks curling there. Soft bathing mount, and tree, and highest rock. 2 THE LADY OF D ABB ALE. And shimmering down the misty, slantwise view. Till lost amid the darkened vale. I paused, And fancy-wed, let play the wayward thought. Thirty and uine agoue, and cotted babe, I helpless, and as seeming aimless lived, A tease to nurse, a father's care, but mother! The tears may start, to her a little world, A little world of hope, a castled clime, A pictured vale, a panoramic view, That turned kaleidoscope in hand of child Of fullest fancy, many a fairy tale. And loveliest hope, could hold no rivaling scene. Her ideality challenged mightiest brain, And form of strength a Hercules Avould love, A perfect man ! But I, as many a one. Slowly matured, and gained my destined shape, A-like a thousand more that lived and died. That live and breathe to-day in hundred towns; But she no art to ken the general trait Was much the same; and thus she drew a future: "I loved your father, since he seemed the man Best suited to my temperament. He led f Me to the altar; love and hope were there. In golden train. The days were in their flight. You graced our home, a sunlight sweetest shed. And sand by sand slow graded toward the man. Until I find you gone beyond my rod. My constant care; but now, ere you shall roam From home, and lose yourself in busy life, Lead Mabel to the altar; armed thus. Your walk will be upon a higher plane." St! Master! Einging in my ears the tones. As hollow murmurs of a dreami ng brain ; An empty sound that seemed a tone of thought; A memory of a long forgotten hour That held a vanished form; a time revered And hated in the same sad thought; for love Is ever truest, best, when left to self, And more a meed, a boon, to me, than plans An anxious mother shaped. 'Twere well, mayhap. To follow such a law that holds this quest: Two neighboring families, farmers well-to-do, Within the dark and misty vault of time. Bent o'er our cots, — fair Mabel's cot and mine, — And master judges of our coming years. Pronounced our earliest youthhood's doom. Their voices E'en echoing now, then framed the words: "The babes, And fairer never shone,"— but time has wrought JOHN ELMER. 8 Its changes!— 'later on shall hold our lands Inviolate by stranger touch. A wedding, Early as meet, shall bind them heart to heart, And life to life, and land to land; and death, Our latest guest, shall take us from the world. And their world, with no sad regret that they Are gone astray in Folly's path. They grow, The lily leaning on the thornless rose; A flower he, and she a fairer flower." A fairy picture, but the fairies"? I — I, old and bearded; she, fair Mabel — where? The years were yeai-s that;could not last. They died, Our mothers, leaving us a father's care, Wlio married ere our blooming youth had bloomed To womanhood and manhood's time. They sold; ' They moved to distant climes, and Arden-like, Then took their chance of wave and wind. She, I, Evangeline and Gabriel, then asunder Were har.shly torn !— to meet at death? The thought; But we were none the loser; all our love, A thing of ice, was cold as money's love; A bartered boon, that grew an ugly shape. Liberty or death if mind a mind at all. Freedom of love else madness in the brain. Chameleon love needs chameleon law; — But ours? "Here! love that thing!" a gnawing power That sapped the shaping vines of love, and hate Arose above the ashes there; and when. And when we waved our last adieu as slow The ox-teams raised a farther-growing dust, A statue's smile some altar-frame might grace. Empaled our marble looks; and thus the hearts That might have grown to love, were turned to hate ! I did not hate her as I might a man, 'Twas rather hate that hates a critic; a Half pity and half hate; or love, and like, And pity, all commingled, with a shred Of deepest admiration, held a secret. The rolling wains in opposite ways a bend Had hid; and all my mother's plans were naught! No marriage ; no united lands and lives ! Father had sold, and they had sold, and we, But children yet, were bundled off as goods; The later weddings, later, better prospects, Were teemful thoughts, and we but secondary! A greater change than j-ears had known; but time Made never a halt, and onward flew as yore. And brought a harvest full of woe, of trouble. THE LADT OF BAEBALE. A modest life with e'en as modest thouglit, Had swayed too long for such a sudden change ; , And loss, and woe, and care, usurped the place Of love, and hope, and peace. A quick divorce. An early tomb, and naught to time but— but — A second wife ! an Elmer's bones, a son, A fair lost Mabel ! and a sire in age. O, Master ! were I dumb as you, there were No past ; no pregnant memories full of woe ! And now the town where time had made me great, "Was grown a double town ; that large hotel Is monster to its sire, and frowns a king Among its lesser friends. I turn me back And note the larger view that years have won From nothingness. My childhood's view, my boyhood's. All, all is shapeless made by vast usurpers. The rotten, paintless steeple, dirty schoolhouse, And pigmy town-hall, are a memory gone. "I am no more a child !" My mother's words : "I named you John the day that saw you live, John Elmer being to my thought a name That had the ring, the sound, as 'John, John Elmer, His name decks many a rhyme.' " But time, and harsh, Had turned me from the place ere boyhood's play Was off for thought ; and thus my name and power Were lost to all my native town. I shone In other fields, 'mong stranger thought and ways And won a fame where dearth of greatness reigned. Like many a bard of modern time. The taper Once shone the king of lights ; yet time has won A brighter flame ; but both their places, yet careful ! Don't place them side by side, nor ages' poetry. An age is great for lack of greatness. Look : An age of poetry, age of painters' art ; An age of sculpture, age of oratory ; An absence, dearth of one, each renders greater. The great Elizabethan galaxy ! And where my verse ? But now in dearth of Poesy, My light may shine. In dearth of Angeloes A lesser one is great. I miud the time In early boyhood's flighty hours, how Mabel A garland greenest, freshest grown, in girl-like Simplicity, placed o'er my brow, a glimmering Of that translucent light that time and hope ^Should win from kenless glooms ahead. But I ! — "Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eyes, " John Elmer poet-born !— And yet the picture A dream, and overdrawn, won passing fame. JOHN ELMER. And lent an Eden to the varied view. Ah! that May morning !— this May morning ! Time, Oh, cruel god ! Oh, cruel king ! to rob, To rob the every joy of present sweetness, And memory's god alone to hold the scene ! Thy will, sleek Master ! May thy clattering hoofs Drown all reverberations of the past ! And this May morn attuned of woeless bird, Eeclaim my time-retracing thought, and Nature In all her glory, win me to herself. The road, a catacomb to stranger view. Held parallel with voiceful stream a space, But short, a babe upon the verge of steps, As sudden turned and vanished in a bend. The song of waters, murmurs of the breeze, The singing pine in deathful tone, and constant Soft buzzings of a-many a varied insect. The manifold sweet voices of calm Nature ; All, all a tinkling, lulling, soothing sound, More softly fell than poets' thoughts, and won A live equestrian statue, till a noise Of slow approaching wheels resounded near ; And brief, the bend where seemed an ended road, Disclosed a loaded wain, slow lumbering on. I hated her ? and yet the forceful words : 'T)oes Mabel live ?" This gnarled man a shred, (This man that tops the hay,) of her or hers ? "Good morning, sir," and when the answer fell, A thousand Mabel-fancies drowned my brain. "And is her sire alive in age ?" the query In fancy fell. "And is she married yet ?" "And what her name ?" Van Winkle-like the questions. I only said : "You may have known the Elmers?" I felt his home was hereabout, and thus Could feel the farms were patent to his thought For longest miles around. A death next door My city home, and know it not, till hearse And black-streamed train wind slowly from the curb. But here, and farther than the eye might reach, The funeral's cause is known with cease of pulse. A city ! golden thy seclusion ! Country ! Thy garret secret's known ! Thou know'st, O Muse Thy home's in busiest cities' scenes ! thy dreams, Of rural town and rustic view ! If now This stranger bearded swain were met in city's Streets, "Elmers, do you know them?" were the last. The farthest thought ; but now the country's great .Encyclopaedia was above the hay. THE LADY OF DARDALE. Without a formal style 1 might inquire : "Aud how are crops?" "Xo drouth this season?" Always A quick and ready answer ; but at home,— A brownstone front ; an aged man descends The marble steps, "aud who resides next door?" A sinister glance, aud "Don't know," and is gone. He did not know. "Yes, crops are well. No drouth ;—' A stranger hereabout ?" "Aud yes. and no. I lived here twenty years agone. The Elmers — " "Jock Elmer?" "Yes." "And there hard by, his neighboi;- Sweet Mabel Martin's folks, the twin-like families ; — And plans they had. The babes would wed in teens, . And knit the name to Jiame, and land to land ; But time with venomed tooth, short left his mark ; The mothers died ; the fathers wed. The farms Were sold. 'Tis said the later wives were vain ; Had city ways and thoughts ; and country life Xo charms for them. The farmhouse has a charm — Adventurers they were and wed for money, And in a word they broke two hearts aud homes, The lovers separated ; and at last Jock Elmer found his grave ! And poor old Martin — " (Sweet Mabel's father I) "and his child—" "Oh, help !" And quick the May-morn air was rent with cries, And round the bend a steed in maddest flight. Came dashing with a two-wheeled chaise, a lady Wildly upon the seat, imploring aid. 'Twas done ! As quick as light my Master sped In hot pursuit, the farmer leaving there lu blank amaze, with Martin's annals still Echoing upon his lips. Adventures now A Beadle's art no power to trace ; and j^et The freak of bard's imagination won Its incident outside a Thackeray's classic Page, yet the Yicar classic full as strange In Wakefield incident : for not the say. But how 'tis said, shall win the name and fame. My frothing black was flyiug with the wind. And flew my fancy over all the past. As lightning steed, or di'owuiug man when death Engrasps him far below the rippling wave. "Sweet, naughty Mabel ! you and I are one, Our baby hearts beat out the little ttme Ere thinking thought had won a niche of brain. And wed we were as sure as wedding morn Shall steal along with time, and rear the priest Before our trembling teens, 'And thou art one !' As solemn say as, 'Woe is me,' and shape JOHN ELMEE. A growing scene for Eden good, or Hade^ Bad. Mabel hate me '? No, the harsh bequest. Forget me as thy.cotted bridegroom love, Then all thy heart shall throb for me. But, no !— " "I won't love from a thought of force, for mine Shall be a Juliet's love ; you not my Eomeo ! No stolen kiss ; no stolen midnight meeting ; No arm about your neck, you hanging bold From balcony's dangerous rail, your eyes the stars That light the misty sky, and guide my love Unto the love of loves, and make me tremble For fear the light, too strong, should teach my father's Eye, nurse's, or a vain detective's, all Our tryst." "Oh, Mabel ! hast thou read a fairy Tale ? Nothing but a wayward brain could draw So strained a picture." "And I kiss your lip. But nobody cares. 'Tis settled love that comes A-like a purchased team, with auction's ring ; Expected ! Too trite, John ; love's sweetest found In stolen interviews, amid Arcadian Scenes, father's tread continual fear, or nurse's. With jealous glance ; for love is made of stolen Joys, sweet forbidden kisses 'neath the moon. With every bush an eye. Eesume thy heart. Else love and lover-like, slow steal along The moonlit moors, and trembling 'neath my window, As hungrily watch my wild, adventurous Descent in treacherous basket, as the hound That waits the beck that starts him on the chase, The cageless hare already in the field." "The love of dreams, sweet Mabel Martin ! Father, Tea, mine and thine, have solemn said : 'They gi-ow For one another, as the oak for ship, The amaranthine flower for love. We see As one that wanders thro' a beaten path. And knows the end. 'Twere better e'en for both, To heed the wisdom of our choice, for love Is blind, and needs a clearer gaze. Love, love That picks its mate has more of wrong tlian right.' " "Pronounced a-like a bartered stock, or slave, With never a thought but of the price paid. Mabel A piece of merchandise ! John, never, never !" "And yet your like that knows no love, is mine ; In truth, I like you as I would a friend ; A sweet familiar face ; a passing view, Wliich gone, soon flies my constant thought, and leaves A misty vagueness of a thing that's gone. And yet, and yet, we might have loved ; not strange. TEE LADY OF DARDALE. Perhaps e'en now 'tis more than like, and hate Of cotted bondage makes us blind ; for love That's shackled, bound by law, is kin of serf That likes his work, but pines from constant straint. I thought your face a pretty face till years Of wise discretion rose in view, and taught • My wild Byronic heart, untamed as wilder Mazeppan steed, no shackling power should curb My will, my love. By contraries would I move. And tho' I loved my maid, the world's applause. All, all should sink before the power that bound My Avill. If kings would shun my name, then I As fast, tho' none of fame were mine. Self-willed Is love, a wayward child, but oft is led Astray from varied influence ; for fame ; A name, a place, and lucre ; but a love That truly seeks its mate, nor power of gold. Nor power of place, of prince, of king, of earth, Can thwart its aim, or blind its gaze." "A lecture." "But common facts ; the aims and ends of love ; Its ways, its forms, its styles, that none can feel, Till Cupid-god has winged his honeyed dart ; And yet it seems a lecture to my maid ?" "A very lecture all unspiced of love." "Then, fairy Mabel, list the chivalrous tale. In Scottish guise, to lend the fancy strength, Commingled with a touch of fact, that Muse Has won from poesy's teemful art in climes JlSTot native to her reign, but Friendship's claims Permit her welcome maid a niche with all That woo the muses' lyre to deathless verse." "Beguile the hour with Fancy's tale to History Wed; Mabel openear if love prevail." "A knightly tale from Fancy framed, in youth Of love and Posey's art, enwon my thought ; Engaged my straightened hours a month on month, Till twelve were in their flight. And will you hear This lovelorn tale of Spenser's knightliest days, In modern thought, and language of the hour ? The Tapster's tale ; the Swineherd's, or the Knight's, Might give it name. John Elmer's shall it be ? Now, Mabel !" "I would hear your voice in knightly Lore, knightly tale. A-mauy a time its tone Has wooed my wayward ear from vulgar chime, 'And lent me Knighthood's pregnant days, or bard Of Avon's. But a teemful like, and softest Fancy enpictured half the scene, like poems Of modern make, that seem to say the whole ; JOHN ELMEll. But unimaginative reader sees The fleshless skeleton alone, so much Is left to thought. An empty kind of verse Enmarks our modern bard. Go back a century ; 'The paths of glory lead but to the grave ;' A poem in a line." "You are exacting ; Each age its style. The giant intellect Has been supplanted by scholastic art ; To-day 'tis highest culture ; yesterday, The giant brain. My Lamb is out of caste In modern time ; my modern bard the like In ancient time. A nation's history may Repeat itself ; but twins are not alike ; A difference, after all. The Wakefield Vicar Says : 'Handsome is that liandsome does,' and true To general glance, but not to critical." "Your giant Cook,* and not your Romeo, Has won your latest thought. But lecturing "Was ever chiefest trait, a Johnson giant Of later time." "You laugh because I seem Matured. America's Rydal bard has never Approached his Thanatopsis ; Harold's Lay An. early work, but faultless in his pages. Genius is found more oft in youth, than later." "Then not my cotted love of twenty summers. But grav beard a^e in golden prime, of saws And potent thought possessed? Avaunt, my sage ; If lover, Blackstone, Bacon, Locke, replaced By Avon's matchless lovetale,t else a Grandcourt And Gwendolen love, an icy tu^ag too cold To live. If knightly lay shall hold as cold A love as all your May-morn talk, then dead Ere public glance shall know its style." "The Lady Of Dardale was the name the lay assumed. And tireless Fancy won a thousand verses. Thro' all too pregnant hours of day, and time That gave it birth, soon gave it death. The flames Enmixed the dedication, cantos, all. In thankless air, and wreathing, aimless smoke. A master hand had struck the harp, and discords Loud jarred along the tottering line, and mimic Knighthood soon passed as once it came, 'unwept, Unhonored, and unsung.' A task to let It go, my youthful love, my boyish fancy, With tumbled castle, parched moat ; and yet Its skeleton lights and shades flit in and out Among my later thought, in evei'-varying *Rev. Joseph Cook, of Boston, Mass. fRomeo and Juliet. 10 THE LADY OF BARD ALE. Train. Chaos and I, dull twins in main, moved arm In arm a day by day, a week by week, Like shaping man in childhood's hour, till time And tide diverged our path, and chaos-youthhood Stood out a shadow of the past. Our twinship Gone, teemful error, poesy's mimic shade Stood plainly outlined, things of monster shape. Where now and then, as on the stage of life, A beauty flashed athwart the dark. The scene Was laid in pregnant thought. A deep and tangled Wood, brook-knelled, mountain-bounded, held a form- Of loveliest mien, e'en sweet as morning flower By Nature's hand twined o'er a garden wall, Artless and beautiful ! Conception is Ever the master power of any brain; A Eaphael's art a daub to picture brain Has drawn. A-many a bard in thought, but few In execution. So the Lay ;* a gem In thought, a Scott to make it verse. But Nature, A miser in Poesy's gifts, had flashed a ray Athwart my brain as faint and shadowy as A will-o'-the-wisp, but redolent of power To lead me on, until the museful tones Of inmost music, won my heart and hand. And ere I woke from tangled dream of night, A Knightly tale had flashed and gone. 'Twere thus r * A poem of a thousand verses destroyed. Henry A. Walker. THE LADY OF DARDALE. "Lo ! I must tell a tale of chivalry ; For large white plumes are dancing in mine eye.- Not like the formal crest of latter clays : But bending in a thousand graceful ways." —Keats. "Old is the tale I tell, and yet as young And warm with life as ever minstrel sung : Two lovers fill it,— two fair shapes— two souls, Sweet as the last for whom the death-bell toll?." "Hero and Leander."- Leigh Hunt. DEDICATION TO HEXEY. * Thou seraph boy babe, whose unnumbered years Have found no reck in the sand-glass of time, To you I dedicate in love and tears, These lowly verses couched in feebler rhyme Than ancient bard of minstrel sway has known ; But thou reck'st not the Muses soft would tear Me from mechanic art, and ail alone, Allure me to the Shrine of Delphi's fair. Long ere thy first glance met the smiling day, And you a doubt to my life as my fame, A something o'er me held a subtle sway, In embryon puzzlement, till soft there came A museful-toned voice thro' my musing mind, And taught me scenes where heavenly music played, And e'er lived, to their dulcet harps resigned, A fairy band in seraph wings arrayed. * The Author's eon of three months. U 12 THE LADY OF DAEBALE. Poesy from father to son ne'er descends ; No Homer a Homerian bard lias left ; Ko Milton's verse from Milton's son ascends ; We lose the Shakespeare, and of him bereft, 'Tis vain we look for other of that line : The Art is strange, and wayward is the child ; And he who is hired to her goklen r ine. Finds more of testy babe than ever smiled. But ere, my sweet babe, the will-o'-the-wisp Of my pliantasmagoric fancy came Into the clear light, and soft as your lisp, Told me what 'twas to be a child of lame. In hopeless fetters of aerial arms Was I bound, and wlien I would tear away. More numerous the sicy in formful charms Was peopled. Heavenly, heavenly was their sway. So, to you in your innocency sweet, Whilst yet the mother's from the father's hand Thou reck'st not, (like is friend's and parent's greet,) I dedicate tlie soft aerial band That gathered in my fancy, and in verse Have found joys for me poets only know. And made me in a knightly lay rehearse In soft imagination's matchless flow. May thy life, sweet Hope ! gain as high a mark As my imagination rose for this ; And when thy life is ebbing, and the Dark Is o'er thee, feel again thy mother's kiss ! Let Fancy paint thy cradle-house that first Was thy soft shelter, and see the sweet face That hovered over thee, and fond rehearsed Her mother-love, with mother's power to trace. GENEEAL INTEODUCTION. Oh, charm of verse ! oh, charm of song ! And ever theme that did belong To searchless past, or ever old, Of newness shorn, upon the wold A frayed, a warp-bare tale, a thing Where beauty's charms shall vainly cling? If poet's eye shall wander there ; If poet's life with death shall pair ; THE LADY OF D ABB ALE. 13 If poet crowned of Nature's queen Shall ken the view, what is, hath been, A thousand beauties start to view With ever-varjing beauty's hue : E'en deathless bards have sung in vain The hue, the stj-le, the love, the strain. The tomb, the grave, the light, the shade, The every view the skies have made ; The flowers, lilies, Edens, grots, The pansy, rose, forget-me-nots, The dewy eves, the morning-glory. The hundred things in verse and story. The Lalla Eooklis, the Harold lays, The Edens lost, grand Knighthood's days, The Churchyard tales. A thousand ways To say them o'er . And ages yet Shall touch the theme. Shall time forget? If bard shall own no native flame. But scholar's art shall shape his strain ; But love that painted pictures here, A thousand beauties shall appear, If Nature sweep the magic lyre, And flame that points is nature's fire. The tale were old, the theme its Chief!* Shall later bard turn laureled leaf? And love a sweet, a nameless charm, The Lay's excuse ; no world's alarm To daant the Muse. A Christabel In tameless gloom if bell shall knell Its death ! A joy that poets know Hath cure, hath balm ; a god below That steals the myriad tints that glow In seeming dullest thing, and flow In riveless train, where bard were tost In hundred splendors, drowned, lost, Till fame and name, the world forgot, The cares of life, the battles fought By bravest heroes ; frauds that sway The party strife ; the dull, the gay. Commercial theme, the newer star,t The Nations' strife,t the mailed Czar.§ Th« dream is gone, and loudly swell The vulgar arts, the din, the knell Of busy life, the pulse of gain!— The bard a— Man ? Delusive train! The sky a world, and dullest thing, * Scott, t CoDklIng, etc. J The momentous war between Turkey and Bijesla in l!//7-78, etc. § Alexauder II, Emperor of Russia. 14 THE LADY OF D ABB ALE. No fays, no fairies ! Yet there cling ^ The broken shreds of poesy's dream ; Not stars, but gaslights palely gleam ! Emilias, Henris, Lacys, all But specters now ! The shadowed wall Their pictures ! Knighthood's lay was wrought While pictured fancy pictures caught From various clime, and age, and date, And lent a charm that has no mate ; Anachronism, sweet poesy's charm, And Michael Scotts, tho' death shall balm, May grace a laj'. The school-taught rule, In strictest law, a rhymster's tool ; For Nature's bard shall shape his law, No other hand the lines shall draw ! A general scene, a varied view. As lark that soars the arching blue ; A bulbul's flight as whim shall take Him from the spray that holds his mate ; A winding stream thro' light and shade. Where flowers, weeds, have eddying strayed, The Tale is such ! A poet's soul Has heard sweet Muse, and numbers stole A richness, sweetness not in verse, 'Twere vain indeed, such strains rehearse ! INTEODUCTION TO CANTO THE FIRST. The Castle's ruins !— lovers I — where ? — The Lord Graville !— Ah ! never there Again their splendor, beauty, sway ! Never again the lightsome day, The mellow eve that shed its dew On turret, tower, moon-wed view ; For gone the lovers, gone the scene, No shred to tell what there hath been ; And gone the sire, and gone the knight, And gone the forest where the light Of stealing moon won look of maid. The bubbling brook, the knights that strayed, The quarrel, fray, the flight, pursuit, A whelmed father, moveless, mute ! Gone, gone, yet mystic Maid has claimed Their lives, their deeds, and not ashamed, Has limned where others matchless reigned, THE LADY OF DARDALE. 15 And drawn from Knighthood's gaudy scene, A vanished view, yet starlights gleam, — Has torn the tale from perished life. Has wrought in peace, unmeasured strife ; The llenris, Lacys, mount the steed, Yet live again ; the grave is freed Of warrior, knight, the bard, the chief, A page turned back, a folded leaf. And once again the harp, the lute. The bashful love, e'en modest, mute ; And present lost in living past. The mind is thralled ; the bugle's blast Sounds not the line, the empty verse, 'Tis bugler's self the notes rehearse ; We mark him cross the linn, the vale, The castle hides his form. The gale Is strong against the tower. The knights Quick cross the moat, their forms like lights In farther gloom are lost. There starts A palmer down the vale ; departs A warrior, knight, a chief. 'Tis life. Its ways, its hues, its shadows, strife. Emilia saunters o'er the grass ; A flower plucks. There come, there pass, The lights and shades of love. The Knight , De Lacy, trods the hall. A light Has marked his eye. 'Tis strange withal. 'Tis life. The picture came, did fall ; 'Twere vain it sued for lasting place ; Yet read, the flowers and weeds may trace A scene that some shall love, the few May love and hate. That all were true ! But History ever faultless found When Fancy twines her laui-el round! CANTO THE FIEST. I. TThe scene was sweet as loveliest eve. Where love might woo, and win, and grieve, And heart to heart the lover's tale Might softly say, and none assail. The arching trees that stooped above ; The winding brook that sang of love ; A mellow shade on tree and rock. No dream that later scenes would shock, 16 fHE LAD Y OF DAHDALE. Fell sweetly there, and wooed to song, Won heart to heart, no tinge of wrong ; And many a hird in softest note, Sang there of love, and peace, and hope, An Eden scene the whole comhined, A picuire true of love resigned ; No fleck to mar the lovely whole. Where softest thoughts as sweetly stole As siren song to heart of him Who feels a fate, a something grim, Yet sweetest made, and full of joy. As bounding heart of Paphian boy, Who sank to sleep on Beauty's breast, No thought of life but he were blest, And all the world were Eden round. With caroling bird the only sound That broke the silence there, And stole his soul as Lethe found A honeyed stream and fair. n. A haunt no hand to mar, to shock, Not e'en the winds, the soft siroc, A nook for beauty, love-eyed maid. The tale of Eros, heart that strayed From native bosom, found its king In matchless youth, seolian string That sounded soft, yet truest there, For stone of moss, the balmy air. The tree, the brook, the mavis note. Told plain that love was not remote. And yet my graybeard !— mother there ! — My drifting child !— the scene as fair As when thy love met love in tryst. And babe was not, yet lips that kist, Told well the days that love might know In wedded bliss, tho' born of woe ; But age no glow, no youthful flame, No faultless fancy, scenes are tame That once were matcnless as the bow That arches o'er this world of woe. Thy minds may paint the glowing past Ere lots together fell, were cast. Ere priest, the babe, the wedded years. Had lent their joy, their woe, their tears. The stone, the brook, the arching trees. Patches of sky, the laded breeze. The thousand scenes that crowd the view THE LADY OF DARDALE. 17 Where love is king, is fleckless, true ; And yet, and yet, the view is changed, The glowing thouglit by age estranged, The brook the same, the stone is there, Yet not divinely glowing fair, While memory paints the fleeting view, The verse shall own the shape, the hue. That graced the scene ere locks were gray, And earliest love had lost its sway. III. The mountains round with castled top. Fell on the eye with grimest shock, For musing mind could picture there The Highland war, the Lowland's share, The deeds of daring by the brave. The hardy men that feared no grave, But met the foe, and hand to hand Made valor win or lose the land. No hidden form with reaching gun, And braveless war unbravely won. But face to face, as death to death, With kissing helms, and breath to breath, The sturdy Highland brave was found; But Lowland foe was on the ground. As brave of heart, no soul of fear, The maddened force, the fiery tear, The beating heart, the swaying form. The sturdy tree that breasts the storm. Is bent, is sAvayed ; but fate, nor arm, Had power to daunt with scaring harm, Each man a force that would not move Till power and might that seemed of Jove, Made victor of the foe. That fought for country and its love, Tho' death should lay him low. IV. No China's wall of vasty length Stretched round the scene in giant strength, But mountains vast that touched the sky, Rose round the scene, and held the eye. In roughest beauty there did vie With softer scenes, where clouds did fly, And many a thing of loveliest hue Caught mellow sweetness from the blue. That tlomed the vale, the hill, the mount, Arcadian view with many a fount, 18 THE LADY OF DARDALE. And lent a ciiarm that tempts the eye, And moves the heart with many a sigh. O Scottish scene of mount and vale ! O varied view in lovely tale ! Thy castled steeps ! thy poet lakes ! Thy every scene the poet makes ! How easy Burns to write a lay As full of love as siren day I And picture dales, and vales, and hills, The bonny Doons, and laughing rills. And win the soul and melt the heart, And eyes with teardrops at his art! Eomantic land ! romantic clime ! Of Knighthood's lay, and Valor's rhyme I Where are thy songster's now ! On tomb of him we trace the vine ! * At both the weepers bow ! t Yet Fancy's eye on History's page, May call to life the bard, the sage, The knighted chief remount his steed, And charge for country and its meed; The warrior that in border raid, Made glory shine, and cowards fade, The bard that twined the laurel round % The brow of heroes seldom found ; The feud-fires blaze where borderers fought For home, and country, and the Scot, Where maids and matrons lent their aid, A fame till valor ne'er shall fade. Threw round their lovers by their love. The deed of arms and power of Jove, Won from the sigh of love-eyed maid. Who fired the arm that victory made, Or matrons with their sturdy hearts. Who filled the ranks where glory starts, With many a valiant knight and true. Who struck for fame and country, too ; All. all may rise at Fancy's beck, And win a glance, a poem deck ; A poet's tale is never old, A Nature-scene upon the wold That lends an endless charm. And soothes the eye that vainly rolled For vales of golden calm. * Burns. \ Burns and Scott. :t Scott. THE LADY OF DARDALE. 19 VI. And Bannockburn, with mighty dead ! Shall Memory paiut thy scenes of dread? Shall lieroes, warriors, marchmeu, all, Rise at her beck again to fall For Scotland and her glorious name. And on the field re-win their fame? Shed once again the foeman's blood, That mingled theirs in surging flood? Shall Bruce again the mighty lead. And Edward's heroes nobly bleed, And standard fixed on bore-stone proud Proclaim a kingdom's warriors bowed ! Ah ! vainly vain to touch the past Where mightiest heroes breathed their last ! And Wallace, Bruce, and followers brave. Are long since mouldered in the grave ! But yet remoteness gives the view A power peculiar, but as true ; And lost in fancy's loveliest rays The feud-fires once again shall blaze, The warriors meet, the bloody frays Start clear and plain as on the field The bard were found. The trumpet pealed, The axes rang, and "On, and on!" Breaks from his lips, as thro' the storm Of blows and thrusts, he presses brave, Till spade has oped the soulless grave. VII. Mechanic art with Nature's aid. Has manned the soul, and weakly made The lines of rhyme that mark my name. And ape the glorious mount of fame. No hand of mine shall ever stain. No pen of mine shall e'er profane ! The highest thoughts from poesy's fane Are won to heart, and steal to brain. And he who'd reach the higher goals. That make immortal perfect souls. Should study well the poet's art Of him who writes from fleckless heart. For here the choicest gems of mind, In choicest language choicely mined. Shall teach the thought a lovely phrase, And lend it wings to soar the ways Where all unsullied Beauty strays, And wreathes her shrine with flowery Mays! 20 THE LADY OF DABDALE, A perfect picture wins the thought To higher vales, where heauties caught From liigh Elysian tiehls of light, Else chiefest there, all robed in white, And grace the heart with purest thiugs,. That artless cliir.b, as purely clings As seraph round the babe, A cherubim witli snowy wings, That God-like souls arrayed. VIII. An Angelo in perfect art, A soothing beauty o'er the heart, That teaches calmness, peace of mind. Which coarser pictures cannot find ; 'Tis here that Fancy fairest found, Twines softest wreaths of Faery round. And lifts the mind to higher realms, Where Eden views the thought o'erwhelms. And lends a joy, a love, a peace. Like glowing tales of storied Greece, A fairy scene where Paphian girls Are angels clad in amorous curls. And brightest pictures treat the eye To loveliest view of earth and sky. And Raphael wed to Ilaphael thought, A thousand beauties softly caught. Are painted in the brain as true As arch that spans the bended blue, And if no power to trace the scene, 'Tis bright as Eaphael's art could glean. IX. Tho' Fancy's scene has caught the train That circles here in floweiy reign, Histoi'ic thought has left its trace, Historic thought has found its place. And pictured forth in vying hues The flowers that droop 'neath even's dews, Enchant the vale where fancy's knights Are battling brave with history's wights. That scarce the one shall be of fame Without a tinge of other's name, Enough of truth to fly the verse. And Fiction's tongue the lay rehearse, In flowery phrase to tempt the maid Who loved the verse where sweetness swayed. Or lover youth who kens a tale THE L A 1) Y OF 1) A RDALE. ^1 "Where Cujjid-irod steals off in mail, And throws liis (hvrvs like warrior bohl, Then love in love the maidens fold I X. No warrior's glance need scan the page Where Fiction's fancy all in rage, Brings forth the knight in arms grown old, Yet full of strength, and brave, and bold, "Where history's lines are dimly seen, But yet enough to stay the een That love a tale for now and then, That paint the brighter side of men, In dainty thought, and softest way, A sort of sweet Arcadian lay. That claim no greatness but the art That wins the love of transient heart, In sweetest way from care and woe. No strain of thought to ken the tlow Of busy scenes that come and go, A-like the star-gems in the blue. That win the gaze, the passing view, A moment iiit a seraph light, A star of joy from out the night. And passing go, but seen no more, Are never won from Lethe's shore ; And such the tale my hand shall trace. And those that read with wrinkled face, Shall vainly seek for power of thought Along the lines where fancy taught A sweeter, simpler lay than all That mark my page to rise or fall For ladies fair and amorous maid. The knights of love are sweetly 'rayed, The deeds of love, the war of gods, AVho sway the heart with golden rods. And stand the victors of the earth. Where Splendor reigns or humble birth. Are dropt from heart that knows the sigh. The lover's look, the amorous eye, Can paint from fact, an Ayrshire love. For sweetest maids tliat reign above. Who raise the soul, or sink the heart. And by their mad enchantress art, •And wing a Cupid's honeyed dart. O maidens fair, and lasses sweet ! The world is bowed and at your feet I The earth w^ere blank with you a thought 22 THE LADY OF BARB ALE. Of something gone, a thing forgot, A beauty flitting Memory's reign, Tliat steals the warrior's sigh. And starts the tear in eye Of empty lord and man of brain. XI. Arcadian loveliness had won This Lydian scene from grandeur round, But ah, but ah, the setting sun, Where spiral-like the brooklet wound, Soft bathed a form that bowed the ground In mystic ail of heart. As Grief she were, and in a swound No Eros balm could start. Her form was 'rayed in garments fair to see, As from a wedding she had lately fled, But ah ! no joy in her heart could there be, Else o'er her face in beauty were it shed; Rather than bride she seemed the maid of woe. And tho' she may have reigned as Beauty's queen, The bitter tears from her sweet eyes did flow, And vanished joy no traces were there seen. XII. The scene around in beauty vied. And pictured there the smileless bride. The sparkling brook in aimless sound, "Whirled on its way, and round and round, And many a bird attuned of glee, Went winging by in ecstasy ; The branching trees in amoi'ous guise, E'en softly swayed with zephyrs' sighs, And all seemed love in brook and dell, And rose and sank in softest swell ; Sweet Nature's tune in artless wise, Where song of bird, the bird-note dies, In meltiMg sweetness 'neatli the skies. The sun in mellow struggling rays, Had darted thro' and shed his blaze On all the varied scene, But yet she lifted not her gaze To ken the golden sheen. Her woe was more than all the world. For Eros there had bravely hurled A shaft that winged its way with love, That melted sweetly from above ; And she that feels a Cupid's art, I THE LADY OF BARD ALE. 23 With quivering lance within her lieart, Has none of time or liour to spare, To list the bird and nature's fair ; And thus the scene so lovely true (Where zephyrs sighed and breezes blew), As poet's heart could wish, could crave, Was more to her a yawning grave Of early love, the bride of death. Where charnel lights and charnel breath, Commingled grim like linked fates, And stung the soul of softest mates. Not e'en sweet Mary, Queen of Scots, Elizabeth, the hallowed spots. Loch Leven in the misty view, The thousand things that might renew Their hallowed claim if wedless maid Had known her fate, — were soft arrayed, For nay, a grander fancy played, A fancy that with powers supreme, Worked potent as a midnight dream, Nor past nor present theme of mind, But love had sought, did vainly find. And helpless bound in direful woe, 'Twere naught of wonder tears did flow, 'Twere naught of wonder beauty rovind Was twined in fragrance o'er the ground. And all in vain, and all in vain, 'Twas love alone that swayed her brain, 'Twas love that painted dark or bright, 'Twas love that lent sepulchral light, And love alone to name her dread. And love alone that came and sped. And love that heaved the flowered breast And love alone her woe contest. XIII. The Scottish bards e'en yet prolong Their softened note and melting song, Tet live in fame and sweetness w^on From beauties glowing 'neath the sun, And I a stranger in their land. Attune my harp at their command, My soul was lost amid their brave, I knelt in prayer above their grave. And won to sweetness of their song. My harp awoke tlio' them I wrong, And knightly sliades Avent flitting by, That claimed my tliought enwon my sigh, 24 THE LAD Y OF DARDALE. Till native clime and native muse. Were lost in fancy's loveliest hues, And stranger touch in stranger lands. Was sweeping harps where softer hands Had won from verse immortal fames, And left to Scotland deathless names! XIV. COEONACn.— BURNS. O Scotland's great and deathless bard ! My modest muse would have thee starred, Thou Chief of Poesy's native art, That reigned and reign o'er every heart, A touch of pity knows to feel. While weeping eye the tear shall steal From inmost love that 'rays a soul, And feels a calm when death-bells toll. That comes to hearts that ken this state The poorer half that finds its mate. When life and death are hand in hand. And seraphs join the broken band! O lovely bard by nature crowned! With angel forms soft flitting round ! Be mine the hand from foreign clime, To steal the sweetness of thy rhyme. The higher thoughts that clothe thy verse. And of thy land a tale rehearse I The harsher ones might name tliee bad, But ah ! to me, thy life was sad, And full of beauties many a heart Would gladly claim as all their art. And risk a fate that stalks the gloom Which deepens round the charnel tomb ; Thy powers were such no hand might tame. And whirled thy passions like a flame. That lesser souls can reck no thought, For tamer fires but tamely caught. Are easier held in virtue's way ; Yet on the gods they turn to slay. And weakly raise a mockery cross, And o'er their lives shout : "Loss, oh, loss!" While they themselves with souls on tire, With magic art to verse the lyre. E'en might have sunk to lower deeps. For powers like his a whirlwind sweeps. And be he strong in every trait, A mightier force shall name his fate. The keenest sense of Poesy's art, THE LAD Y OF DA ED ALE. 25 The keenest love in poet's heart ; A maid sliall stand a goddess fair, A fit cieation of the air, Wliere perfect tilings and perfect love, Reign all supreme in realms above. And draw the soul that walks the earth, To climes where Edens find their birth. According to the strength imposed. The Judge shall name thy name when death Thine eartldy eyes has sadly closed, And things of now seem but a breath ! XV. A poet o'er a poet's tomb Would shed a loveliness in bloom, And picture finer traits of heart Than from the fireless souls might start, Reclaim a light that serai;)h shone. And move to life the drooping stone "That names the underlying dead," To passer-by but vainly led, An empty shaft of loved design. That wins no tear, no memory's sign, That takes no life, and speechless there Looks more than words, and faultless fair. Half pleads in vain for mouldering form That calmly sleeps thro' night and morn. No cheek to fiush at flattery's praise. No heart to beat with country's frays, No soul to wed to soul of verse, No ear to hear the rumbling hearse That slowly moves with what remains Of what was good or bad by reigns. Of wliat was missed wlien death came there, Or half forgot ere new-made grave Had shed its flower in Autumn's air. Where leafless trees above him wave ; But kinship art of poet there Upstarts a thousand thovights. And wins the form so loved and fair, To scenes, the hallowed spots. That knew his tread, while once again We steer the skift' and skim the wave. Go dancing o'er tlie mirrory main, Or bow in sadness by the grave That severed friendship's golden tie ; Anon we stray the flowery hills. And ken of love and life to die ; Anon we trace the dancing rills, 26 THE LADY OF DARDALE. And Nature there says: "Why, O why! This universal death? For mail was never made to die, Tho' death shall sting his breath!" XVI. We find our form above his tomb As talking to a mate, But Memory's hand has won the bloom, And flowery wreathes the date That marks the long, long years ago, When earthly ties were broken, And tears from mournful eyes did flow In sad tho' vainest token. O Memory thou that borrows peace, And gives to woe a sweet release. Lends flame and fame to nameless bard, And paints a sky thr.fs golden starred, Thou hast the tear, the love, the woe. The shades of life that come and go, The perfect joys, the perfect bliss, The happy homes, the lover's kiss, The good, the bad, the sweet, the fair. The love of loves, and love's despair ; Chameleon scenes en mark thy reign, A varied view that claims the brain, And wins the heart or mans the soul, Makes sad or sweet the death-bell's toll, Throws charms around a hated form, Makes grandeur sweeji athwart the storm, Gives peace and love, and friendship fled, Eeanimates with life the dead, A panoramic vieAv of art. That steals the soul, the musing heart, And paints the past a glowing clime. And lends enchantment to the rhyme That age alone could win to mind. Anti(iuity ! antiquity ! That memory gives so sweet to me. Where else thy rival shall we find? 'Tis memory gives me scenes of Burns, The mavis-birds and soaring herns. The sweetest loves, the choicest maids. The richest songs in tangled braids, The rural scene in matchless verse, The numbers soft, and sweet, and terse, The native harp he tuned so well, That sweetly rose and softly fell. TEE LADY OF DARDALE. 27 For every clime, and every land, The liisli. the low, the modest band; Variety's maid stood queen of verse, To every taste did true rehearse, And of the bards that won the flame, Prometheus stole from heaven's fane, He stands alone for every taste. The graded scale from trite to chaste! XVII. THE poet's harp. 1. The poet's harp should span the world. And ring each native gladness, Should rise and fall in varied note, A tear for every sadness ; Should smile with smile, and weep with death, ^ And join in every glory, A word for high, a word for low. And freedom's deathless story. The poet's home is everywhere, 'No seltish note e'er knowing, A boon of earth for plain and fair. His strains in harmony flowing; A health to all, a curse for none, A welcome bard and lover, A guiding star, a lighting sun. Where wisdom's rays may hover. 3. The nations meet and battles rage. The war-note hoarser braying, And blood is traced on history's page. The death-marked columns 'raying; The poet's heart should melt for all, And join them in their grieving. But justice claim the tears that fall. The laurel bays euwreathiug. 4. The flowers of rhyme enbloom the earth. And shed a ray of heaven, 'Twas here the muses found their birth, Prometheus fire was given ; And so the poet's harp is strung With more than earthly sweetness. 28 THE LADY OF BARD ALE. And mystic notes have often runi; In soft and lowly meekness. 5. The poet sings the nations' songs. The golden feast and Avedding, He sings of battles and their wrongs, The woes their names are shedding ; He mounts the fleckless steed of right, With Kight his crowning glory, And leads it bravely thro' the fight. And sings the fadeless story. 6. The poet's art the truest art To name the names of history. He speaks from truth, a flowing heart, And sees thro' wrong and mystery ; His fame would fade like bards of pay Who write in Mammon's calling. Should truth from verse be gone astray. His name and art despoiling. The hate of hate, the love of love, His fiery heart is owning, He steals his flame from rays above. And joins his voice in moaning ; He strikes his lyre for honest fame, He bays the hero gory, He 'rays in stars each fadeless name, And harps their deeds and glory. He sings of life, he sings of death, And maids of matchless beaut>'. The flowers of thought are in his breath, And war, and fame, and duty ; He tunes his harp to every Avoe, And treads a privileged lover. His tears with tears will ever flow, A mother, father, brother ! 9. The Muse his love, the Harp his own. His home the home of nations, A welcome guest, the world his home. And bard of all ovations ; TUE LADY OF BARD ALE. 29 His tones are sweet and not of death, The' native tongue sliould perish, The nations of the eartli their breath Would liold his name to cherish. 10. lie slieds a sunshine on tlie poor. And strews tlieir path witli tiowers, He conies a liope to every door, And rainbow-tints tlie showers ; The laughing hearts, tlie mourning hearts. He declis with many a rosy, The tear of pity ever starts. And brightest gems of poesy ! XVIII. Sweet Fancy's maid has won the train Of laugliing fays tliat stole to brain, And touched of him* in memory's view ; But mournful there 'neath dappled blue. In Fancy's Scottish scene. She reckt no haunts that stole to view All 'rayed in golden sheen. Had rung the notes that since have swelled From Xorthern Harp that grandly knelledf The knightly deeds of warriors tombed. But won to life where flowers bloomed. She might have dried the tearwet eye, And 'rayed in stars the fadeless sky ; But bard unborn, | no tune to sway, The Eros pain to soothe, allay ; And little recked she times to fall Should back to life her form recall. And name her love, her look, her woe, Shoukl paint the shades that come and go, And lay her secrets bare as day. Should mark her lover in the fray. The battle sour.d along the vale. The morning dawn that rose so pale Above the dead that minions laid In death, the scenes that long did fade. Ere e'en her life the numbered dead, Ere e'en lier life in marria:,'e wed. Ere e'en the lover named his love, The whispered tale in vine-wreathed grove, The maiden hues, and light, and shade, That many a life shall know, but fade ; *Burua. fScott. tScott. 30 THE LADY OF BABDALE. And memory's hand in aimless round, In vain tlie scene is souglit, not found; And tho' my Bard had sung his Lay * As spanless back, 'twere not of sway, For love and woe were all her thought, E'en sighing brook was half forgot, The stone of moss that held her form, The closing niglit tliat slow came on. The vying hues of light and shade, All, all forgot, for lowly maid Was struggling with her bitter woe, In seeming artless guise, A tear adown her cheek did flow That melted from her eyes. XIX. What were the ail that placed her here. In wedding dress so sad and drear? Did warriors storm the castle wall Ere "Thou art one," could solemn fall? What could it mean? Why thus distressed With sorrows in her face confessed. All unattended by her maid, Alone, alone in trysting shade? Was stolen love to meet her here. And kiss the sweet or saddened tear? Had bridegroom died ere holy tie Could make her fleckless bride, And she alone had come to die Where mournful brooklet sighed ? Enchantress Eve I the maid construe Ere night shall win thee darker hue! Why thus alone in darkling shade? And naught to say ! O mystic maid I Thy tale iinfold in softest phrase Ere falling eve shall dusk the rays, And lend us all her secret care! Oh, why alone and in despair ? XX. She looketh not upon the sky. The laughing brook soft running nigh, The arching trees that sway above. The Druid shades fantastic wove, But steady on the leafy ground As mirror there were lovelier found, The scene that won her melting eye, *Scott. THE LAD Y OF DARDALE. 31 And ■worked her bosom to a sigh. Her gaze -svas fastened while the night Like grimest shade of mystic knight AVas slowly stealing o'er the wood That somber grown bro't thoughts of blood. And foulest shades that stalk the earth To dwarf the flower that finds its birth In sweetest scene and loveliest dell. That sways upon the zephyrs' swell. To dark the view and crush the mind. That more than loveliness shall find , While Flora's reign is 'neath the sky Of Sol-god's golden glory, And vying hues in beauty play As Eden all their story, But which when night has won her reign, A thousand shapes stalk thro' the brain, And woe on woe in grim complain Chase thro' the shades in Torso train, Imagination's nightly horde When Culture's eye its rays has poured, Vanish a-like a witchcraft reign That swept o'er Ignorance once in reign. XXI. So wrapt in thought and single woe She heard nor sound nor step that fell, And mingled with the brooklet's flow That hurried thro' the fern and dell ; But footsteps there as soft as love Commingled Avith the trees, Which threw their arching arms above And fanned a mellow breeze. That stole among her ringlets fair, As all her woe and ail Had won it there to silent prayer For maiden sweet and jiale ; But breeze nor prayer in saintly guise, Had naught of power nor balm To soothe lier heart of melting sighs. And win the golden calm That comes of prayer from earnest heart, And clothes with seraph charm. XXII. Thro' darkling eve and foliaged way. Sir Henri Vale unconscious gay. THE LADY OF DABDALE. Trod slowly o'er the bosky route, As knowing not there -were about A -vvedless maid in fleckless garb, Where Eros once had flunji his barb; And thus for love, or fray, or spite, He aimless strode the woody night, Uncaring whether day or eve Held maiuen fair that did bereave. No armor cased his supple form, But by his side a sword undi-awn Was hanging heavy as a feud Had once begun, and now renewed Sought satisfaction here alone, With single foe, whose cry or moan, Should fill no ear with mortal dread As savage wound should lay him dead ; But soon his heart of lighter mood, Broke into song, and rang the wood. In artless strain that comes of quest Where empty aim is true confessed, By action, tone, and manner, all, By steps that pause and lightly fall. The brook that sang upon his ear Had won tlie carol to his heart. And love that had nor woe nor tear. At tirst was all his simple art. But soon the accents of despair Partook the burden of his song, And maiden weeping, wailing there. Seemed theme alone that did belong To ditty of the strolling knight. Who sang his lay in even's light. That faded, laded from the scene. And left a mellow golden sheen Upon the wood around. And shaped the trees of waving green To gnomes that did confound. THE BKOOK. "I traced the brook that wound its way Thro' liglit and shade, and hawthorn gay, My thought as liglit as petaled flower That blooms the flighty youthhood hour, My head as empty as the love That sAveets our early days. And feels that earth is heaven above AVith fresh and flowery Mays. THE LAD Y OF BA RDALE. 33 "My shiuy boot was muddied soon, Looked t'urraer-like aueath the moon, The studded stars that lit the sky, Seemed Cupid-gods, aud winking sly, As maiden's form were floating thei'e With seraph song and voice, That wailed of love and love's despair, As love were all her choice. "The brook in sweetest notes did sigh, The moou a great and mellow eye. As calmly looked as saintly death. That seemed a sleep without the breath, And Nature's sweetness, foliaged king, Was fresh with dews of eve, Aud many a bird on lovelorn wing In lover-notes did grieve. "My neart was light as flowery bell That nods upon the breezes' swell, An empty head, an empty thought, No maid in lover-arts had taught; So all was there a merry dream That youngling love shall know. But floats upon a Lethe stream. To death or direful woe. "The wailing wind a wailing held. As parting love it sank and swelled; My pace so airy, light and free, Partook of all the seeming misery. A maiden's voice as soft and low As mother's o'er her child, A maiden's voice as full of woe As death in accents wild. "Why weeps my tearful maid 'Neath poplar's wavy shade. As if her heart would break ? Has flown her bird awaj'. And sung his native lay, A last farewell to take? Or has her earliest friend Found death to be the end. While she is left to moan? Or has her early life Been blighted as a wife, And she is left alone? 34 THE LADY OF DARDALE. "She tears her golden hair As if in wild despair, And faster falls the tear; What tearful woe is this That darks this scene of bliss, And steals upon the ear? Ah! perched upon a limb His quiver all in trim, "A rosy Cupid sat; So now ! my weeping maid, 'Neath poplar's mellow shade, 'Tis love, and only that!" XXIII. And died the song upon the air. The knight unconscious j'et was there A maid that seemed the maid of song. That chanted love, and woe and wrong. And drew a picture of a heart That won its ail from Cupid's art, And seemed the woe of all the woes, Where many a tear in sorrow flows. And crushes him that pity feels. As misery on his bosom steals. XXIV. No laughing Dee aneatli the moon, A poet's love, a bonny Doon, / A Highland maid,* a Lowland love,t And stars his | eyes that shone above, A soul of song, a soul of verse, A matchless love could sing, rehearse, But yet if Clyde, nor Doon, nor Dee, Had naught of kinship with the beauty Enchantress shades had bathed in gloom, The lover there that named his doom, Yet love as sweet, as nameless felt. In eye of maid, in youth did melt; No jagged banks of Loch Archray, Where waters flaunted, broke the ray In thousand splendors, claimed their glance, 'Twere blinding love that did entrance. Tho' knights with brass-tipt spear should fly On barded steed, the shield on high, And knighthood flaunt its thousand arts, The mail, the axe, the whirring darts, ♦Highland Mary. fBurns's. tBiirns. TEE LADY OF DARBALE. The banners, plumes, the javelin, helm, Yet love alone their hearts o'erwhelm. No ponderous pile had aught of charm, And Melrose there!— O holy calm I That fills the soul of him whose eye Finds Abbey's walls that kiss the sky, A memory's picture sculptured fair. Divinely won, a reverend air, That draws the mind from self, and paints A thousand scenes, though outline faints In distant mellowed past, and lost The shreds in hundred fancies tost. Thou searchless Past that ruiijs 'ray In thousand beauties, holiest sway, The soul is rapt while memory's reign Paints ruined splendors in the brain, And steals from past the mighty works Where giant genius proudly lurks. The powers that shame a later age, And mountains rise on storied page; Unrivaled, great, a deathless fame, That younger time has not, no claim; Thy spoils are more to brain than they Who hug a crown, — are great, — a day,^ And naught remains but shrovxd, — a corse, An empty empire, — loss, O loss! Fair Melrose, ruined splendor thou! Thy own bard paints;* the forms that bow Are buried, tombed in living past. Are statues carved, the eye is cast As he who gazes on tlie face Of sculptured dead, and there does trace A birth, — a growth, — a mastei", — fame! — Love, — immortality, — a name That unborn time shall know, shall claim; And yet my maid! Ah ! love to her E'en more than memory's reign might stir, A fair Abbaye in beavity there, That ruin swept, and yet did spare, Where Euin!— Beauty! wedded reign! A mighty hush— a gem— a stain, A life,— a death in close embrace, A living, and a dead cold face! O Cromwells! Cromwells! woes of war. And blood! grim death! thou hadst no law I The devastated palace!— fane! For war is madness in the brain, *Scott. 36 THE LADY OF BABDALE. Has blasted splendors never hand Might gain I— restore I— a smiling land Hast laid in ruins! — swept the arts The ages won, yet glory starts In bloody route; for savage war. And e'en decay, the tyrant's law. In ruined beauties traced its way. And conquering hordes that time shall slay. Left there on desecrated ground More glories than their chieftain found! O Salidius! Salidius! and a — shroud! O Cromwellsl are the ages bowed? Did blasted empires in decay Win name, and fame, a deathless sway? O pitiless warriors thou ! The page Shall glow with blood, and time shall wage A war with thee and thine, and gloom Shall be about thy greatness ! Tomb ! Forgetf ulness, thy chief, thy all ! Thy only fame! — Such* fames shall fall! XXV. But Love the victor, chief of thought, Had named her woe, and fancy caught No glowing memories; storied past As never born. Her woe the last Her mind had won. The tears may flow, And shades shall come, and shades shall go. Yet thoughts like these shall find no claim Till love is won to peaceful reign. The scene unborn, yet though of past, No power to stir the eye downcast; Such scenes, such thoughts, her fullest wo But faintly limn; the tears may flow Till love be off with gloomful guise, Till love be off where beauty dies; No sweet champaign that bard shall paint, No sweet champaign where rose shades faint. No mouldered tomb where genius dead E'en death and life has sweetly wed. No art, no charm, their glory gone. Their beauty, holy sweetness! Born Another scene. The dappled dawn But glooming darkness. Pictures wrought From modern view to prove the lot Of lowly maid, the shadows caught From thing as sweet as fleckless love Where never fairer light above. THE LADY OF DA ED ALE. 37 xxvr. The lovtl of Dardale's castle rroiid. Had made for love a timeless shroud. Had placed the seal of woe on youth And crushed two hearts that beat in truth; The tear had flowed at his command, And misery marked his fruitless hand; The fete vras maue, r.nd guests were there. The courtier knights, and ladies fair. The borderer from the borderin:? stream. The lord of worth, the lord of sheen. The liigh, the low, the mighty, great, The -^varrior kn: jht that knew no mate, The peerless belle, the amorous maid. And glory's worth that ne'er shall fade; 'Twas e'en a grand, a glorious ball. That claimed the high, the low, and all, A festival that long was known Eoth far and near, and many a tone Had oft repeated beauties there, But chief of a.11 the matchless pair. The mystic knight, and Dardale maid. Who seemed the pair that Eden made! The roses twined, and streamlets played, Ko vroe was tliere for Joy had stayed, And lent a charm as soft, as sweet. As lips of love that part and meet. As lips that tempt the callous heart. And dim the eye in guileless art, And make a scene that seems a void O'erliow with sweets where Love has toyed With many a heart, and won the woe That comes of love, where eyes shall flow At beck of love for love returned. At beck of glance that wooed and yearned. The music swelled the bi-eathing air. And shimmering lights more faintly fair Than love's first glance in modest een O'erflooded all the regal scene, ■ The doughty lord of haughty mien. The sighing maid with Eden eyes. That dreamed no wrong and blushed surprise At closer gaze of bolder man. As love and beauty mingled ban His helpless heart, and woo his gaze To thing of beauty sweet as fays. The fretted pillars fruited fair. The downy shades that floated there, 38 THB LADY OF DAUB ALB. The swaying lights, the moving mass, The varying hues tliat come and pass. The thousand things that mark tlie dance,. Where music swells, and does entrance The soul, the eye, the mind, the all, A passing dream, a mazy thrall, That:tones shall cease, a fleeting dream, Where men and maids in laughing sheen Had floated fays on floors of gold, Like fairies mingled on the wold. XXYII. The day had dawned, the eve had come, The stars had lit the arched dome. The crowd was there, the music poured, And merry went the dance. And Love had queened and been adored For charms that soft entrance! The crowd was gone! the lights were out. And passed the tangled dream. But Cupid there with merry shout Had flung his dart between! Two hearts tliat strangers Avere at first In other Edens now had burst, The one the knight that came alone. And magic powers was said to own. The other, Dardale's matchless maid. That Beauty seemed in beauty 'rayed. Unconscious had the flame begun. Unconscious grew till both were one. Till time and tide were all the same, Till time and tide were but a name. O love like this that decks a heart Of fleckless youth and maid. The hand were harsh that e'er could part. Where Eros came and stayed In guileless wise, no thought but love That comes in Purity's garb. And reigns a thing that skies above Have gemmed, and loved, and stai-red; . But yet the hand that 'rayed the ball In glory of the setting sun. In father's anger harsh did fall And crushed a love so pure begun. But crushed as murder which upstarts. Before the conscience of the form, And e'er reminds that Anger's arts Shall never, never be a-gone! THE LADY OF DAEBALE. 39 XXVIII. The hearts were crushed, but still upsprung The love that Cupid fleckless flung, And Lord Graville and Lacy, knight, Had gloomed themselves in darkest night. The flower that bloomed the flower of all, As sweetly fair that climbs the wall, Had ta'en the hiie of Sorrow's woe. And Beauty's tears in misery flow; But lover forced, the doughty lord. Who reigned iu name the castle's god, Relented not, but pressed his suit, Tho' Dardule maid were beauty mute. The sire of her who lent her tears To nameless knight, and nameless fears. Was bold to say: "My childl art mad? That mystic knight should make thee sad I My Lacy lord shall name thee bride. And there sweet blushing by his side, The priest shall cure thy nameless ail. And dry thine eye, and hush thy wail. 'Tis foolish now since years are gone That named you bride of him jou scorn. To feel you love a roving knight. That I of all did free invite To carnival that won a woe To heart of mine, your eyes to flow. Hush! hush! thy love's deceptive now! It soon shall pale at altar's brow ! The knight forgot, and marriage bells Shall sweetly sound! The music swells! Oh Lacy! happiest wight of earth! My daughter, matchless from her birth ! Has graced thy love as hers is graced By manly love so purely traced Within your look so bold and brave, That has no fear to fill the gi-ave Of valor's chief!" The voice had fled The whole a scene that softly shed A fleeting view that years had known, A fleeting view e'en yet unflown From knight and maid, tho' years had gone Since love to them so sweetly born. Had 'rayed their souls as one. And shed a sunlight like the dawn That holy hearts have won. XXIX. A flitting scene that swayed his mind 40 THE LA D Y OF DA RDALE. And gave Iiim memories of tlie past. When lieart for heart was true resigned, And hopes were born that could not last. Such heavy woe tliat fancy's train Enpietured of tlie past where reign Tlie thousand arts tliat verse might own, Had nauglit of cliarm. Her h)ve had known So bitter birth, such lasting woe That love a world where waters ilow In bitter stream, no flowers hlov. But darkness there, the gloom ci night, A charnel tomb, sepulcliral li'.rht, Nor any star, no watching moon, Ko reaching world where roses bloom, But woes that sorrovr-laden hearts Shall feel, shall know, if Eros darts Are dipt in perfect love. 'Twas Beauty, The chief of Nature's cursful arts And love a bartered boon, a duty, A thing that sells, is bought in marts. No eye for scenes a bard miglit paint. No thought her time should far and faint. Be torn from past, her history bare. Be held to gaze, a vulgar stare. Where Pity biit the shade of self, Might coldly look. The maid an elf, A fay, a thing divine, and yet the time So far in gloom, that modern idiyme No skill to picture living life. Where pulse has ceased, the love, the strife. And maid and youth in mouldered grave Have turned to native dust; a wave Has swept them, yet their lives have claimed A living hue, and bards are chained In glowing past, the beauty's hue. That time shall give to distant view. And if his verse a lifeless tale, A less than poet! Years assail In vain sweet Nature's laureled bard. And tho' in death the skies are starred. And sweeter far that he has reigned The child of verse where naught was feigned.- XXX. The years were few that named the hour When harsher hands had struck the tlower That bloomed in Dardale's castle wall, And golden skies did darkly lower Above her head, a funeral pall; I THELADYOFDAltDALE. « But yet this form that named his thouglit. And turned him to tlie past, Had surely, surely, surely caught The features and the cast Of her who queen of ball and hour. Had -won his youthful heart, And left a lasting, lasting power. That time nor tide no art To drive from memory's reign. For scenes Avould softly ^tart And Hit athwart his brain. XXXI. A lightning's flash the scene was born, A lightning's flash the scene had gone, But lowly maid that bowed the rock, Had naught of past, no memory's shock. E'en silent yet, as when their eyes Had met and seen as bird that flies. E'en silent yet, as if the now Were all in all to her. And grief alone that made her bow, Nor any past to stir. The twilight hues were thickening round, Berchance her ear had heard no sound. Her eye no sight to hold his form, Since night was there and day was gone; But yet he'd linger softly there. For something made her sad despair Akin to feelings of his own I He'd on his way, nor sob, nor moan, The power to hold him longer bound. But yet the maid in darkness round, lu attitude did sweet implore His presence there, his prayer and more, And half in doubt and half in fear, He moved a pace to dry the tear That flowed in bitter, bitter tide, And so in contrast with a bride! Above the scene like silvery shield The argent moon in softness rolled. And there a form that might not yield Its mellow rays did sweet enfold! The laughing brook, the duskier trees, The softened shade, the twirling breeze. The stone of moss, the lingering knight, All, all were there aueath the light; And now my Luna, maid of tides, 42 THi: LADY OF LARD ALE. While paly soft thy mooubeam rides, What may the end of meeting be? And v\-ho tlic maid of softened beauty? And who this knight? and why art met So strangely thus in e'en-iit wood, Where woe in darlcness seemed to brood, And things that time might not forget? A something there that seemed of love, Was master of his wayward step, And soft as mellow rays above, It tranced his form, and helpless kept His passioned eye iji fixedness Upon the maid that shades did dress In loveliest colors of the eve, That heart and eye could scarce believe Were earthly maid that did confess A human ail, a human woe. And strangely born of loveliest bride. Where naught but sunshine soft should go. And love and joy in mingled tide. But ah, my youth and love-eyed maid! 'Twere many a tale a bride could tell Of love that came, but lived to fade, And marriage turned to funeral bell; For Peris won to wedding garb, By softened tale from modest youth Have often found god Cupid's barb Was not the barb of tleckless truth! How oft the maid 'neath hawthorn shade, Where love and joy at once were stayed, Has oped her ear to passioned tale. Has felt a love from heaven strayed, And there in beauty meek arrayed. Thrown from her heart soft Virtue's mail! How many a maid of loveliest form, Has won a pure unsullied heart. And led the days in purity born That came of Cupid's honeyed dart! 'Tis chance, or luck, or what you like. The good and bad are kings in reign, The sun may shine all argent bright. Its disk may ray without a stain; The sun may shine in beds of gold, And pale in clouds of inky night, The sun may rise on loveliest fold, And set in gloom that has no light; But yet a line in poet's phrase. To maid and youth of softened gaze. THE LADY OF DARDALE. 43 There is a hope tho' not of life, Where care, and woe, and teemful strife. Are never part of endless days. But love, and peace, and seraph rays. And things of beauty with the dawn. Where death is not, and peace is born. XXXII. Perchance my maid on mossy stone Sliall find this knight the knight alone, That holds for lier a Plato's love. And soft as incense from above Lend sweetness to her days. But yet the knight a knight may rove A knight of wayward ways; He feels he loves, but yet a doubt Is often kin of firstling love, The light may burn but soon burn out. When two are one and lives are wove; And yet first love he claims no part, In truth the love that now was felt. For years had gone since to his heai't His love of loves in love did melt. Such scenes as fire the living soul In mellow grandeur softly roll Before the gaze of memory's eye, Had naught of balm, no spangled sky, Had naught of thought a hue, a shred. Her mind, her heart, and woe that wed Her past, her present, sorrow gloonied The deathless years, the warriors tombed. The mighty works, the minds that reigned. All, all were there, yet night remained, No past, but present, deep in gloom, The blighting death that robbed the bloom Of beauty, flowers, lilies, all. Yet Love that painted, there did fall A death-cold hand, a svreeping pall. And love to paint so dark a view? 'Tis love that tints the rainbow's hue; . And love so pure to gloom a heart? 'Tis love that flies the honeyed dart; And love to win the hue of eve? 'Tis love that faire.st scenes shall w^eave; And love to rob the stars of night? 'Tis love that lends the fairest light; And love to sink a life in woe? 'Tis love that makes the joy tears flow; 44 THE LADY OF BALD ALL. And love to picture bades ? — hell? 'Tis love that makes the sick mind well; And love to canker in the soul? 'Twas love that Eden's beauty stole; And love to rob sweet memory's view, That steals to eye in mellow hue? A scene that poet's art has 'rayed In thousand splendors, star-gems played. And scenes of earth, and blvie of sky Are blending there, ia beauty vie, And teach the heart a softer way, Where higher things shall claim, shall sv/ay, And holy calm that comes of peace. Be crowning laurel, woe's release; And love that paints the richest scene, 'Tis love that makes the maid a queen, 'Tis love that Scotia's bards shall own, 'Tis love and memory softly flown From native land, from native clime, That own the ver.^.e, the Knight of rhyme,* His deathless Lay.t the warrior chief, The lowly maidj in sorrow's grief; And scene ou scene shall steal the mind From self, the laurel matchless twined Shall picture fresh, e'er yet the dew So riveless drawn in memory's view, And mind and soul paint there in reign, The chiefs that were, the bards that claim A deathless fame in foreign land, And nations join in rosy band; And proudly Shaft § thy form may rear In highest sky, the kindred tear May wet the dust, and jostling feet Polish the stones, the eyes may meet. The thoughts enknit the present, past, Entwine the bay, the flowers cast On sacred groiind, and paint the tomb Where never yet the dank, the gloom, But creeping vines and flowers in bloom, And things of loveliest tint, a hue That mellows into space, the blue En won of distant Eden view. That memory claims, while sculptured there The living form that pictures fair The kindred dead, a bard won bard. Who stands his kindred crowned and starred, *Sir Walter Scott. fThe Lay of the Last Minstrel. JMargaret of Brasksome. §Ttie Scott Monument, Edinl)urgh. THE LAD Y OFDAIWALE. 45 Who stirs, nor moves as fancy paints The life, the fame. Tlie even faints, The mellow queen as calmly pure, As calm, serene, the thouj^hts allure To ruined pile where ashes sleep Of mighty dead;* the uight-dews weep. Ah I Dryburgh Abbey! sweetly fair, Thy ruined splendors trace the air! The Shaftt may rise in city's pale! His ashes here ! the sob, the wail! Departed greatness! Knighthood's chief! The Bard of Knights!— and turned the leaf Ere penhaud shorn of power, the brain Of magic numbers, soul of strain! Ah! Dryburgh! more the glory thine Than sculptured Shaft of proud design, In fruited grandeur o'er the spot, Memorial stone where bard is not! For more the mound that guards the dust Thau shaft by morning's glory flushed! And yet such scenes as poets draw, , Could not have swayed. A law Of mightier power held thoughts of maid, The picture drawn, a .scene to fade, 'Twas love might paint a fairer scene, And 'ray a bard in heavenly mien, Whose years were numbered with the past. Whose year's had ripened, sung their last; But bards unborn, the bards of death. Present or past, no life, no breath To stir her heart, 'twas love in woe. The shadows there that came, did go. E'en strolling knight no power to move The maid that bowed in wedless love. And yet the thought that lowly maid As statue-like as stone. Was once the form that softly 'rayed His amorous youth where star-gems played, And made her maid alone Of all his thought, and all his heart, And love that speaks before it thinks. Gave voice to thought that link on links. Had forged a chain that might not part; And there with Luna, soul of sky, The queen of love and mellow eye. The softened light that lent her form, *Scott, fThe Scott Monument. 46 THE LADT OF BARD ALE. And stars that seem the maids that die, He voiced his thought where brook sighed on. XXXIII. "Fair Lady, mine no heart to rue A soft rebuke from such as you. But straying steps that brought me here Have learned to pause without a fear That one so lone, so woeful fair, Could wish me far, so bold to dare. I would not linger as a bard Who sees his Peri golden starred, But that a heart I have not owned Since words were said, and harshly toned, Has bound my form and ta'en the power That would have led me from this bower!" And all the sound that broke the air Was Echo's voice, as dying there. It left the knight and moveless maid In silence more and more arrayed. With crushing force, as fogbell knell When seas roll high, as mountains swell, And nameless dread has won a reign O'er heart and soul and working brain. "To Dardale Castle, half a mile, Where Beauty's maid and Beauty's smile. Are reigning yet in softened sway. My aimless hour might guide your way. I have no wish to own your tale, But fearful of a stranger ail The night may bring, I fain would see A maid so fair, more housed than thee.'' A briefer speech, but crushing more. Since statue-form did not restore The ease he lost at sound of voice By single line: "It is my choice To linger here through dewy eve, And weep and wail, and lowly grieve; But thanks I give for proffered aid, To one so seeming woeful maid; But could you know my tale of woe. How better now my blood should flow. And dye your blade with love-born sorrow- That's glittering now in gaudy show!" "My steps were aimless in their way. And buoyant heart in mellow lay. Told well no purpose named my route, 'Neath spectral trees that mime and flout. 7V7r LAD Y OF DA RDALE. 47 And ere sweet Luna's silvery face The mystic shadows soft did trace, My steps had ta'en me from this place. And housed with blazing fire before, O'er all the past to ponder, pore, I ne'er might known this fairy maid, That in her woe seems not afraid, I ne'er might known this trysting-dell Had won a tale no art can tell." XXXIV. As in a dream he pondered long. On all his acts, tlie brooklet song. On meeting here sad Sorrow's maid Beneath the treetops' softened shade, On how he lingered 'spite of will To feast his gaze, to feast his fill. And how at last his voice had broken The stillness round in saddest token. And how her form was moveless then, Was moveless as before. No eye his eye did lifting ken, No eye its glance did pour. Enough, mayhap, his words had said ' To gain reply though joy were fled From mystic maid that held him there, As he were kin of her despair; But nameless love, or like, or dread. Had held him tliere, his mind had wed, Till now no art to lend him flight. To fly the form, this maid in white; A word, a look, and from the scene Thro' hovering night and moonlit sheen His steps had gone. But silent there As statuesque in cliill despair, A wood-nymph turned to stone, She silent sat, but sweetly fair, Enwon his heart, his moan. "The dews are falling, falling fast. The eve is chill and cold, A storm seems gatliering in the blast To drench this leafy fold; I bid thee speak and tell thy ail, I bid thee speak and tell me go! My form is all unclosed of mail. And love-tears might meekly flow." "Sir knight mj^ ail is mine alone, No other heart my ail shall own; 48 THE LADY OF DARBALE: I bid you stay, if such your ■will!" O deathly calm! O deathly still! Sir Henri Vale stood moveless there I O deathly pale! O eyes that fill! O heart that throbs in love's despair! Oh crushing moiuory of the past ! And had they met at last! at last! 'Twere truly, truly, truly said, Before him bowed the Dardale maid, Who years agone had named his woe, Who years agone had won a foe In Lacy lord, the (Jastle knight, And favorite of her sire. Since there and then a luckless wight, Where Cupid's dart had taken flight, To love did bold aspire. "Emilia!*' Volumes in that Avord! And she sad maid, like fluttering bird At hunter's 'proach, or reckless boy Half started up in woe or joy, And there in even's dusky ray, Where moonlight shadows soft did play. Showed love, surprise, and mingled dread! "O Henri! Henri! and not dead!" And voiceless there in love's sweet shock, She sunk upon the mossy rock. And fainting there, his stronger arm Soft stayed her form from seeming harm, And gently, gently as is love. He spread his cloak on devt-y ground, And from the brook that softly strove Thro' mossy bank, and dell aud cove. He cooled the brow in deathly swound! Oh love ! oh love ! thou god of earth ! Thy sweetest, softest spell is found Where laughing rills and flowers find birth. And naught of earthly voice shall sound; Where maids shall reign in seraph guise, , And Venus shines from heaven Where love is found a sweet surprise. And joys on joys are given! A shred of life, its lights and shades. Is past, is gone, and laughing maids Are thoughtless of the life that w^as. That bending true to Nature's laws, Found life and love a passing dream, With good and bad the gods between. THE LAD Y OF DA RDALE. 49 Where light and shade, the changing hues, As clouds that ride the bended blues. The flowers that nod with even's dews, The will-o'-the-wisp the youth pursues, The varying colors rainbows claim, The shadows soft in firelight flame; * And if her picture true to life, The care, the woe, the love, the strife, Then, luaid, thyself Emilia fair. With auburn, brown, or sunlight hair, The blue, the black, the hazel eye, The arching neck, the manner shy. The amorous gaze, the artless wile, A form the thoughts shall ne'er defile. Susceptive heart that other Vales Shall try, for love his maid assails In any age, and every garb, But ever same soft honeyed barb, Tho' different lover, different maid, The love shall steal, the night arrayed In showery hues, shall seem the same. And stealing moon the secrets claim, That Adam knew in Eden's bower Where love that rosy-tipt the hour, Shone but the love we know to-day. Confiding, doubting, loving alway. INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THE SECOND. And love united claimed the shade Where never merrier shadows played. And all the dark was from the night, Emilia's woe had ta'eu its flight, And joy, surprise in mingled guise. In kingly port had won her eyes, And scene so black a moment gone, Now shone with brightness of the dawn; And sang the brook in merrier tune. And April flowers in budding bloom Looked out from nook and cleft of thought, And shades that came in garbs to shock. Now slione, now sparkled, all the air Of peace and joy seemed breathing there. And brook, and tree, the veriest bush. In holy calmness there did hush The dagger woes that pierced the night, 5 60 THE LADY OF DA EDA LE. Emilia's breast in direful plight, And lent a darkness onlj'^ love Can paint in woe. The niglit-hues strove, The trees were swaying to and fro, The stream in merriest tone did go, The queen of sky was riding high, The bat on heavy wing did fly, The e'en-dews wept and bowed the flower. And softly, slowly stole the hour, And yet the tree, the stream, the sky, Are vainly lost to 'Milia's eye! And Henri e'en as dull of gaze, A faii-er thing in beauty's rays Had made him helpless in his view. And bird nor cloud that swam the blue, No shred of beauty to his een, But all was wrapt in loveliest scene. That love alone could paint with skill. Where bubbling fountain, laughing rill, The thousand beauties hearts shall know, When each in love shall melting flow On brightest stream where flowers line The winding banks, and trees incline Their mellow shade. And worlds might move, But Maud, Maud, Maud, was love! Yet hark! the love-tale half unsaid. The welling tears in muteness shed. The broken lives, a sire's command, The seeking, longing, winds that fanned A various breeze, lent dread, lent hope, And there in darkness blind to grope. When sounds across the forest vale The lovers' ears in fright assail. And trampling feet on rotted wood. That not the heavy tread withstood. Gave token dread that 111, in might, Was strolling chieftain thro' the night; ^ A cry, surprise, a maddened word, ' And swords are clashing, loudly heard 1 The Avoods re-echo, echo o'er, I Till Beauty's eyes in beauty 'plore ' | The reckless Lacy cease from strife, i And take if either, 'Milia's life I \ Hark I madly, madly thro' the night ' f The Lord Graville in tameless flight. Is rushing like the swirling wind, ; That whirs and rushes mad behind; A harsh command, an ireful look. THE LADY OF DARDALE. 51 And sound alone the winding brook! 'Tis gone! The maid, the lover, where? The night is silent, and the air In calmness swept the voiceless scene, No tale of aught that once had been. CANTO THE SI^CO^T). I. "What man shall feel love's sweetest flame, Shall sigh at mention of his name. Shall wish to live or wish to die. And all for love that rays his eye. But feel that here in dusky eve, 'Twere vainly vain to faint or grieve? His love is but the like of him Who smiles on love a cynic grim. He has no heart, he has no soul. He knows no love that softlj- stole To heart of youth, and heart of maid. And earth were heaven sweet arrayed, While Beauty there in fleckless garb, The victim fair of Cupid's barb, E'er lives and dies in softest sighs, And feels a god beneath the skies This matchless youth who won her heart, And sootlied the pain of Cupid's dart; For him no tale the poet tells. For him no music amorous SAvells, For him my task were vain indeed, For him 'twere vain that hearts should bleed. For him 'twere vain that poets live. For love that heaven's hand shall give, Is goddess of the poet's heart. Is all in all the poet's art; And he that feels no madness in the brain When happy love, and maid, and youth shall reign. No tremor shakes his form as darting go The varied scenes of love, and life in woe. Will rise no bard, a poet true to life. For tame his fire and weak his numbers' strife. A backward glance to great and glowing past, When verse was writ its sculptures sliall outlast. The greatest love has named tlie greatest bard, And in his diadem all golden starred 62 THE LADY OF DABDALE. Dan Cupid reigns the matchless king of all, With love-eyed Beauty e'er within his thrall. 'Tis Burns that stands the greatest bard of love, That whelmed his life tho' madly there he strove,. His power was kin of wild Mazeppan steed, As tameless e'er, and mad, and bold of speed, No power to check his lover-mad career, No hand to stay the sad impassioned tear; But later age has seen with critic eye, But not till love, and life, and bard did die! O Justice! Justice! with thy fieckless breath. If not in life thy reign shall come with death! Oh happy we that Homer-like shall find A coming age when justice is not blind! See Avon's bard, the greatest mind of all, He sighed for love, and wrote of love withal, His tales of love are faultless in his verse. The greatest love the greatest loves rehearse, And he that feels the passion most in heart. Shall own a Cupid with the sweetest dart. The strength in brain shall show its strength in verse,. The greatest power the greatest powers rehearse, And if the bard that writes a lovelorn tale Shall find no tears, no voice to weep and wail. Be sure his verse has not the natural flow Of him who feels and melts at every woe. Of him who weeps with Beauty lost in tears. Of him who feels the joys, the woes, the fears. That are of love where lovc/is truly found. And helpless hearts in helpless arts are bound. See Dickens crying o'er his Florence maid, So strong the picture drawn his mind arrayed; Look through the past and ken the sweep of years, No scholar's art to see them more than peers Who feel the strongest what their minds have wrought. Who live the battles that their heroes fought, Who when their verse resound.s, "On, Stanleys, on!" The blood is rushing, and the fires are born That win the hero from the tame-eyed man. That win the hero heroes' eyes shall scan, And bard alone has reined the mad-eyed steed, 'Tis bard alone whose surging breast does bleed. And when the shock? the battle--smoke is cleared, The forms are deacf that heroes loudly cheered. The bard is weak from strain his nerves have borne. The spell is gone, — his sabre-arm is shorn, And lifeless there in contrast with the scene, A tameness then, and knights of softened mien. THE LADY OF DARDALE. 63 II. Love's sweetest spell that Henri felt, In softest plirase did softly melt, In language of the eye, the soul. No bell -svas there a dirge to toll. All, all was love in burning breast, In face, in eye was true confessed, And while the form so sweet, so fair. In half surprise did gaze, did stare. His soul was maimed, tlie language came, In whispered love true hwe shall claim, And sacred tliere 'neath Luna"s ray, And trees where spectral sliades did play, He poured the tale that hearts shall feel AVhen love unsullied sol't sliall steal. Unconscious half, and there does seem The flitting fay of fairy dream. in. The truest love does often come In silence o'er the heart, And like religion found at home Reigns faultless, shorn of art; 'Tis often mystic in the brain Of him who feels its power. And aimless there in silent reign Does puzzle hour on hour; 'Tis often true a maid may love And feel 'tis oidy like, But when the shaft drawn from above Her loving heart shall strike, The mystery's gone, the youth is plain. And matchless reigns within her brain. IV. Oh love like this that time has broken. And years on years have rolled away, And left its shreds in saddest token, 'Twere better far that love should slay! "That sacred hour can I forget? Can I forget the hallowed grove. Where, by the winding Ayr, we met. To live one day of parting love?" Xo, ne'er forget, for love that's true Has won immortal birth, • No other liand shall e'er bestrew Its fane witli llowers of earth; And Henri's love for Dardale maid. Had gained its reign, and matchle.ss stayed, ■;i THE LADY OF BABDALE. A father's hand had torn apart, Their lives that wed a part to part. V. The days were gone, the years were fled. And each the otlier felt was dead. But time and tide had joined their hands,. And bravely there .Sir Henri stands, A hero's thoughts have manned his soul. And at the past his eyes may roll, For deeds another hand has done, 'Neath other skies, another sun; But ah, my Henri! all too soon Thy sabre's length beneath the moon. Shall trickle drops of reddest blood ! While Murder's hand upstarts; And there where love with love has strove^ Shall well from Jealousy's hearts In mingled tide, the blood of love. While weeping, wailing, fainting there, Emilia's form, a fleckless dove. Shall feel the w^oe of love's despair. VI. "Emilia!" for in voiceful love, In whispered word that softly wove A network spiced of joys, had found Its tone, and lowly there did sound His every word that time had won From busy scenes thqi,t now begun Again, soft led the train that fell A word on word in passing spell. "Emilia, first to me your care. And safer from the lion's lair. The teeming past shall name yovir word. The teeming past alone is heard." And there: "Oh, Henri! true was said Where love and life are fondly wed, A crooked path shall wind about. And lights and shades flit in and out." "But may your sorrow need no balm, Ko roof to shelter from the harm. That night may hold? Come, come away! 'Twere deatli to linger here — but stay! A thousand tlioughts have manned my brain» * A tliousand tlioughts that still remain — ' "Oh, Henri! sit thee here and list The tale where love and Avoehave kist, No harm shall come while you are here, THE LADY OF BARD ALE. 56 So quell, oh quell thine anxious fear." And there, my maiden, pure as stars That slant the sky in golden bars. The loving pair that love had won To joy and woe since love begun, Found mossy stone a chair for both. And plighting there their sacred troth, Had not a care or thought of other, E'en friend or friendship, home or brother. "I fled alone; no waiting maid. But longer might I not have stayed; And if my garb, my mien at fault. Shall make your mind, your thought revolt, List all my tale, and soothly say, And never, never sadder lay." VII. A mellow shade fell o'er the scene, The monster trees in flouting green, The merry brook sang merrier still. And wound and turned in j)layful will. The scene was one that love might paint, Where Nature's songs soft melting faint. And leave a sweetness as the tone Where wind o'er harpstriugs soft has flown; An accident few lives shall know. Had mingled love and tryst and woe. No fairer haunt might lovers seek, No fairer place for love to speak; And there in even's shadowy ray, E'en thought to thought no tongue might say, E'en soul to soul in sweetness wed, E'en heart to heart where love had led. The hour was past, and heeded not. The night grew on, and shadows caught The softer hues of lightsome eve. The sun had sunk, the night did grieve Ere Memoi'y's hand had strewn the scene With joys and woes in vying sheen, A lover's plight in love-song rung. Where Eros-god the glove had flung As victor in the ring. And round them both as amorous clung As joy that reigns a king. "do you love me?" "Do you love me, Mollie May, Laughing, laughing all the day, 56 THE LADY OF BABDALE. Eyes as sweet and soft and gay, As the dancing sunli,i;;lit ray; Do you love me, do yon love me?" "Do you love me, Enoch Bright, Dancing, dancing like the light O'er the water pure and white, Shining like the stars of night; Do you love me, do yoii love me?" "Do I love you, Mollie, true? Does the flower love the dew, And the lark the mellow blue, And the sea the flighty mew? — Yes, I love you; yes, I love you." "Do I love you, Enoch, dear? Does the lover love the tear. Ever love without a fear. Ever babe that had a peer? — Yes, I love you; yes, I love you." Priest and Enoch. "And you take her for your wife?" "Does the llama weep from life. Ever kingdom free of strife. Ever tale that was not rife? Yes, oh father; yes, oh father." Priest and Mollie. "And your husband shall he be?" "Ever love that would be free When its mate shall make the plea, And the first to maiden's e'e?— Yes, oh father; yes, oh father." Priest, Mollie and Enoch. "Thovi art one, O thou art one!" "Yes, oh father; life's begun. Love from love a love has won." "May our acts as true be done. Love, the master. Love, the master." All. "And His blessing on your love. Melting, melting from above. Soft and pure as fleckless dove; May no lesser power move!" *'Love shall guide us, love shall guide us!" TUE LADY OF BABDALE. 67 VIII. And died the song like liusli of eve, But soon there came and soft did weave Her maiden voice a tale that time Had woven like a jarring rhyme, And o'er the past her thonght did sweep, While joys and woes did vying leap From teeming brain, and softly fell Like numbers lone of funeral bell. "The years arc mist since one with one Your love and mine at first begun, 'Xeath hawthorn green hy castle wall, When Luna's rays did softer fall Than ballroom lights that named our love, And fanned a Uame that mocked at Jove; A father's wrath in power and might Then vented there its ireful spite, Your life was marked for shameful death, 'Twas Lacy's hand would rob your breath And I less brave, more fearful found. Did hear thy knell in solemn sound. It was a blow, but safety won. And you were gone ere night was done; The fault were mine if any found, The fault were mine if e'er did sound A woeful voice thro' woeful days. You would have stayed, but bloody frays Had shed the blood that flow-ed for me. Had named a grave where weeping beauty Might helpless bow, might aimless weep. For one whose love she might not keep; I bade you go and time should fall When power and might not all in all. Should sink beneath the softer wave Where fairer waters e'er did lave. And goodness ever part of man, Enerown his heart when choler's ban Had warped his will from conscious love, And right and wrong both madly strove. The morning (hiwned as fair as aye, And Phoebus rose in mellow ray. But love and life so happy born. Were shed in blackness o'er tlie dawn, A father's hand unconscious yet Of cruel wrong, could not forget The fete that won me from his heart. The night wiiere liglit and shade did part. The mvstic N'ale that clainuMl his child. 58 TEE LADY OF DARDALE. All, all had dawned when Sol-god smiled. His accents now came with a chill, — Enough, enough, he had his will! IX. "The days flew on, and slowly came A conscious hope that time might name A happy day when Lacy dead True love in love might clasping shed The lingei'ing joys that took the hue That distance lends to fleeting view, And Hymen's reign forever end Where good and bad at once contend For mastery o'er a plotting sire. The tearful woe that love so dire Had won to scenes that once were fair As dewy love that 'rayed the pair;* But vainly vain, no Henri came, No breath had breathed his knightly name, And feeling then he nnist have wed. Or on the field was lying dead, Eeluctant then I gave consent. Not feeling, knowing what it meant! They 'rayed my form in garments fair! They gloomed my heart in dark despair; They made a wedding matchless then! A matchless woe was there to ken; The lamps were lighted, blazing fair, But ah, but ah, the old despair! The ballroom blaze, the ballroom glare. And cries and wails that filled the air, Were mingling with the wedding scene. And madly there 'neath starlight sheen I wildly ran I knew not w^here ! A cry was raised in mad despair. The knights, and courtiers, guests, and all, Eushed madly, wildly from the hall; But mad despair its maddened flight Had lent my form, and thro' the night A wild gazelle I madly sped ! I heard the sounds, the heavy tread! It seems a dream; I fainted here! The sounds were gone, no being near; And Henri! Henri! e'en my flight May end in woe ere dawning light! The scene is gone. Your saf ty here Is full of doubt. The night is clear; *Adam and Evo. THE LADY OF BARD ALE. 6t) Go, go ! ere Lacy in his wratli 'Gan find my Henri in his pathl" X. "If such your wish but bid me stay, 'Tis Lacy lord shall feel my sway, 'Tis Lacy lord shall die or slay, Lady Emilia, never say A Heuri fled before a foe That named Emilia's direful woe. Unworthy of your very love, So help me, help me, mighty Jove! Thy tale's enough to mau a soul Where man and horse shall tumbling roll, Wliere battle's fiery shot shall pour. The dead and dying in their gore. Grim havoc, death, and bloody war. The sabres lawless of the law, Strike down the foe in mad career. And feel no sigh, no pity's tear! My blade has rusted in its shield Since fair Emilia's word appealed To hearing ear, an open heart, But love alone the blade could start. Yet love alone could stay the brand, 'Tis love shall bid me fly or stand! A-dieu! adieu! if such your will, And Lacy's blade no blood shall spill!" XI. "My love is one that will obey, Emilia's voice shall bid you stay, 'Tis she alone knows Avell your power. And she alone in any hour Would see her Henri meet his foe, And Yalor's blood as bravely flow As minstrels tell of misty past When fiuarter never man did ask, When Hectors met Achilles brave. When weaker knew a yawning grave Was gaping wide to claim the dvist That Anger's arm was brave to trust, When strength and prowess named alone The victor with his form of stone, When Yalor's might won Yalor's wreath. And named the hero, knight or chief? Oh then, my Henri, bravery won. And shone in beauty as the sun. 60 THE LADY OF BARD ALE. And thus my lord or knight of fame, Did ever own a matchless name, In oral phrase from land to land, By Beauty's voice, and Victor's hand. His name was floating far and wide, 'Twas fame alone that named his bride; And Henri, though the wish be bold. My teeming eye would brave behold My Henri Lacy meet in arms, Decide by blow which owns the charms Each sees in maid his heart has won — " "Emilia mine, 'tis done! 'tis done! Your father's word shall name the hour. Your father's eye see tested power I 'Twas peerless fame that won his heart To Lacy knight that knows the art That lays a foe all bleeding dead, No cheek to blanch o'er blood that's shed! My Dardale maid! my Dardale love! Yoii've named the fray that stars above Shall witness yet, shall witness soon, De Lacy's deatli or Henri's doom, The only feat to win a heart That glories in the knightly art. The time is gone when Conrad brave The every wish his heart did crave. Was patent found to Lord Graville, And every freak of Avarrior's v>ill. 'Twas Lacy's place he held till time Another wreatli did matchless twine. Yet young in arms, I kenned the fight In early morn's translucent light. The fray Avas long, but bravery won ; And there with blows a heart shall stun. He laid the Conrad in the dust ! He never rose; the sabre thrust Had pierced his mail, and dying there, His eyes grim fixed in glassy stare! Enough! 'twas Lacy rose the king Of Dardale; and his name did ring From border to the border's verge. From vale to vale, to ocean's surge; And Lord Graville encrowned him there Thrice worthy, worthy of the fair! And now, my 'Milia, here alone. Where night is on in solemn tone, You wait the shock each hour may bring; But have a hope to-morrow '11 ring THE LADY OF DARDaLE. 61 "With armor cleft, and sabre stroke, And from the dust that breath may choke. Ne'er more shall rise the vanquished toe ; For long as '^lilia's tears shall flow In wedless maidhood, then my arms May win or lose her peerless charms! The custom holds in castle hall, That matchless, matchless over all The hero claims the maid alone To-morrow's dawn shall lose or own, The Maid of Dardale fairest found ! The glove shall fall upon the ground, And Lacy there as brave to dare. Shall win or lose the fairest fair! But ere the waning moon shall fade, Oh sing with me my matchless maid. The border-song that names our life; — Ere night and morn shall be at strife. Soft take our way to safer tryst. Where sweetest love and peace have kist, And war and woe and feat of arms Have naught of power with Beauty's charms!" BORBER-SONG. 1. Cupid arose on the soft wind in blushes. Winging his way to the Mountains of Yale, And sweet as the babe that the mother soft hushes, Boldly and boldly his heart did assail. Mischief in artless glance. As in a heartless trance, Madly and madly the victim of woe, Forcing this Henri Vale, Lover-love all his ail. Hector him, hector him, where'er he go. Maiden a fairy came thro' the soft gloaming, Cuxiid sweet tracing her route in the air. For love was his own, and with her soft roaming, He'd take her to scenes in Castle Vale where Henri knight slumbered not, Eros-god bravely fought. Contest in mail with the dart and the spear, Quicker by weaker shield, Cupid-god fleeter wheeled. Yet drew not his blood, but many a sad tear. 62 THE LADY OF BARD ALE. 3. Feasting and dancing bad met the gray morning, Love to their hearts in the even was born, Came there no goddess to say the grim warning Over their sweet lives in blaclcness would dawn Bitter love's woeful scene. Truest love's flowful een, Filling their sweet days with weeping and wail. Glooming their lover-life, Causing them woeful strife, And all for the fault of loving a Vale. 4. At feud were the parents of maid and of lover. The clansmen had fought, and the bale-fires had blazed. And over the Vales and Gravilles there did hover Stygian clouds their feud-anger bad raised; Bitter the eye-fire gaze, Higher the need-fire blaze, Friendly clans coming from far and from near, Burning in heaven's blue. Signal-signs' flaring hue, Warning that clans come with axe and with spear. Anger it was, and a border-life story, Sparkling with valor thro' night and thro' morn. Honors to some, and to others death's glory, Orphans left weeping sad, widows to mourn; Closer the warriors lock, Louder the battle shock, Sounding the death-knell of man and of steed; Slashing breast, cleaving sight. Killing steed, warrior knight, Bleeding, and bleeding, in feud-death to bleed. Foolish the story though sweetly enchanting. Foolish the warriors that fought in the feud, Foolish my love-song the gods will be granting, Foolish the telling if ever renewed; — But you are singing not. Goddess voice ringing not, Looking the fearing that comes to the maid, Feeling the bitter sighs, Welling where Cupid flies, Jealous-like dreadings old time feuds have made. TEE LADY OF D ABB ALE. 63 Weeping, love, weeping, but why art thou weeping? Stories of Henri shall never be sad, Banish the woe-dreacl now over you creeping, Cupid's here sweeter than Paphian lad! Henri knight worries not, Lacy knight hurries not, Filling our hearts with the bitter of woe, Anger in madder pace. Hatred in sadder face. Longing the life-blood of Henri should flow. 8. Banish the dreadings from heart of my fairy, Weeping and wailing are not of our love, Henri with 'Milia e'er fondly would tarry. Warning tho' Sol-god shine down from above, Telling us lover-joy, Liker is Bacchus-boy, Sprinkled with the sweets and the bitters of life. Cannot last, ever last, Sweeter than honeyed blast, Filling our days with the wickedest strife. 9. But our life-story, I'll finish in glory. Sweetly then crowning you Queen of my heart, Angels attending when anchorite hoary Husband, wife sounding, asunder ne'er part! Heaven-love binding us, Cupid unminding us. Marriage tie sweetly unsuiting his dart. Caring for maiden's love. Hopeless once chained dove. Laughing and laughing he flies from her heart. VI. But hark! the sound of rushing feet, As mighty host a host shall meet! As heavy sound where cavalry rushes on! The roaring wind that brews the coming storm! The sweep of battle mingling blood with blood! The rushing waters whirling to a flood! Oh loving pair! what direful, direful sound, That breaks the night and loudly echoes round? But ere the knight could ken what hurried on — "There, sir's, your bride of yester-evening gone!" Broke boldly on the trembling, quaking Vale, 64 THE LADY OF DARDALE. And twenty horse with liders all in mail, Drew sudden rein before the hopeless pair ; And Henri then a madman in his stare, Sprang sudden to his feet, and in his wrath — "De Lacy lord, why art thou in my path ? The years are tied since master in the ring You bold were found the conqueror's glove to fling ; But love alone that checked my wayward blade ! 'Twas love alone made glory rise or fade ! And but for this fair fainting maid of mine The star of death had set in Lacy's eyne !— " "Oh, Henri ! Henri I shield me from his wrath ! — " "Yes, Lady 'Milia, yes, my tearful lass ! The hour is gone when Henri more shall sue For quarter, life, that marked the Heeting view ;— Thy maid is come all frighted as a bird. Fear, anger, woe her bosom's sighs have stirred ; To her, to her, my gentle loving maid, I soft release my care, while yet is stayed A madman lover in my right of way, Who'd here dispute my will to go or stay^" "Oh, Henri !— " "Never fear, the time is now To match the strength where mighty warriors bow; And teach the night ere morrow's sun shall rise, A prowess won before a thousand eyes ! 'Tis Lacy shines the king of Valor's art, 'Tis Lacy hurls the spear or wings the dart, 'Tis Lacy, matchless in the fields of fame. Claims bride by right, and none dispute his claim — ' "Come, come ! thou vaunting knave, what ails thee now?" And bending hard against the saddle bow, His anger's whiteness rivaled winter's snow, And trembling arm as conscious of a blow. Now rose, now fell, but aimless rose and fell. As fear had sounded there in hollow knell, As vacillation slow to name the act, Had shown the strength a lesser hand had lacked ; And there in doubt, in fear or half surprise. The maddened fire quick flashing from his eyes, He sat his horse, while warriors grimly round Were awed to see the reckless Lacy bound. For never time had seen him quail before. For never time but blood on blood did pour At lesser cause for passion's angry work, At lesser cause for spite to rouse a Turk ; But now the Lacy moveless as a stone, Sat silent there while rose the heavy groan ; But he that's slow to wrath were better far. THE LADY OF DARDALE. 05 Ami moveless eye, where never sound nor jar Disturbed the deathly stillness, there was lixed Upon the face of him who sat transfixed; But like a flash the whelming scene had gone, The twenty riders there as sudden born. The fainting maid, the bold attendant there, The quick release to her of Henri's care, The angry word, the sharp, the hot reply, The warriors fixed with awed and staring eye. And now the hatred jealous hearts shall knoM', And now the tear that madness caused to flow, Enraarked the face, tlie form of rivaling knights. Excitement's arts that name all pending fights. "Tiiere, sir's, your bride of yester-evening gone 1" Yet echoed thro' his breast where passions dawn, And name the wrath that knows no calmness found Where heart of calm or reason's powers have bound ; And thus the scene that flashed athwart the night, The twenty riders ready for the fight. The argent moon in soft and mellow light, Emilia and her maid that paused in fright. The twice ten mailmen, nor of sound nor groan, A-like equestrian statues of moveless stone, The angry Vale, and angrier Lacy lord. All moveless there as some enchantress rod Had fixed a spell that bound them to the place, Nor any sign or living life to trace. And rolled the moon as silvery rounded shield, The brook sighed on, its parting song did yield. The spectral trees waved sadly o'er the scene. And there a hush as funeral's train is seen. "Sir Knight !" and anger choked his trembling voice, "'Tis tliglit, or death shall mark your hurried choice ! Emilia's mine by right of name and fame. And he that's bold this matchless right to claim. Were better teaching maidens how to love, Eor else his powers are born of mightier Jove, A shameless death shall lay him where he strove !" "But never Henri feared a knightly form. But never Henri tied before a storm Of sky, or wrath, or hatred's bitter hate ; And Lacy's fame may find a matchless mate, If such his wish, his fiery heart's desire ; But mine no heart to claim a madman's fire. For calmly here while roving thro' the night, I found this sorrowing maid in kenless plight. And like a knight that melts with Beauty's tears^ I hurried cam", p't' -—'"o^] ;.| part her fears; G 66 TUE LADY OF DAEBALE. And, Lacy, never felt I more surprise When 'Milia's self arrayed my doubting eyes, And here since day has won the shade of night Tlie years have come, and passed, and ta'en their flight, And listening to her tale of mingled woe, My angry youthhood's tears did welling flow ; And song we sang as little recked you here As now my breast contains a nameless fear ; And yet no Vale e'er craved a Beauty's liand That came of force at father's Larsh command, And if the maid that fears her bridegroom now. Shall tell me go, the Henri's plume shall bow. And Lacy, king, reclaim the bride of liight, And morrow's priest once more their hearts unite !" And calmer there with form that ?jowed low, He waited Beauty's voice to name his woe, While Lacy wroth, with hot and lowering eye, Awaited like the culprit marked to die, And mailed horseman more in wonder lost. Yet moveless there their plumes alone that tost, Did pausing wait the climax of the scene, That grew apace while Anger shaped between. VII. As soft as hush that falls in twilight eve, The mournful tones where weepers pause to grieve. Lady Emilia: "Stay, my Henri, stay ! The Luna Queen shall wane, and lightsome day Keign o'er the scene, ere I shall bid away !" "Sir Knight, thy form uncloaked, no mailed attire, Were easy work for Lacy in his ire ! The voice of caution now shall bid you go ! Away 1 away ! ere heart's red blood shall tlow ! My arm has won the peerless Conrad prize. You kenned the fray, and paled your youthful eyes ; The maid is mine till fairer wreath be twined ; 'Tis Valor's arm alone the prize shall find !" "De Lacy bold, and matchless in the land, 'Tis Vale will claim the Flower of Dardale's hand ! The Conrad fray in youth of arms I saw, And perfect skill that knows no lesser law. Won mastery there, and fell the Conrad brave. And flowers to-night are blooming o'er his grave ; But never yet were Vales afraid to die ! The feud-fires long had blazed athwart the sky. The feudal strife and Knighthood's valorous arms, Had won them fame, and Beauty's matchless charms, But dead the sires of valor's noble deeds. TWr LADY OF BAEDALE. 67 Tet living luue a heart that inly bleeds To meet a foe if such ^v(mld ken his skill, To meet a foe if foe his blood -would spill !" VIII. Like flash of liffht in ti-aceiy o'er the sky, The Lacy's form from horse did darting fly ; And there ^vith corslet toru from reeking breast, As other knight in mailless fold was dressed, Ills scabbard gave his sword to trembling air ; And face to face each madly then and there, The jealous forms gave parry sharp, and stroke. No steel-clad form or warrior's deadening cloak. But prowess lone to shield the panting breast, Where anger's sway iu tremors was confessed. Now breathless there, the maids and warriors all, The steady ring the only sound did fall ; For never Lacy met a worthy foe Since Conrad's rolling form iu death lay low. And warriors there in valor's deeds grown gray, Were eager found to bide the coming fray ; For fairness there no party hand might stain, Should name the victory when the foe was slain, Who weaker foviud, less skillful in his art. Should lose the wreath where Beauty's form did start ; For Knighthood's chiefs of Lacy held a dread, And tho' the sabre-thrust should lay hi in dead. As little care as when the warrior dies "Who owns no fame, no star in Victory's skies ; And thus the fray should fairly test the skill _ Of warring knights that thrust with maddened will, And Lady, — maid, no hand to stay the blow, Ko Marrior's eye to melt where blood should flow, The fray should end with victory, woe or death, And never maid or warrior with their breath. Should dim the glory prowess bravely won. For fair should end as fairly as begun. And with the skill and fired of jealous hate That comes of love that rivals for its mate. The maddened knights, De Lacy, Plenri bold, • As bravely fought as e'er shall man behold ; And thrust and parry, quicker, madder tlnnist, They vainly strove to lay the other in the dust, And scarce the spell that names enchantress art, And blood was gushing from the Henri's heart! Ko word to name the bitter hate Mithin, No other sound but sword-blows' ringing din, No word of cheer, arena's loud applause, (ib THE LADY OF DARDALE. BiiL steady blow that fell for valor's laws ; And anger's look tliat won unswerving place, Was pictured plainly there on cither's face, And such the skill the maddened i^assions brought How braver now has ever Knighthood fought ! IX. The Lacy matchless with the sword or axe Would ill beseem his every nerve to tax, In lists the knight that bravest of the brave Has many a warrior laid within his grave, But illy meets the strokes of other knight, But matchless yet as ever fray or fight, The victory hangs an ever-varying doubt ; Yet hold ! a newer skill seems flashing out ! 'Tis Lacj^ now seems marked for Victor's crown, But j^et remains that half unconscious frown. That stamped the Henri's ever dauntful face. While conscious skill its every line did trace ; But yet the thrust and faster falling parry From La-cy's sword-blade death seemed to carry, And now my knights and maids of tender heart. The Henri faints before the matchless art Of him who victor long in frays of Dardale, Has laid in dust a braver than a Vale ! But ah, the Henri half renews his skill ! The Lacy's blood from larger wounds does spill. And hotter there as Victory stands apace, A second brave Achilles shows his face ! "On, on ! my Lacy ! victory hangs the scale ! More matchless now shall prove a Henri Vale ? Your gura'd ! your guard ! my Lacy knight, and brave Else morrow's sun shall dust thine open grave ! Else n^oi'row's sun shall pale thy wailing bride, And iJeauty weep for valorovis knight that died ! — " X. But hark ! the sound as madly rushing steed That from his rider's grasp is wild and freed. Fell siidcien there, and thro' the gray of morn, His features working wild in passion's storm, • His long gray hair disheveled on the wind, His maddened steed as flying there and blind. In wilder flight, as hotly urged by spur, The lord Graville, where anger's rage did stir, Came furiously on, nor stopped, nor gave he lu>ed Till checked by startled knights the flying steed ! "And thus ! and thus ! my henchmen one and all ! THE LADY OFDAUDALE. G9 A niockory fray to sound ray power's fall ! And this the search ! and these the men obey ? And this my kniijht of vast and mighty sway ? Avaunt, thou men of ire ! antl warriors Iiere, Seize, seize ! the knight that Lacy dares to peer ! — And you, my sliameless maid I quick hie thee hence ! jNIy feelings now shall iind no recompense ! A wedding thus to end in morning's dawn !— Enough ! the scene is plain I and fray shall on ! When night and morning once again are gone ! — Yet, Lacy, knight, why art thou toying here ? This slumieless wight were better name thee peer To Hectors once that swayed the ponderous shield — " "But brave Achilles came ! did Hector yield?" "On, cowards, on ! and seize this doughty youth, So bold to speak, to warp the living truth ;" And there the master o'er the warriors all, Save only Yale wlio knew no master's call. He swayed the knights, and kniglits obedient there ' Sprang wildly on the Yale who brave did dare ; But aimless fray ; the gray of morning dawned, A.nd he that quarter, mercy ever scorned. More sorely pressed than ever warrior knew, Beat slow retreat, till meteor thro' the blue. He sudden vaulted to the Lacy'a horse ! And giving rein, he rushed in maddened course. Bold cleared the brook that lately sang of love, And left the moveless warriors where lie strove ! XI. The maddened Lacy, pale astoundsd sire I — But leapt their voice in wildness as of ire — "The warrior wins his form in life or death, A hundred crowns !" and anger choked the breath. The spurs cut deep, and stallions wild with speed. And warriors hotter grown for rivaling deed. Were furiously off, and like the rush of wind They swept from view, the ireful lords behind ; And there ahnie the lover and the lord. With never a sound or solitary word. In silence paused till sudden passion fled — "And I of all that Henri Yale were dead !" "A mated wish could name my inner thought ! But, Lacy mine, tho' bravely here he fought, 'Twere foolisli now to wish such valor dead, My Lacy's fame when blood of Yale is shed ! U warriors win the form that stirs to hate, l)e l^acy's blade shall prove him less than mate I" 70 THE LAD Y OF DA RDALE. "Thy daughter and her maid have fled the scene^ Aud gone the knight tliat dazzles in her een, But ere you came, the mastery of her love Would fall to him who brave, more bravely strove. She said. And if the Vale shall own his life, 'Tis I will meet him single in the strife, And power alone to name the choice of bride !" "A valorous vow ; my wishes ; I abide." And calmer found than since the morning fray, They slow retrace their woody homeward way ; And shone the sun as naught of bloody deed Had marked the night, no warrior's breast to bleed. And thus a shred of vanished Knighthood's art, That Scottish Bard had laid upon my heart, Has come, has gone, and going, left no trace That marks the matchless Chief of Knighthood's place I* And he to thank if thus the idle tale Has won an hour where graver cares assail ; 'Twas love of him in Knightly lore and plirase That Avou my luring maid to Knighthood's lays.f And love has built the sweetest line That swayed the thought like V'elez' wine. As Bard has told in ancient lay. That graces now in knightly sway, My storied shelf where many a rhyms Has stole my sleep and dimmed my eyne, And built a hope within my breast. That time should come tho' not redrest. When leisure theirs should be my store. And I should go to paynim shore. To clime of East 'neatli tropic sun. Where many a tale was once begun. And bards of old in sweetest lay Gained lore of love, and stole away The .student's time both night aud day. And marked a madness with their sway. The love of love, the hate of hate, • Shall ever be a poet's state. Yet to their haunts I fond would go, Tho' writhe my soul in hopeless woe, For heaven was theirs, and heaven is mine, I find it traced in many a line, ^ And full my soul as thoughts I see From Genius' store so chaste and free. That ouce I feel the tire of old, 1 * Scott. tTlieJIiisC. THE LADY OF DAEDALE. 71 I would not change for land of gold, My love for rhyme, my love for verse, Tho' to my life it prove a curse. And fill my nights with candles diu!, Ami blur my eyes with study's film, Fill up the day with thoughts of eve, When rhymes and I would laugh and grieve I No "goblet crowned with mighty wine, The blood of Yelez' scorched vine," Shall need to fire the lover knight. If he shall live at end of flight, 'Tis love alone shall move the tongue, And shape the verse where arms havf' rung, For Love is young and never old, Tho' Scottish Knight* the tale has told. How Minstrel bardf in gray of life, Found lack of love and Cupid's strife, And fired with wine alone could sin;; Of other days where thoughts did cling. Young Love till now has swayed the scene, And knight and maid in forest greer.. Has caused to meet and parted tlu're In morning dawn, Aurora fair ; And so as King within the ring No knight shall come the glove to liiu :, For worsted there in war of love. In war of life, in war of grove, Shall reign he King, and king of love ! INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THE THIRD. From Grampian Hills that stretcli their way Thro' Scotland's Highlands, Lowlands gray. The tourist's eye might vainly seek The Castle once that topt the peak, Might vainly scan the wide expanse. And yet no Lacy,— Vale advance, No Lord Graville who once in power In kingly port o'er-ruled the hour. And named Emilia's lover, lord. For Time has swept and snapt the corl That bound them sacred to the eart:-.. And each to each ; a tie that birth *Scott. fTiie Latest Mi i--'r i. 72 TUB LADY OF DAItDALE. Had once cemented firm as love, That crowns the youth who vainly strove To wrest himself from tangled braid, The powers that arm the love-eyed maid ! The Cheviot Hills might meet his eye, Ben Nevis kissed by blue of sky. And Aven, Cruachan towering high. The Hills of Lammermoor, the lakes In sheeted glory, Ness and Tay ; The lochs Avhere many a deer-hound slakes His thirst as on that farther day When Caledonian Hunts Avere fain To win the lord, the chief, till slain The deer, and pleasure turned to pain. The Tay, the Clyde, the Tweed might flow, And bear no burden of the woe. That shaped in eve and morning's dawn, The knights that cried, "On, Lacy, on !" Nor Esk, nor Dee, tho' once the wave Their skiff, their boat, did softly lave, Had naught of tale, of vanished scene. The things that were, that reigned, had been, Tor gone, forever gone ; and bard Alone, the skies once golden starred To sweet reclaim from hallowed past, From hoary Time that kenned the last Of living maid, enchanting once, Now silent, tombed, no sweet response. No luring eye to steal the heart Of Lacys, Vales ; the magic art That maids of all have owned since Time First placed them in his jarring rhyme. As soulless once as Staff a's isle. An empty dark like Fingal's Cave, For Time has laid her in her grave, That dirt, and damp, and worms defile ; That dirt, and damp, the forms revile Of Beauties once the Queens of May, The diadems that lost their way. And found a place 'mid lesser stones, That saw the maddened flight of roans, The sweep of hot and wild pursuit. The gray-haired sire in anger mute, The thousand shreds that make the skeiu Of woven life, where phases reign Of good and bad, and bad and good. The scenes of joy, and woe, and blood, The various hues that light and shade i THE LADY OF DABDALE. 73 Uave ever darkly, brightly made. Have painted lll:e the rainbow's arch, Then dark as when the hosts shall march 'Gainst host, and liost shall deep the red Of earth, where mangled lay the dead. Beliol, Bruce, foi'ever gone, The ^farys, kings and queens of dawn. The Scottish frays on cliff and hill, The blood that roiled the laughing rill. The kingdoms' strife for seventy years. The bane of peace, the nurse of tears. All, all are gone, and workadays To jar where poets chime their lays, Where bards are wrapt in misty hues That clothe the past in lovely blues. That tinted rainbow vain beshrews. Where reign to him the myriad scenes. Where sacred past in fitful gleams Enchains him as the toils of maids That champion Eros on his raids, And sings he songs, the Song of songs. Where holiest peace, the plain belongs Elysian, soft as dew of eve. And thousand beauties gaily weave A net-work, wrapping round and round, Till there Prometheus helpless bound. And yet tho' gone, forever gone. Enchanting past is loveliest born. The rugged Avood in gray of morn. The wide expanse of field, of sky, # The hill, the mount, the castle by, The twenty horse and mailmen wroth, The twenty horse that madly forth Are rushing. Trees, the brook are past. The hoofs are loixd upon the blast :— The scene is gone, and dappled blue Is all the tourist's eye shall view. With rugged hills, and ribbed mounts, Yet soulless now as stealing founts. That once in chime of song and bird Went sparkling on, in melody heard, Emila, Yale, De Lacy now I — But ah, Emilia love to bow ; 3milia love had proved of life, And castle, dale, a scene of strife. She wanders thro' the castle wide. And ill and doubt did there betide A bitter day, the mournful scenes 74 THE LADY OF DARDALE. That love brought there in woeful miens. A song is floating o'er the moat, And Eveleen shall ring the note, A ditty wight of love had framed, A ditty listening ear had claimed. "And is it Yale ? " the question shaped, A Hydi'a doubt was there and gaped. A dream, and soft her marble brow In slumber strove. 'Tis over now ! The scene is wild, and palely there Emilia, fairest of the fair, In pallor wrapt has fainted ! Still In Avonder bound, the Lord Graville ; The Lacy. Yet the volumed Tweed, In mirrored flow the mind might lead To calmer theme, and calmness there Has won its sway, and everywhere The scattered beauties thro' the air, Have lessed the woe, the dread, th.e care ; And Tourney now the theme of thought, And who the victor there that fought ! CAI^TO THE THIRD. Like April morninir clouds, that v i^s With v;irying shadow, o'er the grass, And imitate, on flekl aud furrow, Life's chequer'd scfiieof joy and sorrow; Like streamlet of the mountaiu norl.i, Now in a torrent racing forth, Now winding slow its silver train. And almost sluiii!)ering on the plain; Like breezes of the autumn day. Whose voice inconstant dies away, And ever swells a«-ain as fast, When the ear deems its murmur past; Xhus various, ni^ romantic theme Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning; dream. Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace Of Light anil Shade's inconstant race; Pleased, views the rivulet afar, Weaving its maze irregular; And pleased, we listen as the breene Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn trees; Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or gaie, Flow on, Howuncoufiued, my Tale! Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronginr. With praises not to me belonging, In task more meek for miglitiest powers, Wouldst thou euRage my thriftless lioin;-. But say, my Erskirie, hast thou weigli'u That secret power by all ohey'd, Which warps not less the passive mini. Its source conceal'd or undetinci ; THE LADY OF DARDALE. 7:. Whether an iminilsc, that has bir;h Soon as ihe infant wakes on earili, One with our feelings and our powers, And ratlier part of us than ours ; Or whether fitlier turn'd tlic sway Of habit form'd in early day? Howe'er derived, its force contest Rules with despotic sway the hreast, And drags us on by viewless chain, While taste and reason plead in vain. — Marmion. I. That bitter night had gone before, No glaring sun the deeds did pour. But briglitly shone, as never stain Had darkly flecked its potent reign, As never deed that fouled a night Had come and gone in shade and lig':t ; But sweet Emilia's throbbing heart, Tho' Sol was gay in magic art. Told well the dread that there did rei m, And sorrow's woe with sorrow's train, Nor sun nor morn to brighten there. But only love in blank despair, His reign complete lent misery's hue. And lost her eye its flashing blue. And language once so sweet to flow. In varied phrase to come, to go, Had fled the heart where love did flout A torch of hope that soon went out, And left a picture of a corse That tumbled lay, — a flying horse. Which lone and riderless, no rein. As madly dashed the steppe, the plain. As ukrane steed that bards did write, But freer yet, untamed flight, No struggling form to stay the steed. No crying soul, no limbs that bleed. "On, on ! the stallion madly flies ! His tawny side the star-spur dyes ! The brook is leapt, the crowd is gone ! On, on ! my stallion ! madly on ! My foes are brave with ten to one ; By single hands their deeds were done, 'Twei-e Henri'd meet them one and all, 'Twere Henri'd rise or shameles'-s fall ; But speed, my steed, the hour is nigh "When Henri or a Lacy'll die ; But tested skill shall name the foe That best deserves a hero's w.,>e, 76 THE LADY OF DARDALE. Who fighting brave for love and fame, Shall twine a laurel round his name. A never madder steed than thee, A never stronger fought for liberty, A Lacy's power has held thee long, And Henri Yale's an arm less strong I On, on ! the sparkliiig morn is shed In thousand beauties o'er our head, And flying here to life or death, For anger's power has thicked thy breath, I drink the feast that heavenly swells Upon the gale, no death-toned knells. And feel no care for aught of earth. Save Dardale maid who won her birth In fairer climes than knighthood knows. Than Eden flower that blooms and blows. And but for her so matchless found, My steed nor I would wildly bound ; But Lacy face to face in wrath, "Where tryst-nook ends the rugged path, I'd siie not vainly for the right To name him liero in the fight. II. '•But fly, my steed, the morn is spread In loveliest hues o'er Nature's bed, And taintless air from heaven's fane Gives life and love in silent reign ! O what a surging force must name The warrior's sweep to death or fame. As loudly I'oars the battle's din. And fled and fleeing cross the linn ! Oh Lacy, never madder heart Throbbed o'er a fray where valor's art Has twined the wreath in beauty's hues 'Neath dappled skies in vying blues ! Oh love and war, and war and love. Are all the things wliere man has strove, And shown the greatness, often found Where love and war are rivaling bound. A hero many a Avar has won In glory sparkling as the sun; And many a bard has won from Avar A master's sway o'er poesy's law; And war wei'e gone, and love were not, How aimless has the poet wrought ! The stirring fray has raised the soul To higher numbers, and the goal THE LAD Y OF D ABB ALE. 77 Where reisii the heroes named of old, And bard and chief each other fohl. An aimless life shall know no power Of him who seeks in every hour The towering heights that kiss the blue, And give the soul a loftier view. A Genius wliicli is never sought Is never found. The years have taught That he who struggles for a name Is oft surprised to own the claim ; A thousand powers that kenless lay, Shall spring to life and own a sway, And pleasing reign as sunlight ray. III. "Away, away I my foaming steed, A reckless brave that dares this deed ! But time and tide are flying fast, And hoofs are sounding in the blast ! The heated knights in maddened chase Are wildly rushing as a race For life or death lent fire and speed To maddened stallion, flying steed. But knight nor stallion, angered sire. Can match my steed in tameless ii^e ! They come ! they come I Away I away ! No fairer race to mark the day. No Lacy here of braver deed. His stallion bold in matchless spee