PS 1876 \:k. ?Y OF CONGRESS. 3lf ^.Cr_^ X. 5 Ll7^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. "^^^Va j^^^i^i^immm\ ■ij^'^^\j i^VgggWWvgy !■ V w ■'« >i v' c 'S ;r w ^..- :' ^, V 'i^/S:<'.v .. •^ . ; ^ V- ». ■' y ■ ^' ' "- VVVWW Vy^'\jv • v THE LADYE CHACE A BALLAD. "For there be those so apt, credulous and facile to love, that if they hear of a proper man, or woman, they are in love before they see them, and that merely by relation." Burton. [cabinet edition.] XEW YORK : L I P P I X C O T T & CO 1876. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by Martin Taylor, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. PREFACE. This ballad, written forty years ago, and pub- lished not long afterwa'rds, in one of the periodicals of the day, has ever since been withdrawn from circulation. A small edition is now reprinted in a revised form, chiefly with a design to secure it from possible republication without the corrections of its author's maturer judgment. To a place in the literary memoirs of the first cen- tury of the Republic, the author ventures to regard it as having at least one claim. The war which closed in 1815, had revived and embittei'ed the old revolutionary spirit of hostility to the mother coun- try : and few indeed were the youthful minds of the following generation, in which associations of Literature and Religion predominated over pre- judices which were supposed to be patriotic. This ballad is evidence that the sincerest love of countrj' may co-exist with a hereditary love for the land to which we owe our civilization, our language and our holy faith. It was written in all the ar- dor of young enthusiasm for English history, and for that legendary lore to which Bishop Percy's " Reliques" and Scott's " Minstrelsy" had recalled the popular mhid. If ever an American school of writers shall be developed, in entire harmony with the generous spirit of English literature, and there- fore all the more true to the historic principles of the Republic, it is the author's trust that he may have a recognized place, however humble, among the pioneers of a fraternal unity which must be so full of benefit to mankind. The life of the author has been devoted to grave pursuits, to which this romantic ballad presents such a contrast, that he now reprints it as an anonymous waif. It may be safe to give it a cor- rected form, but he craves for it no circulation be- j'ond the limited sphere of personal friendship. It appears with some omissions, and with the restoration of some passages which were crowded out of the pages to which it was originally con- tributed. The revision has been the occasional work of the author's vacations ; and for its publi- cation, at this time, he is indebted to the kind assistance of a literary friend, who not only cor- rects the press but has materially helped the author by his critical suggestions. Leacote, 1876. TO META, ONLY DAUGHTER OF THE LATE CHARLES KEITH HYDE, ESQ. Because I love thee, and because thou art Thy father's child ; and for that memory Of his true worth endears thee to my heart ; And for thy mother, whose bright heraldry Is her least glory ; therefore, these, to thee I dedicate, dear Meta. Thou may'st read My bo^dsh ballad with a maiden's glee, For they were young who first bestowed its meed ; Now, golden harps are theirs, and mine the mourn- er's weed. 2. To grow like trees of reverend root sublime I fain would teach my country. Ours the spoil Of a great past, that to our western clime Pours forth the wealth of olden tide and toil ; And who would spring, the fungus of the soil, Unglorified with ancient wit and worth ? But thy sweet youth, as 'twere the lily's foile, Hath bloom'd and blossom'd. Lovely from thy birth. As thy first years have been, be all thy days on earth. And learn betimes of by-gone days the lore, Not to misuse nor misconceive thine own ; For here, where all is new, and tales of yore Enrich no scene, invest no mountain lone, Nor lend the voice of brook and breeze their tone, 'Tis but to breathe a hermit, or a brute. To know no life beyond our clime or zone ; Of hoary eld to deem the voices mute ; To leave of all we love unsought the parent root. 4- But I have toiled historic truth to know, Have made it mine ; and if fresh fields are ours. Here let my hand some fruitful seeds down throw. Of Faith and Right. Seek thou no fairer bowers Than Fairfax found, who left his ivied towers For Shenandoah, in Virginia's wild. If idly there, amid its wreaths and flowers. Thou shalt read o'er my lay, delightful child, Recall its moral oft, to fancy undefiled. 1873- pro5:me. I. 1. O who has not heard of the Northmen of yore, How flew, like the seabird, their sails from the shore, How, westward, they stayed not, till, breast- ing the brine. They hailed Narraganset, the land of the vine. 2. Then the war-songs of Rollo, his pennon and glaive. Were heard as they danced by the moon- lighted wave. And their golden-haired wives bore them sons of the soil. While raged with the redskins their feud and turmoil, 3. And who has not seen, 'mid the summer's gay crowd. That old pillar'd tower of their fortalice proud. How it stands solid proof of the sea chieftains' reign, Ere came with Columbus those galleys of Spain. 4- 'Twas a claim for their kindred : an earnest of sway, By the stout-hearted Cabot, made good, in its day ; Of the Cross of St. George, on the Chesa- peake's tide, Where lovely Virginia arose like a bride. 5. Came the pilgrims with Winthrop ; and, saint of the West, Came Robert of Jamestown, the brave and the blest ; Came Smith, the bold rover, and Rolfe — with his ring. To wed sweet Matoaka, child of a king. 6. Undaunted they came, every peril to dare. Of tribes fiercer far than the wolf in his lair; Of the wild irksome woods, where in ambush they laj^ ; Of their terror bj' night and their arrow by day. 7. And so where our capes cleave the ice of the poles. Where groves of the orange scent sea-coast and shoals. Where the froward Atlantic uplifts its last crest, Where the sun, when he sets, seeks the East from the West : 8. The clime that from ocean to ocean expands, The fields to the snow-drifts that stretch from the sands, The wilds they have conquered, of mountain and plain. Those pilgrims have made them fair Freedom's domain. 9. And the bread of dependence if proudly they spurned, 'Twas the soul of their fathers that kindled and burned, 'Twas the blood of the Saxon within them that ran ; They held— to be free is the birthright of man. 10. So oft the old lion, majestic of mane, Sees cubs of his cave breaking loose from his reign ; Unmeet to be his if they braved not his eye. He gave them the spirit his own to defy. II. I. Then Albion be true to thyself in thy sons, And honour thy blood in thine offspring that runs; It ripens with aging like generous wine. And warms to its kindred with impulse di- vine. 2. And the birthright we scorned when a dole it was flung, Our kindred with England, her faith and her tongue, We claim it unchalleng'd, or grudge it who may, A continent holds it : what churl can gain- say ? 3. Avaunt the mere islander cribb'd by his shores. Whose soul, like his eyesight, no distance ex- plores ! With instinct imperial disdaining its girth. The true heart of England embraces the earth. 4. The family Bible, 'tis one and the same ; We read in their churchyards the family name; Of grim elder brothers cadets we may roam. But theirs is the homestead that once was our home. 5. No foreigners we when we visit thy strand, For the bones of our forefathers rest in the land ; Our Faith at thine altars unsullied we find, Our laws in thy charters, thy manners, thy mind. 6. By the James and the Hudson, the Gulf and the Lakes, Thy voice from the Past living echoes awakes; To the spell of thy song and the might of thy thought, We yield a fresh empire, with homage unbought. 7. And gen'rous the feeling that claims them as ours. Those schools of thine Alfred, those temples and towers. Like Hellks, new races thy name shall com- bine ; Where English is spoken, its glory is thine. 8. Our mothers still teach us thy story of old Where the cradle is rock'd and the lullaby trolled ; And the harp of our West, 'tis the same that was strung Where thy graj^-bearded minstrel the roundelay sung. Q. Its far distant warblings— he heard them who stood Where Snowdon uplifted its crown o'er the flood; Those visions of glory he feared to explore. Behold them unfolded; they brighten our shore. 10. Then hail, Mother Albion ! and long may they twine Thy banner with ours and our banner with thine, Till broad o'er new nations, those ensigns un- furled Give laws to earth's races, and peace to the world. 11. And scorn not my numbers, albeit with awe My fingers unskill'd o'er the chords I must draw. While, a lay of thine Eld, in this far West- ern clime, I sing an old ballad, of England's old time. THE LADYE CHACE. FYTTE I. MAID MARIAN. I. Come list a lay of old romance, The witch-work of a ladye's glance ; Of such an eye as doth express Far more than Hera's loveliness ; The azure which, from o'er the water, The Saxon gave to Albion's daughter, What time the victor, in his pride, Was vanquished by his English bride, Nor crossed again the surges' swell, But chose with his young Mdfe to dwell, Where, sea-girt, on her island steep, Britannia's trident awes the deep. From these, Atlantis' daughters sprung ; From these, the music of our tongue Spreads o'er new worlds, and win? the wild To Wisdom's precepts undefiled. 14 THE LADYE CHACE. II. O'er Devon's valleys mounts the morn: And, as through clouds the day is break- ings Oh, hear them wind the merry horn ; The startled woods around are waking I Gaily they echo to thy call. Old Nimrod of a royal hall: Blow long and loud: though, far and near, Start at the sound the mountain deer : For gathering fast from moor and glen. Throng to the sport the merry-men ; And forth from court and cotter's door. Briskly the early sportsmen pour, While, fragrant as from new mown hay, The morning air comes sweet as May. III. The castle court is all alive. As when the bee-queen leaves her hive ; And forth they come ; the dawning light Gleams on the crests of thane and knight, And flashes from the shiny bow, Like beams on rigs of driven snow. THE LADVE CHACE. 15 They come ; — in sooth, no mean array, The noblest of the land are they. And pleasant is the show. Around, their coursers neigh for sport, And champ the bit with pride of port, Oft wheeling to and fro ; Anear, bedizened pages wait ; And thralls impatient throng, Content with cruel thraldom's fate To scud like hounds along, And claim in every dog a mate. That spurns the tethering thong. Awhile the eager pack await The keeper's whistle shrill, As gathered by the massy gate. The huntsmen loiter still. The vassal loathes the dull delay, And chides the fast-advancing day ; And still the fretful horses wheel. Impatient of the curb they feel. Oh, merry may their hunting be, As lively is their rout to see ; And worthy be their game ! l6 THE LADYE CHACE. St. Hubert speed their sport aright, And many a buck shall rue, ere night, That here to hunt they came. IV. But hark ! once more the horn is wound, And forth the ready coursers bound. While springing to the sylvan fray Dogs, serfs and pages are away. Away, as blithe, as light as air ; There's not a lagging dullard there. Though more sedate, in native pride, The lords than their retainers ride ; Amused so soon their serfs to see. Far, far afield careering free, And smiling as the full halloo Comes faintly from the boisterous crew. Onward they fly o'er plain and hill, O'er mound and valley onward still, And with the breeze they fleet along ; The early peasant hears their cry, And pauses, pleased to hail the throng. And cheer their coursers sweeping by. THE LADYE CHACE. 17 V. Slow moves that group of lordly blood : While now, perchance, by gay greenwood, The carles their dull approach abide. Each wishing some one else might dare To break the harmless victim's lair. With hark-away ; but reckless all. Alike of hasty hound and thrall, They choose their time. And of the crowd, Amid the proudest seeming proud, What twain are those— whose steeds appear More haughtily their heads to rear, As conscious that they paw the ground Beneath the chief of all around. And bend the arching neck and mane To hands well used rash men to rein. Their mantles are inwove with gold ; Their arms two tabard heralds hold. Whereon, impressed in glitt'ring lines. The cross of our redemption shines. The one, unmarked by star or gem, Whose brow bespeaks his diadem, Hath alien kings around to wait. And dukes of many a foreign state. 1 8 THE LAD YE CHACE. Who may he be ? — I fain would reck That hath brave Hoel at his beck? For Arvon sends her royal line In his superior light to shine ; And Kenneth, too, behind him rides, And Cumberland's proud prince besides ; And Alwyn of the north countree. And Angus of the Isles is there ; And many a lord from over sea. And many a border monarch's heir. If even their sports encumbered seem With arms that one might useless deem, The Marches bristling still with feud May tell why spear and helm intrude. VI. And Alban of the Dale attends, Forgetting now his burning song, Though oft his wilder art he lends To wind the bugle's larum strong ; For the young bard is hunter now, 'Mid laughing churls and listless squires, Though high-born pride is on his brow, And he is sprung of princely sires — THE LADYE CHACE. 19 A poet race, and nobly born, That waked in royal halls their lyres. And had not blushed to see, this morn, Their heir so proud a chase adorn. With quivered shafts behind him swung, Where erst the holier harp was slung. And winding oft the hunter's horn With ardent hopes and high desires. Forgetful of the lays they sung, But warmed with all their minstrel fires. VII. Oh, who the pair, but England's king, And England's noblest peer ? 'T is Edgar foremost of the ring, 'T is Athwold riding near. King Edward rules this noble rout ; A jovial prince is he. And well he loves, the woods about. To raise the forest-rover's shout, Like those of low degree — Who yet have sov'reigns of their own, Who claim a palace and a throne By every greenwood tree, ■ THE LADYE CHACE. And deem themselves as royal there — In Nature's wilds and God's free air, By right divine — as he. And Athwold is his favorite lord, His friend of bosom and of board ; For all his deep concern he shares, And, dearer than the crown he wears Hath Edgar loved him; and hath made His wish the sceptre that he swayed. And Athwold, of his court, alone Hath such high favour of the throne, To meet his king with friendly speech. And schemes of war or peace to teach. Ev'n now, behold ! as on they fare, He feels his ministerial care. And deeply counsels — as I trow. For earnestly he knits his brow. Some plan of pleasure or of state. With sage advice and deep debate. VIII. So forth and onward till they gain The forest's side. The waiting train Cheer their approach, and quick prepare. From tangled copse, his quiet lair, THE LADYE CHACE. To rouse their antler'd foe, and launch Upon his track the blood-hounds staunch. Right noble game ! at rest, and laid In the brown thicket's cooling shade, He hears not yet the larum yell That peals along the distant dell, Nor dreams that, ere the dew-drops dry On his green couch, his limbs shall lie Full many a weary mile afar. Mangled and rent with many a scar. Oh, could the hunters see him now, Those shapely sides, that stately brow, His quiet rest the rill beside, The wild-flowers scattered on his hide. Would they no pity call to mind ? No mercy show ? — would Athwold wind So loud th' exciting horn ? I ween, Knew Athwold what this chace doth mean, Knew he his monarch's hidden thought, And who the real quarry sought. Knew he what forecast plann'd this day. What game within its gaming lay. He had not been so blithe. But hark, The greedy pack's delighted bark THE LADYE CHACE. Hath scared from coverts deep their prey ; The hunt is up ! — away, away ! IX. Away ! — and aye away with pride ! The lordling by the menial's side Now speeds amid the scampering throng. And scours the beaten glade along. The monarch leads the merry crew ; Full gaily on they fly : And cheerily, Lord Athwold, too, Peals out the hunting cry. He shouts as joyous as the rest. As careless bears his feather'd crest. As loudly chides each lagging hound, As' swiftly clears the echoing ground ; Till now they dash the wild -wood thro' : And as each hunter leaves the view, Mellows afar the shrill halloo. X. And long they chased, and far they rode. Till now the sultry noon-tide glowed. The stag has left the forest deep. But still th' unwearied race they keep. THE LADYE CHACE. 23 And woe for him ! — his branching brow And ev'n his hoof is heavy now. What boots it that, as swift as wind, He flies, when hounds, as fleet, behind, Still follow on his weary track. And howl their hunger at his back ? What boots it that the tears are pouring Down his dun cheeks from eyes imploring, When they who cheer the chase, the while Can look on human tears, and smile ? What boots it that his harmless hide, Rashed in the brake, with blood is dyed, When, of that reckless rout, the half Can look on human blood and laugh ? Men are but wolves. The panting deer The blood-hounds, panting too, can hear ; Then swifter starts he ; but the pack, Hot-toothed, is springing at his back. With bound and yell they close around ; The foremost dog has torn his flank, And now, another, with a bound. Bears his bold frontlet to the ground. Where, on a green and flowery bank, To fiercer man and ravening hound 24 THE LADYE CHACE. He yields at last. A shining dart — 'Tis Alban's — pierces to his heart : Forth foams the gore ; the rocky dell Echoes with hounds' and hunters' yell ; And gathering fast, with failing breath, The merry archers hail the death. XI. Scramble the gaping churls around To marvel o'er the skillful wound. They praise the king's unrivall'd craft ; The head was grazed by Edgar's shaft. And Alban's, if more deftly aimed, Might yet for impudence be blamed. And all within that greenwood glen, How goodly are the gathered men For poet's eye to see : ' A peaceful war, at worst, is done. Which gentlest maid may look upon With scarce a weeping e'e. And though the bard of warlike lay Might scorn the hunting of this day, 'Tis fitter far for me. THE LADYE CHACE. 25 Than ghastly tales of olden time That live in ancient minstrels' rhyme, Though smoothly glossed they be. And who shall look at yonder throng, Where now the bold young heart, and strong, Beats warm from such a race, Nor own 'tis fairer than the field Where stain'd was each brave hunter's shield. And blanched each ruddy face; Where shuddering mothers looked, with fear, For sons they bore, and found them near, Their's, though in Death's embrace : Where the young wife, with boding breast. Sought her boy's sire, and found — his crest; Slow raised his mask, and shriek'd the rest, • In proud old Chevy- Chace ? XII. Not such King Edgar's hunt to-day ; But list his stern command : He speaks, and ready to obey, The startled pages stand. 2.6 THE LADYE CHACE. " Boy, let thy palfrey bear the deer Speedy to Harewood Castle, near ; For sure the castle nigh must be. And, Athwold, I would dine with thee ; Long have I hoped thy halls to see." XIII. There are who in their coffins wake, And strive the swathing fold to break, And, gasping, draw the stifled air, And ope their eyes, in darkness — where ? Those eyes, which, even now in dreams Or roving trance, were all delight, Mid visions fair of angel-beams. And fields of heavenly beauty bright ; There are, when breaks the fairy spell, And fleeteth in their fearful waking. Whose heaven seems changed, at once, for hell, And space, for bonds that know no break- ing. Then wildly o'er the buried soul A thousand thoughts convulsive roll, Of those dear hands that lowly laid him, And piled the thumping clods above ; THE LADYE CHACE. 27 Of that false swooning that betrayed him, Mid unavaihng tears of love ; All with the sense of struggles chained, Of long delaying death restrained ; The consciousness that all is o'er ; That his own dreaming wove his shroud ; That he awakes to wake no more, Unheard though he should call aloud. So, with that challenge of the king. Broke Athwold's long, sweet slumbering ; So did he wake to know 'twas over, The sleep of a delightful vision ; The fairy dreamings of the lover. His wand'rings in a world Elysian. He woke, to feel at once his fall ; And, like the swimmer, in appal, O'erspent, to close on life his eye, To grasp the floating straw, and die. XIV. The courtier started at the word ; Vanished the colour from his cheek ; He spoke no welcome to his lord ; His lips were blanch'd — he could not speak. 28 THE LADVE CHACE. He trembled — well he might — the while He gazed on Edgar's look of guile, " Yes, all is o'er ! " he thought ; then broke " His coward spell, and stammering spoke : ' ' My liege, though well my pride might court . Such ending of our morning's sport, Much do 1 fear 'tis far to go, While the hot noonday scorches so. 'Tis yet full many a weary mile Before my dark old towers appear ; And when 'tis gained, the dreary pile Hath little for my sov'reign's cheer. 'Twere shame my loyal halls should be Unready such a guest to see, Too poor, at best, my liege, for thee ! There is a forester lives near ; Lives, as they tell, on thy good deer ; A poaching fellow ! in his den Oft harbouring the merry-men ; And, well-a-day ! his outlaw hold Were worth thy sight ! Strange tales are told Of the gay revels sported there. He hath a daughter passing fair. THE LADYE CHACE. 29 With lip and eye to charm a king ; A fairy, tripping, pixy thing, That of her father's best shall bring ; And gaily old green- wood shall ring. Ho, ho ! young Alban of the Dale, What is thy fright? — why look'st so pale My liege, this minstrel, chance, may tell More of this low-born damosel. I know her but from tales ; from song This rogue romancer might repeat. Come, Alban, thou hast known her long; Hast found young Marian's kisses sweet? " XV. Burned Alban's beardless cheek, while loud Rung the loose laughter of the crowd ; And nigh his hiked hand had sped His anger on Lord Ath wold's head. But, with a thought, resentment chose More dire revenge. The laughter rose ; And Alban, falteringly, replied : * ' Nay, then, if thus my loves you chide, 'Tis so, the maid of Croswell Water Was but an honest woodman's daughter ; 30 THE LADYE CHACE. I found her on a hunting day, When I was weary and astray. She seemed some goddess of the wood ; And, for a moment, mute I stood, Then knelt and caught her trembling hand And worshipped, till her sweet command Bade me arise ; methought she ne'er Had seen a youth of manly air : Yet fearless was her sweet consent : Abashed, and all so innocent. She loved, but knew not what it meant. And I loved her. You know the rest ; 'Twas ever so when hearts agree : She had to mine an answ'ring breast. And that was all the mystery. I was awhile her father's guest ; And never youth a lovelier press'd To his warm heart than Alban then. Who deemed him happiest of men While Marian loved him — but, alas ! So ever morning's glories pass : The step the dawn's bright dews knew well Hies now no more, along the dell, THE LADVE CHACE. 3 1 To find, embower'd with eglantine, Her heart's own dearest haunt, and mine. With Spring's young buds she drooped away. And Marian only lives, to-day, In her lorn lover's cheerless lay. XVI, The turf is sunken on her grave. Though there the weeping flower-cups wave, And forest-birds green leaves have strown Upon the mound and cross of stone That mark where, 'mid the wild-wood's roses. Their fair twin-forester reposes. Soft be her rest in that green wild. And — Holy Angels guard their child ! So sadly ends, my liege, the tale, For sad my early fate hath been. And the poor minstrel of the Dale Thus young, the poet's fate hath seen. That fate full oft my harp and I Have mourned when Athwold hath been nigh: 32 THE LADYE CHACE. And now the transient dream is o'er, Basely he probes afresh the sore, As tattling of her father's cot, He lords it o'er a lowly lot. XVIL For what, false Athwold — though my bride Was not, like thine, the heir of pride ; What though the song I harp to thee So oft, of thine own history. Hath brighter close, and bids me chaunt Thy triumph in the dark romaunt, Say, traitor, if thou dar'st " But "Peace!" King Edgar spake — "Thy quarrel cease ! Alban, I'll hear this tale of thine Some other day, so thou'lt hear mine. Perchance my song shall prove as sweet ; But, zounds ! how burns this noontide heat! Come, Athwold, I must Harewood see, Why should a friend so formal be ? Well know'st thou, certes, that thy king Cares not for cates and junketing ; THE LADYE CHACE. 33 And we who many years together Have lived through holy Dunstan's Lent, And shared through bright and stormy weather, Penance with boisterous merriment, Need not, for ceremonies, now Waste the dull time in words, I trow, ^larry ! I like not forest cheer, Nor have I mind to tarry here. Doubtless, at any time, thy board Is worthy of its lavish lord. And if so far, 'twere, surely, well Sooner to leave this dismal dell. Come, by the Rood ! at once we'll go. And, good my lord, our journey show ; For 'neath thy towers this night we rest. And England shall be Harewood's guest ! " XVIII. Haughty he smiled and grasped his rein, And stroked his courser's arching mane. But Athwold, ill his fears dissembling. Was yet a courtier in his trembling. Proudly he turned, and wheeled his steed. Still pausing while he seemed to lead ; 34 THH LADYE CHACE. For well he knew the royal mood And will, unwont to be withstood ; And more — he marked the ready band Round gathering, at the king's command ; And right he read, sore vext were they, The while they marvelled at his stay. Then "Welcome !" cried he "thanes and thralls, My liege, thrice welcome to my halls ! 'Twas but to see how large a boon Thou could'st bestow, when I, of noon, And scorching sun, and weary way, Spoke, seeriiing to desire delay. Right glad am I to find thy will By such fond words unaltered still ; But, by thy leave, I'll hie before, While thou more slowly journey 'st o'er. I would that all my serfs might wait, When thou alightest at my gate ; And, by thy grace, will go prepare All things for thine arrival there." " Thanks, noble Athwold, thou shalt go," Said Edgar, ' ' as thou wilt — but show For us, who loiter here, our way, Lest these dark woods should lead astray." THE LADYE CHACE. 35 *' The way," quoth Athwold, "is in sight; Ye cannot fail to go aright : Short space will bring thee to a steep That shows, though far, my castle-keep, And Harewood's halls, too mean to be, Ev'n for a night, a home for thee." XIX. A graceful bow he gave the king ; Received a nod for answering, And spuiTcd his horse; his squires he stayed, Then vanished in the thicket's shade. But still his courser's tramping told How swift he cleared the wood and wold ; And, list'ning, as the sounds, anon. Grew faint and fainter and were gone, The king, in reverie, sat still, Nor loosed the tight-drawn rein, until He heard no more the clatt'ring hoof. Lost in the distance far aloof. Then turned he moody round, and bade His train move on ; but slow, and sad. And thoughtfully, he. led the way Toward the old castle's portals gray. 36 THE LADYE CHACE. XX. But let the minstrel string play on, Though Athwold, Edgar, all are gone. Not all — for lo ! with aught but tears, Young Alban from the wood appears ; And forth he rides, and up the mound Spurs swift, till gained the vantage-ground. And there, half-hid, afar he sees The royal train, amid the trees, Slow on their route ; and — " Well-a-day ! They do uot mark that I'm away ! I'll to my cot ! The tale was good I told them, by the Holy Rood ! And Edgar, o'er his fate and mine, Goes mad to quaff the traitoi^'s wine, To feast with foes — or well, I fear. To cheat me of my vengeance dear. Poor Athwold ! scarce his wnle I blame : Did ever knave a smoother frame ! I bore it well till truce he broke And to the king of Marian spoke ; Then truce was o'er ; as soon as said, The ire of Alban vowed him dead. Marry ! the villain to the dust ! He pledged my love to Edgar's lust ! THE LADYE CHACE. 37 And, by the blessed Cross, he dies, Though toward his hold so swift he flies. Poor fool ! he was full sore beset ; But honour claims its vengeance yet. He jested of my sweet young bride : Athwold, this night, thee woe betide ! " XXI. He turned and through the wood he dashed, And deep his spur his courser gashed, Till, at a cot that seemed a hold For holy hermit, made of old. He stopped, and sudden from his steed Bounded to meet a fay indeed, A lovely sprite — that, to his arms Flings from the doorway, in her charms. And now is clasped by her young lover, Who bends the trembling phantom over. With many a kiss on lips whose breath And ruby hue show naught of death. A lovely ghost indeed, that, kneeling On the green sward, hath human feeling And woman's bloom ! For see her neck Suffused, beneath the braids that deck 38 THE LADYE CHACE. And twine about that breast of love, Which Alban bends so proud above. Oh, faithless he ! and can it be That he so soon should love another? Or do I but a sister see, x\nd is he then that maiden's brother ? Or can this be his muse, in sooth ? Or is it very ghost in truth ? Oh, but that spirits walk by night And are not in the daylight seen, Who that might look on such a sight But saith, '"Tis Marian's self, I ween! " XXII. The " forester " — her father comes ! Nay, not a forester he seems, For still a minstrel rhyme he hums. And, though he waketh, walks in dreams. And Alban, thou, in sooth to tell, Hast played thy rogue-romancing well ; For not alone the king believed, But Athwold, by thy wit deceived. Nor dreamed they in a tale so fair, Triumphed the fabling minstrel there. THE I.ADYE CHACE. 39 "A forester ! " and can it be, This holy harper, then, is he ? "A forester, in outlaw's den ! " 'Twas Athwold that was fabling then. Though little did he reck the while. The minstrel of old Harewood's pile. Old Ethred, who so oft for him Had waked his living lyre, To show, though now his eye was dim, His heart still glowed with fire ; That he himself was Marian's sire, And, hidden in that dark old wood, Beside the holy runnel bright, Had i-eai'ed to blooming womanhood That child of loveliness and light. xxin. 'Twas even so : Old Ethred's care Had hid his only treasure there. To bless his poet sight, though dim, With thoughts of holy cherubim, And ever to his minstrel string Notes worthy cherubim to bring. And often, by his trellis'd door, His minstrel notes were wont to pour, 40 THE LADYE CHACE. When, 'scaped the castle by the feint Of penance hour, the rig'rous saint Turned not to sighs and torturing whip. But, with a kiss for ]\Iarian's lip, Was wont to court her praise, while he Called up his warm old minsti-elsy, And to the breeze, and birds, and hills, Gave out his soul-controlling trills. You would have thought — to see them there At morning, 'mid the greenwood fair. Beneath an arbour's wreathing twines Of roses and sweet jessamines. Where, peering o'er the starry flower, An ivied cross o'ertopped the bower, — - That he, with harp and locks so white. Was, in the woi-ld of heavenly light, That rapturous seer whose lip and lyre Were lit of old by altar-fire ; While she, who, bending o'er her sire. Smiled as she sung, and, singing too. Inspired him with her glances blue. Was, in that world, some angel given To be the prophet's mate in heaven, THE LADVE CHACE. 41 And lead him to the nook most fair In all the shining regions there. XXIV. So there, by all but him unseen, She dwelt amid the wild-wood green, Till Alban found her : Ethred grieved When first he felt himself bereaved Of his sole right to Marian's heart, By the young rogue's o'ermaslering art. For as a kinsman, first, he came And wiled her with a cousin's name ; Because — so Ethred said and thouglit, ' ' Their bl ood to mingling tides was brought By Arthur's minstrel, Bert the Blind, Who married Myrtis ; " — never mind. Cousins they were — so let it be, 'Tis nothing now to you or me. In short — a cousin is of kin When loves or likings once begin ; 'Tis just the kith that's near or far As friendships or aversions are ; None but a dunce would urge its right To harbourage for ev'n a night ; THE LADYE CHACE. It founds no claim, it lays no yoke, 'Tis thin as air and light as smoke, But, let the smoke once turn to flame, How tender is a cousin's name ! XXV. Ah ! yes, when cousinage is blent With common thought and hearts' content, When mind with mind, and eye with eye, Transforms that nothing to a tie, Brothers and sisters may appear More distant than a friend so near. For, to some maiden sweet as light, Give but young love a cousin's right. Who shall describe the freedom's bliss Her hand to clasp, her cheek to kiss ; As sister near — but just removed So far as to be more beloved ? The sweetest nondescript in life A sister — that may be a wife ! Such was shi^ewd Alban's creed just then, In spite of Dunstan's cyphering pen, For Mai'ian's distant kin outran The prelate's artificial ban. THE LADYE CHACE. 43 That makes a cousin oft too nigh To marry, but ah ! — not to buy. XXVI. Not such was Ethred's generous view ; Her lover was his kindred too. " I have no heir," okl Ethred said, " And dies my line when I am dead : A Hne that in Pendragon's days To royal ears poured loyal lays, And lit the soul in Uther's child. While yet iii arms the hero smiled. And now that line were lost ! but see What Jesu's mercy sendeth me ! Thou, minstrel boy, shalt be mine heir, And wed my child ; and she may bear Anoiher such as thou for thine ; So while her Druid oak is fair vShall flourish England's minstrel line ! " XXVII. And such their sweet alliance then, Firm friends were they ; and now, again, With Marian met those minstrel men. 44 THE LADYE CHACE. And what though one is young, one old, Forgathered in that sylvan hold ? Their souls are knit by that kind tether That bindeth noble minds together. And "Ethred," said the laughing youth, " They'll need thee at the hall, forsooth ! Lord Athwold hath a guest, to-day. For whom a minstrel loves to play : The king is come " " The king ? " said he ; * ' Then breaks the long-sealed mystery ! Thy promise, Alban, was ' to sing For me that story when the king Should come to Harewood ' ; well I guessed Ev'n then, there lurke^ within thy breast A laughing quibble, that he ne'er By Athwold would be bidden there." xxvni. Then Alban sang, in pensive strain. Of Ath wold's secret joy and pain ; Of woes that beauty weaves for man ; That, since the tragic tale began THE LADYE CHACE. 45 Of human love, have ever sprung Earth's sweetest, fairest buds among : The brood of that old serpent sire, With breath and blighting eye of fire, That first, to spoil a v^^orld for, aye, And wrest its dearest bliss away, Came, long agone, to Eden's bowers, He Beauty's bane, but beauty ours ! XXIX. Oft, as her lover told the tale. The tear in Marian's eye would spring ; But then the poet of the Dale Would wake for her a merry string. And still old Ethred, all amazed. As one who hears of magic, gazed, And found himself, as 'twere a trance. Enfolded in a dark romance Now first unveiled ; but when 'twas known, He added marvels of his own, And paired the parts — for Alban sung The story taught by Athwold's tongue. With much concealed that Ethred knew. Though now the whole he first could view. 46 THE LADVE CHACE. XXX. Their harps were silent long agone, And they themselves were earlier dust ; And in their graves they're sleeping on Unmarked by chisell'd urn or bust ; And Marian's self is sleeping too, There where her virgin beauty grew. But still the poet soul survives, And still unquench'd it burns and lives, And there shall flourish aye unbroke, While thrives old England's Druid oak. And gone for aye those minstrel days, To them the bard his tribute pays, Ev'n while he loiters, in the song That, chance, should-bear him brisk along ; The story of that hapless peer. Which then they told in measured chime : Which now I sing, though not, I fear. In such sweet verse, or flowing rhyme, As then they sang to beauty's ear, Those poets of the minstrel time. THE LADYE CHACE. 47 FYTTE II. ELFREDA. I. No star but beauty's phantom ray- That lures, not leads, to light his way A fearful path he treads, in truth, Who walks the flowery maze of youth : And strange as faery is the tale Of him whose brighter stars prevail, Who turns, his summer journey through. In dreams to tread the way anew, Nor sees, in all the past so fair. One error that he need repair. II. 'Twas so that Alban's song began ; And thus chimed in the elder man : "In vain may old Experience sage Denounce the sentence stern of age : The boy that sits his saws to hear May, chance, the silvery beard revere, 48 THE LA DYE CHACE. And, awed, may mark the wrinkled face That adds to words a grave grimace ; But still he smiles within, and deems Such maxims are but foolish dreams, Which, like the hoary locks of him Whose eye and lamp of life grow dim, Are meet adorning to the brow That waits a crown of glory now. But ill would suit his amorous wile Whose Fairyland is beauty's smile." III. 'Twas therefore Wisdom's art, of yore. To touch the heart by Fancy's lore And fold this moral in a lay — " How hard is the transgressor's way." Learn, then, from Alban's song —not mine, I but translate his Saxon line — How it befell that Edgar's word To Athwold seemed a serpent stirred. Why falter'd he like lips that lie ? Why did he shrink from Edgar's eye. Or why when, from that presence pass'd, He found him in the wood at last. THE LADYE CHACE. 49 Burned on his cheek the smothered glow ? Why turned he round and threatened so ? Why spurred so oft his jaded steed ? Why rode so raging ? He had need : For right he recked, the seal was broke : The secret read, and all outspoke The traitor tale engraved within, Like some unsmothered spark of sin, That smoulders long and dark below. But bursts to blaze or e'er we know. IV. For this, so swift his courser strode. Spurred o'er the old familiar road, And cursed by lips more wont to say With pride, " God bless thee, noble grey My'halidom ! thy like, I ween. Chased never over England's green ! '^ Poor Athwold had been sorely proved ! And, "fie on hearts that never loved ! Hearts that have felt a charmer's power, Know well the frenzy of the hour When first the favouring smiles are won Of the dear eyes we doat upon. 50 THE LADVE CHACE. Such hour the hapless peer had known, And his warm breast had waged alone Passion's fierce war with Duty's thrall, Nor passed the fiery ordeal. So his was Treason ; but the name Deserves, at least, some milder blame, If Truth and Fealty are tame, And all unwavering can endure — " So Alban sung — "a lady's lure. Unmoved, unyielding, undecoyed : Happy the man if undestroyed ! " V. Sweet Marian chode. With roguish feint. The minstrel argued his complaint, And by the Talmud's legends drear Enforced the railing on her ear : " Oh, Adam from his Eden fell For loving woman's love too well ; The wisest of his sons denied His God, to gain a heathen bride ; And angels, as old Rabbins shew. Left their pure homes to stoop below. And lost their seraph-mates above. Allured b)'^ mortal beauty's love. THE LADYE CHACE. 51 And tempted, from their high estate, To Satan's fall and final fate By young Earth's daughters, and the face Of woman's more than angel grace." VI. Hence 'tis the vulgar artist's trade To rail at woman, wife and maid. To taunt her with the woes of men, To boast his freedoms of espial, And tell how oft and how and when He made the bold, presuming trial. And found the tempt'ress — such, that he Was fit her feeble fool to be. Such bards have seen no vestal light Ev'n in the Sibyl's glances bright ; And still the infidels are found Who rail at Virtue's holiest ground ; Who liken beauty to a star That shines in heaven, but omens war ; Or to that lamp that blazes bright To mire the youth that trusts its light, When o'er his all unguarded way It throws its soft, delusive ray. 52 THE LADYE CHACE. Miranda's innocence to scorn, What Sycorax such sons hath borne ? Mine be the part — should I disclose No history of a thornless rose, To show its thorns are of the tree That boasts the flower's support to be ; If wrong in woman's heart we scan, 'Tis somehow from the wrong of man. VII. But let me Alban's song regain Nor interpose my prosy strain. Gazing on Marian's charms the while 'Twas thus once more he won her smile : "Daughter of Eve, thy heart and mind Enfold the marvel of mankind ; And thine the mould that mocks his skill Who shapes the marble at his will, Or his whose pencil's magic hues Might paint an iris in the dews. Nor can the mightier bard essay Thine inmost nature to portray, When first to song, for thy sweet sake, His own amazing powers awake. THE LADYE CHACE. 53 Yet truest bards, in noblest lays, Have sung of womanhood the praise, How — as from Psyche's radiant wings, The maid her sweet enchantment flings, Wafting before the poet's eye, In his first love and ecstacy. And 'tis my creed — I would not live Without the bliss such faith can give. In woman's goodness to believe : So many Marys for one Eve ! Let such complain as never knew The chaste, the steadfast and the ti-ue ; Sweet Marian, hear — I fancied ne'er, The charmer frail, the falsely fair. " VIII. High, on its tor the castle stood. The crags above — beneath, the wood. Where Ordgar dwelt, by men abhorr'd, Of Devon's wilds the cheerless lord. And claiming o'er its seas domain, The pirate's right to rob and reign. There first a birdling breathed unblest A dovelet in a vulture's nest. 54 THE LADYE CHACE. The motlier-wing away it flew : No mother's care the nestling knew, 'Twas so the young Elfreda grew. Nor, as her ripening beauty shone, On Ordgar's sight, a bud half-blown, Melted the soul of that stern sire. Too proudly selfish to admire. Still, in that lone and dreaiy wild He made a pris'ner of his child ; And save the monk that went and came. Her grim old aunt, a stately dame. And maids that sighed but never laughed. And one that taught the broid'rer's craft, Little of human life she learned, Though oft her soul within her burned, She knew not why. Her father knew. And gazing on her eye so blue, . He mutter'd oft — " I would mine heir Were only not a flower so fair." And so he watched and held her there. In dread of Edgar's lawless flame That blasted wheresoe'er it came. " Not born for consort of my king. She shall not be a baser thing : " THE LADYE CHACE. 55 So chafed he, fierce, and — such his rage — Locked fast the ringdove in his cage. IX. Not often, to the meads below, Elfreda with her hawk might go, Where all the sweets of flowery June Breathed from the woods, 'neath sun and moon, Or where the fox-glove, thick as heath. Empurpled all the dells beneath. Like that Levantine bird that flies In palmy islands far away. And finds no mate in those bright skies, For there alone she lives her day, In air that never, till she dies. Is fanned by fellow-wing, they say, Elfreda dwelt, and knew no friend. But one the poet's art that kenn'd. Save when at eve her voice would blend With that old minstrel's harp, who sung For many a year, those halls among — She lived as if the desert flower, That blooms and breathes at morning hour. 56 THE LADYE CHACE. Not only shed its sweets in vain, And gave its odours to the waste, But vexed its little soul with ^ain, And Jiuezv its fleeting bloom misplaced ; As if the pearl, that in the deep Its hermit watch long years doth keep, Were loth to light its elfin cell With its own lustre, still repining In loneliness unseen to dwell. And lavish there its peerless shining. Where not the sea-maids' selves might know How wonderful the lustrous glow, Encased within so rough a cover. Tossed by the tumbling surges over. But beauty like the light must beam, And ever v/ill some wanderer's eye Be dazzled by a roving gleam, A gleam he never meant to spy, That comes as evening meteors stream Across the summer's cloudless sky ; Yet more might like the glow-worm seem, That shuns, not seeks, the passer-by. THE LADYE CHACE. 57 X. Ev'n so, when once with horse and hound The sport ^vept by the castle's bound, Sweet she looked forth from her high bower, In beauty like that modest flower That, from beneath the flaunting rose. Peered out, on a high festival, To see what queen of flowers they chose. And was, herself, made queen of all. She saw, and she was seen by one Long wont such shapes to doat upon : And Alban's minstrel-harp soon sung The charms he triumphed to discover, And her sweet name in music rung. Which he could praise, though not her lover ; For ever was the minstrel's lyre Devote to light the fancy's fire. And she, so fair, but claimed his art, While Marian held both harp and heart. Else — tho' Love's star outshines the Sun, Elfreda soul and voice had won ; And ne'er to Edgar had he told Of beauty hid in that dark hold, 58 THE LADYE CHACE. But for hhnself, with high empi-ise, Had woo'd her from her lonely bower, Or for one glance of her bright eyes, Had scaled, by night, her lighted tower. XI. 'Twas heard anon, lier charms might lure Peri or ouphe or sylphid pure ; And Edgar, from the minstrel's tongue Had caught love's madness with the tale; And oft he heard the story sung, By voices viewless as the gale. Elfreda was a fairy's name, And fairies seemed to love it well ; For oft, at witching eve, it came O'er his soothed senses like a spell. He was a visionary king, And now he loved on Rumor's word. His own divine imagining, A phantom bright as Eden's bird. xn. Presumptuous lover ! — he had spurned. When first with boyish flames he burned, THE LADYE CHACE. 59 The hallowed cloister's sacred pale, And from the vestal torn the veil. " What is a monkish wall ?" he said ; ''And what these niches of the dead ? Alcuin himself might scorn these aisles — For there the pictured Virgin smiles." He trembled, though resolved to dare, Beneath a scutcheoned window's glare, Where kings were imaged — frail as glass ; And — " for the love of this sweet lass," He muttered — "Dunstan I defy ; Sweet Edith, I for thee would die." XHI. Here let old Ethred interpose His monody of Edith's woes. For well the fair recluse he knew. And saw her sullied splendors too. INTERLUDE. t I. ' ' So Edith, from the altar torn, Where white-robed sisters sing and mourn. 6o THE LADYE CHACE. Left chant and litany awhile, To worship only Edgar's smile. Nor grieved she for the price she paid, Rapt from the cell a trembling maid, No moi'e in weeds to kneel and sing, But walk the idol of a king, Till all too soon the spell was o'er ! Of bloom bereft, she charms no more ; Forsaken, friendless, hopeless now, Shame's burning brand upon her brow. In bitter grief she weeps alone. O'er young content and virtue flown ; And sighs, despairing, for the rest Forever fled her thorny breast. Which once in holy joy she felt, Or e'er to aught but God she knelt : Or e'er, for days of guilty mirth, She traced her footsteps back to earth, And offered, at a mortal's shrine, The incense lit for loves divine, " "And Edith is an added spoil To trophies which but seem to foil THE LADYE CHACE. 6l The lustre of his vaunted art O'er woman's too confiding heart. So, many a gem we thought a treasure, And many a flower that gave us pleasure. Is worthless all, when others dearer — Sweeter in scent, in brilliance clearer, Turn from our first delights our eyes. And dazzle us — a brighter prize. And man is fickle in his loves As that gay bee that idly roves Through Iran's meads, on gauzy wing, To sip its sweets and leave his sting. Cruel the imp, though gaily drest, Crimson his coat and gold his crest. In form and hue and all outside The honey-maker, glorified, But, all within, the spider's guile. His venom and his web, the while. 3- "With fatal kiss the rover goes Where opes its bud the fragrant rose ; Then to the lurking violet flies, Tarries and tastes and onward hies ; 62 THE LADYE CHACE. Till, stooping from his airy flight, The lily's bosom, pure as white, Like woman's too confiding breast, Welcomes the spoiler of its rest. The flower, beneath his treach'rous wings, Trembles and bows, yet clasps and clings, As fair Titania's pearly arms Might fold her Oberon in charms. Forewarned, let innocence bewai^e. Nor trust the wily suitor's snare ; For ah, how soon, its nectar rifled, He leaves the flower with which he trifled, Courting new pleasures, day by day, And wafts on wicked wing away. Go, seek his toy, the garden's pride. And see how soon the lily died : 'Neath the hot noon, her glory fled, Ho^^^ lowly drooped her graceful head. Or, drenched with tears of even's birth, How fell her spotless bloom to eartli." XIV. So Edgar soon his Edith spurns, And faithless to Elfreda turns : THE LADYE CHACE. 63 Unseen as yet, yet prized the more, Like houiis of Arabian lore, Adored, as ever the unreal — He loves her lovelier ideal. But she is sprung of noble line : Her father is a mighty earl ; And not a monarch's loose design Can tear from him his darling girl. Elfreda may be his alone Purchased with half fair England's throne : "Then who more fit," said he, "to reign Than Ordgar's daughter, Edgar's queen ? In sooth he is the noblest thane That hunts in England's forest green : And, by the Rood ! I'll make her bride Ere ring the bells for Christmas-tide : And Athwold shall be sent to sue, If monarchs must like monarchs woo : For who so faithfully can bear The embassage of England there ? " So, Athwold, smiling doth depart — He fears not for his faithful heart. Nor dreams how hard the task will prove To feel and speak another's love. 64 THE LADYE CHACE. Nor, to the monarch's heart of flame Aught of mistrust or question came, For Edgar knew not prince or peer, Bishop or baron, far or near, So wise in counsel, brave in fight. So true in absence, sm-e in sight, In proof so strong, so unbeguiled. As Athwold — till Elfreda smiled ! XV. The tale is of those Saxon times Whose chi'onicles are red with crimes ; Of that fierce age, depraved and base, That sullied Christendom's fair face, And, filling up its thousandth year. Threatened the Judgment, drawing near. Dead was imperial Charlemain ; His weakling sons, that could not reign, Their spendthrift parts had played with fate. And lost fair Europe's proud estate. While Nicholas made the game his own, And won by dicer's arts their throne. Then the red seals began to ope That to the world disclosed a Pope, THE LADYE CHACE. 65 In England, Alfred's days were gone, And deep penumbral dark came on, Ere fell, on her, the black eclipse, That myst'ry of th' Apocalypse, Which o'er the churches,^ far and wide. Throned a Grand Lama, deified. Yet was the Church of England free And pure, as in such days might be. The Christ alone her Lord and Rock ; Her wedded priests still fed the flock ; None to lay lips denied the Cup, Nor was the Housel lifted up ; No goddess was the Blessed Maid,- Nor, save to God, was worship paid ; The Creed was undefiied and whole ; No forced Confession wronged the soul, Nor yet was Rome's chief-pastor more Than Patriarch-primate, as of- yore. XVI. But, times were near, when locusts came, Legion their form and fearful name ; And soon, in Albion's fleecy fold, The wolf of Tiber tithed and tolled. 5 66 THE LADYE CHACE. In Edgar's day, 'twas Dunstan brought The monkish horde such change that wrought, Intriguing, scheming, scowling, smihng. All conquering and all defiling. Till he that wore St. Bennet's gown, Master'd the monarch as the clown. The village-priest he came to ban. Woman to wile, to war with man. And chaplains swarmed in court and hall. Who all things made themselves to all. With dames and princes naught austere, All complaisance to Beauty's ear ; Italian monks who brought from Rome Tales to corrupt each English home, Of Theodora's shameless trade. And of the popes Marozia made. XVII. Ye hills that stretch from earth away, Where human feet infrequent stray. How oft your hoary heights have been Man's refuge from his fellow's sin. But not, on yonder crag, the light That gleams so oft at dead of night, THE LADYE CHACE. 67 And, to the fisher's skiff afar, Shines forth, a homeward guiding star, Betrays the wakeful saint and stern Whose tapers on the altar burn ; For there a gentle lady sighs, And wakes, to feast her sparkling eyes On Taliessin's charming page, Or reads of Arthur's golden age In rapt Aneurin's pictured lines, Whose sweet romance her soul entwines, With marvels of fair fancy's flight, Fairy and dame and noble knight. Why should a maid such follies learn, Why o'er such tales her taper burn ? XVIII. Robed in the rich embroidered vest Which oft the Saxon beauty dressed. Her arms are bare from their smooth bending, With pearl-drops from the short sleeves pending. The bright enamel softly blending With purer flesh— like snow unstained, Rounded and dimpled and blue-veined. 68 THE LADYE CHACE. And as she readetli, her sweet breath Moves, its transparent la-wn beneath, The bosom where her heart reposes ; Xor more than modest charms discloses When part the daint}- folds asunder, Clasped by the belt that girds them under, A ie weird and an envied zone ; Not envied for its gems alone. XIX. .■>Trce: bells she hears : adown the dale A village steeple gTacefn 114 THE LADYE CHACE. So woman's ways with ours combine, To frame a harmony divine, Her sweet unlikeness chiming still With what is deepest in our will ; Her thoughts, emotions, gentle jjowers, Twins to our own and yet not ours, Creating, in our darling blent, Our heart's unrest, our heart's content — Sweet music, for the monotone Of what was selfish all and lone ; And giv'n our nature to transfuse Till all we are in her we lose. 4- Oh ! strange that Nature should supply To gentleness and symmetry Such hidden strength — that, mightier far Than man's supremest forces are. Bows kings and heroes at its feet, And sets to conquest bound and mete. Sooner shall human thought invent New stars to gem the firmament ; Or sooner, all the flowers of May Come by mere chance, so fresh and gay, THE LADYE CHACE. I15 Than ought save skill and thought divine, Might woman's mystery design. Homage to him such charms who made Be ever by his creature paid ; Nor let mere Paynims bow the head To say — as poor Mohammed said, When Zeyneb to his sight unveiled And all her loveliness exhaled, ' ' O miracle of earth and sky ; O ravishment of heart and eye ! How marvellous, is Allah's plan, His thought of such a mate for man ! " XXI. So it was, this aged bard Sung of love like youthful lover : And a smile was his reward, With a coronal to cover His white hairs that told the story Of the poet's hope of glory. Now when age and years declining Made the wreath scarce worth the twining, Oh, 'twas given — and tears bespoke How dear it once had been ; Il6 THE LADYE CHACE. But long and cold neglect had broke The harper's heart, I ween. Yet, minstrel, weep not ! Ever so, Since Scio's wanderer sung, The poet hath been heir of woe. With ne'er a kindly smile to throw A light upon his path below ; Till chilled at length his rapture's glow, And numbed his hallowed tongue. Then comes too late the wreath : and yet, Surviving grief shall pay thy debt, Though all ui^known to thee. And where thy holy tomb shall be. No doubt full many a wreath shall wave Above thy consecrated grave ; And many a weeping form be bent Above thine urn-crowned monument. To mourn thine unrewarded song, When harp in hand — thy journey long Thou wentest, ere the brighter days When lips are mute that speak not praise. Why should'st thou weep ? The harp is thine ! What need of bays thy brow to twine, THE LADVE CHACE. II7 When that thou hast ? Oh, minstrel, sing; ! There's magic in the tuneful string, And power, that makes amends alone For the rude world's unlavished smile — Though none requite, its gentler tone May still thy hermit soul beguile. XXII. Again, he sang — and soft the lay, That bade the tender passions play, Was witching Edgar's soul away. But Athwold checked the notes of woo- ing— Charming was their amorous cooing. But they warbled his undoing, When that hated guest was near. " Sing, old bard, of war ! " he cried ; And the minstrel's harp replied With notes to warrior dear. Of Uther's dauntless son he told, That led the Christian prowess bold 'Gainst faithless Frank and Dane, And spread so wide the fame of old Of blest Messiah's reign : Il8 THE LADYE CHACE. Then flamed the harp, such notes that flung, And rapture fired the poet's tongue As each stern giant's fall he sung. That cursed the cross in vain. Oh, glorious was that cross emblazed Upon the banner Arthur raised — And terrible the vengeance wrought When Arthur's sword for Jesu fought — And short the cursing caitiff's breath That Jesu's mercy spurned in death ! But ah ! his notes, they change to woe ; They wail the hero's overthrow, And dying, fading on the string, Still chiding weep, and weeping sing Of false Guenevra's broken vow — Of Launcelot, traitor to his king — Of Mord red's dark deceit, and how Excalibar away did spring On that sad field where Arthur fell : Though still consoling legends tell How Arthur lives and loves the while In Avalon's enchanted isle. THE LADYE CHACE. IT9 XXIII. Then godlike Alfred's reign of gold In golden numbers sweetly rolled Adown the poet's lyre : He sung how Alfred was a bard, And how he passed the Danish guard In holy bards' attire ; And how he gave the pilgrim bread ; And how he lodged in peasant's shed ; And how he reigned, and how he read, And was a nation's sire. Of Leolf's deadly arm he told, And Edmund's heart of fire. That slew the daring robber bold That bearded him in royal hold, And waked his tiger ire. And oh ! of Edwy's grief he sung, And her dear love to whom he clung — His fair but hapless bride ! Then checked the strain ; the lady's ear Must not the cruel story hear, Of how Elgiva died. THE LADYE CHACE. XXIV. And so, through all the banquet long, The harper poured his magic song, Nor left unsung the worthy praise Of royal Edgar's sunny days. Oh, Edgar was a king of kings ! And as the poet touched the strings In laud of him, with flattering guile, The ravished monarch heai^d the while. Then higher as the numbers rose. And still his fame, at ev^ery close. Seemed mounting to the skies, He sought Elfreda's answering eyes, If haply now her envied smile With his might sympathize. XXV. How comes it that in every hour Of pomp, of triumph, or of power. We turn from every joy about, From self-applause, from people's shout, From flowers below, from wreaths above, To seek the smile of those we love ? THE LADYE CHACP:. How is it that the poet's bays Charm not his heart like lady's praise? How is it that the monarch's throne Can never glad his heart alone — Or, girt with peers, such pleasures bring As when soft woman owns him king, Thrones him in heart, and to his sway Yields hand and all her life away ? XXVI. So Edgar's met the beauty's eyes, And soft the glance they gave ; How came like death the chill surprise O'er Athwold's spirit brave ! And she, frail Helen of the fray, Full oft amid that stifled play Of passions, frantic though enchained, On her sad spouse her glances threw ; And, sharply, he, though well he reined The fury that so frantic grew. Turned oft to meet her gentle eye, For roving glance of sympathy ; But met, alas ! from her he loved, Compassion's kindly cruel beam : 122 THE LADYE CHACE. A smile of sorrow, that still proved All love was gone ; or that did seem Perchance its lone, last lingering ray, When love in pity melts away. Then changed her sight, with such a look As never lover's heart could brook : 'Twas sympathy with sorrow blent. It changed again as Edgar leant Enamoured, o'er her beauteous breast ; And idly she the king addressed, In words as fickle, and as free, As woi'ds from beauty's lips might be. XXVII. Oh, like the stroke of lariim bell. That beats the prison'd felon's knell, And, 'mid the dungeon's silence dumb, Gives dreadful note his hour has come — Broke that soft voice on Athwold's ear. 'Twas worse than agony to hear ! All hope was o'er ; his last weak stay — A whim at best was swept away ; And now his soul is taught to view. In all she doth, some terror new. ■ THE LADYE CHACE. 123 With haggard gaze, and thought as wild, He marked how faithlessly she smiled ; And ah ! with maddened brain, he deemed Elfreda never shone so fair. As now by Edgar's side she seemed. And, truth, they were a noble pair ! And Edgar felt the bitter wrong That such a jewel of his crown Had been a traitor's prize so long ; And he himself, like churlish clown All unavenging — smiling ever On the base rifler of his rest, Still unsuspecting, dreaming never Of stranger plumage in his nest. xxvni. Like that poor bird whose toil-built cot Is prey for every roving wing — Who buildeth, but enjoyeth not, And still, all innocence, doth sing : Like that poor bird were his the lot — The pang of consciousness and thought King Edgar felt. " And was it I," He said, " have been a villain's tool 124 THE LADYE CHACE. 'Gainst mine own peace, unwittingly — My servant's wittol, and his fool?" Sunk his proud heart within ; and, stung Ev'n to its core, he scarce could keep The flaming fury from his tongue. That in his spirit burned so deep. Nigh did his restless steel forth -leap, Full often, from his belted side ; But cooler reason bade it sleep. Though ne'er before so fiercely tried. XXIX. So, by a hated rival wooed. Sat Athwold's bride, in facile mood, On Edgar answering glances throwing — - Those dear young smiles, that once were glowing For him alone ; but now were shed On his lewd rival's haughty head. All unadorn'd her strange attire, Yet Athwold's gnawing soul of fire. Even from her artless beauty, drew New proof that she was all untrue. THE LADYE CHACE. What though he saw his prayer obtained — The boon he asked, tho' luckless, gained ? Clearly, at last, he read her thought, How with his spouse his wish had wrought ; When wildly from her preseiice flying. He left her frighted, unreplying. Fallen in fear, and faint as fair. To gem and deck her shining hair, Or leave its golden wealth to flow, As beauty's art might best bestow. "Oh fool!" he sighed, "deem not for thee vShe chose so unadorned to be. The lovely trait'ress knows full well. Of native charms the mighty spell. No need of pearls or bride-wreath set, Nor coronal to grace, nor yet To win the lord of England's throne, Aught save her eyes' soft light alone." Thrice fatal prayer and boon for him. Who, knowing loveliness is dim, And only dim when veiled and hid With fashion's gauds— had rashly bid 126 THE LADYE CHACE. Th' unveiling of the bright surprise, At such an hour, to Edgar's eyes ! And Athwold, now but deeper caught E'en in the toils himself had wrought — Of hope, of conscience, peace bereft, Lovelorn and friendless, lonely left, Must feel this folly with the rest — The barbs that rankle in his breast. XXX. Yet long upon those charms he gazed, Now his no more — for ever lost ! Still as he looked, compelled, he praised, While raged his spirit, tempest-tossed. Not she the veil, the gem, the ring, Needed to win that amorous king : 'Twas but herself, undeck'd, to show, To teach the manly breast to glow ; And fairer to the royal heart She seemed, unaided all by art ; Though still king Edgar quell'd his love, While hate within did sterner move, As oft he looked, admiring more ; But when the banqueting was o'er, THE LADYE CHACE. I27 And the red wine went circling round, The deep-drained bowl at length unbound The cords that held him in control, And loosed his fury-fretted soul. XXXI. Elfreda from the hall had gone ; And Athwold now, with foes alone. Frenzied, full oft the goblet quaff'd, And o'er each brimming beaker laughed. He laughed; but such a laugh well nigh Might seem the mockery of a sigh ! He turned; and Edgar's burning eye Flash'd full on his — " We'll pledge thy bride, Thy lovely spouse," the monarch cried, " And curse on traitors, far and wide !" XXXII. Athwold, full charg'd with smothered ire, Felt on his cheek the blazing fire : "A curse on tryants!" loud he rung. And frantic toward the king he sprung. Aback the frighted nobles drew ; Swift from his scabbard vengeance flew ; THE LADYE CHACE. But round their sovereign quick they closed, And his descending blade opposed . "Slave!" cried the king, and broke the throng ; But struggling Athwold turned at bay, And through the courtiers struggling strong, Hewed with his steel a bloody way. He gains the door — the court — the gate ! "He flies! — pursue him — cut him down!" But he has 'scaped beyond their hate, And, screened by moonlight's shadows brown. He sees th' astonished train pursue : He marks each former jealous mate, And marks swift-mounted Edgar too ; Wildly he hears him peal halloo. And rings the cry the wild wood through. XXXIII. ** To horse!" Anon a servile throng From the old gate-way burst ; He hears them as they howl along. Ay, hears himself accurs'd. Heavens ! his own vassals are engaged In hunt of him ! — then, thrice-enraged, THE LADVE CHACE. I29 He moans, while all his heart-strings writhe, " Oh, how unlike the hunting blithe We joined at morn." But hark ! at fault, The baffled train are hasting back. " So soon give o'er the fierce assault ? " Nay, harken ! list! — they cry — "The pack ! Ho ! put the bloodhounds on his track." XXXIV. The curdling blood refused to play In his full veins ; but fury lent What Nature gave not, and away, Faint, panting, reckless all, he went. He heard them to the castle flying, He heard them shouting, and replying ; Oh, Holy Rood ! and now he hears The hungry hounds. 'Tis'in his ears — The burst of their unsated yell. So, in full cry come up, they tell. For shrieking souls, the hounds of hell. The bark rings out — away he flies : Oh, God be bless'd — the howling dies 9 130 THE LADYE CHACE. Afar — afar ; they scent astray ; Yet on he went, away — away ! The breeze swells up — 'tis nearer now — That cry once more. He knew not how, But on he flew ; and though no goal Bounded that race, he ran, until O'erspent at last, he reached a rill And slaked his thirst — then climb'd the knoll That from that forest-valley swells To hills beyond. No more the yells Of the hot bloodhounds does he hear, But yet their echoes stun his ear; And up he strains. A distant bark ! And upward still ; — but rest thee ! Hark 'Tis silent now : nay, list ! — perchance Some fox is stirr'd ; — up, up he toiled : The height is gained. A swimming glance Back on the moonlit vale he threw ; There stands his castle ! They seem foiled In their pursuit, and calm the view. He reeled, and came a blessed trance ; He swooned, and gently down he sank. All senseless, on a shadow'd bank. THE LADYE CHACE. 13] XXXV. Again, the pack, but far away ! Faint grows their howling : they're astray; Some game's afoot that saveth him, And o'er the hapless man to-day Th' untiring bloodhounds shall not bay. He heard not, knew not ; — there he lay. His eye-ball as in death 't were dim. Is this brave Athwold ? Let him rest, Even where he lies ; his troubled breast And harass'd limbs have need of rest. Faint, breathless, helpless, seemed his soul Well nigh had gained its mortal goal. When came the trance ; but then he fell. And slumbered babe-like, though the yell Of hound, and man more merciless. Fast on his toilsome trail might press. Ah ! little thought he, when at morn He waked the echoes with his horn. That those high hills, which far he viewed, Crown'd with blue mist and azured wood. Or towering bleak with naked height, Should lend his only lodge at night ! 132 THE LADYE CHACE. XXXVL Nature's own pillow gave him rest ; And there, as on a mother's breast, He slept as ne'er before he slept, While o'er his swoon the dew-drops wept. And who so heartless, had not shed A tear upon his houseless head. As there he lay, an outcast now. The night-wind cold upon his brow. And fallen upon that chilly bed ? Yet dreamless slept he. When he woke, He found him 'neath a tangled oak ; A nodding thicket veiled his view. But he just saw the starlight through. And then again he slept ; and well And long he rested, till he thought He heard a voice. He woke : 'twas nought ! He must have dreamed it ; or the swell Of the cold breeze his ear had caught. List ! — Is it nothing ? Something fell On rustling leaves : What passeth there ? Perchance poor Reynard from his lair. Some startled doe, or timid hare : THE LADYE CHACE. 133 But he was wakened, and he rose. Silent he muses ; scarce he knows How, why he's there. 'Twas dead of night, And from his covert lodge he stole. The westering moon still poured its light. And, truth, it was a gentle sight. But soothed not Athwold's soul. XXXVII. He lean'd him 'gainst a rock that, lone, Forth jutted, where the moonbeams shone, And, for a moment, mute he stood, Wild gazing from that mountain wood. On the broad plain outstretch'd beneath. That seem'd— for fogs o'erhung the heath, A maz'd mirage, a sea of death. Beyond, full sadly he surveys. Bleared by the moonlight's silvery haze, His forest hydes, his fields, and all That, won of old from stranger hands, Pertain'd to Harewood's ancient thrall ; And now to him — his dowry lands. 134 THE LADYE CHACE. His throbbing forehead aches to view : But worse, when next he turns his eyes Afar where dingy turrets rise, Murky, though moonht, peering through The mist that in the valley lies. The towers of Harewood — there are they, The moonbeams on their bulwarks streaming ; But ah! a soul-distracting ray, From one bright oriel gleaming, Is torturing poor Athwold's heart With jealousy's envenom'd smart. 'Tis from Elfreda's lattice high That hateful light, invades his eye ; And ah! who knows but there it lights A rival, to unhallow'd rites. Where Edgar, at Elfreda's side, Caresses one so late his own ; Perchance, already calls her bride. Or rends with impious hand her zone. XXXVIII. His bursting temples, and his eye, That from its socket seem'd to fly, THE LADYE CHACE. I35 With the fierce vollies, loudly rung Hot from his heart and fever'd tongue, Tell how his inmost spirit burns. With fist fast clench'd, to heaven he turns, And "Here I swear," he cried aloud, "On thee, my love's despoiler proud, Revenge, that ne'er shall slake before It drinks thy false heart's wai^mest gore. Bear witness, heaven — My wrath shall be Baptized in blood! Oh, might I see Ev'n now the tyrant, face to face ; God and good angels, grant me grace, His life shall pay" The thicket broke Sudden beside him as he spoke, "Draw, then, thy sword" — a voice replied, Hoarse mutt'ring ; and, with sturdy stride, A vizor'd shape before him stood : "Draw, wretch, and make thy promise good!" Aghast, he turned. His sudden foe Had raised his falchion for the blow; And dark he stood, his eye of ire Through his grim beaver flashing fire. 136 THE LADYE CHACE. An instant, and they closed in strife — Clash'd their keen sword-blades fierce and rife, Athwold, with nought to lose but life; His foeman, not his life alone. Perchance, a courtier — or a throne. XXXIX. The pale moon sunk at last, and fell Set the dread dark o'er mount and dell ; Not even the twinkling stars were seen, For the dun clouds were rolled between. 'Twas then that vizor'd shape, so late, Knock'd at the castle's postern gate, And by the porter's lanthorn dim View'd his light wounds with triumph grim. Weak was his voice, and faint his hand ; But, as he drew his batter'd brand. That yet was stain'd with gore undried, "See, there's thy master's blood!" he cried. XL. And when the purpled morning broke O'er that brown heath and forest hill, THE LADYE CHACE, 137 A passing woodman, as he woke The early echoes, whistling shrill. As to his morning toil he fared, Stopt short where Alhwold's lodge ap- peared : For lo ! the deep-scarr'd soil was bared Of its green sod, and dark besmeared With recent blood, and stamps of heels Screwed on the turf; and lo! the brake Curtain'd by tangled shrubs, reveals A slumberer — whom he strove to wake, Nor strove in vain ; but backward sprung, When Athwold, with enfeebled tongue And glassy eyes — a moment seemed As one who lay entranced, or dreamed. Then clasp'd his hands — And feebly cried, " Sweet Jesu — mercy !" — so he died. XLI. Yet not the minstrel's rhyme may tell By whom he bled — by whom he fell, For ancient story ceaseth here ; Yet pray it ne'er may truth appear 138 THE LADYE CHACE. The minstrel's self, in anger's fire, Had stain'd the hand that swept the lyre, And claimed a fearful vengeance so, Against his tamed and humbled foe. Some deem that Edgar's self pursued. Alone, his victim to the wood ; And, searching through the forest dark, His vow of treason chanc'd to mark : While others tell a sadder tale. And say the Poet of the Dale, Disguised as Ethred, beard and all, Sang at the tragic festival ; And wily, by his art inspired, Timotheus-like, the monarch fired ; That by Ms craft, unguarded stood The gate that open'd to the wood ; That 'twas from /lim Lord Athwold quailed When his bold arm the king assailed ; From /ihn he flew; but, in the weed Of harper old, they did not heed What next he did. And while the rest Rush'd boist'rous forth, as liked them best. He stript his masque, his beard, his pall. And slipt unheeded through the hall; THE LADYE CHACE. 139 And loos'd a stag from out the park, To call aside the blood-hounds' bai'k, Nor lured alone the pack astray, But wiled the baffled king away. So then light-armed he sought the wood, To make his morning promise good — That vow profane for Christian breath, "Athwold this night shall sup with Death." XLII. The secret in their tombs must sleep, Who wrought the tragic story deep; Though still the Muse, in doating, saith, (She would not harm her minstrel son,) Whose chace was crown 'd by Ath wold's death. Let him be deem'd the guilty one. But loyal thralls and subjects said — And shook the superstitious head — * ' 'Twas ne'er the king ; for Alban's dart Had cleft, that morn, the stag's stout heart. While Edgar's, though it aim'd to kill, Was but a bloodless arrow still ; — An augury that well should show The noble Athwold's midnight foe. 140 THE LADYE CHACE. XLIII. And this ere Autumn's leaves were falling, But ere the Christmas chimes were calling, The merry bells, I ween, rung round With a gayer, sweeter sound "Than ever they had rung before For Britain's monarchs wed of yore. XLIV. 'Tis the dark and sombre aisle Of an old cathedral pile; Yet its arches gray are gleaming. And the swinging censers steaming, As aloft they waft the prayer ! Now the organ rolleth there; And, as sweet the hymn is stealing. By the altar-pace are kneeling The noble and the fair. Hark ! again the organ pealing ; And from glittering cross to ceiling, See the waxen tapers flare. Surplic'd boys those tapers bear ; And the figure, stern and grim, That beneath the rood-loft dim, Comes to bind and bless the pair. THE LADYE CHACE. I4I 'Tis St. Dunstan — he whose throne England's Church supreme doth own, Patriarch and Primate he In St. Austin's ancient see. XLV. His mitred head is o'er them bending ; List ! the whisper'd vows ascending — See how rosy smiles the bride ! To the priest she hath replied : And the wreath is on her brow, And the blessing said ; and now Ring ye merry chimes once more ! Joyous^ring — the bridal's o'er ! And adown the stony aisle, Cheer'd by many a beauteous smile — Her own more beautiful, the while — Walks the lovely, newly wed, By her royal bridegroom led. Strew with evergreens her way; Yule is near — let all be gay. Bring the sacred holly now. Bring the Druid's mystic bough, Ring ye bells — let trumpets sound. For the bride she shall be crown'd — 142 THE LADYE CHACE. She shall live and reign serene Edgar's and merry England's queen. ENVOY. But thou, mine own fresh-featured land, Dear from far cliff to ocean sand : • Bright clime where sinks the setting sun — Last which the day-god looks upon ; Where blooms the bay-tree in its pride — Not that which by old Delphi's side, Entwin'd with myrtle, crown'd, of yore. The warrior bard whom Doris bore — But that which o'er savannahs blows. More fair than Daphne's laurel-rose'>— The broad magnolia, branching high. With odours for the summer sky, Whose leaves the angel-muse of song Hath planted our green shores along, To crown the poet-race which here — Her last, best boast — she means to rear : Bright land of river, rock and wild. Where nature charms her poet child, Though clear thy skies and broad thy waters, Thy glory is thy radiant daughters — THE LADYE CHACE. 143 Maidens like those for whose sweet smile, Of old, in their maternal isle. The minstrel oft hath sung the lay That gains their gentle ear to-day ; Nor deem'd the idle tale he gave Should cross the undiscover'd wave. 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